So that's it. I won't be posting as frequently or copiously for the next while, because I now have serious papers to write, all of which have to be finished yesterday. But as you read, please comment, suggest, critique. That's why I'm doing this in the first place, to make it part of the agora. And please come to the events I'm holding this summer, some solo, some with the incredibly talented filmmaker Oscar Estrada (the latter events will be bilingual). And tell anyone who may be interested, be they anthropologist, anarchist, filmmaker, Central American, or anyone who cares a whit about fighting injustice, to come as well. Thank you.
In the morning I was horrendously sick, but in a cleansing sort of way. Now I felt like I was in Honduras. I wrote for a little bit and then had to go off to the El Porvenir premier at Cinemark in Mall Multiplaza (not to be confused with Mall Megaplaza, although I do). The premier was very exciting. The whole movie theater filled up. I was happily surprised to see Julieta Castellanos there, along with a number of other people I'd invited. There was quite a fair amount of press. Oscar and Tulio seemed a bit nervous, but their speeches were smooth and confident.
I get off the bus near the Mormon temple, and start walking. I have an address in Col. Sitraterco I found earlier in an old ClarisWorks spreadsheet document from 1997 that I couldn't get to open properly in any program I have now, so it didn't correspond with a name. But I have my fingers crossed that it's the right one. So I walk forward two blocks, left a block, right, left, trying to feel my way around a grid I used to know so well. I come up against the river where I didn't remember one being, but notice that the house numbers are getting closer to the one I might be looking for.
I called Alicia and to my delight she was available that day in the early afternoon, the only time I had free for the rest of my time in Honduras. At first she suggested that she'd try to call her husband to have him pick me up. She called me back after a while and said she couldn't reach him.
Again, too pressed for time, can't edit. If you see any embarrassing grammatical or factual mistakes below, do please let me know: adrienne at quotha dot net. On Sunday I get up and write and write. But I don't come close to finishing before Jairo calls. He's the anthropologist I met the previous night. Mostly because I feel so behind, I dread the visit. He brings his very sweet son along, which is a nice touch. The kid is reading a Jules Verne novel and tells me as Jairo goes to lock his bike that he can read 100 pages in a day. We go to Café Skandia in the Hotel Gran Sula on his insistence.
I got a colectivo back to the centro, and it dropped me off several blocks away. I passed the Hotel El Nilo:
and a call to strike:
Love me or hate me, but write me. If signing up is too much hassle (and I swear to no God I won't spam you, it's just me), or if you're shy about posting things that my five or six faithful readers will all see, or about being the first to post, email me: adrienne at quotha dot net. Por favorcito, as they say here.
In the cab we find the address fairly easily, despite the fact that addresses here are "past the such-and-such school, around the corner, by a pulpería (fulana) [little store operated out of the front of someone's house] in the green house…you can't miss it." What drew my attention more than the pulpería was the river taking up the whole width of the street:
While waiting for María Estela to appear, I wrote:
On Thursday I left super early to go downtown and drop off a DVD at Casa Alianza in order to have enough time to get to the Comayagüela bus station and get the 9am bus to San Pedro. All goes smoothly. Even though my mess bag, with laptop and more clothes than I should have brought, was heavy, I walked from downtown to Casa Alianza and back and got to the bus station a little before 8:00. There were a lot of people there already and I was thinking about whether there would be seats left on the bus when suddenly I had a horrible realization: I had forgotten my passport.
From the nurses association I jumped in a colectivo the rest of the way into the centro to meet Gustavo at Casa Alianza. I didn't want to be late because he had sounded a little bummed that I couldn't meet earlier and I sensed his work day normally ended by then [I was right]. I tape recorded the interview. Here are my notes: