[Puerto Cortés, Honduras] Oscar, Robert and Jason are napping while we wait for Oscar’s friend José to come with his car and take us out on the town. I’m tired too, but chances to write have been pretty rare, so I thought I’d take advantage of this one.
My hand is so sweaty it’s making the paper soggy. Still, it’s no worse than New York during a heat wave.
People keep asking me if Honduras is like I expected. The truth is, I didn’t have time to expect anything—I just showed up. Oscar met us at the airport in San Pedro Sula and took us in a taxi to his grandparents’ house for lunch. Robert, Jason and me, the Three Gringos. After lunch he took us across the street to the house where his aunt lives and showed us where we’d be sleeping. Then he whisked us off to the center of town to change money at the best (unofficial) rate. I went through all this in a jet-lagged daze. I hadn’t slept since I woke up at 8:30 am Wednesday morning to rent the truck, except for catnaps on the plane and in the car and on the bus. Actually, I’m still sort of dazed.
We’re in Puerto Cortés now, where Oscar’s parents live. Oscar lived here all his life until he went off to boarding school in the U.S. He’s got two younger sisters and a baby brother. We came here on the train, four hours from Lima, through the holdings of la compañia. I’m going to remember that ride every time I see the Chiquita label from now on.
I came here with two goals—to learn Spanish and not get sick—but the reality of this place is so strong it’s hard to keep that in mind. Everyone here boils their water, because of the cholera epidemic, but we’ve been eating everything they feed us—when you’re guests at someone’s home it’s impossible not to.
The Spanish they speak here is different from the Spanish they spoke in Spanish class. It’s going to take a while to get it into my ear. I feel like I’m semi-deaf. People talk to me and I don’t understand.
This morning Oscar’s abuelo took us to the place in the woods where he likes to get drunk with his friends. It’s a clearing with a sort of shed and a place to string a hammock. They cut us down some coconuts and we drank the water from inside. Then they gave us some guavas. Then they gave us some of the local rum (which was pretty powerful for the middle of the day, even mixed with Coke) and told us stories about various gringos they had known. Most of it went over our heads. Oscar arrived in time to translate. The old guys assured us that they didn’t have anything against gringos in general.
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