She Started It!

Now my good friend from my beloved Wat/San group posted part of my blog in her blog, and considering I've wanted to copy ALL of her blogs for you guys to read, I know feel justified in doing so...

I'm not going to use her name, because she doesn't use mine, but she's lovely and I love her dearly and is absolutely hilarious! What she writes about is stuff I deal with daily as well, and since I haven't been good with updating, her writing will suffice for now. I'm sitting in my office reading her blog update, and just trying so hard not to fall on the floor laughing. So, enjoy...

So I survived my first earthquake last night at 2:30 in the morning. I am very south of the epicenter which was located off of the coast of Roatan so it affected my friends up in the North more than me. Up there it was a 7.1 and destroyed a lot of buildings, bridges, etc. I have no idea what it was down here, but it woke me out of a dead sleep. I totally thought somebody was breaking in because my bed is right under the window. I was convinced somebody was jumping on my bed. But then I realized where I was and that the bed was going back and forth and not up and down. And the rumbling sound. And you could almost hear people collectively holding their breath in all of Honduras. And then the children near the house were crying and I tried to figure out who I should call at 2:30am to say “WHAT WAS THAT?!?!? EARTHQUAKE??!?!?!?!” But I wasn’t sure how far out the earthquake reached and if I would wake anybody up. In retrospect I don’t think any of my friends would have been upset to get a phone call with me on the other line saying “AAAHHHHH!!!!!!!! EARTHQUAKE!!!!!” But instead I layed in my bed thinking “What am I supposed to do? Stop, drop, and roll!… no that’s not it… Duck and cover!… no that’s not it either…. Poop your pants!… nope… Stand in the doorway? I think that’s it.” And by the time I figured it out it was over. And then I thought “Should I get up? I don’t hear anybody else up. If I hear somebody up, I will get up.” And I heard my mom talking but that was it. So I thought, “Well, my host mom will save me. She’ll knock on the door if I need to get up.” So I rolled over and went back to sleep. Then this morning I woke up and my first thought was “HOLY SHIT! THAT WAS AN EARTHQUAKE!”

Almost the exact same thoughts I had that night too...

So let’s talk for a moment about bananas. The bananas here look like they have been thrown down a flight of stairs, trounced upon by a dance troupe, and then drug down the road by a horse. But they taste of heaven. I mean seriously. So there are a lot of different bananas and I’m not mistaking them for plantains. I’m not THAT white. I had my favorite for the first time today. They are yellow and red colored, about 4 inches long, and are fatter than the bananas in the states. They are still in the ginormous bunches and are sold out of the front of a house. And the nice toothless lady whacks off a few with a machete for 1 Lempira each. (1 dollar = 18.9 Lempira) They have a really nice banana taste but have an aftertaste that is nutty in flavor. Wow. Amazing. Don’t even get me started on the pineapples and mangoes.

So I tell you this not to make your mouth water in jealousy, but to tell you that there was a worm in my banana today. One time there was a worm in my apple when I was a kid and I didn’t eat apples for like months (sorry mom, I traded them… usually for fruit rollups… sometimes for those little canned hot dog thingies). But here a banana trade would probably land me with more corn tortillas. No thanks. And to waste food is like, super bad. Although I also have to say briefly, because I can’t tell a story without at least 2 asides, that they still tell their children that there are starving children in Somalia. WHAT?!?! You have starving children HERE! Like, right there dude! Like, tons of them! Anyway, so I just kind of looked at the worm (it was dead), shrugged, and ate around it. So the question to all of you is… was it the banana with the nutty flavor? I hope so.

Speaking of food, let’s talk about coffee. I must say that I was horribly horribly disappointed in the coffee here. I mean, I know I used to tell all of you how amazingly uber excited I was about going to Honduras who has some of the best coffee in the world. And I love coffee about as much as…. Well…. Let’s keep it PG. I love coffee. But then, I learned, that Honduras exports all of their good coffee. To whom? The United Freeking States of Preventing Becky From Getting Good Coffee. So instead we get the ghetto coffee remnants that they scoop up off the floor with dust and…. some other gross things and they call it coffee. But then, then I moved to Sabanagrande. One day, I was having dinner and occasionally my host mom gives me coffee with dinner. And one day, the coffee was….. delicious???? I was really confused. I looked around to see if I had woken from some bad coffee dream and was in a Vegan Hippie Independently Owned Free Trade Coffee Shop in some artist colony in Berkley, but no it was the same wall I stare at every evening! I know for sure because I usually stare at the fishing rod in the corner and think “Nobody uses a fishing rod in Honduras…. There isn’t even a river NEAR here…” I was so excited I sent text messages about coffee! I thought for sure she put something IN the coffee. I mean, it was honestly the best coffee I have ever had. Ever – no exaggeration. So I couldn’t let this phenomenon go! So I ask my host mom “What’s the difference between the morning and evening coffee?” “Why?” she asks. “Because it tastes much different.” “You didn’t like the coffee?” “NO! I LOVED the coffee! It’s really good!” “Oh, that’s because the morning coffee is Indio or Maya (like the Columbia House man with the sombrero and donkey vomited into a can and called it coffee). That coffee was from Marcala and is pure coffee.” SCORE!!!!! So, I happen to have two friends placed in Marcala. Guess who is going to Marcala? Guess what everyone is getting for Christmas? Trust me. You will thank me. I have tasted the hell and the heaven of coffee and lived to tell the tale.

My friend Kisser McGee just sent me a text message saying that a semi-pro Ping Pong player stopped by her house today to ask for help in starting a team. Let that be a lesson: anything is possible in Honduras.

One more thing about food. Let’s talk about meat for a moment. Now, most of you knew me when I was a devout vegetarian. And you all know I am a vegetarian in my heart and will very very likely go back to the way of the veg. But I must say, the meat here is really, really sketchy. I was shocked when my host brother-in-law’s brother (does that make him my like, my host second cousin or something?) told me that Honduras is known for the high quality of its beef. “LIARFACE!” I yelled at him. But apparently, Hondu really DOES have high quality meat! So, the next time you enjoy a delicious steak, think of Becky, who is eating the really really sketchy meat that is NOT shipped to the States. How sketchy you ask? Well let’s just say there is no such thing as rare, medium rare, medium, or medium well meat here. You get well, or weller, or shoe leather. It’s safer that way.