EverAfterLand

The 31 Day Blogging Challenge - Day 31: The Finish Line

That's it!  31 days.  31 topics.  31 times I hit "Publish" on my compose page.

31 posts.

Some were great.  Some were not-so-great.  But they are all there.

This whole month of May saw more writing than I have done in a long, long time.  And in the course of all that writing, I made a lot of realizations and discoveries about myself and what I am doing than I have in the last several years of pondering and journaling and reflecting.

First off, I did the one thing that I had most hoped to do through this challenge - I turned on the faucet.  The more time I spend writing, the easier it is for the words to come to me.  That flow has been missing for a while now, due to all of my inconsistency.  It's back.  And I love that feeling of sitting at the keyboard and have things just COME OUT.  If I were a runner, I would imagine this is what a "runner's high" feels like.  The "Writer's High."  It's amazing.

A side-effect of my endless blogging was a head-first dive back into social media.  Blogging and social media really do go hand-in-hand.  After all, there's no point publishing all of these thoughts, pictures and memories out into the world if nobody but your mom (Hi, Mom!) is reading it.  Bloggers blog in the hopes that somebody out there will take notice of what they do.  And after they take notice, they'll come back and read more.  But social media can be a time-suck and a life-suck.  I dove in, and then I burned out, and that's fine.  It's all part of the process.  I will continue twittering and pinning and graming and plusing, but I will have to put time limits on these activities.  Online life is fun, but I prefer living in my real-world life with my real-life family.

I overcame many of the fears that had been plaguing me and my writing for so long.  My perfectionist tendencies (I posted without photos, for crimeny sake.  More than once!!) and the fear that if I write about all of my "good ideas," I won't have any good stuff left.  But that's what's so amazing about turning on that faucet - it's not just the words that flow, when the tap is off, ideas are still dripping out. 

The only fear I have now is that I have reached the end.  Now that my challenge is over, my focus has to be shared with more than just what the post for today will be, I have a fear that I will return to my old, inconsistent habits.  That our upcoming month of summer vacation will undo all of the work I've done, or when things get hectic during the Christmas season, or next year when it is time to pack up and move our whole lives either back to The States or another new country, my faucet will dry up.  This is not a fear that is at the forefront of my mind, though.  Just a little shadow of a thing in the back of my thoughts. 

For now, I am proud and even exuberant that I gave myself a goal and I succeeded in making that goal a reality.  It's something that I hadn't done in a long, long time.  And my plan is to keep at it for as long as the words will continue to come to me.  I still have quite a lot of work to do in the realm of time management, but my new goal is to keep this blog active AND spend time with my family.  I am determined.

And when I'm determined, it's pretty neat to see what I can accomplish!

Hecho En Honduras - A Day At The Bazaar

It had been a loooong week, highlighted with power outages, late nights, spotty internet connections, and a call into the principal's office.

(It had to do with a butter knife, a detention, everybody learning from their mistakes, and no need to discuss it any further!)

Oh, yeah, it was quite the week!

And when you've had a week like that, there's even more appreciation for the bi-annual bazaar held in the garden of the U.S. Embassy.

Not only do us Embassy people have a chance to purchase crafts and handiwork from all over Honduras, it is another event that allows all of us to socialize for the afternoon.

Truthfully, you could not ask to be lumped into a better group of people than the folks that are stuck with right now.  We are truly blessed with all the new friends we have found here!

But enough about me! This week, we interrupt our regular Mercado Programming to bring you a Special Presentation of Hecho En Honduras: At The Bazaar....

Nothing can make you feel as great as chocolate! (Or maybe that's just me.) That large yellow fruit at the top of the photo contains the seeds/beans that cacao is derived from. Quite a lot of the cacao produced here is actually exported to chocolate factories in other countries. Although there is chocolate in the grocery stores here, it's the same M&M's and Hershey's Bars that you'd find in The States. The brightly colored bags in this photo that are holding little Honduran-made chocolate bars are created from fabric produced by the Lenca Indians, one of several types of native Indian peoples that many Hondurans can find their lineage with.

Ok, so a nice glass of this would be a good substitute if the chocolate is all gone. (Not that I'm the one who ate it all....I plead the fifth!) This is wine made from fruits that are commonly found in this country. There's ones that most of you are familiar with, like strawberry (fresa) and blackberry (mora). Other varieties I was not familiar with before moving here. The bottle to the left is made from maracuya, the middle one is a fruit called Jamaica, and the one on the right is a maranon.  A maranon grows on trees and looks like a kid molded a little red sweet pepper out of playdoh.  It also contains something we are very familiar with in The States - cashews.

And, of course, there had to be coffee. This is Honduras, after all!  I'm sure you remember our trip to Marcala, a major coffee growing region, located in the department of La Paz.  A "department" here is similar to a "state" in the U.S.  The coffee in this photo is from Intibuca, a department just west of La Paz.  I am attempting to taste-test coffees from as many Honduran regions as I can while we are here.  We'll see how far I get!

A bazaar is not a bazaar without jewelry! I don't believe any of these materials came from this country, from what I've been told, they mined all the silver out of the mountains years ago.  But these colorful orbs for the ears were handcrafted here.

What looks like rope strung together is actually pine needles lashed together with thread and then fashioned into baskets, trivets, napkin holders and more. I'm told these cheerful items were crafted by women in the Southern part of Honduras.

Paintings here are colorful and vibrant. This is a work by cubist artist Maury Flores.  Born in Tegucigalpa, who is a popular artist in Honduras and is internationally recognized.

Some beautiful pottery. I was told these are crafted by the Pech Indians, but I am having a hard time varifying that online.  Either way, these little treasures are hand-crafted and striking!

And, lastly, hand-carved wooden pieces, which can readily be found all over Honduras. Mahogany trees grow here, as well as pine and cedar, just to name a few.  Here, we have boxes of various sizes, wall plaques, and even a cup of coffee!  It is also commplace to find large trunks with ornate carvings of flowers or pueblos, tables and chairs adorned with floral motifs, and large, smooth bowls perfect for salads or paella.  And it is unbelievably cheap for the amount of work put into a piece!

I left the bazaar loaded down with new items for our home and tasty things eat and drink.  It was an amazing day, and I am looking forward to the next, sometime in late fall, when I'll be scouring the tables for the perfect (not-too-heavy!) Christmas presents to send back home!

 

 

Lifestyles of the Fancy Schmancy

Hubster and I went out on the town last weekend.

Ditching the kids and teetering in sky-high heels, we headed out to an adult's only dinner in Tegucigalpa. 

Yay!

I would show you a photo of how handsome we were, but I don't want anyone getting jealous.

(Or maybe the pics turned out super fuzzy and bad because of the low-lighting, whatever!)

The restuarant served Peruvian food.

And while Hubster has a great working knowledge of the Spanish language, he has a total of zero knowledge of a Peruvian menu.

Neither did the hondurenos or norteamericanos sitting with us.

What to do, what to do....

GOOGLE IT!

Did I mention how CLASSY we all were?  No?  Anyway....

I ordered myself a starter that I did NOT have to google, a rum & coke, referred to here in Honduras as a Cuba Libre.

Around here, Cuba Libres are served Do-It-Yourself Style.

(Just ignore all that water back there, that's for somebody else!)

Why don't they mix it all together for you? 

I'm not really sure.

But I'm guessing it is because, by serving it this way, nobody can claim that the bar stiffed you on your liquor.

And yes, I was THAT woman in a restuarant so fancy they made us sit in the dark, taking a photo of her drink with the flash on.

CL-LASS-AY!

(Maybe I would have better manners if Hubster took me to nice restuarants more often.)

After that, Hubby made me put my phone down.  Then the Air Force guy across the table (and former Marine) put a heavy glass candleholder on top of it.

So that was the end of my picture-taking.

Which is too bad, because the ceviche and garlic shrimp we ordered looked almost as delicious as they tasted!

But, then again, you can just google it.

Kayaking With Kids: Cacao Lagoon - La Ceiba, Honduras

Traveling with kids is always tough, what with the whining and crying and constant proclamations of "Are we there yet?" and "I'm huuuungry!"

And that's just me.

Add in all of the whining from Miss Priss and Lil' Miss Sunshine, and you've got quite a cacaphony!

Parents traveling with kids usually try to accomplish what they would normally do if they were unaccompanied by those kids, just in smaller increments of time, loaded down with snacks and armed with maps to every public bathroom.

And most things can be done with kids in tow, maybe not for as long as you'd like, maybe accompanied by a constant chorus about being bored, but with a pair of trusty earplugs, it's practically the same thing!

There are, however, a few tours that are a bit dicey when you've got kids.  And one of those is water.

Because the last thing you want to do is trust some stranger selling you a tour on "gentle rapids," only to wind up fishing your kids out of a river like wet rats. 

That wouldn't exactly be "happy memories" for a 4 and 7 year old, now would it.

However, we were visiting La Ceiba just before Christmas, and Hubs and I really had the water bug.  At check-in we were handed a pamphlet listing local tours, and one in particular caught our eye. 

Kayaking.  In a lagoon!

Well, that sounds gentle.  This could work!

Hubster scheduled a trip for the very next day, making sure that they had two kayaks that could each hold two people, so each of us parents could paddle each one of them kids.

The tour guide and his assistant picked us up bright and early that morning.  What we quickly discovered was that they did not have the two kayaks we had requested.  What they had was a three person inflatable kayak and a regular, single-person, plastic one. 

Well, it was just going to have to work.  We didn't have any other day that we could do this excursion before we had to head back to Tegucigalpa.

The tour guide drove us east of town on the main highway, then took a left down an unsuspecting dirt road.  The Jeep was slow, working through the potholes and rivets in the path.  The people living in small concrete houses, some with no doors or windows and hammocks for beds, would wander outside to see who was coming through.  They stared and smiled and waved and wondered at these curiousities meandering through their street.

It felt a little bit like being in the Homecoming Parade, and we smiled and waved back at these welcoming people.

Finally, we parked and headed through a thick tangle of mangrove trees, down a long, looooooong pier, until the trees fell away and the Cacao Lagoon lay before us.

It took a little bit of work to get everybody into their kayaks and ready to go.  Hubby volunteered to take the first shift, paddling the princesses around, each of whom were given their own little paddle to "help." 

It went about as well as could be expected.

First, our guide took us into a narrow area overgrown with mangrove trees, skinny roots reaching down into the water like a mass of spider's legs.

We were on the hunt for monkeys, but found a lot of birds instead.  In particular, a variety of pelican that's a bit different than ones I would see glidding over the ocean back in The States.

The mangrove was still, quiet, peaceful.  The only sounds coming from bird calls and our paddles methodically dipping in and out of the water....

....and the constant stream of whining coming from our children, of course.  What the heck!  Were these kids raised at a zoo?

No wonder the monkeys were avoiding us. 

But it was still peaceful and amazing!  After some time, we made our way over to the beach for lunch.  If you didn't already know, a lagoon is kind of like a lake that has an outlet to the ocean.  In the case of Cacao Lagoon, ocean water was able to breach a natural damn during high tide, otherwise, the water stayed put.

The girls were ecstatic to be released from their watery prison.  We had gone well past their limit for staying still, and were eeking toward the danger zone, a good run/lunch/seashell hunt was exactly what they needed!

After a leisurely lunch, filled with lots of enormous bugs (thank the Good Lord for inventing bug repellant!) we were off again for the remainder of our tour.

This time, we went down a different little inlet, closer to the ocean side of the lagoon.  There, we saw storks (don't get any ideas, Mom!) and tiny bats sleeping on a stick.  Except we didn't know they were bats, our guide was trying to explain what these black markings on the stick were, when we moved a little too suddenly and they all flew away - scaring the bejeezus out of us! 

After a bit, the guide shushed us, and pointed out the sound of monkeys overhead.  He and the assistant began scanning the trees, telling us that this was the sound of only one, "Security Guard" monkey, warning the rest of the family of our presence.  Finally, they spotted one, lounging way up high, arms and legs dangling off the sides of the branch, a baby crawling on her back.

Can you see her?  She's that black mass to the right.  Sorry for the poor photo.  I had to use my iPhone, safely encased in a ziploc bag, that I would gingerly pull out for each and every photo, then quickly return to it's clear plastic shield.  So this was the best photo I could get, then I photoshopped the heck out of it!

And, of course, I had to take my turn being the Kaptain of the Krazy Kid Kayak.

It really wasn't as horrible as it looks!

It was much, much worse.

That little one would stick her paddle in the water and just leave it there, dragging behind us.  Of course, she was behind me, so I didn't see her.  I couldn't figure out why the boat kept pulling to the left.  And then, when I would go to correct it, the big one up front would start furiously paddling on the wrong side.

If we ever got ourselves stranded on a desert island, and a boat washed ashore, I think we'll just make a house out of it, because attempting to use a watercraft with these two would just have us going in circles!

Thank you for coming along with us on our trip to the Cacao Lagoon in La Ceiba.  I hope you'll come back and join us for our next adventure!

And Then Came The Rain{baby}....

If you recall my post from last week, I was lamenting about Honduras and their slash & burn technique of clearing the fields for farming.

Well, and weed control.

Oh, and trash disposal.  Don't forget about all that trash.

If it was unused, unloved, or unmaintained, it was getting burned up!

But things were beginning to turn around.  And it all started with a Rainbaby.

A friend of mine had posted a link to a new Etsy store, a sweet little shop called Scarlet Elfcup. 

Scarlet Elfcup features handmade natural dolls and toys.  Being newly opened, the shop carries a limited number of items.  But what really peaked my interest were the bright, tear-drop shaped Rainbabies.

Young, the owner and creator of the shop and its little creatures, is a California resident and, like most Californians, was concerned about the severe droughts the state has suffered over the last few years.  She surmised that the Rainbabies must still be in hibernation.  Hundreds and thousands of them (no one can really say how many!) have found it difficult to awaken from their slumber. 

We were in our dry season as well!  And with the burning taking hostage of our air, skies and lungs, I was desperate for some relief.

Could a wish on a Rainbaby be our salvation?

Before I knew it, a Rainbaby had showed up on our doorstep!

(Or, well, more accurately, at the post office inside the Embassy, but you get the idea!)

I loved her from the moment I saw her.  Her little rouge body, made from repurposed 100% cashmere, was the emodiment of a soft summer shower.  The sleepy little face, hand-embroidered with cotton thread onto cotton fabric, was nothing less than angelic. 

I rubbed the belly of my little Rainbaby and whispered in her ear my wish.

It didn't happen right away.  But sure enough, a month or so later, the darkening skies above informed me that my Rainbaby had indeed delivered on my heart's desire!

But be forwarned - when a Rainbaby wakes up, she doesn't wake up half-way!

The blue-gray nebulosity clambered and boomed with thunder, then burst open with a downpour that pounded the rooftops and created a river in the streets.  Quickly, all the windows were shuttered. 

After a bit, I headed upstairs to grab something from the girls' bedroom.  Two steps inside their doorway, and I realized that with every footfall my feet were smacking down into a puddle of water.

I raced downstairs to retrieve the beach towels, yelling at Mary, our housekeeper, "Lluvia en la casa!"

The water was dripping down from a myriad of spots in the ceiling, across the room it was seeping in from the window.  We raced to empty the small, white particle board bookcase situated just below the window, saving it from certain ruin.

Can you find the scared puppy in the picture?

A couple of days later, the landlord sent someone over to make repairs to the roof.  Hopefully that will be the worst of the leakage issues during the remainder of our stay here in Honduras!

And the leaks were certainly not the Rainbabies fault.  Rainbabies just bring on the rain, they don't poke holes in your roof.  (At least, I don't think so.)

Head on over to the Scarlet Elfcup's Etsy store and learn more about them on the blog.  Be sure to check out the whimsical little characters that Young has crafted.  (I've already got my eye on the Gardiens.  Who can't love that hair?!?) 

But remember, use caution when placing a wish with your Rainbaby.

Thank goodness, I had only made a wish on one!

Observations on Memorial Day

This is a photo of Miss Priss I had taken when she was a bitty three-year-old at a Fourth of July parade in Bristol, Rhode Island. 

I had pretty much forgotten about the photo altogether.  But the other day, as Memorial Day was looming, the image popped back into my head and I knew I had to post it. 

Memorial Day is all about remembrance.  Remembering soldiers who sacrificed everything they had to give to help our country maintain freedom and equality and the pursuit of happiness.

I don't think anyone can measure what those things truly mean until you have lived in a world where they barely exist. 

Our home is in Tegucigalpa, Honduras.  A place that is still learning what it means to be good to its own people.  Where every parking lot has an armed security guard, and a truckload of rifle-bearing soldiers driving down the street is commonplace, and the noises we hear at night could be either fireworks or gunshots. 

We do not dare walk down the city streets here.  And we have our car windows (as do most vehicles in the city) tinted as dark as our eyes can stand it.  Not because we look like gringos, but because, in looking like gringos, we also look like money. 

The pursuit of happiness in this place is something that is much too far out of reach for most of the people here. 

But it is something they continue to dream for their children and their grandchildren.

(Because, thank God, dreams are still free.)

I heard some chatter up in the States, as Memorial Day Weekend was approaching, that the holiday had become synonymous with "party" and is celebrated for having a day off of work.

Not enough people, they said, were using it as a time of solemn remembrance.

(Shoot, even my husband, just now, got on my case for almost titling this post "Happy Memorial Day!"  "It's an observance," he said to me sternly.)

But I beg to differ.  Relish in your extra day off, walk down the street with your family, knowing that you are safe.  Maybe not safe from everything awful in the world, but safe from most. 

Because the people we are remembering, those brave soldiers who came before, who won't make it to barbeque's and family picnics, did what they did so you can do what you do.  So you have the opportunity to be happy.

And free.

I hope all of you had a very happy, blessed and safe Memorial Day.

You Can't Always Get What You Want

What did I WANT to do today? 

Well, I WANTED to do the laundry.  I wanted to mindlessly fold hampers of clothes while catching up on episodes of Grimm and Castle.  I wanted to check and recheck my email, visit and comment on other blogs, work on my Twitter and FaceBook accounts. 

Sure, I had written a list that included clearing off the top of the office desk (finally!), clearing off the floor of the office/crafty room (finally!), and putting the last few items away in the playroom (finally!!!)

But those have been on my list every week for the last month or so.  They were list staples at this point.  Nothing more than Bench Warmers - they were never going to see any actual play. 

Although....

It had bothered me all week that I hadn't found time to finish off these organizational projects.   All my time had been twittered and instagrammed away.  Writing, too.  Oh, and, you know, those kids (every once in a while).  I was frustrated with myself, sure that if I could just finish off these few projects, I could reduce my stress and be free to accomplish more!

We made it through breakfast, this bright and early Sunday morning. 

And before we could even clear the dishes from the table, las luces se fue.

Er, I mean, the power went out.  (Sorry, my Spanish gets mixed up with my English sometimes!)

Oh crap!

I hoped that those luces were se fue'd for a short amount of time and would return within an hour or so. 

I tweetered and grammed and facebooked using 3G on my iPhone for a little bit.

But that was sucking up my battery, and I wasn't sure when I'd be able to recharge again.

What to do, what to do???

Somehow, I found myself upstairs in the playroom.  Before I knew it, I was piling every doll-sized comb and brush from every pony, Barbie, and Monster Chic that my girls own into a little baggie and finding a space for that baggie to live.  The little suitcases that had sat there for the last few weeks since we returned from our trip to The States were relieved of the few books and toys that remained and then whisked off to the guest room.

What was happening????

With every last bit of paper placed in the trash, the tiniest of the tiny doll shoes returned to it's mate, and anything else that didn't fit a specified category shoved into a bin, I had finally, FINALLY!, finished off that dang playroom!!!!

But what happened next was truly astonishing.

After a short break, and continuing to have power that seemed to have se fue'd for good, I found myself up in the office.

Clearing. off. the FLOOR!!!!

Halfway through that adventure, with nary a sound except the hum of my neighbors generators and the occasional car horn, I realized that I was singing this song to myself...

"I'm cleanin' up the house today, hurrah, hurrah!

I'm cleanin' up the house today, hurrah, hurrah!

I lost my mind this mornin' cause the power's been long gone

and now I'm stuck cleanin' the house to-day!"

Sometimes, you don't get the day you want.  But you do get the day you need.

The Mercado - Are We There Yet???

There is always traffic around The Mercado. 

But THIS was ridiculous! 

"I'm sure we'll move soon," my friend, Kaye, sitting in the passenger seat, said optimistically.

"No, this is different.  Usually we are at least eeking along, this is at a stand-still.  Even those guys from that bus are standing in the middle of the street."

I surmised that this had to be one of two things - either an accident or construction.

Here in Honduras, an accident can cause a back-up for an indeterminable amount of time.  The law here is that the cars involved in the accident are not permitted to move off the road until the police have inspected the automobiles and advised them to leave. 

And in this lawless land, the police showing up for a minor fender-bender will take as long as it takes!

Construction, on the other hand, tends to happen sporadically, with little thought to traffic patterns.

And it will take as long as it takes.

Not being able to see what the cause of the delay was, I took a chance and swung the car to the right, down a small street that (I hoped!) would take us alongside The Mercado.

Many had the same idea, causing a snarl in traffic there as well.  But at least we were moving, even if it was only a crawl.

No matter!  Kaye and I had a chance to slurp down our coffees and chatter non-stop on our caffeine highs!

The first side-street was as motionless as the mainstreet.  We stayed our course.

The second side-street was as backed up as a cheese tester.  We creeped past that one as well.

"Maybe this next one?"  Nope, not the next one, either.

The fourth street looked promising - until we realized it was a one-way going the opposite direction.

No dice.

Finally, we made the left-hand turn we needed.....and quickly realized that we had over-shot The Mercado.  Taking another left, we arrived at an intersection that came to a T.  The big black SUV in front of us hung a right.

I came up to the corner and paused. 

To the right, I could see the entrance of The Mercado just a scant block away.

To the left, I could see that this was the one-way street that we had passed earlier.  The one headed in the WRONG direction.

"Well, if that guy in front of us went right, then we're headed right, too!  Look at me, I'm driving like a Honduran!!!!"  Kaye and I laughed hysterically at this act of brazenness, contrary to our typically level-headed, politely prudish personalities.

Until a yellow-shirted man leaped in front of the car, waving frantically and shouting, "No pase!"

I slammed on the brakes.  Kaye and I looked at each other, looked back at the man, and in unison, pointed to the previous offender and yelled, "But he just did it!!!!!" in English that we knew this man could not hear through our rolled up windows, let alone understand.

But the pointing was enough.  He got the gist of our frustration, a fight for equality with the mentality of toddlers in a temper tantrum.

I rolled down the window, and Kaye was able to converse with the Gatekeeper.

This is a one-way (well, yes, we know that), we have to turn around and go back.  You can park here, or go down the hill and take another street over.  There's cops monitoring this area right now.  

Why all the traffic? 

Construction. 

After a lot of manuevering, we were finally, legally, driving past The Mercado and could see what sort of "construction" they had been up to.

The entire street that we would normally be driving on was surrounded by a shiny make-shift aluminum wall, large equipment working tirelessly behind it.  The one lane that they had crafted for the regular traffic to use came from the space that is normally our parking lot.

Where the heck were we going to park?

As we inched along, we saw it - a nice big space on the side of the road, blocked off with cones. 

I started to pull in, driving two tires up onto the sidewalk, mirroring the car parked in front of us. 

A man in an orange reflector vest informed us that we were doing it all wrong.

My window went down once again.  More Spanish.  The car was successfully parked farther onto the sidewalk, leaving a narrow sliver of a space for Kaye to make her exit through.

Two more inches, and she would've had to make her escape through the trunk.

Finally, we were inside The Mercado, which was running as if none of the madness existed just outside its walls.

And yes, as we learned inside, they did begin that construction just that morning - on the first of the two days that The Mercado is open.

Why would they choose to change the traffic pattern when they know that traffic is heaviest on at the end of the week?

Because - This Is HONDURAS!!!!

 

From Bean to Brew - Touring The Coffee Fields and Factory of Marcala, Honduras

Coffee is not only a staple of North American pantries, it's become part of its culture, woven into the very fabric of life in the United States. 

What started out as just a plain ol' cup of joe, taken either black or with a little sugar and milk, has now become a bajillion dollar industry.  There's frappaccinos, mochaccinos, capaccinos, macchiatos, lattes, frappes and chocolatinos (OK, it's possible I made that last one up!)  We infuse our coffees with artificially flavored syrups, artificially flavored creamers and artificial sweeteners.  By the time Americans are through with their coffees, it bares little resemblance to the "cup o' joe" it started out as. 

But where does all that coffee come from?  Well, yes, it comes from a bean, but where do the BEANS come from?

We were thrilled at the chance join a group tour and drive a few hours to our west to visit a little town called Marcala, where coffee is the bread and butter of the community.  Join us on our little adventure....

Marcala is located in the La Paz department (similar to a "state" in the U.S.).  Like most of Honduras, the terrain here is mountainous and beautiful.

We rode down skinny dirt roads to reach a Finca de Cafe or Coffee Farm.  The plants that look like bushes are where your java comes from.  Banana trees are placed intermittently to provide a bit of shade to the growing fruit.

Arabica coffee is the variety that is predominately grown in Honduras (and all over the world).  We were told that the altitude is what gives the beans here such robust flavor.  Coffee grown closer to sea level is considered inferior, at least by the mountain growers!

This is the coffee fruit.  The berries are hand-picked when they are bright, cherry red.

Coffee plants don't last forever.  After about three years, they bear less and less fruit.  Consequently, there is a nursery full of young plants ready to replace the old ones.

After the berries have been picked, they are laid out in the sun to dry on the black plastic sheeting in this little area.

Once the berries are dry, they look like this...

Now they are ready to be processed at the factory! 

We drove back down those skinny, bumpy dirt roads to go a few miles down the paved, main street to a factory in Marcala where much of the coffee is initially processed.

Machines break open the dried fruit to release the coffee bean.  In actuality, what we call a "bean" is the "seed" inside the berry.  But I guess "coffee seeds" doesn't sound quite as cool.

The beans are sent down two conveyor belts.  As you can see in the above photo, the women sitting on either side of these conveyor belts analyze the beans as they slide by, and remove the "bad" ones. 

What constitutes a "bad bean?"  If they are the wrong size, color or malformed.  How different can a batch of "bad beans" taste?  I have no idea.  But we were told that one (ONE!) "bad bean" can ruin the flavor of the whole batch.

Still, you don't think they'd do something as silly as throw out all those bad beans, do you?  The factory still bags up these banished beans and sells them to lesser (read: "cheap") coffee brands where they are blended with better beans to create a decently flavored cup.

The factory only hires women for this work.  Men, they told us, do not have the discerning eye to spot all of the "bad beans."

We took this tour on a Saturday.  Which means that most of the women you see here work other jobs, probably full-time, during the week, then work an additional 8-12 hour shift on the weekends. 

The raw coffee beans are then put into large bags.  Roasting does not happen in this factory.  Some of these bags will be exported to other countries, most likely the United States.  Others will remain in Honduras, transported to another facility to be roasted and packaged for retail sale.

I managed to pick a couple of "good beans" during our tour.  They might be small, but they are mighty sweet!

Thanks for joining us on our Marcala Coffee Tour.  I look forward to seeing you on our next adventure!

 

Feeling The Burn - Health and Safety in Honduras

Here in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, there are two main seasons.

First comes The Burning Season.

Before The Burn

Next comes The Rainy Season.

And repeat.

We are currently shifting from The Burning Season into The Rainy Season, but let me tell you, that change cannot happen fast enough!

“What the heck is a Burning Season,” you are probably wondering.  “Does it have to do with the temperature being burning hot?”

Nope!  Nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with air quality. 

When they say “Burning” they mean actual burning - with actual fire - of the fields and the land as a way to get the earth ready for planting before that Rainy Season starts. 

I can’t comment on what the rest of Honduras looks like since the start of the burns at the beginning of March.  But here in Tegucigalpa we have been sitting inside a cloud of retched smoke and ash. 

The people do not burn only the fields intended for farming.  They burn everything.

Ev-ery-thing!

In the Heart of Burning Season

Empty lots in the city, stretches of unused land along the highways, any spot of earth that has a couple of weeds on it will be burned. 

Why?  To get rid of the weeds.

Yes, I know, they make a spray for that.  Or a lawnmower.  But why use a spray when you can permanently damage the pulmonary systems of people who can’t afford the medication?

Burning has been used in this capacity for generations.  The government would like to put a stop to it, but what can they do?  This is a system where, after fireworks were banned a couple of years ago, we can still hear our neighbors shooting them off for special occasions, holidays, or whenever they feel the urge to be obnoxiously loud. 

“Hey, it’s Wednesday!!  Let’s light a firecracker to celebrate!”

I don’t think the demise of burning is going to happen any time soon.

But hold your breath anyway, because you don’t want to inhale the contaminated oxygen we’ve got around here!

First off, there’s the smoke.  Many days out of the week, the entire city is smothered in an awful gray haze.  Some days, I misinterpret the overcast skies as signs of rain.  If we could only be so lucky!  And because many homes either don’t have central air conditioning, or none at all, windows have to remain open on a daily basis.  After a weekend of no housekeeping, our shelves and knick-knacks look like they haven’t been dusted in a year.  The grittiness can be felt walking barefoot through our wall-to-wall tiled house.  And on bad days, chunks of ash can be found in the outdoor laundry room and all around the patio.   

It is possible to get accustomed to all of the mess resulting from the burns.  Consequences to our health are a whole other story.

Since March, 7-year-old Miss Priss and 4-year-old Lil’ Miss Sunshine have had continuous mild chest congestion, a little hacking cough and runny noses.  And there is no amount of Claritin that is gonna clear that up!  Thankfully, we are only here for a couple of Burning Seasons.  Imagine if they had to grow up in this year after year? 

But there is a country-full of people who do.  And as I gazed up at the sun during its ascent one morning, looking like an angry orange ball as it tried to shine through a thick, nearly impenetrable blanket of smoke, I wondered why the people here had put up with this for so long.

And I prayed for rain.