Pictures of Las Delicias Woodcutting Trip

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Up the Mountain

Last week one of the founders of MaderaVerde came to town. Brian Boggs is a wood artisan in the States that cares enough about the forest and the people around them to get involved in this project. He was here conducting a workshop on how to improve the quality of certain products our artisans are making. The visit was packed with a ton of interesting stuff, probably too much to write about in a blog posting, so I decided I’ll write about the highlight of the week: A trip up the mountain in Las Delicias.

Las Delicias is one of the communities Madera Verde works with. It is situated at the base of the Gracias a Dios mountain range and near a very rich forest. Madera Verde has a management plan for that forest and has permits to cut down some of the wood for commercial purposes. The purpose of the trip last week was to take the artisans up to the forest with the “guamileros” (wood cutters) to cut a tree. The idea was to have the artisans teach the guamileros how they need the wood cut.

A group of about 15 of us left La Ceiba early in the morning and did the 45 minutes or so trip on paved and unpaved roads, a creek, and a lot of rocks to Las Delicias. Max and I had been there about a month ago and it was great to see some of the familiar faces from our last trip. I was excited to see the family with 10 girls we met last time. Theirs is an interesting story: the mom had four girls and was a widow when she met this guy with 4 girls whose wife died too. They fell in love, got married and had two more daughters together. A Honduran Brady Bunch. They do say it is sometimes hard to keep track of what all the girls are doing and have found out that the older ones sometimes cut class from school to meet up with boys (the girls are between 2 and 14 years old). I wished I could spend more time with those girls and somehow help them understand how important it is to finish school, to think about the future, that there might be something better than the poverty they currently live in. Those girls walk about half a mile on a dirt path with their plastic, bright-colored flip-flops everyday to go to school. However, our trip there wasn’t to visit with them this time, we were headed to the mountain.

As soon as we started walking, I noticed for the first time that I was the only girl in the group. I also realized that the artisans are all skilled hikers that grew up running up and down the mountain, I felt they looked at me with doubt. I worried I would be too slow to keep up. The first half of the “trail” was a narrow opening in the grass where farmers walk their cows up and down the mountain. It was filled with mud and cow poo, and before long, my tennis shoes had two inches of mud stuck to the soles which made them very slippery. I wished I had worn my hiking boots, what was I thinking wearing those shoes? I slipped a few times (luckily never fully fell) and put my right leg ankle deep in mud. Halfway thought the trip, I had awarded myself the dirtiest person award. And yet, I was being able to keep up with the group (even if only with the slower half) and was having a great time. The herds of cows passing us only scared me a little when a bull seemed to be pointing his horns in my direction, but they were all too busy climbing the mountain to worry about us passers-by. I was feeling good, I had kept my composure trough the mud sliding, I had kept up with the speed of the group, and I had not screamed when I saw the huge bull inches from me. Of course it wasn’t all going to be that easy.

On top of the hill we reached a rope bridge to cross the river. It was about 30 feet above water, and a thunderous river flowed below it. I thought that it wasn’t Peace Corps, but an episode of Fear Factor on which I was a contestant, but no safety net below in case I fell, no paramedics to help me in case of an emergency, and no million dollars if I made it to the end. I decided I would walk the bridge last, when there wasn’t anybody on it, and with Max to hold my hands. I didn’t feel any comfort when some of the guys started shaking the bridge when someone seemed scared while crossing it, nor did I feel any better when they told me last time one of the ropes broke while they were crossing it and they all got a good scare (there were other ropes holding it they said). As I waited, I noticed that I was sweating profusely. Was it because of the effort to climb all the way there or was it the anxiety of crossing the bridge? I didn’t know.

If this was an action movie I would write that the bridge broke while I was crossing it, that I was left dangling in the air, holding on to the rope that was still attached with all my strength while Max was holding himself from my legs. The river would be filled with piranhas and a handsome super-hero would come and save us seconds before the last string of the rope I was holding broke. But this is a real story, and like most real life events, we were both able to cross the bridge without any major mishaps. Sooner than I realized we were back on firm ground, hurrying up to catch up with the others. Catching up wasn’t an issue at all, just around the corner there was a line of our friends waiting while the ones ahead of them climbed down a 20 feet descent with nothing to hold from. Max, using his great logical abilities figured out what was the best way to go down and I used his feet as anchors to follow. In the process I dirtied any remaining clean spot on my clothes, but we had finally made to the three we were looking for. I looked around me and noticed the look of acceptance they guys gave me. I had made it there too and they were impressed.

The next couple of hours were spent cutting the wood and learning the most efficient way of doing it. Our plans had been to cut down two trees and then cut them into lumber. However, in the end, we only cut one fallen tree into lumber. It was a very hard wood, and it was difficult for them to cut with the chainsaw. After a few hours, we were done and each of the guys grabbed one of the seven foot long planks and started the hike back. I passed on carrying anything back; it was already a big enough job to carry myself back. I followed Max at a safe distance, since I didn’t want to get hit by the wood he was carrying. I felt a lot more confident on the way back, and even the rope bridge didn’t seem as scary. Of course I still waited until everyone else crossed so I didn’t feel the bridge moving by someone else’s steps.

Back in town we jumped in the river to clean up and played in the water a little. We headed home tired but happy. The day had certainly been a great adventure.

Photos of our trip to Cayos Cochinos

Pictures from our heavily photographed visit to Cayo Chachahuate are now available on our website. Check them out here. The trip is also heavily detailed in the previous post. Let us know what you think! We heavily enjoy comments.

Life in Chachahuate

This past weekend our roommates were planning to spend a couple of days at the Cayos Cochinos, specifically Cayo Chachahuate. I had been there before for work, but stayed overnight at the foundation’s station and only spent a few hours talking to people. Max hadn’t been there yet and we both jumped at the idea of going with them. This would be our first opportunity to stay overnight at one of the communities we work with and share more than just a couple of hours with the people in it.

There are different options to get to the cayos and for work I go on a boat owned by the foundation, but this was going to be a personal trip with a group of friends and we needed to find another option. Our roommate Jeremy had a contact to rent a sailboat for about $35 a person, but Max and I could not afford such a steep price on our Peace Corps salary (our roommates have better paying jobs in town), plus we really wanted to support one of the community groups that are now doing trips to the Cayos for tourists. And so I called Rene Arzu who met with the fisherman in Nueva Armenia (the town closest to the Cayos on the mainland) and arranged for our transportation. They would take us to the cayos on Sunday, and stay there until Monday to take us back for about $20 a person. Still a little steep for us, but more reasonable… we’ll just postpone buying a desk for our room until next month.

And so we headed, eight of us, to Nueva Armenia early on Sunday morning to sail to Chachahuate. The ride in the back of a pick-up over the un-paved road was both fun and exciting, although Max wished he had a little more cushion in the posterior region. We got to Nueva Armenia around 7am on Sunday and the town was alive. Kids were wandering the streets, women washing clothes in their “pilas”, men standing in front of “pulperias” buying “frescos” or “pan”. For a second or two the town stopped to stare at the group of gringos, but soon they went back to their daily duties. Rene Arzu greeted us near the place of departure and reminded us of the terms of the trip: 375 lempiras a person… returning tomorrow… talk to Papi Nini when you get to Chachahuate for accommodations… payment is up-front. We all agreed, paid our transportation fee, loaded the boat, and headed off in a 20-foot long blue wooden boat with two benches and an outboard motor. Once we embarked, our captain Don Luis, and his helper tried to negotiate us into returning at 10am on Monday morning. We politely indicated that the agreement was 1pm and that having lunch there would benefit the group of women cooking for us. They agreed, but not happily. The ride, which in a normal speed boat would take about 35 minutes, took us about 50 but we were all excited with the beautiful view of the Cayos ahead and the mountain range of the north coast of Honduras behind us.

Once in Chachahuate, we were greeted by the kids who wanted to see who these tourists were. They quickly recognized our friend Mike who has been there a couple of times and always takes time to play with them. They also remembered I was the “amiga” who had been there recently to bring the rakes they now use to keep the island clean. Quickly two girls grabbed my hands, and walked us to the lady that would be our host for the weekend.

To stay in Chachahuate, you stay in someone’s hut. The family who inhabits the one-roomed dwelling consisting of wood walls with thatched roofs made of palm fronds moves to someone else’s hut to rent theirs for the duration of your stay. For Lps. 50 a night (about $2.50) you get your own hut. They initially offered two huts for the eight of us, meaning we would have to sleep two each on the full-sized foam mattresses available. In the end they were able to provide two more huts and we ended up staying two in each hut. The one Max and I stayed in actually had two rooms… the one room typical in these huts was divided by a cardboard wall into a bedroom and a kitchen/dining/living area. From our hut we could see the ocean on both sides.

The kids that greeted us followed us to our houses, since they wanted to know where we would be living. I asked a little girl if they get a lot of tourists there, and she said yes. She also said she usually didn’t like them, because they are ugly, but she liked us because we are pretty. They all watched as Max and I put on sun block and asked if we can put some on then. We smeared the remaining sun block off our hands into theirs. They commented how now they were “cara-blanca” (white-faced) too, referring to the white look people get from putting on too much sun block. Max and I then went and talked to the Mom of one of the girls, because she wanted her mom to know she would be with us at the beach. The mother gladly gave her consent, and the girl along with a few other children played with us all day. They held our hands, hugged us, climbed on top of us… one little girl kept licking my hand and arm and telling me how salty I tasted. The morning went by fast and soon enough the women were calling us for lunch: fried fish caught by the men that morning, rice, and fried plantain. All the meals that followed included the same elements plus beans and tortillas sometimes. So good!!!

Sunday afternoon was spent snorkeling and chatting with the locals. The reef there is so amazing, hundreds of colored fish of all sizes and shapes, same with the plants and the coral. I panicked for a few moments when I found myself in the middle of a school of jelly fish. They stung a couple of times but the sensation was very mellow and went away in a couple of minutes. The reefs surrounding the Cayos Cochinos are said to me some of the most pristine in the Caribbean, with over 70% still healthy.

Later in the afternoon, we helped a couple of kids do their homework, took a nap, and chatted with the locals some more. Shower was a bucket of water over you, and since there was no electricity on the island, light was out with sunlight, although they connected a lamp to a car battery to provide us some light. After dinner we played the drums with our boat captain, Luis, and listened to some of their life stories. Slowly the kids and the women retreated to their houses and finally, at 9pm, it was time to shut the light off. We all went to our respective cabins where we slept with the windows opened to allow the ocean breeze to cool down the hot night.

The next morning, as soon as the sun rose, people were up and about their activities. In a community of fishermen, people can not afford the luxury of sleeping in. Max got out of bed and saw the kids getting ready to go to school, all wearing their cute blue and white uniforms getting on the school boat and going to Cayo Mayor to attend school for the day. After a delicious breakfast of eggs, beans, and fresh home-made flour tortillas Max and I decided to go snorkeling. The sunlight was a lot brighter than it had been the afternoon before and visibility was great. We saw all sorts of fish and coral and headed back when it started getting wavy and I started getting a little sea sick.

We all packed before lunch, ate, and headed back to Nueva Armenia. The boat ride was as slow as our ride there, but it was much hotter than before (mid-day instead of early morning). We must have all looked funny with towels over our heads and shoulders to protect us a bit from the sunlight.

The town of Nueva Armenia is separated from the ocean by a small, very shallow river. Once we reached the river our captain and his helper had to get off the boat and push it since the engine could not be used in such shallow waters. All of the sudden we noticed our boat was drifting with all of us inside it, and Luis was swimming towards shore… without us!!! His friend explained that some kids had freed his cattle and he had to go collect them before he could take us all the way to town. So we just waited…

Back in Armenia we collected our stuff, said our goodbyes and jumped into the pick-up that would take us back home. I managed to get a seat inside this time, but Max was out in the pick-up’s bed. It rained on our way back and he and the others got wet, but it was a much welcomed fresh water shower.

Think Big… or Think Small?

The last four months have been a seemingly never-ending series of ups and downs, highs and lows, good and bad, small and big. Things are certainly taking better shape for us as we start to understand better what’s going on around us and how do we fit in the whole picture. There are project ideas for us everywhere and we are “researching” everything and not really committing to anything yet. Mainly because we like everything that has been put in front of us in terms of work and it’s been hard to decide what to focus on.

The main dilemma is defining our strategy. There are some pretty big projects offered to us, like managing a project to get a water system for the school, re-design the whole production line for the wood artisan organization, MaderaVerde, or design a marketing campaign to generate funds to guarantee the self-sustainability of the vocational center. These are really cool projects that would impact a lot of people, but would keep us in an office and dealing with the bureaucrats of the development world. Last week, for instance, I attended a lunch party hosted by a new NGO from the Netherlands. Everybody who’s anybody in development was invited. I went to try to make contacts for some projects in the school. Everybody was dressed in their nice clothes, the women had a lot of jewelry and make-up, the guys had neck-ties; the tables had white tablecloths and beautiful flowers in the centerpieces. We had wine and cheese, toasted to the “beginning of great projects”, and had a delicious meal. Like during my old GE days, I spent my time trying to make contacts and build a network of people that could later help me with what I want to do. Like those days too, there was people that completely ignored me because I am not a prominent member of the community, people that talked to me because I am a young promising new face in town, and people that sincerely cared about what I had to say. The experience was interesting and fun and it was actually a comfortable familiar environment to me (especially after the glass of wine). Later that evening, I wondered if that is what I want to spend my next two years doing. Same candy… different wrapping. The truth is that it is work that needs to be done, and the poor people in the groups I represent need someone to do the dirty work for them.

There are also the small things, the kind of projects Peace Corps volunteers usually work on. They are usually hands-on work; grassroots efforts to improve small things, working, living, breathing with the people you are helping… none of the bullshit bureaucracy involved. I was contacted by the teacher of a kindergarten in one of the communities where we work to see if I could help them finish building a fence for the school, we could teach computers to the students that live in the keys, or work with a few of the wood artisans to improve the quality of their furniture. A lot less people would be impacted, but we would spend the time necessary to make sure these are long lasting changes, to make close relationships and really get to know how they live and work. A lot of our time would be spent having coffee with people, holding kids, talking to young mothers about their hopes and dreams and then trying to work on some of those projects… probably the ones that require very little or no money. With this approach we would spend most of our time with the people we are helping instead of the highly educated people in the city, enjoy the fulfillment of seeing the happy faces of the people we’ve impacted, and experience the huge frustration of seeing immense amount of need and having very little or no resources to improve much.

There are a lot of good exciting prospects with each alternative, and there are also drawbacks to each. For now we are doing a little bit of both, defining a long term strategy for the school and spending our weekends living and talking to the people we help. This might sound like the best of both worlds, but it also means we are not giving our entire energy and attention to one effort and that might be the worst approach of all. And so the big question remains: Think Big… or Think Small? Hopefully time will tell…