Chapter 3: The Countdown

OUR HERO is keen to leave. With only a handful of weeks left, it has not escaped his attention that tales of deeds of daring-do have not graced the internet in some time. In other words: he Lazy.

This Lazy he attributes to the following cocktail:

• Mix 2 parts work, under-appreciated and over-stressed;
• 1 part sickness, head cold if in season, otherwise substitute a stomach-related ailment (worm optional);
• 35 parts burning heat (95 if using Fahrenheit);
• shake with pieces of soul (chipped);
• strain and pour into a puddle on the floor.
• Serves: Me right for coming.

So, let's recap the last few months.

We went to a waterfall. Actually, that was awhile ago.
We went to a Spanish Fort. This was also awhile ago... wow. I blame the Lazy juice.

Recently... there was the Swine Flu. Or so I'm told. After some (other) gringos brought the virus to our area, some changes had to be made. Firstly, our cafeteria stopped serving the full breakfast of an egg, beans, cheese, tortillas, and sometimes sour cream. Now, they serve only baleadas, which are tortillas with beans, egg, cheese, and sour cream inside. What didn't change was that the person who handles your food also handles your money, and the money of every little kid at the school.

Second, hand sanitizers were mandatory for every kid. You come to school without one, you go home! It's the rules! Forget the fact that there's no soap in the bathrooms, and occasionally no toilet paper -- this can be remedied by cucumber-scented, vitamin E-enriched rubbing alcohol gel.

Third, if any child complains of any symptoms, they should stay home. My already spottily-attended 9th grade class dropped from 11 students to 4 within a day of this gem.

And finally, owing to the notion that "incubation period" means "how long the devil's evil lasts", a 1-week shutdown of the school was ordered by the district. Just about a week before Semana Santa, the 1-week vacation that all of Honduras takes. So, being the conscientious patient zeros that we were, everybody took a giant vacation, away from Puerto Cortes.

We went to Utila, where I learned to scuba dive. We went to Copan, with pictures forthcoming. We came home, and had exams.

Birthday-wise, things were pretty calm here. Korean food was eaten. Primary objective accomplished. Also, I have a guitar. This was purchased some time ago for myself, but some nice strings were added by Theresa as a birthday present. So far, I've learned a little of this, a little of that. For some reason, I feel like I only need to learn four chords.

The heat now is immense. So immense, in fact, that the electrical load required to combat it exceeds the region’s electrical capacity. In the bizness, this necessitates what is known as “rolling blackouts.” Here, it’s called a Heat Day.

A heat day is a lot like a snow day, except not really. While both are cause to cancel school, only a heat day is followed by the warning that your home will probably be unlivable, and that you need to GET OUT. No fans, no cold water (or hot, for that matter…), no access to your fridge without spoiling everything – including, if you’ve just fulfilled your birthday wishes, a large sack of kimchi. And as Koreans know, kimchi doesn’t spoil intransitively.

However, the kimchi is only one participant in a fridge-funk war, and its shock and awe tactics may not be enough to overcome the staying power of the guerrilla cheese, with the advantage of home terrain and constant reinforcements.

We tutor some people after school, and receive various comestibles as forms of payment. We thought of our food-for-English lessons system as a way for someone to turn a little money into a product equal in value to a few hours of lessons -- most lessons cost about 10 times this amount. Early on, it was dinner. Some time after that, it switched to homemade tortillas, sometimes accompanied by a 2-liter of soda. Eventually, that gave way to large blocks of fermenting cheese. These cheese blocks come nearly every Tuesday and Thursday, and are consumed at a rate of at most one block per 4 days. You do the math.

In any case, we went to Pizza Hut for free refills, a salad bar with some non-fried things, and life-saving air conditioning. There, I worked out the following sums:

"The Calculus of the Countdown"


    *         31 days of school. +31 iced teas, +62 baleadas, +31 after-school beers.
    *         21 afterschool tutoring sessions. +21 blocks of cheese, + approx. 28 liters of soda
    *         405 quizzes. +135 “meeeEEEEES-TUR!”s, +270 “but MEEES-tur!”s
    *         59 exams. -59 points of faith in humanity.


Not exactly inspirational, but it's good to have goals.


Until next time,
Nos Vemos!

Chapter 2: Mathematical Goodness

OUR HERO's lunch is interrupted on a daily basis by what most would deem a manifestation of the "infinite monkeys with typewriters" phenomenon: twelve Honduran children shouting in unison: "VICTOR HUGO! VICTOR HUGO! VICTOR! HUGOOOO!!!"

What was not, in fact, Notre Dame's new football cheer, was a confluence of events precipitated by the sugar addicts' weakness for Victor's insanely sweet juice. Our Hero tried the tamarindo variety for a week, and was forced to kick the habit after calculating 20 Fibonacci numbers and demonstrating Euclid's Golden Ratio on his arm with what turned out to be a non-erasable marker.

Speaking of the maths, February is Math Month here at Sunshine Bilingual School. This came about after a few comments of this sort...

"5 squared... uh... 10! No, 2! 5?"
"But do YOU know... uh... 7 times one hundred!? Hah!"
"3 minus 7? You can't do that!"
"But where did the plus go?"

began to require responses of this sort...


"But where did your plus go?" 
"Yes, the zeroes matter."
"6 times 3 has never been negative, nor a fraction. Try again!"
"No, no, no, it's an X not a times! Nope, not a plus either!"


which led to a diagnostic test. Then some crying. Then, Math Month! We're starting with prime factors of numbers, and hope to work our way up to word problems by the end of the month. Variables can wait until we have a handle on non-fingertip addition.

Best quote of (pre-Math Month) math?

Me: "The X-axis is independent of the Y-axis. That means that the two numbers that make the point do not affect each other. (-3,5) means 3 left, and 5 up. Got it?"
Best Math Student in 7th grade: "Yeah, Teacher! It's like seahorses, right?"
Me: "It's exactl-- what?"
Student: "You know, the male seahorse, he, like... he has the babies, right?"
Me: "Kind of?"
Student: "But the FEMALE seahorse, she makes the babies. With the male. She has them first, but then he has them again, you know?"
[Other students stare. One dutifully begins drawing a seahorse in her notes.]
Me: "... Have you ever read Sideways Stories from Wayside School?"

Chapter 1: Pizza Hut-the-@#$%?

OUR HERO RETURNS from a prolonged period of radio silence, still sans sensational images, a result of Honduras' internet infrastructure's molasses-based medium. With download speeds varying frequently from online-gaming-compatible down to the-Semaphore-killer, I've yet to need the Spanish words for "download" and "upload" -- though my mastery of the more colorful profanities is progressing nicely. My acquisition of domestic wireless internet is yet hampered by the Honduran conception of time, in which "now" translates to "someday" and "right now" is closer to "someday, maybe, if I remember, and feel like it."

Such problems were formerly ameliorated in part by Pizza Hut's free-wireless internet, recently renamed Pizza Hut's internet-free wireless. When the extent of your staff's combined IT knowledge consists of -- well, let me spell it out a different way.

POKE IT AGAIN, ROBERTO
being a new Play in One Part, by K. Thomas, writer of the mildly sensational You Have Beard. 

Dramatis Personae

 
Keith....................1st Laptop Owner / Gringo Misanthrope
Theresa.................2nd Laptop Owner / Gringo Stoic 
Jose......................Pizza Hut Employee # 1
Juan ....................Pizza Hut Employee # 2
Roberto................Pizza Hut Employee # 3 / IT Professional / Broomsman
Ana......................Mopswoman / Understudy Broomswoman
Jimbo..................(if applicable)

Setting: A Pizza Hut in Puerto Cortes. In a booth, two Gringos sit with laptops opposed. An employee watches over their shoulders, observing the Gringo in its native environment a la Jane Goodall.

The employee decides to engage the strange creatures.

Jose, in Spanish: You are using the internet?
Keith, in 'Spanish': Yes, yes, we use the internet. 
Jose, nodding sagely: Many Gringos come here to use the internet. And then they buy pizza. Such is the way of things.
Keith: Yes, internet. We like internet. Is very good!
Theresa:  It’s off again. [munches salad]
Keith: What? Are you sure?
Theresa, stoically: Yes. [continues munching.]
Keith: Excuse me, but the internet is not functioning.
Jose: What? Are you sure?
Keith: Yes. Look!
Jose leans in for a look at the error page.
Keith: Yes?
Jose, leaning back: That’s not good. I’ll get someone.
Keith: Thanks.

Jose returns, with Juan
Jose: Is it working yet?
Keith: …. no.
Juan: What? Are you sure?
Keith: Look!
Juan: That’s not supposed to happen.
Jose, triumphant: That’s what I thought.
Juan: I’ll get somebody for internet.
Keith: Thanks?

Juan returns, with Roberto
Juan: Is it working yet?
Jose: I don’t know.
Roberto: Is what working?
Keith, a little impatiently: Nope, still nothing.
Theresa, having finished her salad, eyes Keith’s.
Roberto, looking at the screen: Hey, your computer’s not working.
Keith: No, no, the internet isn’t working. It’s off, I mean.
Roberto: What? Are you sure?
Keith: Listen, can you just… re-… re-begin it?
Juan: Yeah, it should be restarted!
Jose: Oh, it should definitely be restarted.
Roberto, nodding: No question.
Pleased, the three smile at each other. Near the salad bar, a woman begins mopping.

Keith, making to stand: So, can I just –
Roberto: No, no, I’ll do it.
Keith, sitting: Thanks.
Roberto goes into the back.
Jose: Sometimes this happens a lot.
Keith: Sometimes… a lot?
Juan: Yeah, the internet is pretty good here. You want a refill?

Roberto returns.

Roberto: It is on the ceiling.
Keith: What?
Roberto: The internet is on the ceiling.
Keith: ... are you sure?
Juan: You have to poke it. With... something...
Juan espies the Ana, the mopswoman. 
Juan: Aha!
Roberto: Yes, good!
Roberto grabs the mop from Ana, and starts walking towards the back.

Ana: Hey! I'm using it for mopping.
Roberto: I'm using it for internet!
Ana: It's wet.
Roberto: It's wet?!
Ana: It's a mop. I'm mopping. With water.
Roberto: Are you sure?
Juan: Could we use the broom?
Jose: Aha!
Roberto: Yes, good!
Keith: What is -- are you, the broom, how are you going to use it for internet?
Roberto: Just wait.
Juan: Yes, wait. He can fix it.
Roberto disappears. 

Some noises are heard from the back. They go "proing, proing...PROINGPROINGPROING."
Roberto, from back: Anything?
Juan: Does it work?
Keith: What?
Jose, looking: No, still nothing. Poke it again, Roberto!
Proing, proing.
Jose: Again!
Keith: Is he just... with the broom, I mean...
PROING PROING!
Juan and Jose: Poke it again, Roberto!
Keith: Can't he just turn it off and on again?
Juan: What? No, it's on the ceiling.
Jose: The ceiling. [Points]. Up. AGAIN, ROBERTO!
PROING!PROING!PROING!
Keith: The internet... thing, has a cord, yes?
Jose: Yes...
Theresa: Are you going to eat your salad?
Keith: Then why not just... wait, what?
Juan: Is it working?
Keith: No! He should turn it off and on!
Juan: It's on the ceiling, I say. ROBERTO!
Theresa: I'm eating your salad.
PROINGPROINGPROINGPROING-CLUNK.
Juan: Hmm.
Jose, frowning: Hmmmmmmmmm.
Roberto returns.
Roberto: Dear guests, I am sad to report that the internet seems to have stopped working.
Keith: Dammitall!
Juan: Did you poke it? With the broom?
Roberto: Yes, yes, with the broom.
Jose: And it didn't work?
Roberto: I don't think so; is it working now?
Keith: NO.
Juan: Are you --
Keith: I'M SURE.
Roberto: We should have used the mop.

Exit Three Caballeros.
Keith: GAH! Why the #%! didn't he just unplug the $%^&ing thing, and plug it the ^&*$ back in again??! It's not rocket science!
Theresa: They're not computer people. They're pizza people.
Keith: Uh huh. Speaking of which, where IS our pizza?
Theresa: Not here yet.
Keith: Right. Where's my salad?
Theresa: I'm gonna use the bathroom.

Fin

Prologue

OUR HERO finds himself surrounded by fried bananas. Armed with naught but a fork, a small vial of Tabasco, and a modest reinforcement of refried beans, he contemplates his impending doom. Sweet, salty doom…

Here begins the second volume of what portends to be a voluminous tome, chronicling global misadventures on a local scale. Together with a patchy prequel in Russia, and the first full account from Korea, this is shaping up to be something not altogether inconsequential… but don’t hold me to that.

Ok, so back to the fried bananas. Well, no, let’s go before them: the trip down. Nothing much of note happened, except that we were delayed twice on runways for a few hours. And the electricity went out in Immigration. And we ended up in a hotel in the middle of San Pedro Sula for the first night, instead of with our boss. And some other things. But, as the haiku travel gods advise:

Fall winds beckon, say

Fly American, Fly Cheap;

Fly Cheap, Can’t Complain.

Six hundred bucks for round trip tickets to Honduras, with an option to completely change the return date and location for fifty bucks – this is worth a little funkiness.

Our first week has been a lot of not much, owing to a national holiday spanning half a week, and the somewhat stormy return of an ousted president. We flew in to Honduras on Tuesday, got to our boss’ house on Wednesday, went to the beach on Thursday, taught class on Friday, went back to the beach on Saturday, played soccer on Sunday, taught class on Monday, nearly got stranded in a nearby city on Tuesday, and celebrated the temporary lifting of curfew on Wednesday at a Pizza Hut with wireless internet. To that same Pizza Hut Our Hero has returned, in order to post this very entry.

Which brings us to the fried banan – what? Curfew? Oh, it’s just this thing that the government decided was a good idea to have around the entire country, keeping everybody off city streets during certain hours. Because ex-president/exiled-president Zelaya has, against all reason, returned to Honduras… kinda. He’s holed up in the Brazilian embassy at the moment, beset on one side by supporters and on the other by police sworn to arrest him once the toe of his cowboy boot crosses the embassy line. So, starting Tuesday at around 4pm, Stuff Stopped. Buses stopped running, stores closed, and internet hiccupped. That last might have been a coincidence, as internet here has been spotty at best. But then airports and schools shut down, and it became completely apparent that Stuff was Up.

So, I sit at home – or the home of my boss – and watch TV reports about how much money Zelaya embezzled, looking for hints about whether tomorrow brings my third day of work, or another government enforced siesta. And I eat what we have here, which is a lot of delicious food – including the aforementioned fried bananas – and watch fuzzy satellite TV reruns of Friends, or surf the internet one kilobyte at a time, or sketch the surrounding scenery, photographic examples of which can be found next time.

And now cometh the Rains. To those of you who’ve never been in a tropical storm, the sheer amount of water currently falling is incomprehensible in words. Yet, I try: not drops nor spouts these, but unheralded streams nigh upon streaking sheets from the sky slamming against the roof tiles nightly, nimbus blitzkriegs whose drizzling shadows linger on to wet whatever withstood the first wave.

 

There are two other teachers who speak good English: Arthur, a younger German equivalent of Teddy KGB (really); and the oft-absent Elka, who has shown up for work only one day (out of four) so far. There may be another teacher coming from the Philippines, but details are sketchy at the moment. Luckily, my boss is from NYC and speaks Spanish, so there’s someone who can tell me the finer points of what the hell is going on.

I’d be remiss if I failed to comment on the food here. It is salty, starchy, fried, and crunchy. It has beans, it has meat, it has rice. It has earth tones. The drinks are made of molten sugar, with various tinctures added for marketing reasons. Water comes in many forms, sometimes in giant jugs, sometimes in palm-sized packets, but not from the tap. The beer has not been sampled, as we live with a pregnant woman, her husband who doesn’t imbibe, and a German who doesn’t like beer.

In short, Honduras is the anti-Korea. In the next edition, we'll see what that implies for Our Hero, who really shouldn’t whine. He chose a country in the middle of a coup, rather than sit around waiting for the job pool to dry up, leaving East Asia (loved it and left it) or McDonald’s.

Until then,

Nos Vemos!