"Does a shit poop in the doughnut house?"
I'm not sure exactly what that means, but I turned on the TV anyways.
- Dan
For email Blogicito readers
11 years ago
Absurd (click here to comment)
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Labels:
huh?
I just asked if Anah wanted me to turn on the TV to watch "Dr. House" (which about the only show in English that we like) and she responded with this gem:
I'm not sure exactly what that means, but I turned on the TV anyways.
- Dan
I'm not sure exactly what that means, but I turned on the TV anyways.
- Dan
Exciting School Visitors (click here to comment)
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Labels:
EIS
,
escuela
,
futbol
,
Marathon
,
San Pedro Sula
Nice view.
While not exactly the same in size and scope, it was roughly the equivalent of the Pittsburgh Steelers coming to visit your local middle school. Students in the U.S. probably wouldn't bat an eye at the Major League Soccer champions coming to your school, much as the American football champions wouldn't get anyone's heart racing down here (except for maybe Jesse, who Steeler's quarterback Ben Roethlisberger is his doppelganger)I was absolutely floored that a REAL soccer team was coming to our school. Some of the kids complained that "Marathon had already come here before" or "Marathon sucks." These criticisms coming from bitter fans of the other major Honduran teams. Given my ongoing obsession with documenting Honduran soccer there were no objections to being so close that I could get a good nostril shot of a professional soccer player.
The game was a wash. To begin with Marathon lined up against the middle schoolers head-to-head. The Honduran league champions were quickly up a half dozen goals before it was decided that maybe the teams should be mixed.The originally line-ups were tossed out the window, along with any requirements for clothing and/or skill. As the match progressed different students took the places of the actual middle school team who most took to the field in blue jeans and lack of balance against their Honduran soccer heroes.
The local TV stations and newspapers were all there covering the event, making the day seem all the more important. The head coach was interviewed on TV, the team's president (and uncle of one of my students) made an appearance, and players were flocked to by autograph seeking students. One player, Franco, was declared the cutest by an otherwise indifferent group of girls and hunted down for photos and autographs on their arms like he was a Jonas Brother (an extremely popular, but musically talentless, pair of singers).
Despite the loss of two periods of instruction it was a pretty cool event to witness. Students are already planning how to lure the other popular teams to our school, a suggestion I laughed off forgettting for a moment the power that their parents wield. Hopefully, I'll have another soccer team to show off soon.
- Dan
Spring Training Begins!
Ryan Braun, dreaming of more gaming-winning home runs
Spring Training began on Friday for Major League Baseball and spring games begin on Feb 25th. Baseball is barely on the radar down here in Honduras, but that doesn't mean its not on my radar.
Being a HUGE Milwaukee Brewers fan, I've been waiting through the long, cold... wait long, warm winter for spring training and the regular season to begin anew. The Brewers first playoff appearance in 25+ years will hopefully belie a second playoff appearance (although the loss of CC Sabathia and Ben Sheets will make it more difficult).
I'm going to have to be a good boy to convince Anah to let me buy the online streaming of MLB.tv (its not exactly cheap), but I think I can swing it (ha.... no pun intended... get it? swing... baseball! classic!).
Reality (click here to comment)
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Labels:
poverty
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San Pedro Sula
Honduras is an extremely poor country. Unfortunately, we often forget that depressing fact in our daily lives. Our students are very wealthy, our school is extremely well-funded, and the places that we visit (both in San Pedro and on vacation) often shield us from the more difficult aspects of living in a developing nation.
Of the seven nations in Central America, Honduras and Nicaragua flip-flop for poorest nation. In all of Latin America Honduras is one of the least developed. It has some of the highest unemployment, lowest wages, most crime, and least amount of infrastructure compare to its neighbors. Given the immense wealth within our narrow worlds, this is a disheartening reality.
The longer that we live here the more we come into connect with the "real" Honduras. This isn't to say that we are exposing ourselves to more danger, but certainly more disappointment as we experience the reality of the country in which we reside. It never ceases to amaze us the dichotomies that exist in this country: the donkey cart next to the Lexus on the street, the beggars outside the gigantic malls, or the shanty towns built under the advertisements for new homes in gated communities.
Take yesterday, for example. It was one of the hotter days in recent weeks. The rain has been letting up as we enter the warm parts of the year. This, of course, means a greater use of air conditioning for homes that have it. Yesterday morning we lost our power in the middle of Anah cooking breakfast and with little hope of it coming back soon our stomachs made the decision that we should seeking food elsewhere.
We walked down the street to Baleadas Express where this chain restaurant serves up a fast and delicious version of the national food of Honduras. A basic baleada is a big flour tortillas filled with refried beans, cheese, and butter. The great thing about the Express is that you can a la carte these treats with all sorts of other additives, like: avocado, chorizo, eggs, and much more.
Your basic baleada (one is a full meal) at Baleadas Express runs one about 50 cents to a dollar depending on what you get in it. For Anah and I to each have one with a drink cost us 77 Lempiras or about $3.50.
The point of the story isn't to describe how delicious these were, but was to describe what happened next. Sitting in the lobby area of Express the dirtiest little boy I have every seen walked up to us. His tattered jeans and dirt covered face made it look like he had just crawled out of some God-foresaken place minutes earlier.
He pointed to his mouth and begged for enough money to buy a baleada for him and his sister, who sat outside on the steps of the building hoping for her brother's success.
In the middle of our breakfast it was an uncomfortable situation. We had been told to ignore these requests by our school administrators for fear that it only reinforces this behavior or could put us in danger depending on who was doing the begging.
These people, and especially, the children are not the homeless people that you come across in the U.S. Of course many in the United States are victims of terrible circumstance, but many time they are undone by their own actions. Many a times in Milwaukee we have been hassled by people claiming to "ministers" whose home burned down the night before, seeking bus fare to get to the homeless shelter for the evening. This creativity surely could be used more productively.
But I digress... these children are not the result of such situations, but the victims of a never-ending cycle of national neglect and worse.
Tried as we might have we couldn't ignore the pleas of an empty stomach that for who-knows how many days had gone unfilled. He eventually wandered away for us to finish our meal, but never out of eye sight.
When we finished I gestured him to come over and handed him 50 Lempiras (about $2.50) which to him was probably a small fortune. He quickly scampered around the corner and out of the building. At first I was confused as to why he wasn't immediately going into the restaurant to buy a baleada that he seemed to so desperate to want, but Anah reminded me of a much more important task he had now.
The poor kid was probably used to getting one or two Lempiras at a time (twenty of which makes us one U.S. dollar) so to be given 50 Lempiras was a small fortune. Anah reminded me that for your average Honduran this amount of money could go along way. Fifty Lempiras would buy them the ingredients (flour, butter, beans, and cheese) to feed his family baleadas for the indefinite future.
It was just a harsh reminder of the difficult situation that this country finds itself in.
The most heart-wrenching part of the whole event was right before he took off with his new found wealth he had time to utter a heart-felt "thank you" not in the expected Spanish which he had been begging in before, but perfect English bridging the immense divide between us and giving us hope that because he may have had some schooling (or future schooling to come) to lift him out of his terrible situation.
For us 50 Lempiras is a joke amount of money. Its taxi fare to the mall or dinner out. Its a couple of beers at a restaurant. Its a jug of weekly water. But to this kid it was a lifeline.
Just another dichotomy here in Honduras.
Of the seven nations in Central America, Honduras and Nicaragua flip-flop for poorest nation. In all of Latin America Honduras is one of the least developed. It has some of the highest unemployment, lowest wages, most crime, and least amount of infrastructure compare to its neighbors. Given the immense wealth within our narrow worlds, this is a disheartening reality.
The longer that we live here the more we come into connect with the "real" Honduras. This isn't to say that we are exposing ourselves to more danger, but certainly more disappointment as we experience the reality of the country in which we reside. It never ceases to amaze us the dichotomies that exist in this country: the donkey cart next to the Lexus on the street, the beggars outside the gigantic malls, or the shanty towns built under the advertisements for new homes in gated communities.
Take yesterday, for example. It was one of the hotter days in recent weeks. The rain has been letting up as we enter the warm parts of the year. This, of course, means a greater use of air conditioning for homes that have it. Yesterday morning we lost our power in the middle of Anah cooking breakfast and with little hope of it coming back soon our stomachs made the decision that we should seeking food elsewhere.
We walked down the street to Baleadas Express where this chain restaurant serves up a fast and delicious version of the national food of Honduras. A basic baleada is a big flour tortillas filled with refried beans, cheese, and butter. The great thing about the Express is that you can a la carte these treats with all sorts of other additives, like: avocado, chorizo, eggs, and much more.
Your basic baleada (one is a full meal) at Baleadas Express runs one about 50 cents to a dollar depending on what you get in it. For Anah and I to each have one with a drink cost us 77 Lempiras or about $3.50.
The point of the story isn't to describe how delicious these were, but was to describe what happened next. Sitting in the lobby area of Express the dirtiest little boy I have every seen walked up to us. His tattered jeans and dirt covered face made it look like he had just crawled out of some God-foresaken place minutes earlier.
He pointed to his mouth and begged for enough money to buy a baleada for him and his sister, who sat outside on the steps of the building hoping for her brother's success.
In the middle of our breakfast it was an uncomfortable situation. We had been told to ignore these requests by our school administrators for fear that it only reinforces this behavior or could put us in danger depending on who was doing the begging.
These people, and especially, the children are not the homeless people that you come across in the U.S. Of course many in the United States are victims of terrible circumstance, but many time they are undone by their own actions. Many a times in Milwaukee we have been hassled by people claiming to "ministers" whose home burned down the night before, seeking bus fare to get to the homeless shelter for the evening. This creativity surely could be used more productively.
But I digress... these children are not the result of such situations, but the victims of a never-ending cycle of national neglect and worse.
Tried as we might have we couldn't ignore the pleas of an empty stomach that for who-knows how many days had gone unfilled. He eventually wandered away for us to finish our meal, but never out of eye sight.
When we finished I gestured him to come over and handed him 50 Lempiras (about $2.50) which to him was probably a small fortune. He quickly scampered around the corner and out of the building. At first I was confused as to why he wasn't immediately going into the restaurant to buy a baleada that he seemed to so desperate to want, but Anah reminded me of a much more important task he had now.
The poor kid was probably used to getting one or two Lempiras at a time (twenty of which makes us one U.S. dollar) so to be given 50 Lempiras was a small fortune. Anah reminded me that for your average Honduran this amount of money could go along way. Fifty Lempiras would buy them the ingredients (flour, butter, beans, and cheese) to feed his family baleadas for the indefinite future.
It was just a harsh reminder of the difficult situation that this country finds itself in.
The most heart-wrenching part of the whole event was right before he took off with his new found wealth he had time to utter a heart-felt "thank you" not in the expected Spanish which he had been begging in before, but perfect English bridging the immense divide between us and giving us hope that because he may have had some schooling (or future schooling to come) to lift him out of his terrible situation.
For us 50 Lempiras is a joke amount of money. Its taxi fare to the mall or dinner out. Its a couple of beers at a restaurant. Its a jug of weekly water. But to this kid it was a lifeline.
Just another dichotomy here in Honduras.
"I'm sorry... what did you say?" (click here to comment)
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Labels:
futbol
,
San Pedro Sula
,
weekends
I'm sure that most of you are tiring of my blog posts about playing soccer, but outside of school and traveling, I have very few options. Last week I wrote I had played soccer and well enough to get an invite back for this Sunday.
Today I headed down to the field to play a little futbolito, which is an indoor soccer field outside. It had been raining on and off today (what a surprise because this is pretty much the forecast everyday) and so playing on the field was like facing off on a dish sponge. Interesting, I know.
While my Spanish is improving, it is still absolutely piss poor, especially compared to my lovely wife's language skills, but the most important thing is that I keep trying. Between the taxi driver yesterday and this new group of soccer players I was about at the end of my rope for Spanish speaking.
The toughest part is that my listening skills are so poor (in English too) that I have a hard time understand what other people are saying. I can speak at about a first grade Spanish level so people can at least get an idea what I'm talking about. Some times I hear something that makes sense, other times I'm totally lost.
There's one player I've been talking to today, his name is Wilson (which I find very odd for a Honduran), and we're having a very basic Spanish conversation.
Wilson: "Hello, how are you?"
Me: "Good. How are you?"
Wilson: "Are you ready to play?
Me (This time trying to make a joke... very bad idea in Spanish): "Yes, I'm just watching the game of the grandpas."
You see on the field next to us is a full 11 v 11 game of men, the youngest that might be 50. The goalie keeper is about 65 and in between waddling to make saves (which he does several times) he's yelling at his friends behind the goal that are giving him crap for said saves.
Wilson (in Spanish, remember): Oh, ha ha. Yes, these are the veteran's games. The players are all ex-professional players in Honduras.
Me: Wow. (that's seriously cool)
Wilson: Hey, what are you doing next weekend? We (all of the other players) are going to ____________ (some place I don't recognize) for the pools, soccer fields, and _________ with our families.
At this point I'm not sure if I've been invited somewhere, but I'm sort of confused. Why are they not just playing soccer at this field next Sunday?
Me: Wait (in English.. shit he doesn't speak English! Now back to bad Spanish). In San Pedro Sula? Where? What are you doing?
Wilson: We are all going to a nice place with pools and to play soccer. Do you want to go?
Me: So you're not playing here next Sunday?
Wilson: No. All of us (he points to all the guys I played with last week and will this week) are members of Alcoholics Anonymous and we are going away next weekend.
Me: I'm sorry... what?
Holy crap... yeah I happen to stumble upon a group of guys who play soccer together as an activity to avoid drinking. Not just drinking "like hey... we drink too much we should also be active," but like "we have been told we are a stain on society and need to get it together" kind of drinking.
This is an interesting development. Wilson tells me (or at least what I've translated) that drinking has caused "muchas problemas" in his life and that they all have been sober for a long time. I state that alcoholism is a very big problem in Honduras (I read that in a book) and he agrees.
I manage to tell him that his weekend retreat sounds nice, but I am a teacher and have much work to do next weekend. But that next Sunday I would love to play when they all come back.
After the game, Wilson sticks around after the other players leave and he and I have another painful conversation in Spanish. It was nice. He bought himself, me, and his fourth grade son Cokes and we sat and I made general observations (you see I can't speak in the past tense in Spanish so every thing has to be happening in the here and now otherwise I can't communicate it). I say I like only soccer and not American football, he tells me about a player on the field in front of us that used to be a professional, but he drank too much and did many "drogas." Hmm.
I said my good byes and reminded myself never to invite the boys out for post game beers.
Today I headed down to the field to play a little futbolito, which is an indoor soccer field outside. It had been raining on and off today (what a surprise because this is pretty much the forecast everyday) and so playing on the field was like facing off on a dish sponge. Interesting, I know.
While my Spanish is improving, it is still absolutely piss poor, especially compared to my lovely wife's language skills, but the most important thing is that I keep trying. Between the taxi driver yesterday and this new group of soccer players I was about at the end of my rope for Spanish speaking.
The toughest part is that my listening skills are so poor (in English too) that I have a hard time understand what other people are saying. I can speak at about a first grade Spanish level so people can at least get an idea what I'm talking about. Some times I hear something that makes sense, other times I'm totally lost.
There's one player I've been talking to today, his name is Wilson (which I find very odd for a Honduran), and we're having a very basic Spanish conversation.
Wilson: "Hello, how are you?"
Me: "Good. How are you?"
Wilson: "Are you ready to play?
Me (This time trying to make a joke... very bad idea in Spanish): "Yes, I'm just watching the game of the grandpas."
You see on the field next to us is a full 11 v 11 game of men, the youngest that might be 50. The goalie keeper is about 65 and in between waddling to make saves (which he does several times) he's yelling at his friends behind the goal that are giving him crap for said saves.
Wilson (in Spanish, remember): Oh, ha ha. Yes, these are the veteran's games. The players are all ex-professional players in Honduras.
Me: Wow. (that's seriously cool)
Wilson: Hey, what are you doing next weekend? We (all of the other players) are going to ____________ (some place I don't recognize) for the pools, soccer fields, and _________ with our families.
At this point I'm not sure if I've been invited somewhere, but I'm sort of confused. Why are they not just playing soccer at this field next Sunday?
Me: Wait (in English.. shit he doesn't speak English! Now back to bad Spanish). In San Pedro Sula? Where? What are you doing?
Wilson: We are all going to a nice place with pools and to play soccer. Do you want to go?
Me: So you're not playing here next Sunday?
Wilson: No. All of us (he points to all the guys I played with last week and will this week) are members of Alcoholics Anonymous and we are going away next weekend.
Me: I'm sorry... what?
Holy crap... yeah I happen to stumble upon a group of guys who play soccer together as an activity to avoid drinking. Not just drinking "like hey... we drink too much we should also be active," but like "we have been told we are a stain on society and need to get it together" kind of drinking.
This is an interesting development. Wilson tells me (or at least what I've translated) that drinking has caused "muchas problemas" in his life and that they all have been sober for a long time. I state that alcoholism is a very big problem in Honduras (I read that in a book) and he agrees.
I manage to tell him that his weekend retreat sounds nice, but I am a teacher and have much work to do next weekend. But that next Sunday I would love to play when they all come back.
After the game, Wilson sticks around after the other players leave and he and I have another painful conversation in Spanish. It was nice. He bought himself, me, and his fourth grade son Cokes and we sat and I made general observations (you see I can't speak in the past tense in Spanish so every thing has to be happening in the here and now otherwise I can't communicate it). I say I like only soccer and not American football, he tells me about a player on the field in front of us that used to be a professional, but he drank too much and did many "drogas." Hmm.
I said my good byes and reminded myself never to invite the boys out for post game beers.
Sorry for the Confusion (click here to comment)
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So obviously if you are here, you've followed us to our new blog address. Although its not that big of a change it was an absolutely necessary move.
Yesterday, Anah and I learned that number of middle school students (a few of mine I'm sure) discovered one of our fellow teacher couple's (and friends of ours) blog. Needless to say this led to a domino effect of sorts because many of our blogs are linked to each other and whether the students knew it or not, they could easily check out many of the teacher's lives through a little bit of investigation.
Anah and I have gone to great lengths to keep any public information off the Internet (Facebook profiles, police records... ha j/k!), but I guess I didn't think that they'd be all that persistent, but boredom breeds invention.
The other problem is that our school is such a closed community anything that would appear on our blog could be ripe for misconception and abuse. Our social lives (as uninteresting as it is) is not public knowledge and is intended only for those close to us. We did not want students, parents, or administrators passing judgment on what we do in our free time... no matter how lame our outside-school-lives are.
Again, its not that this blog is some cesspool of.... whatever, its just our lives, our stories, and our pictures that we share with a privileged few (that's you) and no one else.
Thanks for putting up with our defenses and please remember to update your bookmarks to: http://danandanah.blogspot.com.
Yesterday, Anah and I learned that number of middle school students (a few of mine I'm sure) discovered one of our fellow teacher couple's (and friends of ours) blog. Needless to say this led to a domino effect of sorts because many of our blogs are linked to each other and whether the students knew it or not, they could easily check out many of the teacher's lives through a little bit of investigation.
Anah and I have gone to great lengths to keep any public information off the Internet (Facebook profiles, police records... ha j/k!), but I guess I didn't think that they'd be all that persistent, but boredom breeds invention.
The other problem is that our school is such a closed community anything that would appear on our blog could be ripe for misconception and abuse. Our social lives (as uninteresting as it is) is not public knowledge and is intended only for those close to us. We did not want students, parents, or administrators passing judgment on what we do in our free time... no matter how lame our outside-school-lives are.
Again, its not that this blog is some cesspool of.... whatever, its just our lives, our stories, and our pictures that we share with a privileged few (that's you) and no one else.
Thanks for putting up with our defenses and please remember to update your bookmarks to: http://danandanah.blogspot.com.
Newness! (click here to comment)
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Labels:
entertainment
,
family
,
homelife
Over Christmas, Anah and I bought a new toy. We had gone back and forth over whether or not we wanted a big fancy camera down here in Honduras. Pro: ability to take super-sweet pictures and pretend we're professional photographers; Cons: big fancy cameras make us stand out more than we already do.
We settled one getting the camera and just being smart about which vacations we took it on. Here's our new baby:
We settled one getting the camera and just being smart about which vacations we took it on. Here's our new baby:
Going For A Walk (click here to comment)
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Labels:
entertainment
,
futbol
,
San Pedro Sula
I'm not sure how many people care about this (and probably heard/read about this a million times), but living in a soccer-loving nation is great.
Back in Milwaukee it was extremely difficult to get any soccer games under my belt. Sure, I played indoor once a week, but if I ever wanted to find a pick up game or get any practice in for said indoor games... sorry no dice. Made doubly painful was the fact that I couldn't just go to any nearby field (there were plenty of those) and practice by myself. Being a goalie doesn't allow oneself the luxury of practicing alone (you kinda need someone to shoot on you).
Early yesterday afternoon, Anah and I returned from Lago de Yajoa (more on this in another post). I certainly was in no mood to begin any school-related work (I save that for the last minute!) and was bored just channel surfing.
I decided that I needed to find some action. I threw my cleats and goalie gloves into a bag and grabbed my soccer ball.
I was going on a soccer-walk.
Like I said before, our place in Milwaukee didn't lack convenient nearby fields, it just lacked the bodies to field a full game. Within a 1/2 mile radius of our apartment in San Pedro I have four futbolito (indoor/outdoor small fields) fields and at least three full-sized fields.
Two of the fields were occupied by Sunday league games and you can't just walk onto one of those. But the other full field was a pick up game. Using exaggerated hand gestures and broken Spanish ("I am goalie. Can I play?") I managed to get in a game.
One of the great things about being a "portero" is that pick up games normally don't have someone that plays the position so the field player stuck in goal will gladly allow you to stand between the sticks.
The tough part is earning your keep. Playing keeper is a sink or swim sort of situation. You play well and you earn your keep; play poorly and leave with your tail between your legs (and the extra embarrassment as the 'gringo' who tried to run with the Hondurans).
It didn't start out well. Not a minute in one of my defenders gave up a hand ball and the subsequent free kick ricocheted off another defender and into the back of the goal. Not my fault really, but it certainly raises the tide on the whole sink/swim situation.
Luckily it was an aberration and the rest of the game I had much better luck. Add into the equation a torrential downpour and it was totally awesome. I had earned my keep and earned an invitation to return and play next Sunday.
I returned covered in mud and soaked to the bone, but the smile on my face certainly erased any frustration that Anah might of had with the mess I brought home.
Back in Milwaukee it was extremely difficult to get any soccer games under my belt. Sure, I played indoor once a week, but if I ever wanted to find a pick up game or get any practice in for said indoor games... sorry no dice. Made doubly painful was the fact that I couldn't just go to any nearby field (there were plenty of those) and practice by myself. Being a goalie doesn't allow oneself the luxury of practicing alone (you kinda need someone to shoot on you).
Early yesterday afternoon, Anah and I returned from Lago de Yajoa (more on this in another post). I certainly was in no mood to begin any school-related work (I save that for the last minute!) and was bored just channel surfing.
I decided that I needed to find some action. I threw my cleats and goalie gloves into a bag and grabbed my soccer ball.
I was going on a soccer-walk.
Like I said before, our place in Milwaukee didn't lack convenient nearby fields, it just lacked the bodies to field a full game. Within a 1/2 mile radius of our apartment in San Pedro I have four futbolito (indoor/outdoor small fields) fields and at least three full-sized fields.
Two of the fields were occupied by Sunday league games and you can't just walk onto one of those. But the other full field was a pick up game. Using exaggerated hand gestures and broken Spanish ("I am goalie. Can I play?") I managed to get in a game.
One of the great things about being a "portero" is that pick up games normally don't have someone that plays the position so the field player stuck in goal will gladly allow you to stand between the sticks.
The tough part is earning your keep. Playing keeper is a sink or swim sort of situation. You play well and you earn your keep; play poorly and leave with your tail between your legs (and the extra embarrassment as the 'gringo' who tried to run with the Hondurans).
It didn't start out well. Not a minute in one of my defenders gave up a hand ball and the subsequent free kick ricocheted off another defender and into the back of the goal. Not my fault really, but it certainly raises the tide on the whole sink/swim situation.
Luckily it was an aberration and the rest of the game I had much better luck. Add into the equation a torrential downpour and it was totally awesome. I had earned my keep and earned an invitation to return and play next Sunday.
I returned covered in mud and soaked to the bone, but the smile on my face certainly erased any frustration that Anah might of had with the mess I brought home.
Happy Anniversary! (click here to comment)
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Labels:
wedding
Today, Anah and I celebrate six months of blessed marriage!
The Beer That Made Milwaukee Famous (Click here to comment)
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Labels:
beer
,
entertainment
,
homelife
,
San Pedro Sula
Finding decent beer in Honduras is an ongoing challenge for Anah and I. Our friend Jesse had warned us that, although cheap and plentiful, we would soon tire of the local beers. Thinking we were smartypants declaring "that no one gets sick of a cold beer in a hot country" we quickly dismissed Jesse's dire warnings.
He was right.
Like many things down in Honduras, he was right. Having returned from the land of dark beers and varied tastes (USA) drinking the local fare was becoming incredibly dull. The local beers (Salva Vida, Port Royal, Barena, and Imperial) range in taste from Bud Light to Miller Lite so the differences are not vast. Beer drinkers will also be disappointed to discover that the international choices are not much better. Heineken (along with American standards Budweiser and Miller Lite) shows up as the only other beer that could possibly be palatable to Hondurans.
I have attempted to literally "spice" up my beer drinking by incorporating the bland local brews into a Mexican concoction known as the "Michelada"." This wonder-drink is a mix of ice, lime juice, Worcester sauce, hot sauce and beer over the top of it with a salted rim. It goes without saying (but I will) that this is a much needed improvement.
Anah is still drinking the rum without complaints.
Still, an unmolested beer is desired from time to time and our salvation came in the form of an old friend. I had heard a rumor that this old friend had come to town and while there is no explanation how he got here or how long he would be sticking around, Anah and I welcomed him with open arms into our home. Meet our new friend:
Just like Boca Burgers, occasionally, a product that you would never imagine finding in Honduras shows up on the grocery store shelves. Without asking too many questions, my friend Sava and I picked up a case (not pictured) of the old Milwaukee standard and brought it to a party last night; a quick hit it was.
Now some may debate the quality of a beer like Schlitz, but let us set aside such petty squabbles and bask in the glory that is a piece of Milwaukee made such a journey to the remote corners of the world.
And just for the record, you still get the "Schlitzs" the morning after down here.
He was right.
Like many things down in Honduras, he was right. Having returned from the land of dark beers and varied tastes (USA) drinking the local fare was becoming incredibly dull. The local beers (Salva Vida, Port Royal, Barena, and Imperial) range in taste from Bud Light to Miller Lite so the differences are not vast. Beer drinkers will also be disappointed to discover that the international choices are not much better. Heineken (along with American standards Budweiser and Miller Lite) shows up as the only other beer that could possibly be palatable to Hondurans.
I have attempted to literally "spice" up my beer drinking by incorporating the bland local brews into a Mexican concoction known as the "Michelada"." This wonder-drink is a mix of ice, lime juice, Worcester sauce, hot sauce and beer over the top of it with a salted rim. It goes without saying (but I will) that this is a much needed improvement.
Anah is still drinking the rum without complaints.
Still, an unmolested beer is desired from time to time and our salvation came in the form of an old friend. I had heard a rumor that this old friend had come to town and while there is no explanation how he got here or how long he would be sticking around, Anah and I welcomed him with open arms into our home. Meet our new friend:
Just like Boca Burgers, occasionally, a product that you would never imagine finding in Honduras shows up on the grocery store shelves. Without asking too many questions, my friend Sava and I picked up a case (not pictured) of the old Milwaukee standard and brought it to a party last night; a quick hit it was.
Now some may debate the quality of a beer like Schlitz, but let us set aside such petty squabbles and bask in the glory that is a piece of Milwaukee made such a journey to the remote corners of the world.
And just for the record, you still get the "Schlitzs" the morning after down here.
Honduran Specialties #1 (click here to comment)
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Honduras
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San Pedro Sula
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Specialties
In an effort to cover some of the more minute details of our life down here in Honduras (read: hopefully not too boring for you all), Anah and I are going to start documenting some of the day-to-day aspects of our life. Some interesting, some funny, and probably most of them downright bizarre.
Today, we'll start with a "bizarre" one.
Honduras is a country with a little crime problem. Suffice to say that the police presence is around, but rarely doing much of anything. Major US cities usually have the sounds of police sirens, which we usually translate to believing they are moving about chasing suspects, arresting individuals, and responding to the citizens' needs.
I have never heard a Honduran police siren since moving here. I saw them arrest somebody for the first time two weeks ago (although that was hauling a guy off a van for no apparent reason), but other than that they are good at one thing only: check points.
Every once in a while a trio of officers will park their truck (no cruisers) and place a pair of traffic cones in the middle of the street. Seemingly with no rhyme or reason they will flag down a vehicle for "document" inspection. Think the sobriety check points in the states, but without the public's well being in mind.
I've heard that if you don't have the proper documents the officers will write you a ticket, which you can either clear up with a bribe (probably the whole point of the exercise in the first place) or pay the actual ticket at the police station. The rule is that the police will take your driver's license and keep it until you pay the ticket.
Problem (for the police that is) is that its cheaper to go to the DMV (the Honduran equivalent) and get a new license than it is to pay the fine. So Honduran police, lacking a computer system to check who has paid and not paid, sit on tons of licenses and empty pockets. The only reason not everyone just skips the ticket is that the Honduran DMV is like the one back in the states only IN HONDURAS so imagine what that is like.
The whole point of the story is that the police set up a check point this afternoon and Anah and I walked past it on our way home from the gym. The police, per usual, flagged down a brand new Toyota Tundra to check its documents.
As the officer was looking at the driver's papers, the passenger of the vehicle (a middle-aged woman) rolled down the window and THREW A BUNCH OF TRASH OUT INTO THE STREET. Given that that is not normally acceptable behavior at all (Mom, remember that time you scolded that one woman for littering?), it was especially shocking to watch this woman do this in front of the officer.
It was one of the more US-to-Honduras-disconnects that we had had in awhile. Its easy to understand somethings, but the blatant nature of this offense was a HONDURAN SPECIALTY.
- Dan
Today, we'll start with a "bizarre" one.
Honduras is a country with a little crime problem. Suffice to say that the police presence is around, but rarely doing much of anything. Major US cities usually have the sounds of police sirens, which we usually translate to believing they are moving about chasing suspects, arresting individuals, and responding to the citizens' needs.
I have never heard a Honduran police siren since moving here. I saw them arrest somebody for the first time two weeks ago (although that was hauling a guy off a van for no apparent reason), but other than that they are good at one thing only: check points.
Every once in a while a trio of officers will park their truck (no cruisers) and place a pair of traffic cones in the middle of the street. Seemingly with no rhyme or reason they will flag down a vehicle for "document" inspection. Think the sobriety check points in the states, but without the public's well being in mind.
I've heard that if you don't have the proper documents the officers will write you a ticket, which you can either clear up with a bribe (probably the whole point of the exercise in the first place) or pay the actual ticket at the police station. The rule is that the police will take your driver's license and keep it until you pay the ticket.
Problem (for the police that is) is that its cheaper to go to the DMV (the Honduran equivalent) and get a new license than it is to pay the fine. So Honduran police, lacking a computer system to check who has paid and not paid, sit on tons of licenses and empty pockets. The only reason not everyone just skips the ticket is that the Honduran DMV is like the one back in the states only IN HONDURAS so imagine what that is like.
The whole point of the story is that the police set up a check point this afternoon and Anah and I walked past it on our way home from the gym. The police, per usual, flagged down a brand new Toyota Tundra to check its documents.
As the officer was looking at the driver's papers, the passenger of the vehicle (a middle-aged woman) rolled down the window and THREW A BUNCH OF TRASH OUT INTO THE STREET. Given that that is not normally acceptable behavior at all (Mom, remember that time you scolded that one woman for littering?), it was especially shocking to watch this woman do this in front of the officer.
It was one of the more US-to-Honduras-disconnects that we had had in awhile. Its easy to understand somethings, but the blatant nature of this offense was a HONDURAN SPECIALTY.
- Dan
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