Cheese and Ramblings

I just discovered that Bourbon ate the remainders of a block of cheese that I had bought. He’s lucky it wasn’t American cheddar or mozzarella, because I most certainly would have disowned him. You don’t eat a woman’s cheese when the best cheese she can get in mozzarella. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not hating on mozzarella, but what I wouldn’t give for a cheese as interesting as the little piece of stinky cheese Chris and I encountered in Belgium … well, let’s not go there.

Now, I want to explain to you why I had such a block of cheese in my possession because it’s an interesting story. Being me and not trusting my abilities to chop things with a machete, the grass around my house has gotten increasingly taller. Bourbon started getting lost, which says a lot because he isn’t a small dog. Anyways, I was notified that the municipality was going around fining people for high grass in their yards. Now I find this HILARIOUS! They can’t people to pay their electric, water and cable bills, but by God you better believe they’ll fine you for that high grass. Now, I understand that there have been increasing cases of hemorrhagic dengue and high grass tends to breed mosquitoes, but … seems unfair.

Anyways, went the house of the family that owns my house to translate the knobs on their washing machine and mentioned that I needed help finding someone to chop the high grass. The Dona offered up her grandson, but hinted that there would have to be some sort of compensation for his time. Immediately his aunts jump on the opportunity to embarrass him and suggest that a kiss for me would be sufficient. Not wanting to go too far down that road, I offered to make him a pizza. The very small circles I run in, people have been slowly realizing that I make pizza. Generally this comes into play when they ask if I can cook and I offer up that yes, indeed I can, and I like to make pizza.

Well, I kid jumps on the idea of pizza (ham and cheese) and I breathe a sigh of relief that I won’t have to shell out 100 Lemps for his time. So, I went and bought a big block of cheese to make said pizza (and just eat slivers … all the time). Now, how did Bourbon get it? Well, I made lunch and left the cheese on the counter and being the bigger dog that he is it was within easy reach. It was devastating really because I was going to make another pizza for my host family.

Still on the subject of cheese … My friend Jackie, who is an open-minded Honduran, loves cooking and food. I told her when she visits the States I’m going to go to Whole Foods cheese section and show her what good cheese really is. I’m sure she won’t like the cheeses, but I will and as long as someone in the world appreciates it then we aren’t all doomed.


So I’m still doing my English classes at night. Now, I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t think about quitting like every day. The kids aren’t learning because they refuse to allow themselves to even believe that they possibly could begin to understand a different language. The one girl in my classes who seems to have a gift with languages is intent on leaving Corquin because she broke up with her boyfriend and the world has come to an end. Teenagers.

I consulted a bunch of people on whether they thought I should quit and most said yes, because I generally don’t have time and it seems like a waste, but when I went back that one night and had so much fun with my kids. I’ve been teaching there for a year now. Can you believe it? I have developed a good relationship with a few of the girls and often find myself giving them boy advice. They never like to hear what I have to say, though. I’m too practical and encourage them to enjoy their youth, while all they want to do is have babies and get married (in that order as well).

There are several more boys in my class now and I have always been partial towards boys. One insists that he is going to marry me and also claims he is 9 years older than he is (to make him 24 years old too). I just find it so hard to grasp the concept of openly hitting on your teacher. In middle school and high school kids always had crushes on teachers, but can you imagine what would happen to them if they openly voiced their feelings? It’s always funny to think how different things are here. If I complained to the guy who runs the program he would probably slap the kid on the back and join the kid in hitting on me.

Nonetheless, the boys are funny and provide a lot of entertainment. I’ve become especially fond one of the kids, Carlos. He did something the other night that reminded me of Will, which just melted my heart. His older sister is in the class as well and one night we were leaving the classroom and I walked part way with them. He was so sweet and held the umbrella for his sister. Of course, when I pointed it out he stopped and called her stupid, but there was a sweet moment there.

Point is they’re just funny and fun to hang out with. Granted, they piss me off too, but I never thought I would enjoy interacting with kids and definitely not teaching them. I mean, come on, most people who know me will readily acknowledge that I’m even more awkward with kids and most certainly babies.

Do you realize how hard it is for me to operate here not really liking children? The easy way to win people’s hearts is through their children. Any meeting, any encounter with new people in this country and I generally find it easier to hang with the children to win their trust. I do this in a different language. Kids don’t go easy on you: they don’t speak slower, they still use slang and they will call you out when you make mistakes. It’s brutal. I will leave you to reflect on this thought and laugh at the imagined awkwardness.

Anyways, so I tried to quit my classes and couldn’t because I like the relationship I have with my kids. The other woman who taught for almost 5 months (she lasted the longest) recently quit and there are two new girls helping. I kind got a smug satisfaction when I got back from Teguz and a bunch of the girls ran up to me, yelling my name and gave me big hugs. I’ll admit it, I was like, “Yeah, they’ll never like you like they like me!” Hahah.

So it’s been raining here a lot. My kitchen floor is permanently wet because of leaks in my roof and my ceiling tiles have grown record amounts of mold. My motivation of keeping my house clean was quickly dashed by the numerous puppy foot prints everywhere. The gross factor of my house has been elevated by the humidity.

In my life of housekeeping it’s all or nothing. Either everything is cleaned and kept “nice” or nothing is. So if the floors can’t be clean then there’s really no point in cleaning the dishes in a timely manner. Problem with that is that with the constant rain mold starts growing exponentially faster and I don’t have the patience to deal with moldy food. So gross. Kathryn came over once and told me I live like a bachelor. People think I won’t let anyone come into my house because I don’t want them to see all my grand possessions, but it’s really that I’m embarrassed by the appearance of my house. I don’t mind it, but Hondurans are so meticulous about cleaning and they would be appalled.

I’ll tell you another thing about my living situation … If I have one more person question me about my living alone I might punch them in the face. Generally, this is how a conversation goes:

“So where do you live?”

“In a house near the plazita … below the stairs of the Church of San Isidro.”

“Ahhh ya. Who do you live with?”

“I live alone.” If Bourbon is with me, “Just me and my dog.” At this comment I get a sympathetic look like I’m a cat woman or something.

Then I am asked if I eat out every meal (all Hondurans are convinced that Americans cannot cook our own meals and we eat at McDonalds morning, noon and night).
Now, I always seem to be having this conversation with women only. I guess men don’t find it appropriate to ask or don’t really care about my living situation.

“Aren’t you scared that someone is going to come to your house and attack you at night?”
Well … I hadn’t been before, but now that you all mention it … YOU’RE STARTING TO FREAK ME OUT!

Single Honduran women would never dream of living alone until they were married. Jackie lives alone too and she gets SO much crap from her friends. Find a man, marry him and then you won’t be alone; doesn’t matter who, just get it over with. They seem so concerned for our well being, but not in the nice way, but like they pity us. Like, I don’t have any other options but to live with my dog. Then, they look at Bourbon and say, “Well at least you have him to take care of you …” The conversation is just dripping with pity and I want to smack everyone.

Oh, this is also generally accompanied with an inquiry into my marital status. When they find out I’m not and never have been married, do not have children, do not have a boyfriend and live alone … well they basically give me look like, “Wow you fail at life. How can you possibly be happy?”

With all this rain the lights have been going out a lot and I spend a lot of nights in complete darkness. Such conversations always come back to haunt me, but luckily instead of feeling sorry for myself I just get angry. God help anyone who did ever break into my house because I would have been going over these comments in my head long enough to turn into Hulk if anyone tried to mess with me.

Just a little ramble on Honduran life. I’ve been meaning to clean my house all day, but I’m ready the Time Traveler’s Wife and absolutely cannot put it down. Plus, I’ll admit, I just don’t want to clean my house.