No more dogs!

There is lots to like about Guatemala but also a few things not to. Let’s not talk trash today, but about something else that bothers me.

Street dogs.

On my short walk through town yesterday I saw no less than seven dogs in different spots and different degrees of shabbiness. Some might have owners but they were nonetheless wandering around town in search of food or a short-lived love affair, resulting in even more unwanted puppies. Each of the coffee farms near the place I’m staying at has its own pack of dogs. Many of them are injured from fights with their peers, traffic accidents or from purposely being hurt by people with machetes. And needless to say, the packs keep growing and growing. These dogs sometimes assault people who’re walking their pet, chase motorcycles and rip open garbage bags. They’re definitely a pain in the butt. But it isn’t their fault.

One of 6 puppies we've so far been unable to catch, in its "home" at one of the coffee plantations

Being born poor in Guatemala as a human usually means a tough life ahead. Being born an unwanted puppy is basically having no future at all. Even “proper” pets are often not well taken care of. People take on pets without a thought (and to be honest, in many cases the same counts for kids), not realising it is a serious and long-term commitment. Despite the fact that hardly anyone is ever forced to have a pet (unfortunately the same can’t be said about unwanted babies in Guatemala with its skyrocketing number of cases of sexual abuse), few people seem to think of what a dog’s life involves. I’m not talking about puppy day-care, designer booties or pricey wet food from a tin with a sprig of parsley on top. Just basic stuff, like actually having enough food to spare. A dry, safe space to live. Medical care when needed. Care in old age instead of being dumped on the street. And preferably, playtime, exercise and socializing.

Although I think that in many “developed” countries the way people treat their pets is sometimes way over the top, around here even basic, fair treatment is not a matter of course. But it doesn’t mean people don’t love their animals. I think it’s mostly a matter of education.

Luca, Monster, Saudi and me, Honduras

When I lived in a small town in Honduras, I was appalled to see that people’s first reaction to seeing a dog on the street is to kick it. I even saw toddlers barely able to stand, swing a leg at a passing dog. Dogs were obviously considered dirty and a pest. But not MY dogs! Everybody loved MY dogs! Cars would stop on the street and let us pass when Monster would drag his four feet long stick back home from our walk. The kids I used to teach were always more excited to see my Luca than me! They’d spend hours playing with her, teaching her tricks and would even share their lunch with her. (No wonder she was fat.) But none of these kids would ever consider doing the same with their own dog, which they all have in the rural areas. And when I would ask why not, they answered their dogs don’t play. Because they were never taught to.

But the times are a-changing. More and more upper-class Guatemalans who previously would only be interested in overpriced full bred pedigree puppies are now considering adopting. Even in rural areas, small changes are visible. My friend and patron saint of dogs in San Martín Jilotepeque, Cristy Velasco, mentioned how dogs are mostly used as doorbells, but more and more often she sees people walking their dogs or putting food outside for the strays. More people are willing to spay and neuter too.

Tessa and Gerson with cats in recovery

When Linda Green made her dogs rescue efforts official in 2010 with the NGO Unidos para los Animales, she quickly realised that picking up abandoned puppies off the streets and shipping them off for adoption to the US was just a drop in the ocean (although not for the puppies, obviously). Stronger measures were needed in order to prevent puppies on the streets altogether. But when Linda started her first spay and neuter campaigns, she almost had to beg people to have their pet sterilised. It wasn’t a common thing and especially castration of male dogs was not considered “natural” in this macho culture. But how times have changed! The main focus of Unidos para los Animales is now on sterilization campaigns with a target number of at least 2.000 dogs and cats a year, in communities in and around Antigua Guatemala. And these days people are begging for a spot on the waiting list! Considering the fact that each pregnant cat or dog can easily be responsible for a thousand puppies or kittens (because her babies will eventually have babies too), this has a huge impact on the canine and feline community.

Linda and her paharmacy

Due to Covid-19 the target of 2.000 animals wasn’t reached in 2020, but this year we’re off to a good start. The first week of January, veterinarian Jim Bader (from Mapleview Animal Hospital, Holland, MI, USA) and his daughter Karina came down for a full week of surgeries. Dr. Jim did a total of 161 surgeries, including some complicated cases other than sterilisations. Today another 82 cats and dogs were spayed/neutered in Jocotenango.

The logistics for today’s clinic were in the capable hands of the Dirección de la Mujer (Women’s Office) of the Municipality of Jocotenango. We did a clinic there last December, but the demand was so overwhelming that a new one was scheduled so soon after. As usual, the ladies of this office were fantastic. They did a pre-sign-up last week and in no time the 100 slots were filled. They closed shop with no less than 132 people on the waiting list! And today everything went as smooth as can be. Volunteering for the clinics in Jocotenango is borderline boring, because everything is so well organised and so many people are helping out. From the traffic police out on the street to the ladies at the entrance disinfecting everybody; the ones at the inscription table; the strongman who carried the dogs and cats from the operating room to recovery; the cleaners afterwards… The three Guatemalan vets and their techs did an awesome job and were done operating around lunch time.  And 82* happy humans went home with slightly groggy cats or dogs.

Our strongman of the day

Today was actually a little weird because we got a lot more attention than usual. We got no less than four visits by politicians and the press and were live streamed on several social media. Turns out we are great (although unwilling) propaganda and were reported to have done 150 surgeries with more to come in the following days. (Not.) All that with “international support” and no mention of Unidos para los Animales. Not that the dogs or cats don’t care, but we humans do.

People and patients waiting for their turn

See, these clinic cost money. Each pet owner pays a small contribution (50 Quetzales or USD 6.50) whereas the cost per animal is four times as much (surgery and vaccines). If people can’t afford the required contribution, they can “pay” with whatever they can. A bag of rice, some avocados or a few pounds of sugar will do. The clinics are organised and run by volunteers. And although they are officially offered by Unidos para los Animales, it is in close collaboration with Tessa and Gerson of WOOF Guatemala and Francesca of Patitas.

Volunteers Jimmy and Bobbie

It is great to see how animal welfare is slowly going tin the right direction. Sterilisation is becoming the norm, as is clear from the number of inscriptions. New too is the increasing number of male dogs and cats. It would be great to walk the streets of Antigua one day and not encounter a single stray.

If you’d like to contribute towards the sterilisation program, please visit the following websites. Thank you!

USA, Canada, Guatemala, Europe: Unidos para los Animales

Holland: WOOF Guatemala

 

*The number of surgeries is usually a bit lower than planned because some animals are rejected because of medical history, not having fasted or nor being healthy enough.

 

 

 

Guatemala`s Plastic Ban

Guatemalan Landscape I (Painting by Carin Steen)

n the fisrt day of 2019's Global Climate Strikes, Guatemala’s government announced it will ban all single-use plastic bags and disposable utensils. The country will have two years to find alternatives for plastic cups and straws.

Great news! But is it?

Everyone who lives in Guatemala has been stuck at least one behind one of those (in)famous chicken busses and knows about its big black clouds of exhaustion fumes. Mining companies dump their waste wherever they bloody like it.  The gorgeous Lake Atitlan is an open sewer. The pollution of the Motagua River not only poses a serious risk to public health, but is also destroying the Mesoamerican Reef. So is a plastic ban really going to make a difference?



The problem is that there are too many problems.



One of them is people´s attitude. Of course children learn at school where trash should go and to take care of the environment. But it`s a sort of a theoretical knowledge that isn`t often applied. Or thought through. Example: Last May I was painting a mural at a school while the children celebrated National Tree Day. Besides the regular national anthem, prayer and many speeches (including a looong one by the director about all the obstacles she had overcome in order to get the school some computers), the celebration mainly consisted of each grade presenting a huge tree made of paper. Made of PAPER!!! And to make matters worse, while the festivities were going on, some workmen were cutting down a big tree on the schoolyard. And no one even blinked.
People know. But people don´t act.


Another problem. Trash collection. In Antigua Guatemala, trash collection is a private affair. You pay one of the “companies” to dispose of your trash. On specific days guys knock on your door and haul your crap to a lorry from which the trash is dumped at the municipal garbage heap. Or so you hope. Who checks where the trash really goes? Not that I doubt those guys, the thing is, there is just no control. As there is no control of who pays for garbage collection and who doesn´t. In the small town I used to live there were plenty of people who didn´t and dumped their trash at the creek. Or behind my house. But to be fair, in the town I used to live in Honduras, garbage collection was serviced by the municipality, there was no way not to pay, but people still threw their trash on the streets anyway. 

Guatemalan Landscape II (Painting by Carin Steen)

Of course there wouldn’t be as much trash if there wasn`t so much single-use plastic. And the poorer people are, ironically enough, the more plastic. If you walk into any tiny neighbourhood store, the amount of plastic packaging is simply appalling. Besides some eggs, tomatoes and onions, everything else is covered in plastic and most of it individually wrapped. Because people are poor. It is less money (not cheaper) to buy a sachet of shampoo than a whole bottle (and no, those fantastic packaging-free shampoo tablets are NOT widely available to the poor!).  Cookies, drinks, oil, sauces, chips, candy, everything comes in mini amounts with maxi packaging, so you think you get something worth your money. While wat you really do is buying trash, of course. But hat argument doesn’t fly when you only have a few cents in your pocket, just enough to buy some crisps and a soda. 


For years, in my work with kids in Central America, I’ve addressed the trash problem in any possible way I could think of but it seems to be a lost fight. Garbage slogans and songs got forgotten, bins got stolen, signs got ruined and pollution continued. And I still don`t know why. Of course, if you go to small mountain villages, it wasn`t all too long ago that trash wasn`t a problem at all. You threw everything, all organic, out through the window and it got taken care of by dogs, pigs, chickens or bugs. The transformation from pure organic waste to an avalanche of single-use plastic went much faster than the disposal of it, not to mention recycling.



Funnily enough, if you ask a kid, or anyone, for that matter, whether she/he prefers a clean environment over a littered one, the answer is always yes. But oh so little is being done about it. Although, I must say I was thrilled to see that this year some schools in Central America instead of marching for Independent Day, cleaned their community or planted trees. Isn’t taking care of your country real patriotism? Please people keep that in mind next Semana Santa when you flock to coast and rivers and leave literally tons of your CRAP on shores and beaches! Not fun at all! And you know what, it can be done! Spending much time on the beach in Northern Spain this summer, I’m baffled every time I find the beach squeaky clean in the early mornings, knowing that just hours earlier hundreds of people spent their day there.  Every morning. It CAN be done! Really, not difficult at all.



In August last year, Antigua Guatemala announced its new law to prohibit single-use plastic, a law that went in effect on February 10. As much as I applauded it, I was very sceptical. It’s a great initiative, but to see it implemented is another thing. There`s also a law that forbids animal abuse.  And one that says you can`t kill people, but that one isn´t taken very seriously either. But I must say, I have actually seen quite a difference.


At the market the regular bags were quickly replaced by biodegradable ones. That is a step forward, although of course not a solution. By the way, I strongly mistrust some of those bags that look just the same to me, but with an “ECO” label printed on them. Is there any control out there? But now that the plastic ban will be implemented nationwide, things can only approve. Plastic won´t be able to be imported from other towns any longer and hopefully there will be more variety in alternative packaging as well as better prices. People are already coming up with solutions that are probably as ancient as the world anyway: French fries in a cabbage leaf, cheese wrapped in banana leaves and a return of brown Kraft paper. Nothing new under the sun.



I thought that the plastic ban would mostly be applied in the visible tourist industry in central Antigua. But to my surprise and delight, it has trickled through all layers of society and now even in the smallest shops you don`t get a bag any more. Want some tortillas? Bring a napkin. Eggs? Basket. You know, just like it used to be not so very long ago.  And if your walk around in my neighbourhood and see the amount of trash scattered around, you realise this could really have an impact.



But enough talk. Let`s try to make some real changes. Forget for now about reusing and recycling. Let`s start with some serious reducing. Deal?

Guatemalan Landscape III (Painting by Carin Steen)

The Chicken Bus Experience

There is no public transportation today from Antigua to the capital in Guatemala. Yet another bus driver was shot by gangs that charge transportation companies excessive fees in order to be allowed to ride the roads. Not the first assault (fortunately the driver survived this time), but all public transportation is now on hold while demanding from the government measures to guarantee safety in public transportation.

I couldn’t agree more but also see the irony here. Sure, the extortions are a massive problem, but it is not the only issue on the road. Anyone who has ever travelled the roads in Guatemala knows that many bus drivers are suicidal maniacs who put the lives of the passengers in their overcrowded busses in peril. As colourful and fantastically decorated those chicken busses are, as soon as they hit the roads they turn into lethal beasts. In their hurry to haul in as many as paying customers, the ayudantes basically drag people into the busses, quite often doubling the maximum number of 52 passengers, as a forgotten sign over the drivers head mentions, a forgotten relic from when the bus was yellow and used to haul schoolchildren, two per bench, in grey but quiet suburbs.

Chicken busses, I love them as much as I hate them. As big and fast and scary as they are on the roads, especially when the bus driver starts racing a bus from a rival company, they are absolutely fascinating. Riding a chicken bus while, often quite literally, hanging on for dear life, is an experience that assaults all your senses at once. The smells may not always be the best (the aroma of food sold by vendors squirming through the isle is by far preferable over some more human odours); the music simply deafening; the touch factor a little too close for my taste (don’t forget to hold on to that hand rail with all your might!) and the visual impact not more than a colourful blurs; it all adds up to being totally emerged in the chicken bus experience. If you haven’t ridden a chicken bus, you haven’t lived Guatemala…

The very best are of course the busses’ make-over, both inside and out. The more work, the better, although it’s all for looks and little is done to make things more comfortable for the passengers. The springs are poking through the seats? Can wait. The whole bench is bend so you keep gliding off? Not the driver’s problem. A new dashboard sticker on the market? YES!!!

Many busses have girls’ names. It’s not always clear what the driver’s relation is to the person the bus is named after. A bus on route to my neighbourhood is called Angela, featuring the name in big read letters over the windshield. Underneath it says: Explosión de Amor. Let’s assume Angela is the legal wife or girlfriend in this case, not the driver’s little girl.

It is also very important to ask for God’s blessing in loudly coloured stickers and to decorate the area around the driver with significant cultural icons, mostly Playboy’s bunny, the silhouette of a topless girl and Jesus Christ. Stickers are printed to fit the surface, not to respect the original image, hence the sometimes weirdly warped eyes of Our Lord staring at you.

Many busses now have TV screens up front with a typical mix of music videos (with girls as barely dressed as the chrome ones that decorate the bus) or extremely violent movies. The music is ear-splitting and can somehow always be turned up a notch. Nobody is ever bothered by the distorted sound, not even babies that tend to do the whole chicken bus experience while sleeping anyway.

I think my very favourite chicken busses are the ones from the town I used to live to the terminal in Antigua. The whole route takes no longer than five minutes. The busses are never full (except at the end of a school day) and it beats me how eight different busses can make a living of this route, charging people Q1.50 ($0.20). Students only pay Q1, after a short but fierce war when the fare went up from Q1 to Q1.50. Not that expensive, but a 50% increase nonetheless and it adds up when you have several kids taking the bus to school every day. In the end the war came to a peaceful end when the compromise was made to keep the rate for students at Q1.

The busses from San Bartolo to the terminal and back are not the most beautiful ones, but they are the dearest to me, I guess because they are so much part of the community. No bus would ever leave when someone started running a whole block away (well, what Guatemalans call “running” anyway), holding up the bus for a couple of minutes. Every person getting on gets a heartfelt Buenos días from the driver and the rest of the passengers. And best of all, when the buss arrives at its destination, a whole five minutes later, the drivers says: Servidos! And then you get up, pay the driver and get off with well wishes to and fro.  

And after a day in town the bus is waiting for you at its regular spot. Always and every day.

The Lesser Side of Tourism

It’s high season in Copán Ruinas and although the number of tourists isn’t nearly as high as a few years back, everybody is happy to be doing some business after months of misery. Yes, we’re all happy to see the streets crowded again, the restaurants full and hotels bursting out of the seams with college kids on excursion. Everybody somehow depends on tourism in this town, directly or indirectly, so we’re glad, but that doesn’t mean that high season doesn’t bring along its nuisances too.

My number 1 irritation this year is people skyping in public places. I think there should be a set on international rules for the use of skyping, with fierce fines and punishment for abuse, because really, it’s getting completely out of hand…

Cell phones were bad enough. In Copán Ruinas, the fad started pretty late, because for the longest time we had no cell phone towers here, so only a happy few carried the thing around, for when they were travelling “abroad” (=outside Copán or the Grand City of San Pedro Sula). When we finally got connected, you couldn’t have a decent meeting with more people than just yourself, since everybody always had the phone glued to their ears. I suspect it was much more a “hey, look at me, I’m cool – I have a cell phone” thing than an actual need to communicate. I even have my suspicions that people specifically requested calls during their meetings, just to show off. But now that everybody has a cell phone (or two), even the poorest campesino, the novelty has worn of and people no longer shout in their phone while in a restaurant, meeting or bank. Or maybe it’s just that phones are barely used for talking these days, but for chatting, gaming, posting, tweeting, taking pictures or baking pizza.

Skyping though, is a whole different story. If you want to spend your whole vacation on your IPad, fine, I have no problem with that, although I don’t always understand what’s there to post on Facebook if you spend so many hours on your tablet instead of actually experimenting the place you’re at. If you really need to share every tortilla, every taxi ride and each and every souvenir you buy directly with the loved ones at home, fine. But please do so by chat, whatsapp, tweets, facetime, messenger or texting, not by skyping in the middle of a reatsaurant!!!!

Yesterday afternoon I went for a quiet beer to the restaurant across the street only to find the place invaded by a whole army of teenagers on a mission. Actually, there were just six of them, but they occupied three tables and one was pacing around with an iPhone, so the restaurant felt like it was completely overtaken. Each and one of them were skyping. Some by themselves, others in pairs, and they were all yelling on top of their voices to be heard. At least most of them had earplugs in, but being able to listen to only half of the conversation doesn’t make things much better.

“No, I said we’re in Honduras… Yes, HONDURAS!”

“Hi dad! Look! I’m in a restaurant!”

“Is aunt Jane back yet?”

“Yes, it’s pretty hot here too!”

“So, after grocery shopping, what did you do? … The hairdresser? Ah, cool…”

Worse is when they pick up their iPhone/tablet/iPad or other device and start walking around showing off the place.

“Yes, I’m in this restaurant. Look, isn’t it cool!”

Yes, you’re in a restaurant, you idiot, a place where people come to eat and relax. Not to be shown off to your uncle’s neighbours’ grandfather! And I don’t appreciate to have your tiny camera lens directed at me, so I give you the finger. So you have actually something to talk about: the place is really cool, but the people are so rude!!!

So please people, can we do the same thing we do with cell phones nowadays? Have you noticed that when in company or in a restaurant and people receive a call, they actually get up and go outside to answer? Can’t we do something similar with skyping? Please??? What about the privacy of your hotel room? The reception area? The bathroom maybe? The top of a mountain???

Anywhere but public places where you’re surrounded by people not interested in your private conversations???

Please!!!

Thanks…

Plastic Terror

Doña Berta's shopping bag

I know, it’s a world wide problem. But as with a lot of things, in Honduras it seems to be worse. It might be a nuisance in other places, but here it’s epidemic. It’s everywhere. It haunts me. There is no escape.

I’m talking about The Plastic Bag.

It’s not just the fact that with each and every purchase you get a plastic bag. You often get multiple bags! And there is no way refusing them! Apparently there’s this unwritten but sacred etiquette to the use of plastic bags. It must be something like this:

            -Any business shall hand out as many plastic bags to the customer as possible. Be stingy with anything, but with plastic bags.

-The customer shall receive as many plastic bags as he or she can, and preferably ask for more.

-If the purchased products are several, in stead of using one bag, try to put the different products in as many separate bags as possible.

-Do not ever put cleaning materials (albeit already wrapped in plastic) in the same bag with edible products (often also packed in plastic) in the unlikely case the food might take on the smell of the cleaning products on the short trip home.

-Do not pack food products meant for humans in the same back with product for animals. (Imagine a can of dog Chow and a can of condensed milk in the same bag! Gross!)

-At the market, even if the customer brings her own shopping bag, put every single vegetable or fruit in a separate bag before depositing it in the shopping bag.

-In case the customer needs immediate use of his/her purchase, the plastic back is immediately discarded outside the store. (And not in the garbage can, of course).

-Since plastic bags are so common and so abundant, there is no reason for reuse whatsoever.

-Plastic bags make great flying objects on the streets and therefore need not to be recycled.

-Plastic bags also add a nice fragrance to home-burned garbage, yet another reason not to be recycled.

I started my War against the Plastic Bag many years ago, and am still fighting it. It’s a lost, case, I know, but I won’t give up. While I was the director of an NGO, we had this rule that no plastic bags were allowed into the office. We had big shopping bags for everybody’s use and accepting a plastic bag was punished with a 5 Lempira fine. The first months after implying this rule there was quite bit of money in the kitty, but my colleagues eventually got used to the No Plastic Bag Policy. So it is possible…

Doña Berta, the owner of one of my favourite stores in the world (see a previous post on her store here) liked our policy too and it inspired her to have canvas shopping bags made for her regular customers. After all, as a shop owner, she’s sick and tired of having to pay for all those plastic bags!

It’s an honour to be an inspiration, so I carry Doña Berta’s bag proudly. It has more value to me than a Louis Vuitton bag, and probably holds more too.  Unfortunately, I’m the only one. I don’t know what it is, but people in town rather die than be seen with a shopping bag on the street…

The Plastic Bag Situation is bad enough as it is, but it is even worse if they are imposed on you. Even without accepting any plastic bags, I admit I have hundreds of them, with no clear clue of how they got into my possession! Really, there is no escape of the Plastic Bag… Not even here in the small town of Copán Ruinas, where everybody knows me. True, in a lot of stores the bag boy gets hissed at before he can trap my purchases: Stop! She doesn’t want a bag!!! But all too often I have to literally beg not to give me a bag.

Instead of asking whether you want a bag, the cashier starts shoving your stuff in a bag anyway. I usually say:

“I don’t want a bag.”

Nothing happens.

“I don’t want a bag!”

The bagging continues.

“I don’t want a bag!!!”

Nothing. So after I’ve paid and receiving several plastic bags, I start to unpack it all. That’s when the cashier finally wakes up from his or her preconditioned state of oblivion and looks at me like I’m the craziest person on earth.

Maybe I am.

But I still don't want that plastic bag.

Why I hate weddings

Oh, that dreadful moment when someone knocks on your door and stands there with the biggest smile, handing you an envelop with on it your misspelled name in golden letters…
“You’re coming, right?”
I sigh inwardly, grind my teeth and force a smile.
“I’ll try.”

I hate weddings. I’m not a big fan of formal parties anyway, but weddings, Honduran weddings in particular, are not my thing. But since it appears to be socially desirable to have at least one gringo or gringa at the event, I get, to my regret, my share of invitations.

I’ve nothing against two people in love vowing eternal fidelity (and I’m not even going into the Honduran (male) interpretation of the word “eternal” or “fidelity”), it’s just that I find attending weddings a waste of time, energy and money.

For starters, there’s the wedding present. I gave up long ago trying to buy something that I think is beautiful or useful, because tastes differ. Tremendously. My most successful presents were those that I found most horrendous, so now I go to the store and pick the most hideous and expensive thing I can find, the more frills the better. If I manage to avoid attending the event, I buy an even more expensive gift, to ease my guilt and to stay on good terms with the happy couple. That’s socially acceptable and I suspect in some cases even desirable.

The second torture is what to wear. Oblivious to the latest fashion in town, I find it hard enough to find something in my wardrobe that has no paint splatters on it or that looks remotely feminine and elegant. I always end up feeling underdressed and slightly uncomfortable, especially when wearing heals instead of my beloved All Stars.

Then there’s the event itself. Incapable by my Dutch origins to arrive late, I spend sometimes hours by myself at the “random table” (the one for people that don’t fit in any category) politely smiling at the guests that arrive long after the hour mentioned in the invitation. Those hours would be more endurable if there would be a big bottle of some kind of hard liquor in front of me, but usually there’s only a homemade table decoration to look at.

When the ceremony finally starts, I’m usually so zoomed out already, it’s hard to concentrated on the wedding vows. When lucky, there’s a civil ceremony only, but more likely there’s a priest with a sermon, followed by a religious pledging too. I find it baffling how people can actually sign two different documents that contain completely contradictory pledges: during one of the last weddings I attended, the couple was first married legally, promising fidelity and such, as well as respecting the equal rights between man and woman. Not ten minutes later they signed the religious document, the woman promising to be subordinate to her man. Personally I think that irregularity should be reason to nullify both wedding certificates, but no one else seemed to notice, much less care.

Weddings with a mass before the actual wedding ceremony are even more of an agony to me. Last year I was invited to a wedding of a very dear friend, mass included, so I tried, even though I’m not much of a church going person. I found a seat in the very back of the church which was a good thing because twice I had to walk out and take a very deep breath. The first time was when the priest said that the only union between man and woman that has any value was matrimony for the Catholic Church (I already knew that, it wasn’t my first catholic wedding), that the only purpose of matrimony is reproduction and that he was aghast when he met a man the other day who happened to have more dogs than children!!! (I happen to have more dogs than children.)

The second time I sneaked out (and actually went to the bar to have a quick drink) was when the priest compared Honduras with Japan: Both countries are similar in size, but the difference is that Japan is much more developed and has a much bigger population. Hence, the solution to become a more developed country is to REPRODUCE! Not only did I utterly disagree with his reasoning, it was totally out of place during a wedding ceremony.

Back to the wedding reception, the moment of relief when food is finally served. Traditionally a huge chunk of chicken with (because of the special occasion) an abundance of starch: spaghetti, bread, potato salad and, of course, tortillas. And when it’s time for dessert, the event is suddenly over… A lot of guests don’t even stay to eat their dessert, but take it home, covered with a paper napkin. No lingering, no guests getting drunk, no dancing or flirting between bridesmaids and best men. Instead, kids start running around grabbing the decorations of the table, pulling down balloons and anything else that can be taken away. Without exception, the beautifully decorated wedding location looks like a battlefield twenty minutes after dessert is served.

Mission accomplished.

Time to go to bar…

Fireworks

I love Honduras.

I really do.

But there are some things…

FIRECRACKERS!!!!!

I can so do without them…

Christmas is only a month away, so that means firecrackers all around. For those who do not know, in Honduras every event is celebrated with fireworks: weddings, birthdays, football victories and elections. Christmas is of course no exception. Or the month leading up to it, for that matter.

By no means do I mean to say that things in my home country Holland are better, because they’re not. But as far as laws, rules and ethics about fireworks are concerned, they are! If only people in Honduras would be a bit more aware of the dangers of fireworks, especially in the hands of young children.

From my own youth I remember how special it was when New Year came around (because in Holland fireworks are only permitted on New Year’s Eve!!!) and we were allowed to carefully and heavily supervised, light some kid-friendly, low-risk (and admittedly, quite boring) rockets. With cigarette butts, no lighters or matches allowed!!! (I guess up until somebody figured out that more people die of smoking related illnesses than fireworks, because I don’t think cigarettes are recommended any longer!).

But not in Honduras. Here, fireworks are a socially accepted toy for kids from age 2 and up. I’m not sure if there are any restrictions as to who can sell or buy, but if there are, laws are definitely not reinforced. It will be only a matter of days before fireworks will be sold on every street corner again, and don’t be surprised to find a baby napping under a table full of cohetes.  Small kids will buy cheap firecrackers while teenagers and fun loving adult men go for the heavy duty stuff. The day after, mostly after Christmas or New Year’s Eve, while parents sleep off their hangovers, kids are found roving around the street for bits and pieces of bangers, wheels and rockets that can still be lit up. And thus risk losing a hand or a third degree burn in a country where there are barely any clinics that can adequately treat burns.

So yes, I really hate firecrackers. They’re noisy, they’re dangerous, they scare the bejeezus out of me, they scare the animals and they are also very contaminating. I was hoping that the severe economic crisis here might affect the sales of fireworks, but unfortunately, no, it doesn’t sound like it…

Bang!

What’s the noise all about?

I don’t know whether it has ever been scientifically researched, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Hondurans are the loudest people on Earth.

A Honduran event without a lot of noise is as unlikely as a Honduran meal without tortillas. Hondurans really like to indulge in making a racket. The more the merrier!

For starters, there’s fireworks for every special occasion (Christmas, Easter, Independence Day, New Year, among others). And I’m not talking about a beautiful fireworks display, but heavy duty bombs that rattle the windows, make the dog dive under the bed and even get haughty frowns from my cats. At dawn, of course. Or actually, they start at dawn, but from there on there’s no real pattern.

Birthdays are preferably celebrated through serenades at 5am. Loud ones, too. And in order to sell a product, you need a whole wall of speakers in front of your business, preferably with heavily distorted punta or reggaeton. This makes shopping in malls an unbearable experience and unfortunately this trend has made it all the way to the previously (relatively) quiet town of Copán Ruinas.

I just crossed the central park and it completely baffles me how people can actually stand it without suffering from noise induced hearing loss. (Or maybe they’re already deaf and that’s why they turn up the volume). On each corner people are selling one thing or another through their amplifiers, backed up by a few businesses in adjoining streets that also loudly announce their products, because it is weekend and the neighbours do it, so they do it too. Does this really work? What happened to a gentle and generic elevator tune on the background? For me it definitely doesn’t work. I go a mile out of my way to shop somewhere in silence. (Which means I’ll probably starve to death very soon.).

I lost count how many times I moved because of Religious Noise Pollution: a church in the neighbourhood is normally very tolerable until the congregation grows and enough money had been raised to buy a sound system, usually with more speakers than church members.

Oh, and there’s the honking.

And parents yelling at their children.

Radios and TVs that are perpetually turned on. So what if you can’t hear yours because of your neighbour’s, you just turn your own volume up a bit!

Indecently loud cell phone ring tones.

My neighbours’ dog tied up on the patio that barks and cries all night long. (Seriously, am I the only one to be bothered??)

The rooster on the same patio. (I don’t think they even have chickens. So what’s the rooster all about?)

And now, to make matters much worse, there’re the primary elections that instead of a battle of visions seems to have become the Battle of Noise. The Liberals are loud, so the Nationalists need to be louder, and so on…

Am I overly sound sensitive here? Or just not Honduran enough?

I do have a theory about this: I grew up in an apartment above a carpentry workshop and until this day I find the hammering and whining of a chainsaw a comforting sound. As a matter of fact, I find it so familiar, and soothing, I sleep like a baby right through it. So what if the sound you grow up with is what comforts you??? That would explain why Hondurans get so uncomfortable when there’s no noise around. Have you noticed how they produce incredible amounts of decibels wherever silence might reign? On beaches, picnic areas, parks: open the door of your car and crank up the volume!

So to go back to my theory, it would mean that Hondurans need noise in order to feel comfortable, because that was the environment of their early childhood. It also means there is no solution to the problem unless we can create a new generation of children that will grow up in silence (or at least a no-noisy ambience). But how to do that? Maybe get Coca-Cola involved with a campaign aimed at young parents: The Silent Generation…

As for now, it has started to rain, so at least the sound of rain hitting the zinc roof drowns out the noise of the rest of the world. It also means the power will go out shortly. But that is a whole different theme…

Pestering Heat

The months of April and May linger towards the beginning of the rainy season, and are not my favourites. I prefer the temperature of June, the morning mists of November, the clear blue sky of December, even the crispy chill of January. But towards the end of April, the mountains turn yellow, the roads dusty and the sky a nasty grey-yellow, charged with ashes from slash-and-burn all through the valley. While the temperature rises and the air gets drier every day, another nuisance appears: ticks! The tiny brown-red bastards love my dog and me even more! And in spite of the expensive Frontline and cheap home remedies such as a few drops of oil in the neck, I’m picking ticks off my dog every day. Yuck!

This year, my not-so-favourite-months had another surprise in store. On April 22 my dog turned 10. Pretty old for a medium sized black lab. So I was quite surprised when not a week later, my dog, Luca, turned out to be in the heat! Visions of Luca’s last heat entered my mind, my house barricaded but nonetheless besieged and peed on by an army of male, horny dogs. Not he prettiest ones either!

Now, Luca has been spayed when she was about a year old, so she can’t have puppies., Unfortunately, the vet at the time didn’t do a hysterectomy, just “tied her tubes”, so all these years, until 2010, Luca has been in the heat once or twice a year, or, if lucky and I caught it on time, I’d give her a shot to prevent the heat from developing any further.

This time, our friend the vet from Guatemala happened to be in town, so I asked him whether I should inject her again. He said I shouldn’t. At Luca’s age, the symptoms would be barely noticeable.

Hah!

That was the understatement of the century. Luca was as HOT as never before. But she could wiggle her butt or lift her tail all she wanted, most canine candidates were not interested in her. At least, not the big ones, I had already noticed that smaller dogs, of the lapdog variety, were very much into her. And since lapdogs are a bit of a trend in Copán, there’re unfortunately plenty around. They would follow us on our long hikes and I would even feel sorry for the animals and their short legs, and afraid they might get run over. That was then.

About a week later, I was about to strangle them. Two in specific. Tiny little monsters with a terrific sense of smell that made my life a living hell. I couldn’t go out with Luca anymore, because she got jumped upon the minute we set a foot on the street. Not very handy when your dog is trained not to do her necessities on the patio. At night I couldn’t sleep, because the dogs were outside my neighbour’s door, whose patio borders mine, wailing all night and scratching the door. The second night, one of dogs learned how to push open the wooden door, through the iron gate that protects it! One night later and the dog, by that time skinnier, I guess, because of days without food, fit through the gate and started his hammock on my neighbour’s patio. He scratched his way halfway through the wooden partition that divided the patios and terrorized my cats. He would bite my neighbour whenever she tried to kick him out and couldn’t care less if I threw a bucket of water on him, about four times every night. In the meantime, Luca wouldn’t eat, sleep, pee or poo, she was just on the alert 24hrs a day, constantly tried to rape my cats and wanted to be cuddled a lot. Especially near her tail. Right.

After a week I was sleep deprived, frustrated, cranky, on the edge and hallucinating with cruel visions of all sorts of lapdog torture. Of torturing their owners too, who don’t care where their dogs hang out, or vaccinate or neuter them.

Heat and more heat and ticks, what a hell!

And then, all of a sudden it was over. Yesterday was the first day the tiny furry ogres where no where to seen. Today it started to rain and the temperature dropped noticeably.

It almost feels like heaven…

I hate Semana Santa!

Oropendola nests at the Copán River

I’m not sure whether it’s a deeply rooted cultural difference or it’s just me, but I HATE Semana Santa! I don’t particularly dislike the religious tradition of sawdust carpets. They’re actually quite beautiful and a true community effort. I also don’t mind the processions and I do enjoy the beautiful set-up of the different stations of the Calvario of Jesus. I tend to complain about the oppressing April heat, but hey, that’s one of the main reasons for my being here in the first place. I prefer the town in its normal tranquillity, without the invasion of Salvadorian tourists, but I can live with it. But what I CANNOT STAND is being anywhere near the river these days.

I love the Copán River. For almost every day of the last fifteen years, I’ve been walking along, to, or through the river with my dog(s). I love the river when the water is crystal clear and alive with tadpoles. I love it when it’s chocolate brown and roaring angrily after the first tropical downpours. I love the river at the peep of dawn and in the soft embrace of the afternoon sun. I love three-dimensional sound of the flock of oropendolas that have their nests hanging high above the river’s edge. I love the river’s steep cliffs, its rocky beach, its shady edge.

But all that is now, at least temporarily, history.

While Salvadorian tourists have taken over the town, the Copanecos have all gone to the river. And with them, their cars, stereos, barbecues, mattresses, hammocks, pillows, inflatable pools, pets, baby cribs, chairs, tables and tons of kids and food and disposable cups, plates, cutlery and bags. And whereas for some people it might be fun to sit next to your neighbour’s car on a tiny bit of rocky beach with your feet in the three inches of highly contaminated water with music blaring from three different sides, it’s isn’t mine. But still, cada loco con su tema.  But what really bothers me is what is left behind when the sun goes down. Mile after mile, there’s trash just everywhere.

So, after fifteen years of living in Honduras I still don’t understand this. Is this a typical Honduran thing, or does it happen elsewhere too? Why, if you’re coming by car in the first place, can’t you just take your trash back home with you?

Why would you want to sit on a beach littered with yesterday’s trash?

Can’t wait for nature to take over again…

Rules of flirtation

To keep things uncomplicated, this post is about heterosexual man-to-woman flirting only.

In Honduras men ALWAYS flirt with ANY woman. Whether it is a serious attempt to get into her panties or a half-assed effort to get her attention, Man will hit on Woman, Always and Anywhere. It doesn’t matter how old or attractive the woman in question is, or whether she’s obviously already in the company of a male member of humankind. Man plus Woman equals: let’s give it a try.

I don’t know what kind of unwritten machismo rule states that this needs to be the case (I’ve even seen gay guys hitting on women, just for the heck of it), just that it can lead to very uncomfortable situations. For women, that is. In their defence, men in Honduras are not touchy-touchy, so usually a “No, gracias” is sufficient to keep men at bay.

What I don’t understand is why men flirt the way they do. I mean, I know the objective, but don’t they know there are better ways to get a woman into their bed? Do they really think we like to hear tsssschuh- tsssschuh- tsssschuh on the street, or being whistled at?

Do obese men think that leaning against a wall, one leg bent, T-shirt folded upward over the chest, one hand rubbing a fat belly while groping their balls with the other, IS A PRETTY SIGHT TO WOMEN?????

Do men really think it’s attractive when they noisily clear their throat of phlegm and then spit the slimy stuff out on the street right in front of you, before they address you with a sexy “Hi baby…”?

Isn’t the officer aware that when I go to the police station to report a robbery, I’m not quite in the mood for flirtation?

Why doesn’t the kid at the market understand I’m much more interested in him putting bananas in my bag, then the banana in his pants?

Why keep on hitting on me when I have just lied that I am married and have a ring to prove it? (Most alarming answer: “That’s okay… I can come by when your husband is at work!”)

Another thing that baffles me is that apparently flirting doesn’t have to be age appropriate. Me myself, I’m not that young anymore, but regularly get whistled at or commented upon by old guys, obviously, but also by young men that could be my kids, age-wise. My grandchildren, even, if we take in account the young age women here usually have their first child. I find that quite disconcerting, especially if it goes beyond flirting. Not once but twice in the last few years, love was declared to me by a fifteen-year old and that completely freaked me out. In both cases I did my very best to tell the guy off without hurting his feelings too much (it was a brave thing to confess after all, if not illegal!). “Oh, okay”, each one of them said and that was the end of it, for them. I guess they just had to try and to be rejected was no big deal. However, the whole thing left me deeply disturbed.

I also find it troubling to meet ex-students of mine in a bar who start to flirt with me. Ex students from when I was a kindergarten teacher!!! That was fifteen years ago, so those kids are about twenty know, at least legally adults, but since I’m also fifteen years older than I was then, I guess you can see why this is slightly upsetting. Especially if they come up to you with a seductive smile and call me “Miss”.

Yesterday I saw that old man again who once offered to visit me while my husband is at work. He’s been flirting with me forever (“to” would be a better preposition in this case than “with”), but you’ve got to give him credit: the guy is old (could be my great-grandfather!), toothless, unshaven and he stinks, but never gives up. But yesterday for once he actually didn’t flirt with me, but said:

“I see married life has been good to you!”

Puzzled, I asked him why.

“Because you look fat!”

I felt like killing him after all.

I am special!

Tigo thinks I’m special! And not every once in a while, but almost every day! And if Tigo doesn’t tell me I’m special, it notifies me that I’m very close to winning no less than three KIA cars!

Or have “limitless nights” for half price!  Or activate backtones and ringtones and keypad tones and whatever tones for whatever great price!  Triple saldo hoy, just because I’m special!!!

If being boring, mediocre and unremarkable would mean I wouldn’t receive anymore text messages from Tigo, I’d gladly be so. But I am special, says Tigo, and I have to suffer.

When I had just bought my phone, I received an evangelical message everyday, sometimes at very ungodly hours in the morning. I was able to block those, but my block list was quickly full. Fortunately, my phone, although purchased at an official Tigo store, was actually a Digicel phone that had been “upgraded” to Tigo. I don’t care much for one or the other, but the advantage was that I could at least block some of Tigo’s numbers they use to send out text messages, a feature that Tigo doesn’t allow on its own phones. So I’ve been able to block a whole bunch of annoying daily message, but unfortunately not all.

But things could be worse. A friend of mine receives a joke every day. Quite annoying, but the real problem is that she gets charged for it!!! She has been back to the store, called Customers Service many a time, but to no avail. She still receives a joke a day. And not good ones either.

Maybe she’s just not special enough.