keeping it real

i had the thought today that perhaps our blog has been a bit one-sided lately. seems like we only post something when we're giddy from shock or light-headed from high-altitude pollution.

one of the reasons i wrote the AT book was because it always annoyed me that thru-hikers go around propagating this myth that the Trail is all sunshine and roses. i wanted to convey a bit more. so, in that vein, here's to keeping it real in honduras...

elisa and i agreed today that the honeymoon period is over for the most part. hard to believe but we're a couple days shy of a month in country now. personally, i think the honeymoon's been over for a couple weeks. the rosiness wears off pretty quickly in the third world.

don't get me wrong. we haven't regretted coming for a single moment. we already love this place. but the rosiness wears off...

my students speak to each other in rapid-fire spanish all around me--in my class. they speak to me in English of course, and don't quite know that i don't quite know what they're saying...but that's a pretty out of control feeling.

in many ways, i feel like a little child. my spanish is at about the level of a 2 or 3 year old. i don't have a vehicle so i can't get myself anywhere. i'm not sure that i'm of any real use to anyone at this point. most days i wander home thinking 'well, at least i didn't majorly screw anything up today, so that must be good.' i can barely take care of myself much less do something meaningful for someone else.

i got kicked out of a casino yesterday (that i obliviously wandered into--i mean when was the last time you saw a casino at the mall?) because i wasn't wearing any 'zapatos'...i had on sandals. apparently, down here, real men don't wear sandals or go for a workout at Body Gym.

on my way down the hill to the grocery store, a very young man sits all day. he is 25 or so. his eyes have been put out horribly, and his cane has worn a rut in the dirt in front of him. back and forth, back and forth, all day, every day.

two men comb through our trash in the early hours every morning before anyone can spot them...or more likely run them off. last night we left extra fish tacos for them.

my spanish tutor's 6-yr-old son geovani is without a father because an arms dealer had him executed. he was a military policeman who reported a missing cache of weapons.

so, i guess, i'll just keep getting up in the mornings and keep working and keep breathing and praying and just being. and eventually, maybe, i'll be able to lead someone else by the hand for a few little steps.

here's to keeping it real in honduras...