Americans Fire Rockets On Honduras

And the rockets red glare / the bombs bursting in air were not Venezuelan fighter jets dropping their first payload on El Progreso or the military shooting down Zelaya's plane. No, we were bringing a taste of independence to the Hondurans living under martial law, blasting open the curfew with bottle rockets, an old fan stand, and Bobby's American ingenuity...

...which you can see here, as we learned that the mortar could be easily in converted into a bazooka by someone sufficiently under the influence (of love for America) to take a faceful of sparks. We should have brought our alarm system along, except that it was installed yesterday in the (I am proud to report) now fully operational Alvaro Contreras Centro Basico computer laboratory.

The team split up. Brandon, Bobby, and I set out early to acquire an arsenal for the evening but had no luck in the centro. We asked one shopkeeper in a store full of policemen, and his expression of pure terror gave us the suspicion (later confirmed) that fireworks are illegal in Honduras. Particularly under martial law. And particularly past curfew. But the two Roberts were having serious America withdrawal.

The credit goes to Bobby, who contacted a man who knows these things, and drove 45 minutes into the mountains to a password-protected factory where they were making bottle rockets and firecrackers wrapped in yesterday morning's La Prensa. Did we trust them completely? No. But we were intent on recreating the Battle of Fort McHenry over the house across the street. Turns out we were packing some serious firepower.

Photo credits to Walker.

Of course a spontaneous party of Honduran girls-school students, itinerant backpackers, and our gang immediately collected around food, plentiful drink, and loud explosions. It raged long past the curfew, which we marked by firing a salvo of bottle rockets off to the blaring National Anthem. No doubt believing that the Marines had finally landed, the Honduran military stayed in their barracks and did not enforce the toque de queda. Good decision, catrachos. It was a night of firsts. Tian's first Budweiser. Dan's first kiss. My first time firing self-propelled explosives out of a short metal tube inches from my very-flammable-seeming beard.

Brandon and Tian had been replaced by Messrs. Beam and Kharkov by the time we staggered back to our hotel, rang the buzzer next to the gate, and got a bewildered look from Jose Santos, who must be absolutely convicted that our survival to date is only through constant miraculous divine interventions.

He probably has that right.