Semana Santa

Here's a recap of Semana Santa. The first half was spent doing four things: eating, sleeping, swimming, reading Slaughter House Five by Kurt Vonnegut. Throughout about 240 pages, he weaves tragedy with comedy into the same thought; it's difficult to laugh about a soldier's situation, but he had me laughing one moment then cringing the next. It's a WWII "autobiography" about the Dresden bombings (Vonnegut was a soldier at Dresden.) I learned that 131,000 people were killed in those bombings, more deaths than when the US. dropped the atomic bomb in Hiroshima. The book flashes back and forth in time and space, giving a deranged feel to the flow of the story. There is no suspense whatsoever, you know how the book ends before it starts--his style is harsh, to the point, and dark. For example, when one of the American soldiers swears revenge against his fellow soldier, Billy, the protagonist who was abducted by aliens, you know instantly that that is how Billy is going to die, even if it is 40 years later. Luckily for him though, the aliens helped him accept his death as a part of his life and focus his attention on the beautiful parts of life.

I missed the bus going to Trujillo from Casa Kiwi so I decided to hitch hike. The second car to pass picked me up and we drove the 10 minutes to the bus terminal in town. This guy was overweight and friendly with an expensive SUV and sun glasses resting half way down his nose. He lives in Massachusetts but was born in Honduras and makes trips here twice a year. It turned out the bus I needed to get to the farm was on the opposite side of town so I paid $1.25 and took a taxi. On our way, the driver is trying to convince me to take a taxi the whole way to the farm (this would cost $8 bucks, a hefty chunk of my travel money) because the bus drops people off at an intersection but to get to the farm I would have to walk a ways alone along the road, and "it's very dangerous". I considered it for a second then remembered Kristina offering to walk to the bus stop and meet me, so I figured it can't be that dangerous. Another possibility is that it IS that dangerous and Kristina is simply brave and faithful.

The farm is a beautiful place in so many ways. The volunteers are experiencing many aspects of Honduran culture. For one, they live a humble to average Honduran life: no fridge, power and water outages are expected, carpooling in trucks and vans on dirt roads, a lot of work for not very much pay. It's not a commercial farm, it's more like....hey we have some land.....a handful of mango trees sprinkled all over the place would be nice. They also have bananas, oranges, avocado, tamarind, pineapple, almond, and several more that I'm forgetting. I was not ready to leave by Thursday, but because of the bus schedule we decided it was best if I head out early Thursday morning. Kristina walked me to the bus stop and I headed back into town thinking how marvelous it is to trust in God.
Back at the edge of Trujillo I catch a second bus and explain to the driver my travel instructions which I had received from one of the older farm volunteers. Since the bridge was out, I wanted to cross the river at the boat terminal, instead they just drop me off at the bridge site and tell me I have to go around 20 minutes down this side road....UHHGG! Start walking and what do you know, Hondurans are SO KIND to hitch hikers, it's GREAT! This time I get to share the truck bed with a 70 year old sage. The driver was quite old as well, it honestly felt more like a horse pulled carriage because the whole truck bed was completely wooden and had a bench near the cab. This guy drops me off at the boat terminal (it turns out 2 consecutive bridges on the same road are out, causing an ugly pile up of vacationers eager to get to the beach.) He charges me 50 limps. So it goes. Two boats are hauling loads back and forth, one for passengers, the other for vehicles. Luckily there is a cab waiting for me to take me to Corocito where I can finally catch a bus back home. He says we can wait for two more people which would cut the cost per person, but I"m worried I'll miss the bus so I just pay the full 60 limps. So it goes.
Now the triangle in Corocito is the town center, and it's where I saw those masquerading bandits and it's where street vendors recommended me some Honduran music groups which I later purchased the very next day and it's where I bought a bag of corn tamales for 20 limps then left them on the table when I finally caught my bus after waiting almost three hours. They weren't very good anyway. So it goes. I was literally on my way to get a hotel room in Corocito when the bus came. Even though this bus only went to San Esteban, it at least got me into Olancho and it broke up the grueling 9 hour trip in half.
I'm back home now, I just went to the barber for a very pleasurable shave and a haircut 2 bits. It's really short, like the kind of short where it feels super cool to rub my hand over my almost bald scalp.