The first definition is all Brandon and Tian, who are installing some fancy shortcut to run a Linux operating system "virtually" from Windows so that we can use free, open-source educational software. You can see it in action above, which should be proof that we actually work here. Sometimes. The second definition approaches an idea that I often have. Honduras is simultaneously too fantastic and horrific to be a real place. The straight rows of palm trees in the palmeras go by our bus every day like a movie reel. The places we stop are either the stuff of charity infomercials or tantalizing commercials set in tropical paradises.
My prediction proved correct, except Sra. Cano invited us to lunch, not dinner. This is an all afternoon affair of fresh corn tortillas, chicken and rice, and pancakes with honey for dessert. And a guava tree in the backyard. Our entire hotel room smells like guava, now. So instead of smelling like five sweaty men every day, it smells like five sweaty gay men.
We escaped this thought today to Pulhapanzak, an impressive waterfall. Because of Mass and because Rodrigo and Dan are not immune to the endemic SuperMario craze we introduced to the city, we got a late start. Worried we would not be back at any safe hour, I voiced my doubts. No sooner did I conjecture we would end up dead in San Pedro Sula, the old Atlanta Public Schools bus we were on started pulling out of the El Progreso bus station. The sensation (at least for me) was like being a little kid on a roller coaster. You know it's supposed to be fun, but you're uncertain and very nervous, and then there's nothing you can do about it.
And what a ride it was. Chicken bus to San Pedro, all the while I couldn't lean back because the one-armed campesino behind me insisted on putting his stump behind my head. Crazy minibus through the San Pedro market to the other bus terminal, with some clown in a yellow soccer jersey hanging out trying to hustle people in to ride with us until this glorified minivan held no less than nineteen smushed $0.30 fares. Chicken bus to Rio Lindo. Hike through Nowheresville to the cataract we doubted the whole time was actually in this unassuming little mountain town.
Pulhapanzak is not the largest or most breathtaking, but in typical Honduran fashion you can pay a guide $5 to brave the currents with you, show you where you can safely cliff-jump, and crawl through the spray at the middle of the falls. Past twenty points you could ever take a camera. You can swim underneath and see the little caves and crawlspaces under the waterfall where Americans would only see potential lawsuits. You are buffeted by spray that is so strong you need to stay on all fours. When the only way down was a 25ft jump down a little waterfall into a tiny pool (the guide needed to throw a rock to show us where to aim our landing) Rodrigo and I gave it a "Wahoowa" for all our friends back in Hoo'ville. In the adrenaline rush directly under the plunge, we remembered to scream thanks to our JPC benefactors, though the ensuing laughter was lost in the crash of water around us.
Everything worked out well on the trip back, with the help of the same manic yellow-jerseyed minibus pimp we caught the last chicken bus to El Progreso, which had the same beggar lady with her same mentally-ill seven-year-old "baby" in the same grotesque poofy pink dress.
Pulhapanzak and monster babies. Virtually the best Honduran day imaginable.
I read your blogs lately and think you are ready to come home to the USA. Two weeks to go. I hope it's been worthwile. Your group has done amazing work. We are so proud of all of you.
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