life changes

Who'd have thought? My last blog post was over two weeks ago. At the time, I had no idea that two weeks later, my bags would be packed up, then unpacked after a short plane trip in Honduras.

I post now from my twin-size bed in the city of Pena Blanca, Cortes, Honduras. Over 2100 miles away from home. Salsa music streaming in from neighboring houses and businesses. The air humid like south Florida. I live here now... this is home. WiFi is slow. Cellphone service is non-existent. Food, while tasty, is limited in variety. My life as I know it has completely changed in the past two weeks.

Toilet paper cannot be flushed, instead thrown in the trash bin. Food goes bad within days, as opposed to a week or two. The roads like the surface of Mars; rocky, bumpy, and no signs of order. Native Hondurans simply live life differently than back home in the United States. Shops close down at five o'clock. The sun rises around six in the morning, while still setting around six in the evening like at home. Cleanliness has gone way with the wind, as hands simply aren't clean anymore. Feet dirty from the sandals you wore walking down the dirt roads. The opportunity to take a shower presents itself every day or two, instead of as a daily ritual.

I hear raindrops pelting the steel roof of my house. It sounds like a monsoon, when in all reality it's likely a light sprinkle. But it rains often. Courtney said that it hadn't rained for a week, but this is the second evening in a row that it has rained. Last night presented itself with a torrential downpour for hours. Her and I ventured to the local pizzeria to grab some food, and walked through the roads, which now flowed like raging rivers. I appreciate the waterproof sandals I purchased. Being that I appreciate the rain, it's good to see and hear. Rain cleans the dirt off my sandals, cleans the roads, and cleans the houses. It's natures way of scrubbing down the local areas.

Today we went fishing on Lake Yojoa. It was one of the most beautiful lakes I've ever seen. Mountains surrounding the lake's perimeter, clouds covered their peaks in attempt to keep their true height a mystery. The water clear enough to see below ten to fifteen feet in depth. To fish, the guide presented us with pill bottles and fishing line that wrapped around them. Those were our reels. No rods, no live bait. Just a lure, line, and a pill bottle.

Needless to say, not a single fish was caught.

I attribute that to the time of day, which was 12 o'clock noon. Fish simply aren't hungry at this time, and the warm sun drives them away from shallow depths.

On Monday, I will be known as Mr. Ian. A fourth grade teacher at Lake Yojoa Bilingual School. I think of it time and time again. The name is a nice change of pace from Agent Gacek.