New Year's Eve Eve...

New Year's Eve in Honduras...  Several people have asked me what it's all about, how Hondurans celebrate. Well, let me tell you, Hondurans celebrate New Year's.

A lot.

Loudly.

For hours.

Now, many of you have read my Facebook updates about firecrackers and fireworks.  People light them off often.  For various saints' birthdays and other celebrations within the Catholic church calendar.  People set off firecrackers at many different family celebrations.  People set off firecrackers just because.

A lot.

But on New Year's Eve, all bets are off.  In fact, the holiday celebration really gets going about two weeks before Christmas.  As various fireworks stands pop up all over town, so does the increase in frequency and intensity of fireworks and firecrackers.

So, back to New Year's Eve...

Many families have parties.  Like most cultures, any time you can get together with family and friends is a good one!  The highlight of the night, however, is not the parties, but the fireworks, firecrackers, and blowing up the old man.

Yes, you read that correctly: blowing up the old man.  El viejito.  El anciano.  El pichingo.

The old man is like a scare crow, only it's stuffed with firecrackers.  Lots and lots of firecrackers. More firecrackers than you can possibly imagine.

At midnight, you "light him up".  But first, he's doused with gasoline to make sure that he burns completely.  It's crazy.  Firecrackers exploding, fireworks going off everywhere, and fires blazing every few houses as the old men burn.

A well-constructed pichingo can easily burn for 20 minutes.  Sometimes more.  And just when you think that all the firecrackers have exploded, you get surprised by a whole new string of them.  Yes, it's quite a show.

Of course, with all of the fireworks, firecrackers, and men burning, the air gets quite thick with smoke.

Firecrackers continue all night long, until 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning.  Then it's quiet for a few hours.  Around 6:00 or 7:00, after people have caught their breath a bit, firecrackers start up again.  The firecrackers continue with gradually diminishing intensity for about the first two weeks of January.

And that, my friends, is how Hondurans celebrate New Year's!!

On a Roll...

Interestingly, after yesterday’s post where I mentioned that I had been thinking about a road bike and then, BOOM, a guy showed up offering me one, I’ve received several messages and emails about it.  Some have wondered if it might not have been God providing a bike for me.  Believe me, I definitely thought of that.  A lot.  It was an older bike and, although it looked like it was in good condition, – as much as I could tell from where I was – there are just too many things that I wouldn’t be able to adequately check on it, like chain wear.

Me?  I chose to look at it as an opportunity to differentiate between a need and a want.  Sure, I probably could have come up with the 6000 Lempiras the guy wanted, or talked him down a little, but, honestly, do I really *need* two bikes here?  I think not.

OK, on to my story about the two drunks:

I wanted to get some extra miles yesterday and even a little extra work on the hills, so I decided to head back up toward the Volcán for a second time.  I was not planning to go up very far, but just get some extra mileage.

I was not too far off the boulevard, not quite up to the cemetery yet, when I noticed that all the cars in front of me were stopped, and one of them appeared to be blocking the road.  “Oh, great!” I thought.  “I’ve run into a political protest or something.” I quickly scanned the road to see where I could bail out, but there was nowhere.  I kept riding closer since the cars were actually getting through, albeit slowly.  That’s when I saw it:  two guys on the ground in the middle of the street, throwing punches at each other.

Seriously.  I saw two guys rolling around in the middle of the road slugging it out.  Then, they both got up and one picked up a rock and threw it at the other one, letting out a string of obscenities along with the boulder.  He seemed to have a pretty good arm, but kept missing the other guy, who, as you might imagine, was also throwing rocks at his attacker.

Now, these weren’t just little stones.  They were big.  Huge!  I’m talking baseball- to softball-sized rocks, and there appeared to be no shortage of them.  Remember, I’m still riding forward while all this is happening.  By now, I’m riding as far to the right side of the road as possible and trying to dodge the rocks as they roll toward me.  One actually hit my front wheel, but glanced off of it.

As soon as I could, I picked up the pace and cleared the area.  So did all the cars that had been in line.  One car in front of me, once clear of the melee, started telling cars traveling in the opposite direction, those headed directly toward it, what was going on.  After about three blocks or so, that car pulled off to the side of the road.  I decided to go up and talk to the driver for a minute.

The woman driving still had her window down, so as I got closer, I called out a friendly greeting so that I didn’t startle her.  I told her that I had never seen anything like that here and asked her if it happens a lot.  She told me that, no, it was very, very rare, but the two guys were both drunk – which was pretty obvious.  She said that she just wanted to make sure that the people driving toward it didn’t get their  cars damaged by the rocks.

After that exchange, I continued on, riding a little bit further than I had planned to since I wanted to give both guys plenty of time to cool down and hopefully be gone on my return trip.  By the time I turned around and started back to town, the fight was just a distant memory, with only rocks and bags of trash marking the scene.  I even figured out the probable cause of the fight: a turf war.  Over garbage.  At the corner nearest the fight, there were lots of bags of trash and the guy who first started throwing the rocks was happily going through the trash, looking for treasure.  My guess is that the second guy stumbled upon, literally, all the trash and thought *he* would pick through it.  That turned out to be the wrong thought.

Looks like there really is never a dull day around here – on or off the bike!

Another Day in the Saddle...

For the third day in a row, I got out on my bike today.  Each day I've been increasing my mileage just a bit.  Saturday was 10 miles, yesterday 13.5 miles, and today 18 miles.  I felt really good when today's ride was over and I could tell that I'm getting back just a little bit of muscle tone.

Today’s ride started out like many of my rides, except that today was a bit windier.  In fact, for a while I felt that I was riding in Kansas, except for dodging the cows and pigs.  And the taxis.  Oh, and there are no palm trees or other tropical plants in Kansas.  OK, so I guess the Kansas analogy falls flat.  But, it was windy.

I decided to ride pretty much the same route that I’ve been riding the past few days.  So, at the appropriate spot, I turned off the boulevard and headed up toward the Volcán.   As I was riding along I started thinking about the trip I’m planning to do in January.  It’s a cross country bike ride here in Honduras and there will be lots of mountain miles.  Lots of uphill.  And, thankfully, lots of downhill.  I was thinking about how hard it’s going to be to do a ride like that on my mountain bike, even though I’ve done things like put thinner, slick tires on it.  It was one of those moments when I was thinking how nice it would be to have a road bike here. 

When I was a little more than a mile outside of town  a blue SUV pulled up next to me.  The guy slowed down to match my pace and opened his window.  He started asking me about my bike.  He told me that a road bike is much easier on the pavement than my mountain bike.  I told him he was right, but I have thinner tires on this bike.  I told him I had a road bike in the States that I ride when I visit there.  Then the guy told me that he has a road bike, and that he had it with him in the back of the car.  He rolled down the back window and, lo and behold, a road bike.  I stopped and we talked for a few more minutes. The bike was fairly old; it was still and it had down tube shifters.  I couldn’t see the brand, but it looked like a Bianchi, which was confirmed when the guy told me it was Italian.  Then he got to his main point:  he wanted to sell me the bike.  I asked him how much he wanted for it and he told me 6,000 Lempiras  (about $300).  I told him I couldn’t afford that and then he asked me how much I could afford.  I was able to graciously got out of the conversation without buying the bike and rode on.

Looking behind me in my mirror, I saw that the guy turned around and headed back into town.  Hmmm… He must have seen me riding by, tossed his bike in the car and chased me down.  Yeah, it was slightly tempting to buy a road bike, but without some serious test riding, I’d have no idea what I’d be getting into.  Besides, I’ve determined that I’m going to be in good enough shape to do the week-long trip in January on my mountain bike and still have a good time!

Tomorrow I’ll tell you about another first: two drunks and a rock fight!

One Day, Two "Firsts"...

Yes, yes, yes.  I’m finally writing on my blog.  I know it’s been a while.  I could apologize and tell you it’ll never happen again, but we all probably know better.  Anyway, I’m baaaack…  Let’s move on.

This morning I went for a bike ride.  Nothing unusual about that.  About one-half mile into the ride, I was really tempted to turn around and go home. I was tired.  My legs felt heavy.  Every excuse I could think of came crashing through my mind.  Thankfully, I didn’t listen to the voices in my head and pedaled on and got to experience a “first” today.  Well, actually, two of them.

I had decided to ride up the Volcán, or at least as far as I wanted to, to get in just a little hill work.  So, I was out there riding, enjoying the view as I rode past a mango orchard.  I turned my head back toward the road, looked down, and there it was, about to be run over by my front wheel: a snake.  A very long, green, skinny snake.  Very much alive and crossing the road!

I swerved and just missed the snake by a few inches.  I continued to watch as it wriggled on on its journey across the road, not unaware that it had almost tasted death.  I had never seen a snake like it – at least not in person.  It was beautiful. Simply beautiful!  It was about 4 feet long, and had a pointed, triangular head and very skinny body.  I noticed that the head seemed disproportionately large, relative to its body. I was determined to figure out what kind it was as soon as I got back to my house.

As the excitement of my “find” wore off, I continued on and eventually turned around to head back to town.  Before making it back to Enlaces, I bought some avocados from a guy selling them from his bike.  Then I stopped at a little roadside stand where I’ve been buying bananas.  I’ve become a bit of a regular there: as I got off my bike, the man running it asked me how many bananas I’d like today.  Yeah, he knows his customers.

One other “first” happened today…  As I was coming down the Volcán and was almost back on the boulevard, I passed two guys riding in the opposite direction.  No big deal there; lots of people ride bikes.  But these two guys were wearing bike helmets, gloves and even riding shorts.  I’m not used to seeing that here.  Maybe, just maybe, I’ve started a trend!

Back at the house, I got on Google and found what I was looking for.  I had seen a green vine snake.  Mildly venomous to people, but not really aggressive toward humans.  One of the reasons I am so excited about today’s discovery is that I haven’t seen any snakes here while riding.  NONE.  Dead or alive.  Anyone who rides a bike a lot knows that’s pretty unusual.  I had even asked people if there were any snakes in Honduras, and was assured there were. 

Well, now I’ve seen a snake here.  Of course, it might be the only one in the country.

Not Just Another Day on the Bike...

I went for a bike ride today.  I had decided to go out to Ajuterique and Lejamani, and then on a bit more toward La Paz.-- pretty much the same route as last week, except that I would ride a bit further toward La Paz before turning around and heading back.

The day started out just like last week.  No big deal.  But then, less than 5 miles into the ride I started getting a few wolf whistles and shouts from guys as they would pass in trucks.  I kept riding.  More whistles.  Some "Hey, baby"s.  There was also the usual "have a good day" and "adios", which, even though it means 'good-bye', is also used as a hello greeting in passing. It sure seemed that there were a lot more men out today, and that translated to a lot more "guys being guys" stuff.

I rode through Ajuterique and on to Lejamani.  At about the 10-mile point, I started heading out of town and on toward La Paz.  I had planned to go until I hit around 12 miles and then turn back.

Well, I got a bit more than a mile out of town and I noticed that a motorcycle was coming up behind me, slowly, and much too close to my side of the road.  (Yes, I ride with a mirror.)  I mentally braced myself for him to say something as he passed me, knowing that he would be close enough for me to reach out and clock him with my left arm.  I was totally unprepared for what actually happened:

The dude, the jerk, the slimeball reached out with his right hand while passing and slapped my rear!  Well, actually, he didn't slap it as much as he let his hand linger.  The #$%&* copped a feel! I was mad!  "¡Qué bárbaro!" I yelled out.  'How rude!'  He turned around, made a gesture with his left hand as he did one of those kisses like when the food is really good.  I shouted it out again, "¡Qué bárbaro!"  He just laughed and kept riding, speeding up his motorcycle.

I was seething mad!  I honestly can't remember the last time I've been that mad.  It's a good thing he didn't come around for another pass, because I probably would have blinded the guy.  I kept riding, trying to calm down.  I wasn't scared, didn't feel in danger or anything, just ticked off beyond belief.

A few minutes later, before I turned around to head back, I noticed another motorcycle coming up right behind me, also driving slowly, hugging the side of the road.  "That's it!" I thought.  "This is not happening twice today."  I reached down and pulled out a full water bottle with my left hand, wielding it at my side as an obvious weapon. I flexed my water bottle-laden arm as menacingly as I could, hoping that the dude realized I was not to be trifled with.  I was fully prepared to clock the guy right there, in the middle of nowhere.

But, as the guy passed, I saw he was wearing a nice white shirt and a tie.  He was carrying a laptop bag or briefcase.  He looked at me, but didn't say anything at all, probably realizing that even a "hello" might be mistaken for anything else and get him a bottle upside his head. After he passed me, he pulled in front of me, but didn't speed up.  I realized that he couldn't; his motorcycle was probably broken.

As soon as I was at 12 miles, which was only a minute or two later, I turned around and headed back toward Lejamani. I figured I'd much rather deal with wolf whistles and comments than have my butt slapped again.  Especially when no one was around.  Shortly after I turned around, I saw two more guys on motorcycles also dressed in shirts and ties, going in the same direction as the guy who had passed me.  Maybe they were going to the same place?

In Lejamani I stopped at the same pulpería as last week.  I had sufficiently calmed down and had even had some friendly greetings as I passed some people right outside of town.  I talked to the people in the pulpería and the woman who runs it made sure that one of the other ladies working there knew I was from Comayagua and rode my bike all the way.

The 8.5 miles from Lejamani back to the main highway go by quite fast since most of the way is a very, very slight downhill.  As I was cruising I started thinking: I just turned 50 this week, but somehow managed to get more whistles and "woo hoos" or whatevers, than I ever have on the bike here.  They're just seeing a female on a bike.  I think most of them would be totally amazed, and probably grossed out, to realize they just whistled at a 50-year-old.

Oh, and after talking to Trifi and telling him and Erica about what happened today, I now have a few new choice, non-cussing but still insulting, things to say if I ever need it.

La Via Dolorosa...

Shortly before 9:00 am on Good Friday, a mass is held in one of the Catholic churches that is a block away from the Cathedral.  At 9:00, the processional begins to leave the church, recreating the Via Dolorosa, the way of suffering.

Leading the way is Jesus, carrying a cross.  Jesus is also accompanied by several "little Jesuses" -- young boys (5-7 years old) -- who are also carrying crosses and wearing crowns of thorns.

Jesus at the front of the processional.

Jesus is followed by several priests and altar boys.  A few of them have the incense burners.

Near the front of the processional.

Then comes the cardinal.  He is singing, and leading the people in singing.  He also stops at many of the alfombras and blesses them -- if the group that created them has paid for them to be blessed.  If the alfombra is blessed, the whole group following will walk over the alfombra, which of course ruins it in no time.  But that is part of the sacrifice.

Leading singing and then blessing various alfombras.

Next comes the big float.  There's no other word for it, really.  That's what it is.

This float came out of the church doors that are in the background.

It takes a while to get the float out of the church, safely under the power wires and then maneuvering a turn.

Making the turn amidst all the people.

They use a pole to slightly lift the power wires.

A marching band follows behind the float.  It always sounds eerily like the band in the wedding scene in The Godfather when Michael Corleone is in Sicily and gets married.  A somber march.    As the whole procession passes by, onlookers and tourists will get in line and become part it.  They will stop at each of the stations of the cross and there will be recreations of the scenes depicted.

Getting ready for the 2nd station of the cross.

Another station.

If the cardinal blesses the alfombra, he and the entire group will walk over the carpet as they proceed.  If it is not blessed, the cardinal and entourage walk on one side or the other of it.  Only the float will walk over it since that's unavoidable.

This is an example of when the bishop does not walk on the carpet.

 After the procession passes, many people will reach down and scoop up or pick up some of the remaining sawdust.

One of these years, I'd like to actually help make an alfombra.  I'm sure it's a bit of a party atmosphere out there.

Las Alfombras de Comayagua...

I love Las Alfombras, the sawdust carpets that are created for Good Friday every year.  Groups and families start late Thursday night, well, actually, early Friday morning creating colorful carpets that will soon be history.

One of my favorite things to do is go downtown early on Good Friday to take photos.  I try to leave my house by 6:30am, or earlier.  Why?  Why do I get up so early on a day off?  Well, there are a couple of reasons: The walk downtown is peaceful and I get to see a few alfombras that are not part of the main processional.  I also get to see people still working on the alfombras.  I get to take pictures before it gets too crowded.  And, I get to enjoy the cool of the morning.

The main 'ingredient' of the carpets is sawdust.  Colored sawdust.  But other ingredients, mostly natural, are also used: pine needles, tree bark, salt, egg shells, beans, rice, stones, flowers, plastic flowers, etc., etc.  Elaborate designs are created.  And various templates are made. 

The results?  Well, judge for yourself:

I really love the use of an irregular border -- of flowers.

Lots of details.

This alfombra is still in process.  Here's an example of templates that are made.

This one was my favorite of the day and it used lots of different materials.

At 9:00am the procession of the Via Dolorosa starts.  They leave one Catholic church and walk through town, over the various alfombras and past the stations of the cross.  They end up at the Cathedral.  I'll post some pictures from it tomorrow.  I don't have many, because I never stay long for that part.  By then, it's hot and the whole procession takes several hours.

Celebrating Honduran Father's Day...

In Honduras, Father's Day is March 19.  We decided to celebrate by having a school talent show honoring fathers, with the proceeds going toward our high school kids, who were raising money to go to the Central American Student Convention the following week.  The holiday itself was on Monday, but we had the talent show on Thursday evening.  That worked well for the missions team that was here with us, as Thursday was the last day of medical clinics and the team did not need to spend the evening preparing for the next day.

The high school kids had food and drink for sale and two of our seniors were the emcees.

Alejandro and Eliany did a great job as emcees for the evening.

Starting with the 3-year-old pre-kinder class, each of the grades, through 8th grade, presented a song, a skit, a poem, etc..  Here are just a few of the many pictures I took that evening.

Here are the 3-year-olds.

These are some of the 4-year-old girls in our kinder class.

The prepa boys were dressed in their daddy's shirts, pants, and even shoes.

Jonathan, surrounded by some of the angels in his third grade class.

The 8th graders presented a human video showing what happens when we "touch" sin.

It was a great night.  Hundreds of parents and family members showed up to support their kids.  And the high school kids did an awesome job of planning, directing, hosting, and making sure that everyone had fun.

After the show was over, we got the Center cleaned up and things put away just in time.  Just in time for a power failure!  The Michigan team was getting to experience part of our normal life that week: vehicle problems, schedule changes, power failures...  We all congregated out on the courts, enjoying a cooling breeze and even just a few drops of rain.  And laugh, lots of laughs.

A short time later, the power came back on and everyone started migrating toward their rooms to get that  last little bit of packing done.  The power had been out for just a bit more than a half hour.  Heck, that's hardly even worth mentioning.