It's The Little Things

I've been here for a little less than 1 month now and I've started to fall into the easy-going lifestyle that encompasses Honduras.

I've found my routine, my rhythm for my day-to-day life here. And in doing so, I have truly discovered that it really is the little things in life that matter the most. Extremely cheesy/corny expression, but it is so true.

Strip away the glamour, the materialistic things, the unnecessary items that we grow so accustom to having in the United States, and happiness is still there. It's hidden among the day-to-day customs that most people look right through.

I think, as Americans, or wherever you come from, that we sometimes underestimate the influence and the power of little, simple things in life.

My life here in Honduras is anything but perfect, yet I feel happier here than I have in a long time.

The routine that I have established here is so simple, that most would become easily bored with it. However, I look forward to these little things that make up my day:

• Stopping at a little pulperia (front porch of a local's house) to get the coldest, most flavorful orange juice I have ever tasted in my life. It comes in a bag, with a straw, and costs about 40 cents. It's a necessity walking back home after class on a hot day. 

• Seeing the mountains in the distance as I walk to and from each of our classroom locations. On days when it's cloudy, the mountains are barely visible. But when there are few clouds in the sky, the mountains are so clear, and so beautiful. The pictures do not do them justice. I often find myself staring at them, wondering how I get to call them part of my home.

•  Being awoken every morning to the sound of bus horns, roosters and chickens, and children's voices. Some of you might remember that in my first post, I hated the bus horns and the chickens. But now, I am so use to them, and they have become something that I expect each and every morning. They are my natural alarm clock, and without them I wouldn't be able to wake up as early as I do every morning and begin my day.

•  Family dinners. Easily one of my most cherished times in Honduras. Living here, with volunteers from all over the world, is exactly like having a big, extended family. We are all here for the same reason, even though we are all so different. Hanging out together at beach house and having dinners together is such a special time and I feel so lucky to be surrounded by so many loving people. (And the food is always amazing.)

•  Playing volleyball every Sunday evening with the volunteers and some of the locals who are around my age. Yes, that's right, I play volleyball. As most of you reading this probably know, I am not athletic at all, and I typically resent playing any sport. But here, playing beach volleyball with no shoes, is something that I quite enjoy. Even though I am no where near good at it, I still look forward to Sunday evenings on the beach, smacking a ball around.

•   Riding in a "tuk tuk", a little motorized scooter that takes us anywhere in El Porvenir for only 10 Lempira; about 40 cents. Being squished in one of these, with music blasting and the wind blowing on your face is nothing but happiness. 

•  And of course, I have to mention the kids. The kids are truly happiness in little human form. Apart from the amazing class time I spend with them, I often see them in the streets as I walk to beach house from my house, or to the beach or pulperias. They run up to me, with giant smiles and attack me with hugs and "holas". A group of girls who frequent Centro Class, which is my main class, follow me from my house to the other volunteer house and beg me to play Spanish songs on my phone for the duration of the walk. This is such a special time for me, when they go out of their way to walk with me. 

Life in Honduras is nothing like I have ever experienced in my 23 years. It's filled with endless mosquito bites, waking up with little snakes on your shoulder (yes, this was horrifying), and dripping in sweat 22 hours of the day. It's consistently being itchy, hot, and all around uncomfortable feeling. But it's so much more than this. Those few bullet points are just a small, small portion of the little things that make up my life here in Honduras. They may be little things, but they have such a large impact on my happiness, and truly make me feel at home.

No matter where you are in the world while reading this, take a moment to step back in your life and take time to appreciate these little, day-to-day things. Strip away the materialistic, trivial things in your life just for one day and take time to admire the everyday things that make up your routine. And I promise you in doing so, that you will discover a happiness like you have never felt.

Cayos Cochinos

Cayos Cochinos, or the Hog Cays in English, are a group of about 15 islands on the coast of Honduras. Two of the islands are bigger, and the other 13 are extremely small. Yesterday I had the pleasure of visiting a few of these islands and staying overnight on one of the smaller islands.

When the opportunity of traveling to Cayos for a weekend getaway was presented to me, I immediately said yes and imagined the perfect mini vacation. What I imagined (a touristy vacation) ended up being completely the opposite: this weekend getaway include just about as much culture as actually living in El Porvenir.

My weekend started at about 5:45am when I woke up yesterday to be ready to leave for Cayos by 6:30 am....however we didn't end up getting picked up until about 8:00am. Honduran time is definitely a thing. From my village, 6 of us are piled up in the back of a truck and trek through gravel roads, fast lane roads, and pure stone roads for about an hour and a half. During this truck ride, I got to see so much more diversity and culture that Honduras has to offer. I wish I would have taken pictures for this part of the journey.

After the extremely bumpy truck ride, we get to this brown river where we are going to take a boat to the islands. Honduran time comes into play again, and we end up standing around in this super small village consisting of 2-3 shacks and a bunch of men for about a half an hour. Eventually, we board the boat: an old speed boat of some sort.

The boat ride starts out slowly in the river and then quickly picks up speed as we change from the river to the ocean. The boat is jumping and flying over waves and we get soaking wet during this ride. Once we arrive on the island we will be staying on, the Honduran culture is everywhere. We are greeted by so many smiling faces, little kids running up to us, and the sound of ocean waves all around. The island is gorgeous: white sand, turquoise water, and blue skies for days. About 15 little huts line the island in the center and the ocean is on both sides of the huts - super small island!

We put our stuff in the room where we will be staying: an upstairs attic-like place in a local family's shack. There are about 10 "beds" -wooden frames with sheets- in the room and a bamboo roof. Right after settling in, we are back in the boat and on our way to another island to snorkel.

I've been snorkeling a few times prior to this experience, but I have never been snorkeling in such clear water filled with life. It was simply beautiful. I took a few videos on my waterproof camera, but then it froze before I could take any pictures. Jellyfish, coral, and an abundance of fish swam under and next to me as we snorkeled. Even though it was extremely fun, I cut my snorkeling adventure shorter than the others, because the jellyfish freaked me out.

Once snorkeling ended, we went to a different island to see the famous pink boa-constrictor. We docked our boat and were immediately greeted by a little boy, maybe 5 years old, carrying a small pink boa around his neck. He offered it to us to hold, and a couple of the volunteers choose to hold it. Some of you know that I have had pet snakes in my past and held others while on vacation. But this one was a little too real for me, with its fangs visible. To hold it, I would have had to hold and squeeze the head, so I opted out.

It's midday now and we are all starving and ready for lunch so we head back to our island to eat. During this time, we get to relax on the dock laying in hammocks looking out at the ocean while the locals cooked us lunch: fish and rice. I have never liked seafood: the way it looks, tastes, or smells. But I promised my parents that I would try some "real" fish while in Honduras, and now I was presented with the chance. Except the fish came out with the head still visible, the bones still in it, and the tail right on my plate. Needless to say, it was an experience within itself. I picked around at the fish, tried some of the meat, and then passed it off to another volunteer to eat for me. I didn't like it, but at least I tried it.

The next several hours into the evening are filled with nothing but relaxing on the dock, playing with the local kids, swimming in the pristine water, and drinking the local Honduran beer.  It was by far the most relaxed I have been in the 2 weeks that I have been in Honduras.

We eat the best dinner I have had here -frijoles, eggs, coconut milk bread, and homemade milk butter- and then head to the beach the sunset. This was easily my favorite part of the entire trip. We sat in the sand, playing with the native children, and watching the sunset over the Caribbean. Everyone was so happy, always smiling and laughing: it really put things into perspective for me. These locals live on this tiny island with barely any electricity, sand as their floors, and bamboo as their shelter foundation. They don't have much, the kids don't have toys to play with, but yet they are all so happy. While sitting on the beach watching the sun go down and with a little boy on my shoulders, I couldn't help but feel content myself. Not having a wifi or connections to anyone besides the locals on this island made me feel nothing but pure bliss.

Our night ended with a bonfire on the beach and star gazing. For those of you in the United States, you have never seen the stars like how they are here. I'm talking absolutely no lights for miles and miles: the stars are brighter than ever and are plentiful. The milky way is extremely visible. Stargazing was definitely a highlight of this trip. I wish I had a picture, but it wouldn't do it justice. After, we crawled up the stairs to our "beds" to sleep for the night. The next morning, I was awoken by the sound of ocean waves and the local children laughing: no better alarm clock in the world. We were served a breakfast of pancakes and delicious coffee before boarding the tiny speed boat with a bunch of locals and heading back to the mainland to head home.

Needless to say, it was a vacation nothing like I have ever experienced before: no showers, no real bathroom besides the sea, and no A/C. But just good times, with great volunteers, and extremely friendly locals. Beautiful white sand, the prettiest water, and the hottest sun. It was the perfect Honduran weekend getaway.

Goodbye United States, Hola Honduras

I have officially been living in Honduras for 6 days. Last Sunday, I left everything I know, everything I'm comfortable with, to live a more simple life in Honduras. And let me tell you, I truly did leave everything I'm comfortable with back in the United States. Honduras is such a different world than what I am use to, or even comfortable with. Going into this experience, I knew that it would be difficult and hard to adjust to. But it was immensely harder than I originally thought. I consider myself to be a very flexible and adaptable person, not materialistic, and easygoing. But living here has really tested me in regards to those areas. My comfort zone has been stretched more than I ever thought possible. And it has taken me these 6 days to finally feel like I will be able to call this my home. And with that, I finally feel comfortable enough to start blogging and sharing my experiences. This post will be long, just because it will cover a week's worth of experiences.

Sunday-Monday:
I leave the United States filled with excitement, nervousness, and apprehension. But mostly excitement. The plane rides are easy and quick, and I soon find myself in San Pedro Sula, Honduras...In the airport....Where everything changes. Any excitement I once held has now disappeared and fear, dread, and regret have taken over. We land and I meet up with Anthony, another volunteer traveling from the United States. We go through customs, get our luggage, and then get major culture shock. Neither one of us speaks Spanish well enough to communicate our needs. Finally, I find an information booth with someone who speaks decent English. After an hour or so of being lost and confused, we buy our next plane ticket to the city close to our final destination. Meanwhile, I am drenched in sweat. 3 hours later and we are taking off on a little plane from Central Honduras to the coast of La Ceiba. This half hour plane ride was easily the highlight of my day: we weren't extremely high in the air, so we could see so much of the natural beauty that exists in Honduras. The mountains, pineapple fields, and finally the Caribbean.

From this tiny airport in La Ceiba, our taxi driver picks us up and we are off to a super market to buy groceries and then head to our house in El Porvenir. The next 5 hours or so are a blur of emotions: fear, regret, confusion and sadness. I have never experienced emotions so strong and negative in my entire life. Arriving at our volunteer house, I was ready to hop on a plane and go right back home. The culture shock that comes with moving anywhere different than your native country hits me. And it hits me hard. Nothing is the same here. Nothing is what I'm comfortable with. Everything is new and strange and scary. I don't feel comfortable or safe. And I miss home. The living conditions are much worse than I thought and I fear that I will not be able to live here. I quickly make up a plan to give it a week and then leave if I still don't feel comfortable. I don't unpack anything, besides my bed sheets so I can sleep tonight. Sleep? Yeah, right. More like waking up every 5 minutes from dripping in sweat, chickens and roosters clucking all night, and loud bus horns. Oh and a lizard crawling on my toes. Great first night!

I wake up Monday feeling worse than I have ever felt. I have morning class with 3 other volunteers from the other house and they pick me up to walk to PEP 3, a location about 15 minutes away. During this walk, my head is spinning and my stomach is rumbling. I haven't eaten anything. I don't trust the kitchen here or the living conditions enough to make any food. The volunteers ask me basic questions and give me a rundown of how class will go. I coast through, on auto-pilot, not really paying much attention. During class, I quickly realize that my Spanish is much worse than I anticipated. I am unable to communicate with the children. I feel out of place. I feel uncomfortable. And I feel sad. I mostly just watch and let my mind wander off: why am I here? Why did I think I could do this? When can I go home? Is there plane back home tonight?
 Class ends and we walk back. I get dropped off at my house and all I want to do is cry and call my friends and family and go home. I lay in bed hating myself for thinking I could live in Honduras. I quickly look up plane flights and decide that I will leave Wednesday. I tell my parents and they agree that if I am so uncomfortable and unhappy here that I should come home. I tell them I will never get used to living here, that the living conditions are just too much for me to handle and that I can't do it. I plan to tell the Project Manager tonight when she comes over to give me an orientation. During these next few hours, I lay in bed feeling sorry for myself, feeling hungry, hot, dirty, and out of place.

At some point, another volunteer from the other house comes over to use our wifi, because hers is out. She sits and talks with Anthony and I and asks how we are doing. At first, I say fine. But then I tell her that no, I am not fine. I am scared, I don’t like it here, and I don’t think I am going to stay. I tell her I can’t live here or get used to this and that I am feeling things I have never felt in my entire life. Finally, I tell her that I have plane tickets ready to purchase to leave Wednesday and that my parents agree with me. My mind is made up, I am leaving. But in this moment, she tells me she felt the exact same way, down to every emotion I describe. This gets my attention, as she speaks close to perfect Spanish and appears to fit in so well in this Honduran community. She tells me that it took her the first week to even feel remotely comfortable living here and that she doubted herself as well. This surprises me and gives me the slightest bit of hope. Even though I still feel negative emotions, I now have a small sliver of hope as well. She tells me to stay and that I will regret leaving. And I realize that she is right. I embarked on this journey to learn how to live differently, and I knew it would be hard. But like she told me, after a week if I still feel this same way, I could leave. But not giving myself a chance, not giving this beautiful country a chance, and not giving these amazing children a chance would be a horrible decision. So just like that, I decide to give the week a try and stick it out.

 Tuesday-Thursday: 
Things are still hard. Extremely hard. I still don’t feel comfortable, the living conditions still scare me, and I still can’t cook anything in the kitchen. There are ants all over the kitchen, the pots and bowls are literally stored in stone, and the stove has to lit with a match.

The bugs everywhere scare me more than they should, the heat is too much, and the stray, malnourished dogs everywhere break my heart. But that sliver of hope grows bigger in me and those negative emotions, although still present, diminish slightly.
I begin enjoying classes more and find myself speaking Spanish more. I quickly build bonds with these amazing children in my classes and find myself smiling and laughing with them. Even though my Spanish is not where I would like it to be, I am able to communicate through other means. By hugs, and hand gestures, and facial expressions.
 One night, I go to the other volunteer house and they feed me so much food that I finally feel full and not in pain. We hang out, listen to music, and I find myself feeling more comfortable. Everyone tells me they had the same apprehensions their first week and now they are extremely happy living here and wouldn’t change it for the world. Eventually, my negative emotions are gone and I am filled with happiness.

 One day I walk to the beach, which is a 5 minute walk from my house. It is beautiful. Not the kind of beautiful you are thinking of: there is garbage everywhere, stray dogs, and no white sand. But it is beautiful. The simplicity of everything here hits me. I realize that I can do this. I can live here. I can adjust. I can get used to an entirely new way of life. And I can be happy. The things that disgusted me my first few days still exist. But they are no longer gross or scary to me. I have learned to embrace the geckos coexisting with me in the house. I have grown accustom to being sweaty and hot 23 out of 24 hours each day. I am content with cooking my food in a kitchen that is nowhere near what I am used to. Yes, the ants everywhere, the mosquitoes, and the gross bugs still freak me out, but I have learned to be okay with them.

I feel at home with the other volunteers here. I feel like I have a new family. We are all immensely different, with different cultures, different beliefs. But we all share one major thing in common: we all came here for the same reasons. And that unites us more than anything could.
 I can do this. And most of all, I want to do this. I can finally say that my heart is so full. Full of love, compassion, happiness, and hope. Hope that I truly will make a difference here. These children, and the rest of the community, are amazing. Their resilience and strength are so refreshing to see. Even with essentially nothing, they are happy. Always smiling, laughing. As much as I would love to teach them something, I can already tell they will be the ones teaching me.

I look forward to future days here: classes with these smiling faces, walks through the community, smoothies and laying in hammocks, swimming with clothes on in the ocean, and the bonds that will be formed with the children and other volunteers. My heart is happy.