hn26.

so it's about time i wrote again. its been about a week since the last entry and much has happened, at east in my eyes. first and foremost im obsessed with my horse. and athough i don't spend enough time with him, its hard not to think about him all day. its as if i really had a kid, and not a horse. regardless, every day i awake at 5 30, cut him some zacate, spend about an hour petting, brushing, and talking, and then in the afternoon we walk, do a little training, and more zacateando. for now the training will revolve around stay, come, and circle-running commands, but slowly and surely progress is being made. i think within a month he'll be quite manageable. i will be trying to mount for the first time in about 2 weeks, so we'll see how that goes. if he throws me, well it will be a learning experience and we'll seguir adelante. until then, it's a relaxed regime, with more bonding than training. it's strange how much worry and love an animal like a horse can bring out in it's owner. what's even stranger is that none of the hondurans around me share the same sentiment. to them horses are just work animals, stupid and only good for hard labor. to me, he's a friend, a mode of transport, a pet, everything. i mean, i spend just as much time talking to him as i do to some hondurans. and i think its not just a cultural difference, but something to do with how campesinos view many of their animals. not even dogs are treated with cariño. they're here just to guard, and they get hissed and and shished at all day long. i don't even think they get fed. they more or less fend for themselves. and then hondurans wonder why their chicken eggs go missing. anyway, enough about that. let's talk about thanksgiving.

this past thursday i joined up with about 15 gringos, 4 hondurans, and a dutchman (i think), to celebrate the holy union of pilgrims and natives (ignoring the fact that the pilgrims went on to massacre the natives over the next century, and beyond). it was amazing. the meal we cooked was one of the most elaborate i have had ever, and just the fact that we were eating true american cuisine in honduras made it all the more delectable. all day long we spent preparing the two turkeys, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and all the standard trimmings. we ate from 6 til...well til we fell asleep. and in between we danced salsa, merengue, everything. for hours. it was so refreshing. the people were wonderful, sweet, and friendly. conversations lasted hours instead of minutes, like they do in the campo, and we actually talked about substantial things and not just the weather or honduran politics. in the morning we ate bannana bread with ice cream, sipped on hot coffee, and parted ways with hugs and promises of future fancy dinners.

but now, since the holiday is over, it's time to get back to work. the next few weeks will be filled with lots of mapping, lots of coffee pulp, and lots of time spent horse training. lets see how that goes.

oh and btw, in answer to mom's comment on the last one, the horse reshoeing experience was awesome. he didn't freak, didn't buck, didn't do anything. i petted him while he stood there with one leg in the air for about ten minutes. everyone thought it was incredible that an untrained horse could be so calm for so long while being shoed. we ended up doing it on a street corner in front of my house at dusk, and it worked out perfectly.

hn25.

i bought a horse on saturday. a 2 year old stallion, mixed gray and brown. it had never been ridden, never been trained, and never been lassoed. in fact, when i went to see it for the first time, you couldn't even come within 50 meters of it. well, now things are different. saturday the horse was taken to the home of a new friend of mine by the name of carlos. since carlos is a pro horse trainer, he told me he would take care of the horse for three days, break it a little, and have it ready for me to take home by tuesday.

the horse was taken there by truck, and when i came to see it i found it tied to a tree. with our approach the horse panicked, rose up on two feet, and lost it. but carlos took it by the lasso, and dragged it out onto the street. with every pull, the horse pulled back, and it looked like it would be a herculean task to train the animal. i then thought, why not give it a try. why not approach the animal with a little love instead of brute force. so i took the lasso from carlos, who hesitantly gave it up probably due to the fear he had for my life, and pulled. the horse did the same movements, kicked, and tried to break free. so i did something stupid, came up closer, and pulled again. this time he stood his ground. i then came even closer, and pulled. now he took a step. finally, i put my face to his, and looked at his eyes. not a move from him. so i stood there for some time, holding the horse, talking to him, and he relaxed. i then brought him back to his tree, tied him up and left for the day. that night, carlos spent some time working with the beast, and by the next morning ruso was walking around comfortably with me.

we spent the day walking the road around carlos' house, taking pictures, and doing a little training drills. it was exhilarating. not only because i was finally in posession of a horse, but because he responded to me. even more so than to the pro trainer carlos. and not because i was doing something better, or worse, but because i showed the animal love, by way of touching him and talking to him. something that is not part of the training process here. every honduran will tell you that the only way to train an animal is with a stick, but i can tell you this, that so far, a hug goes a hell of a lot farther.

tuesday was the hardest day by far. at around 6 in the morning i arrived at carlos' house, and spent about an hour and a half walking again. this period will last for about a week, of pure walking around, a little running around in circles, just to get the horse used to obeying. at 7 30, the owner came with a brand, his brand, a big capital J (which i kind of like cuz it could be interpreted as Jew), and we branded the horse. this process was necessary for legal reasons due to registration procedures. regardess, the horse barely moved, and now he's marked and I've got the paperwork.

we then walked the horse to the blacksmith's where he was shoed. it was an incredible experience. if not for the orange soda i would have thought we were back in the middle ages. all the tools he uses are hand made, the oven is hand built, and he made the horseshoes right in front of me. and although one broke today due to a fracture, the rest were magnificent. the actual practice of shoeing the horse was something else. in fact, it was close to dangerous. i held the horse's lasso while two men (the blacksmith and his son) tried to put the horseshoes on. by the time the job was done, the horse was bleeding due to freaking out and hitting itself, and i had been kicked three times and bitten once. but at least he was shoed and ready to go.

three hours later, i walked the horse onto the truck that took it to my village. it quite an experience riding in the back with it, mostly because it stepped on me a couple of times, but we finally arrived around 5 to my home town, and soon the horse was in its little closed field, where it was munching happily on some grass and zacate ( a tall sedge grass thing, in english san augustin grass).

the bad news came this morning when i found that one of it's shoes had broken in half due to the fracture i mentioned earlier, and now i have to spend part of my day going back to the guys house and getting another shoe and then shoeing the horse again. regardless, at least he's home, safe, and ready for training. and although everyone here thinks im crazy to mess with a horse and its entrenamiento, carlos has complete faith in my abilities, so im not worried. so far the horse seems to like me, so i think we're off to a good start. in two weeks i should be riding it. maybe in three. i will go through the process of training in future blog entries, especially since i will be able to say what works and what doesn't. until then, wish me luck.

hn24.

I realized a terrible truth today. But before i get to the point, one would need to be briefed about the thought process, where it started, how the conclusions came. And to be honest, maybe i can even get you to realize the truth before I even say it, and then you can nod your head, feel a sense of accomplishment, and actually get something out of this. because you come here once or twice a week, read entries about my life, but probably don't ever feel like you really did anything. or learned anything. or laughed. well today, we shall discover together something deep and frightful. kind of.

anyway, lets get to it. ever since coming to honduras and living in the campo ihave come to notice that almost everyone looks older than they actually are. 16 year olds look like they're 18 or 20, 25 year olds look like they're 30, and the gap keeps growing with every age category after that. once in a while you run into a honduran who looks their age, but overall, this is the trend. people get wrinkles early, grow mustaches early (although i think no matter what age i reach, i will never be able to grow a mustache). they marry and have 6 kids, all before i could even think about settling down. they grow internally and externally at a more rapid rate. and now the question comes, but why? what factors affect aging in such a way that a whole population might be growing older in a different way than another? in this case, i think the list goes on. but i wanted to explore a few regardless.

hondurans age externally due to their environment. living and working. they live in a country where the sun is harsh, for a large part of the year. harsh, like white people can't hang out outside. ever. at least not for more than an hour without increasing their chances of skin cancer by 10% every time. and the people of this continent do it every day, with only a hat and long sleeves to protect them. and so, skin being the way it is, changes every year into something more tough and weathered, as a means of protecting the wearer.

but this takes its toll in appearance, or at least beat-upedness. people start looking older at a younger age even though they live the same or longer than we do. they work in the fields, or other types of manual labor, from before they can read. kids start cutting coffee with their families at the age of 3. the boys work with their dads building or farming, and the girls in the kitchens or the little stores. all this work, also is reflected in their looks.
but what's even more interesting is that hondurans move through life at a different pace, in a way i could never have imagined. people have children starting at 16, and usually by the age of 26, three little cipotes (kids) are seen running about the salon (living room). little girls watching Nickelodeon, little boys blowing up fireworks, and the dads working 7-5 every day including saturday to feed them. the moms at the same time spend all day in front of the stove (or fogon, a woodburning cooking thing), or washing clothes (by hand), cleaning, doing everything at home with no technological assistance. this then leads to the parents aging quicker (for need to provide for 5) and the cycle begins again. its almost as if their social class, standard of living, and national situation (yes politics affect this as well due to the corruption that keeps these people in the same place year after year) are working against them every day. and the funny thing is that although maturity wise, and externally, hondurans age fasted, in terms of energy, capability, and strength, age slower. i know old honduran guys, 60 years old, who spend the day in the field chapeando with a machete, carrying 100 pound bags of fertilizer, and doing everything that an average 35 year old american could not even dream of doing.

well, that's about it. something to think about. maybe that's why peace corps are

here, help people with their skin and babies.

hn23.

i'm an asshole who doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut. why is it that i can never follow advice that i very well know to be true. words-silver, silence-gold. thanks grandpa. now if only i knew how to act on what i know, instead of doing the opposite. fuck. now lets just hope my cooperative doesn't lose their certification on my behalf. if so, im going home.

hn22.

so it's been some time again since i've written, and for the time being there is a lack of news. i guess what i can write about are my thoughts recently, what i'm planning, what i want. i've been thinking a lot about this horse thing, and although many have their doubts, i feel as though i am ready for the whole experience. the training, the feeding, the riding, and the finale, the trip to panama or wherever it is that i chose to ride it to. I have checked the distance, and its about 1600 km measured by finger on google maps. if anyone can get me a specific distance, between capucas and the panama canal, i'm all yours. at 50 k a day, that should take about 32 days of straight riding. or 2 months with breaks. sounds pretty good to me. and i get to see nicaragua, costa rica, y panama. it should be amazing, and i think that the experience will be worth any hassle, trouble, or pain that i may endure in the process. plus, the solitude during the day, and meeting different people and families at night, should provide for quite a lot of variety and a dynamic which can not be experienced in any other way. and i really think i can do it. i rode yesterday again for 30 k, and it was wonderful. relaxed. and my ass doesnt hurt. and the horse wasn't even sweating. now all that's left is careful, careful planning. i think what would be a good idea would be to stop at villages where there are pc volunteers, maybe stay with them, hear their stories. compile them even. regardless, the seed has been planted, the bush has grown, and now the roots are so deeply buried, that i think it will take some work to convince me otherwise. on a different note, i think i am slowly getting accustomed to the whole loneliness business. not that i feel it any less, but it seems as though i am getting somewhat more numb to the whole thing. but i still miss people, things, food, places, from what i knew and loved in the states. but now i am growing to love what i have here, how i live, what i eat, who i know. and it seems as though a famous quote, which i remember from a stupid movie called JOE DIRT, applies more today than ever: "home is where you make it". bam, meaning of life, learned.