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by Michael E. Campana
Honduras
(being a semifictional account of my sabbatical adventures, designed to amuse
and inform, and to be taken with a kilo of salt)
7 May 2003
From the We Can't Do Anything Right Department: Former American Airlines CEO Don Carty had his own hotline employees could call for his latest epistles - which managers were getting big bonuses, who was getting canned, etc. - they just dialed 1-800-AA-CARTY. Well, after Don himself was canned (he got a brown parachute), AA employees assumed that new CEO Gerard Arpey would have the same arrangement so they started dialing 1-800-AA-ARPEY to hear the latest news. Turns out that 800-number is a sex line. I know, half of you are now reaching for a phone.
We've all heard those jokes about taking buses in Latin America, and sharing a seat with chickens and goats. Well, a couple of years ago I actually took a plane flight with chickens and a goat. The chickens were in cages; the goat was tied up in the back by the door, and behaved rather nicely on the 40-minute flight. The chickens didn't do very well.
While in Puerto Cortés at my friend Rolando López's, I met a Washington State health official, Wade Bessett, who was on an extended trip. He had bicycled down to San Antonio, then headed here to work with Rolando. He was intent upon introducing the simple SODIS (SOlar DISinfection - www.sodis.ch) water disinfection technology to some of the villages here. SODIS consists of taking a 2-liter clear plastic bottle (these are everywhere), peeling off the label, filling it with clear but contaminated water and putting it in the sun for 6-8 hours. What the heat and UV radiation will do is disinfect the water. Wade hit upon the brilliant idea of asking Coke and Pepsi to put simple instructions for using the SODIS system on a peel-off label on each bottle. Our enthusiasm rapidly waned, because we soon realized that, despite their benevolence, humanitarianism, and great concern for the world's poor, Coke and Pepsi would much rather have them drink, well, Coke and Pepsi (or their own brands of bottled water) rather than plain old water. Wade was quite interesting, although after talking with him I felt like eating nothing but hermetically-sealed granola bars. He did tell me one interesting fact: the belief that mayonnaise goes bad after a few hours outside of the refrigerator is "left over" (so to speak) from the old days. He said modern mayo is so acidic that it inhibits the growth of harmful bacteria. But he said a problem can arise when it is mixed with other foods and left out (in which case its acidity may be neutralized) so I wouldn't eat go eat Aunt Lulu's potato salad after it has sat out in the sun all afternoon. Actually, you can - it would be good practice for Honduras. If you get sick, I'll give you Wade's email address.
I managed to take several "Jornadas del Muerto". On one I returned to the village in which we worked last year to see if the ticks still remembered me (they did). One of the villagers recognized me, smiled, and greeted me as "Don" Campana. One of my companions wondered why he couldn't remember my correct first name. We then visited the village in which we'll work this year. I got to ride Ranchero, a steed fortunately more tranquil than my buddy "El Diablo" from Panama. Finally, Rolando López and I journeyed to a small town to look at its water system, which was nearing the end of its 20-year life and losing about 40-50% of its flow to leaks along its 9-kilometer pipeline. Not much we could do, as the village simply needs money. What struck me was what happened when we returned from a brutal all-day trek in the broiling sun. Our entourage stopped at a local tienda where I was going to buy everyone ice-cold soft drinks. The locals there would not let me pay. There I was, carrying more money than all those people combined make in a month and they treated me. Later, when I tried to sneak an extra one and pay for it, the shopkeeper refused to accept my money. And some people wonder why I keep returning here.
At that town I met a young Peace Corps volunteer, Christine Crawford. She was a graduate of UNC-Chapel Hill, where she studied journalism and religion, and who now works on water systems. Her enthusiasm was amazing. All day on our trek she kept pumping me (note the pun) with water questions. She told me that Honduras has one of the largest contingents of PC volunteers in the world - I think it is now 260 or so. Former Honduras PC volunteers are also terribly loyal. Many have stayed here. After Hurricane Mitch blew through here in 1998, many returned at their own expense to help out.
I took the Viana bus again between San Pedro Sula and Tegucigalpa. As I mentioned before, Viana runs 'luxury' buses, which means they have attendants, A/C, movies, refreshments, limits on non-human passengers, brakes, and drivers over 15. The movies we saw on the 4-hour trip had a distinct ' whaling ' theme. The first one was Mystic Pizza, an enjoyable movie about great pizza and young women coming of age in the former whaling town of Mystic, CT - or perhaps it was about great young women and pizza coming of age (without mayo, thanks). Anyway, it was set in Mystic, now a fashionable boutique town for tourists. This must have been Julia Roberts' first big role. The second one illustrated a rule all too often forgotten by Hollywood: there is always one sequel too many. We were subjected to Free Willy 7: The Exit Strategy. In this one, the cerebral cetacean was married, and he and Mrs. Willy had lots of little Willys running around the pod. But Willy's life was one of anomie (a word I learned in sociology and always try to use) and he was looking for a way out. He tried calling for help on his cell phone, but since he had no opposing thumbs he could not hold the darn thing. Finally, he made whale sounds which summoned his insipid human buddy Jesse, played by David Soul, now the prosperous owner of a chain of sushi bars. The two of them persuaded a guilt-ridden harpooner-turned-Greenpeacer, poignantly portrayed by Stephen Seagal, to help them fake Willy's death so he could escape his dreary life but leave his family well off with the insurance money. The last scene had Willy happily lolling around San Diego's Sea World, surrounded by a bevy of orca-ettes.
By the way, few people realize that there was a sequel to Mystic Pizza. It was called Connecticut Calzone, and starred Suzanne Somers, Dom DeLuise, Eric Roberts, Joe Piscopo, Buddy Ebsen, Valerie Bertinelli, and Henry Winkler. It went straight to video. But its rapid demise ensured we were spared Bridgeport Bagel and New Haven Knish, both of which were on the drawing boards.
I stayed at the Hotel MacArthur in Tegucigalpa while waiting to depart for home on May 5. The hotel must have been in the Canadian ghetto, because there was a donut shop on every corner. No Tim Hortons, though. While channel surfing (hey, 50-channel cable TV) I stumbled across the TV show 18 Wheels of Justice, about a couple of Justice Department agents, a ruggedly handsome guy and a rather comely young woman, who pose as truckers (uh-huh) and drive around a lot doing good things. What struck me is that one of the stars of the show is none other than that paragon of justice, convicted Watergate felon turned author and talk show host, G. Gordon Liddy. He apparently has a recurring role as their boss, code-named 'Mierda Grande'. The episode dealt with the rather novel theme of drug smuggling across the Mexico-Texas border. I didn't stick around to find out what was going to happen because there was a great woman-in-jeopardy tear-jerker on Lifeline starring Jaclyn Smith, Connie Selleca, and Meredith Baxter entitled Trapped, Betrayed, Deserted, Cheated, Violated, Degraded, Humiliated, Trashed, My Children Taken Away, But Otherwise Still Surviving: The Shame of Terminal Flatulence. The story was quite moving. It's funny, the movie was entirely in Spanish without subtitles but you could still tell exactly what was going on. I did manage to catch a couple of episodes of The Sopranos as well. They were in English with Spanish subtitles. Unfortunately, the richness of the English language did not come through. When one of the characters uttered a two-minute string of obscenities, the translation was simply one word: "Maldición" ("Curse"), so you couldn't tell whether the person was being called a "$#&(%@+!" or a "*&%$#@<?+". It does make a difference, at least in New Jersey.
Curiously enough, there was also a Japanese-language cable channel. That meant one thing and one thing only: the Japanese are in Honduras! I later learned that the Japanese have provided almost $1.2 billion in aid to Honduras since 1975, second only to the USA. There are currently over 1000 Japanese working on 18 projects in the country. One project dear to my heart is an upgrading of the Tegucigalpa airport. The Japanese are funding the installation of beacons on "obstacles" near the airport: mountains, utility poles, rooftops, fast-food restaurant signs, control towers, etc. They are also building separate boarding ramps for quadrupeds and fowl, and installing high-pressure electronic toilets with instructions in Spanish. Those I can't wait for.
One last thing about the Japanese. When the Iraq war broke out while I was in Kyoto, the Japanese stations devoted a lot of coverage to it, along with CNN and everyone else. One of the Japanese stations had a very unique twist: instead of having all the electronic wizardry, virtual battlefields, etc., they had a big board with a map of Iraq and environs. On the board were little tanks, aircraft carriers, etc., which three-middle aged men enthusiastically maneuvered about the map with pointers. A refreshing approach, though I kept waiting for the model trains.
I have seen my future and is indeed horrifying. On the flight into Albuquerque I sat across the aisle from a little man about 80, wearing tennis shoes and a baseball cap that had aluminum foil and waxed paper sticking out the back (not unusual for us New Mexicans - he was en route to Roswell, and everyone knows those materials wrapped around your head will keep the aliens or the federal government from reading your mind). He spent most of the trip muttering and drooling. He had a big tag around his neck: "My name is *******. If found, please return me to *******". Looks like the beginning of a good story line for 18 Wheels of Justice.
One thing I neglected to mention about Salvadorans - they are height-challenged. My translator told her husband I was 'tall'. I have decided to apply for citizenship and run for president.
My ticks are starting to fall off, so that means it's time to go. This will do it for the Central America Reports. You have one more report left, from Vienna, as I wrap up loose ends.
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