In the land of the taxis . . .

I love Copan Ruinas. Even though navigating the cobblestone streets on foot can be, at times, treacherous, there is a general understanding that if you have somewhere to go, you walk. Sometimes, in cases of sudden rainfall or a load too heavy to carry, you might catch a three-wheeled mototaxi, but walking reigns as the transportation of choice in Copan Ruinas.

Not so in Tegucigalpa. I arrived in the Honduran capital on Tuesday after a comfy, but long (eight hour!), bus ride from Copan Ruinas and quickly learned that gringas who don’t know the city have only one option: hail a cab. I didn’t walk more than twenty consecutive feet again until I got back to Copan.

The cabs in Teguc are pretty crazy. Getting inside one of them takes a great leap of faith – faith that the taxista knows where he is going (frequently not the case), that he will not rip you off (no meters, lots of arguing in Spanish), and that the car will not explode before you get to your destination (I could see the street through the floor of at least one cab).

Despite the challenges of Tegucigalpa transit, my trip to the capital was very valuable. I met my contacts at the U.S. Embassy in Honduras: Natasha, the U.S. Cultural Affairs Officer and Karla, the Cultural Exchange Specialist. Between the two of them, I think they know half of the educational leadership working in Tegucigalpa. Within twenty minutes of my arrival at the Embassy, they were making calls and, suddenly, I had a full schedule of meetings with leaders in Honduran education.

I kicked things off on Wednesday morning with a meeting with Jeff Lansdale, a Cornell educated gringo who is director of the Honduras Improving Student Achievement Project (MIDEH). MIDEH is responsible for the creation and implementation of the new Honduran national curriculum in Spanish and Mathematics. I also met with Bill Cartwright, former human rights lawyer and the current national director of The Riecken Foundation an organization installing bibliotecas publicas (public libraries) throughout Honduras.

In the afternoon, I headed over to the offices of USAID and met with Cynthia Chassy. She recently relocated from USAID South Africa to serve as director of the USAID Office of Education in Honduras. Finally, I headed to the Peace Corps Headquarters on foot! Though the headquarters was less than two blocks from my hotel, I managed to get lost en route and I found myself in yet another taxi. When I finally arrived, I spoke with Alejandrina Carrasco (the only native Honduran I met with), one of the Peace Corps directors. She and several PC volunteers are working actively with a handful of other organizations to convince the Honduran Ministry of Education to integrate civic education into the national curriculum. Their program is adapted from Project Citizen, an educational initiative started in schools throughout the United States.

My evening was rounded out with an event at the Alianza Francesa. I won’t go into too much detail, but I will tell you that I ate baleadas and rebuffed, in Spanish, the French Ambassador’s efforts to get me to sing karaoke in English. What a diplomatic nightmare.

Machine Washable?

Packing, for some of us, is a painful practice that usually results in a severely over-stuffed suitcase. When packing for a year, the selection process, of clothes in particular, can be agonizing. Apparently, this was not the case for Graham. He wisely limited himself to two pairs of khakis (the pants demanded by his teaching dress code at the Mayatan School) that could be washed at the end of each week. Brilliant . . .

. . . that is until you decide to play fútbol (soccer) with your students during recess.

I was writing emails at the Guacamaya School around 2pm today, when I heard my cell phone ringing. It was Graham and he had an emergency. He quickly relayed to me that he had fallen backwards into a huge hole full of mud (much to the delight of his students) and had destroyed his pants. This presented a problem for the following reasons:

1. I had the only keys to the house.
2. There was a parent meeting at 4pm.
3. We did not (and still do not) have a washing machine.
4. He only had two pairs of work pants.
5. His other pair of khakis were at the lavendería (laundry service).
6. These were his favorite $8 gap khakis he’d bought at Goodwill.

Of course, I rushed home to let Graham into the house, but we were at a bit of a loss. Then we remembered (as it began to rain), we do, it turns out, have an outdoor station for hand-washing. It includes:

1. One large sink.
2. One large basin with ridges.
3. A faucet.
4. A drain.

After thirty minutes of scrubbing, we were amazed. We had saved Graham’s pants using the most tested and true method of cleaning clothes. And, more importantly, we found a new (old) way to save money, electricity, and get exercise!

Our crash course in hand-washing clothes was just another adventure in our transition to the day-to-day routine of living in Copan. And, after a long first week of teaching (for Graham) and Spanish classes (for me), all I can say is: ¡Gracias a dios que hoy es viernes!

Check out Graham hand-washing his pants!