I Guess It Had To Happen

After my first few days in town, I felt surprised and grateful that I had no health issues! Things were working out for me in the food and drink department - no upset stomach, no diarrhea, no vomiting.

Then came Thursday.

I guess my last experience with sharp stomach pain was long ago, because I had forgotten how awful it is. A little before 6am on Thursday, I knew I was in trouble. I started the day by telling the host family wife not to worry about making breakfast for me.

The yellow fruit up top is mango verde, possibly the thing that caused my illness.

Without thinking, I accepted a piece from another language school student the day before I got sick.
Eating fruit purchased on the street (without washing it yourself) is an at-your-own-risk proposition.

After I explained that I felt ill, she gave me a dose of medicine (as well as toast and honey so that I would eat at least that). I felt better on the way to language school, but things took a turn for the worse before class ended. With the way my stomach felt, I simply agreed when the teacher asked if I wanted to wrap up a bit early.

As always, lunch was waiting for me at home. And to my appreciation, the host family wife had decided to serve chicken soup. I sat down to lunch, and everything that happened for the rest of the day feels kind of like a dream now.

I vaguely remember the host family husband helping himself to a fresh onion for his soup and then turning to offer one to me. "Cebolla?" he asked. "Cama," was my response (it means "bed"). I finished the bowl of soup I had been given and dragged myself to my room to lay down.

There were a couple other brief interactions and events that day but mostly just sleep, a few trips to the bathroom, and a few doses of the miracle drug, Pepto Bismol.

When I walked in the kitchen the next morning, the host family wife asked how I felt. I answered, "Yo estoy un nuevo hombre."

(Translated: I am a new man!)

Bueno/Menos

I took a Creative Writing class back in college. Journaling was one of the assignments, and we had to write a few entries every week.

I didn't have a clue what to journal about.

(Especially since the course instructor would be reading the whole thing.)

Somehow I decided it would be painless enough on any given day to come up with one highlight and one unfortunate event from my life - the "Hi" and the "Lo" of the day. So, at the end of the course, my journal had several pages devoted to a brief entry about just that. It worked out, and I even wound up enjoying that part of the assignment.

Not sure what made me remember that now, but I'll take it as a sign that this blog should include Hi/Lo posts. And in honor of my goal as a language learner, I'll label the posts Bueno/Menos. Here's the first!

Friends: do not take such things for granted.

Bueno: There was a really nice married couple studying at the language school this week. Both from the states, both doctors.

Today was their last day, and guess what they did before they left...
They gave me a gift!

And a valuable gift at that - they handed me their stash of antibiotics for treating any stomach issues Central America might provide. Without a doubt the best leftovers I ever received!


Menos: Speaking of gifts, the other day I stumbled across something that could be suitable as a gift for my teacher on the last day of language school next week.

I had heard (and seen) that you can't find good chocolate in any stores here at all, so I was really glad to run across a stack of five boxes of Ferrero Rocher in a little shop in the center of town.

I knew I needed to sample a piece or two so I wouldn't end up giving a gift that turned out to be melted or stale (many shops in Copan lack air conditioning and other features that are built in to the way businesses in America operate). So I bought a pack, unwrapped and tasted the chocolate, and realized my search for a gift continues.

I Had The Perfect Life

Have you ever fallen in love with a city? That's what happened to me when I was living in Nashville, Tennessee.

The whole time I was there, the feeling never faded. I had the perfect life for six years and then decided to trade it in for something else.

Music City, USA.

To me, interesting photos always have a story in them. I snapped this photo thinking the walkway told the story of the kind of waiting that happens at home when someone is expected to return from a long trip. Later, I realized the walkway itself could be waiting for someone who should leave home and begin a journey that is due...or overdue.

I think it was the winter of 2012 when I made up my mind about moving abroad, but I had daydreamed about it for years. My one goal and motivation was to learn Spanish.

But there's another part to the story.

For years in Nashville, I basically walked around feeling like I had it all. I was blessed with a great city, great friends, great church, great boss -- everything. And somehow, in the middle of feeling totally grateful for such a rich life, a simultaneous and conflicting feeling emerged. My cozy "who-could-ask-for-more?" existence became a luxury I both loved and longed to leave.

Things are so much clearer in hindsight. Looking back, I see that different forces in my life all signaled the same thing: the time was finally right for me to embark on this international experience.

Herman, El Carpintero

Herman, the host family husband, is basically the best carpenter in town. I learned this from my teacher at the language school. Herman's shop is located inside the house.

After breakfast the other day, he showed me some of his handiwork - a few brand new pieces he made to order.

Bed and night stands by Herman

Needless to say, I was impressed. When it comes to Herman's reputation here in Copan, the size of his talent and the size of the town are such that when I jump into a taxi, I tell the driver my destination is "Casa de Herman Villeda, el carpintero."

Not Dreaming Anymore

Ten years is a long time to wait for something you want. Fortunately, there's nothing wrong with having a little patience.

Western highlands of Honduras:
the view from the walk to the school where I'll be working

When I was a high school freshman, I wished I could understand the Spanish language. (If you want to know the story behind that, just ask.) Then, after four years of formal classes, I was amazingly nowhere near my goal.

I remember finishing undergrad and realizing that probably the only way to become fluent in Spanish would be immersion - living in a country where I'd be surrounded by the language for at least a year.

Fast forward to the summer of 2014.
On July 19th, I boarded a plane in Nashville with two suitcases and two carry-ons, flew to Miami to wait there for about 15 hours, and then completed the journey to my new home of Honduras, Central America.

Read on for highlights from the trip.

• My greatest delight was the live string quintet that greeted my ears at the bus station not far from the airport in Honduras. Live strings are one of my favorite things on earth! Not sure why this ensemble was performing in the bus station (while being recorded by some sort of film crew) because once I got off the plane, the Honduran transportation workers who communicated with me didn't offer a single word of English.

• My greatest adventure involved arriving at the bus station in my town at 6pm to find that my contact was nowhere to be found...despite the fact that the bus station would only be open for another half hour. Keep in mind I don't speak the language, and I had nothing more than a first name for the guy who was supposed to pick me up (Alexis) and a first name for the lady whose family I was supposed to be staying with (Celea). This is where small town living saves the day. A cab driver with barely more English than my Spanish proceeded to load up my things and drive to a home where some ladies sat outside chatting. The driver had understood when I explained to him that I was a new teacher at the bilingual school, and he understood that another school employee named Alexis never showed up to meet me at the bus station. So, without leaving the taxi, the driver leaned out the window and spoke with the front porch ladies for a minute. Then, we were off again to another curb and a new group of people spending time outdoors. This time, the cabby spoke with a woman who listened for a while and then looked at me in the back of the taxi. "Teacher?" she smiled. I smiled back, "Yes! Do you speak English?" She answered no but then pointed to a young boy on the sidewalk. This kid turned out to be the solution to my problem (and also one of my future students) as he listened to my story, pulled out his cell phone, and said, "I call Alexis now." Minutes later, Alexis pulled up in a car with his family and explained that he had been given the wrong rendezvous time for picking me up at the bus station. He and his family must've arrived at the station just after my taxi left, a couple minutes prior to 6:30.

• My greatest lesson... well, I'll put it this way: when moving to a faraway land - even if you know you'll have no cell phone service upon arrival, be sure to have phone info ready for your contact in case something goes haywire at the point where you're supposed to be picked up! Holy cow.

After all the excitement, Alexis dropped me off at the host family home that had been arranged for my first few weeks in town. Celea, the host family wife, and her two daughters welcomed, fed, and entertained me. The trip that started the day before in Nashville was finally over, and I was ready to retire to my room. Once alone in there, I learned that the first order of business would be the fight of my life against the largest spider imaginable. He lost.