Grief shared is half grief; Joy shared is double joy.

Dolor compartido, mitad del dolor. Alegría compartida, doble alegría.   –   Honduran Proverb

I have been in San Francisco de La Paz, Olancho, Honduras since Thursday. I find it difficult to write anything of value regarding my time here. My brain is still reeling from all the new experiences, and the heat is somewhat numbing.

Over the past two days, the majority of my time has been spent walking around the town by my gregarious new compañero, John. John has been able to connect with just about everyone in the town it seems in one way or another.  His quick, accented Spanish always brings smiles and welcome. Although I find myself squinting and struggling to follow conversations, John smoothly interprets and engages everyone, maintaining amiable relationships with people otherwise quite suspicious of strangers, especially gringos.

The first day I walked around the town of about 17,000*, most people stared unabashedly at me, or ignored me completely. Thanks to John, now my problem is being greeted by people whose names and stories I have forgotten.

The most common question I am asked (somewhat suspiciously, I think) is why I am in Honduras. I suppose it is a bit strange, leaving an American lifestyle to be submerged in a different language and culture where I am an outsider, make a tiny fraction of what I made in the States, and sweat through the night. But I think the question behind the question, “What possessed you?!” was more often asked in the States, whereas the implicit question here is “What do you want from us?”

This question is justifiably asked, for many travelers come with less-than-honorable intentions. Some Americans find easier pickings among disadvantaged women, and others just find cross-cultural interaction easier. Tourists and adventurers seek experience as a commodity, and missionaries come to instruct and teach about ultimate truth. A few come as intellectually interested parties, to study the people like a chapter in an anthropology book.

I tell people who ask that I came to learn Spanish and understand the culture. In reality, I don’t exactly know why I came. I came from an intuitive urge – I knew this was something I had to do, like the next step in my journey that, if left untaken would leave me stuck forever. Now that I am here, I find that Spanish and culture are secondary to the greatest opportunity I could have: to share experiences with people very different than myself.

 

*edit 6/30/2013 Turns out the Municipality of San Francisco de la Paz has over 18,000 people, but the town itself has closer to 2-3 thousand. To give you an idea of its size, I’ve walked over almost every road in the past couple of days.

Grey water draining through the streets.

The front of my house, and to the right, my vecinos, Saúl and Lupita.

Stalwart