chones.

I feel like I am in a whirlwind. The information that has been shoved down my throat in the past 24 days is more than I took in during my entire five and a half years of college. On top of that, I have been consuming just as much greasy food as knowledge. So it’s safe to say I am not only fat with new wisdom, but also the Plato Tipico – refried beans, fried eggs, rubbery cheese that won’t melt, fried plantains, and more corn tortillas than one could ever imagine. Oh yes, and how could I forget mantequilla...it is so important to my daily life it deserves it's own blog post. The women of the houses here make about 80 fresh tortillas every morning for one day. We use them instead of silverware, and to sop up every last drop of grease that may perspire off of our food.

Upon arrival into Honduras, the bus dropped me off to my host mom who greeted me with open arms, and numerous questions about my vegetarianism. After explaining what a big fan of beans & vegetables I was in the only twelve words of Spanish I knew, I took a nap that lasted through the welcome dinner she prepared for me until the following morning.

I have been living with Raquel & Rafael since my arrival in Honduras. They live in the mountains about a half hour outside of Tegucigalpa. My room is little and cute with a twin-sized bed and a giant boom box. I share a bathroom with the family that consists of the parents and two kids – Diego, three, and Rodrigo, one-and-a-half. My two new brothers have helped me realize what a good aunt I want to be.

Diego calls me Sarah. According to my new mom, Sarah was the previous volunteer they had who spoke better Spanish and was more fun. So for a little over three weeks I get to live in this tiny house with four people who think I am a mute bump on a log. In all reality, it took about two and a half days for me to fall in love with them. And they are very pleased with me. They laugh when I butcher their language and also at my bright-colored ropa interior.

Training is a mixture of good and bad. The 4-hour Spanish classes are draining, but getting to know everyone has been great. And the teachers are fun, aside from the safety & security guy, Juan Carlos, who comes about once a week to scare the living shit out of us with full on demonstration consisting of machetes and machine guns. Other than that, it almost feels like summer camp, with numerous discussions of stomach problems and sexual deprivation.

Everyone in Honduras is amazing. Just the most humble people I have been around in my life. I have made wonderful friends and it has been less than a month.

I am finally beginning to feel like I can call this place home. I’ve also settled on a favorite beer, Port Royal (green bottle never fails). The nearby town, Valle de Angeles is a great spot to grab a beer or several, and it’s only a mototaxi away.