New Heights

I recently had an opportunity for a break from the routine of Base Camp life when the canopy access guides offered to take me up into the trees. Of all the courses offered here (DNA sampling, habitat surveying, and my mediocre GPS/GIS course), canopy access is hands-down the most exciting option.

My guide, an Australian guy named Cameron, and I headed out in the morning to the climbing site not far from Base Camp. Cameron is about as chill as they come, and has loads of rock climbing and travel stories. It always makes my travels seem like small beans, and pushes me to travel more, when I hear people's accounts of amazing places like Turkey and Malaysia.

As soon as we got to the tree, a pine rising over 100 feet, Cameron started in on the basics of safety and helped me into my climbing equipment. The gear and concepts behind it were relatively straightforward, but putting them into practice took some work. For example, one piece of equipment called the hand ascender is a device with only two or three moving parts, but the fact that it is connected to a loop into which my foot was placed presented a challenge as I constantly forgot that the two were attached. This made for an initially slow ascent since I would try to move the hand ascender upwards with my weight still on the loop. I can see that those four years of college are really paying off...

When I finally got my shit together, Cameron had me practice a change-over from ascending to descending gear just a few feet off the ground. I again had some difficulty with the basic operations of the gear, but eventually got comfortable enough to head back to the ground to get ready for the real thing. I took the opportunity to re-adjust my harness, which was getting a bit uncomfortable. The slight discomfort, however, didn't compare to that of the harness I wore skydiving a couple of years ago. That, and the fact that I was then fastened to another man and sitting on his lap at 10,000 feet above sea level, made the tree climbing harness seem downright pleasant.

After I got things situated well enough, we started the ascent. Despite spinning around awkwardly once I got off the ground, I eventualy managed a decent rhythm of alternating the processes of standing on the foot loop, pulling the slack of the main rope through the chest ascender, moving the hand ascender up, pulling the safety device up, and repeating. Before I knew it I was a good fifty feet above the ground. The only fear I had during the experience occurred near this height and lasted just a few seconds, after which I decided that, having several points of attachment and a safety line, I was quite safe.

Up, up, up we went. I started thinking about the book I am currently reading, "The Wild Trees", by Richard Preston. It is a rather choppy piece of non-fiction, but provides a good immersion into what the author claims to be one of the last unexplored frontiers on Earth, the forest canopy. The focus is mainly on the arboreal monstrosities of the American northwest, namely redwoods and douglas firs, the upper realms of which have been penetrated by humans only within the last few decades. In the process, entire ecological systems have been documented, including many interesting species of algae and fungi. It is quite a treat to read about such a specific subject and to experience it in the same day.

Once we reached the top of the tree, or the top of the rope at least (the tree had another ten or so feet to offer), I looked around from my perch high above the forest floor and could see why Preston found the canopy a topic worthy of pursuit. Aside from a nice view and a different perspective of the forest itself, the treetop offered a certain sense of peace as well. Cameron commented that the breeze had picked up a bit, making the tree sway slightly. I inquired whether or not that was a good thing, but my Aussie amigo assured me that it was, and that he had actually fallen asleep in the tree the other day.

Sure enough, the breeze was nice. From reading the book and talking to other people who have been high up in trees, I have heard multiple comments that feelings of peace and safety are not uncommon in the canopy. One possible suggestion for this is offered in "The Wild Trees", which points out that ancestors of homo sapiens were mostly, if not exclusively, tree-dwellers, but eventually left for the ground and learned to walk upright. So, the book continues, perhaps the feeling of safety is instigated by a latent evolutionary impulse that is still faintly reminiscent today.

Evolutionary considerations aside, I eventually had my fill of the treetop and its 360-degree view, and told Cameron I was ready to head down. Already in my descending gear, I climbed off the branch I was sitting on and started my descent, a process far simpler, not to mention more fun, than its opposite. On the way down, once we got past the branches, Cameron suggested I try getting away from the tree a bit more. He was right, i was pretty much stuck to the tree, so I tried pushing off the trunk with my feet and, wow, why didn't I do this on the way up? What a blast! I found that, if I gave it enough force, I could jump horizontally off the tree, grab a nearby trunk of another about 10 feet away, hold it for a few seconds, then let go and swing back to the main tree. Awesome!

The second of Cameron's brilliant suggestions was to try hanging upside-down. I was slightly reluctant for a few seconds, but not enough to keep me from doing it. So, with Cameron's help on the first attempt, I followed his instructions and was soon completely upside down. I let go of my equipment, and my inhibitions, and felt the blood sink to my head as I looked at the forest floor fifty feet below. Hanging this way eventually became uncomfortable, so I flipped myself back up and felt a subtle euphoria as my blood returned to its normal locations. I was able to repeat the process once on my own, and once again, awesome!

After another flip and more jumping off the trunk, I descended down the remainder of rope and removed my gear. The whole ordeal only lasted maybe an hour or so, but it was possibly the most enjoyable hour I've had all summer. I am quite grateful for the experience, which may indeed have been of the once-in-a-lifetime variety, and I strongly recommend tree climbing to anyone who has the chance!

Tenemos Sed No Mas

I've come to realize that the longer I go without something the more I appreciate it. I have been in the jungle for about six weeks now and my list of things that fall under this category is getting longer. My travels have certainly taken me to more remote places than this, places like the Yukon Delta in Alaska and the Frank Church Wilderness in Idaho, but never for this long. Those short five-day trips were experienced knowing that pizza and running water were just a few days away, if not less. Cusuco, on the other hand, has been a comparative marathon of simplistic living, and I am definitely looking forward to some modern conveniences in the near future.

Don't get me wrong, though- I am a fan of simple living and being outdoors as often as I can. In a month and a half I haven't heard a car horn, a telephone ring, or the sound of a television, and that’s been wonderful. I have slept solidly almost every night, a claim I cannot always make back home, and I have breathed nothing but fresh forest air this entire time. On the other hand, I miss spitting into a sink instead of a sand-filled bucket, warm showers (I would be ecstatic with lukewarm water at this point), being able to eat whatever I want, whenever I want, sleeping in a bed, not sharing four toilets with dozens of strangers, having electricity all day, and not having to walk across a path of cinder blocks without falling in the mud on my way to piss in a plastic pipe that has bees in and around it.

I find it amusing to hear students and volunteers make the same complaints I've just made after only a few days, and to hear the high-pitched shrieks from guys and gals alike as they endure a frigid introduction to the showers. Having been at Base Camp longer than nearly everyone, including most of the staff who are constantly heading to other camps, I feel compelled to give newcomers a Grandpa Speech: "I remember when I first got here- no meat for a few days is tolerable, but after a week without beef you'll start hallucinating and getting the shakes. Oh, and you think the 3-mile walk back from Buenos Aires is tough? When I got here, it was 5 miles and uphill in both directions."

As I said in one of my earlier posts, fighting boredom is one of the biggest challenges here, especially at night. The folks in charge do their best to keep us entertained with movies and presentations on various topics (a duty which I have narrowly but successfully avoided so far), but the same routine every nght can only yield so much fun. Sure, there is the occasional card game (I taught one of the medics how to play cribbage), soccer with the locals (guess who wins?), some music trading (I've gotten thousands of songs from three different iPods since I've been here), and the book I just started isn't bad. But, again, these little activities can only produce so much satisfaction. Fortunately for us, there is booze.

Let's face it- alcohol hasn't been around for several thousand years because it's NOT fun. There's no getting around it- drinnking is a blast. What's that, you say? You have nothing to do tonight? Then let's get some beer. Keeping with that tradition, I have observed a certain progression in the perception of and interaction with alcohol here. It goes something like this:

1. Evidently we can get a away with "a couple quiet ones" down in the village since it is on the buffer zone of the park. My first visit there I managed to suck down five beers without a problem. Yes, there was the imminent 3-mile uphill walk back to Base Camp, but it was worth every step.

2. Dude, I wonder if we could sneak a few cans back from B.A.? Turns out, we could. A small group of my English friends smuggled up a good fourteen or so beers back from the village and we polished them off that night. Unfortunately, due to an unanticipated tent occupancy inventory, the stash of cans was found before I could clean it up the next day. Whoops!

3. We should probably keep this confined to our little group. Or not. Instead, let's see how many people we can cram into a two- or three-man tent for an evening of drinking. Turns out, you can fit eight adults, a small set of speakers, and a backpack full of beer that I had gradually accumulated.

4. No way, someone scored a bottle of rum?? Beer is cool, but liquor would be ideal since it involves less cleanup and, consequently, less risk of getting caught. And, shit, it's a lot more effective at getting the job done than beer, and can even be consumed in public if enough pineapple juice or coke is mixed in.

5. OK, so now anyone can get rum, almost any day of the week. It's not available in B.A. since the locals evidently don't handle it well (I was told that the machetes eventually come out, which generally isn't conducive to a quality party). Fortunately for the well-being of Base Camp, a local entrepreneur who initially sold only hand-made bracelets and necklaces eventually expanded his product line to include $10 bottles of rum, which is likely a huge rip-off, but I've happily bought two bottles so far.

6. Joe's going-away party- one of the key players in the Opwall/Cusuco effort was our man Joe, who has been part of the organization for years but recently left for a job in the Dominican Republic. Before he left, however, we managed to squeeze in a great going-away party, complete with a BBQ that included... beef! And what's a BBQ without beverages? At the beginning of the night I quietly, sneakily sipped on my rum and pineapple, but gradually watched the scene turn into a full-on party. Damn near everyone, including staff, students, and volunteers, seemed to have a drink in hand. And not just rum- people were actually drinking cans of Salva Vida in front of the main office. Yes, this was a one-time thing, but I think it fits neatly into my list as number 6.

7. ???? I'm not sure what could top the party. Maybe we will get a keg and a bartender and some strippers next time? Who knows, but I am looking forward to it.

Walking with Jesus

With the exception of walking to the village of Buenos Aires, we are always required to be accompanied by a local guide. These guys are great, and I am glad they are here, not only because they protect us from the variety of harms of the jungle such as snakes and individuals of various illegal enterprises, but they are also the main source of cultural wealth amidst a steady sea of gringos and an easily accessible, and patient, means by which we can practice our Spanish.

The guides, or guias in Spanish, come in a variety of personalities, ages (one can't be much more than fourteen) and names, including Santiago, Antonio, Manuel, and Jesus, but they all share some certain commonalities, the most obvious of these being the ever-present machetes. The long, sharp knives never leave the guides' sight, and are used for everything from personal safety to hacking down vines obstructing forest trails. The blades are kept in prime condition using sharpening stones, a process from which I've seen emerge blood from the guide's hand after a subtle slip. But, instead of pausing to get cleaned up, the guy just keep sharpening, blood and all, with the same wide grin he had when he started.

Another common trait most of the guides share is their physical appearance and condition. With few exceptions, I would say that most of the guias stand only around five and a half feet tall, which may not sound like a stature worthy of protecting large groups of people, but the lack of height is also accompanied by a complete lack of fat. If you look up the word "lean" in the dictionary, you will find a photo of our guides next to it. These guys can hike all day, every day, with comparatively little water and even less complaining. And, in addition to endurance, our amigos are surprisingly strong- i've seen them routiney carrying a bundle of sixteen small mammal traps on one shoulder, and another guy actually carrying a generator on his back. Some of the guides will come back from a fast 90-minute "hike" that more closely resembles a jog, and still find the energy to play a game of soccer.

I recently visited my first forest camp, Cantiles, and came back in the same day. There are certainly more difficult trails here, but the camino to Cantiles is far from easy with its slippery, narrow tracks so steep in spots that guide ropes have been installed. The last stretch in particular contains such trails, and takes a good 35 minutes, at a good pace, on the return trip. A few weeks ago, however, there was a snake bite "drill" (I use quotes because the test went so far that the snake bite "actress" actually got an I.V. in her arm and was almost airlifted unnecessarily out of the forest due to some communication issues). During the drill one of the guides, Chico, was required to run from Cantiles to the radio repeater at the top of the hill in order to get a signal. Under the impression that a life was at stake, Chico selflessly shaved the normal thirty-five minutes into a superhuman sixteen. No one is sure how he did it.

Another commonality of many guides is the size of their families. Like much of Latin America, Honduras is very, very Catholic, and hence in opposition to birth control methods. Evidently at Opwall's marine sites, some locals expressed serious discontent when they found out that the medic stocked condoms and morning-after pills. That said, you can imagine how big families get here- I heard one of our guides has nine kids!.

In terms of families, it's not just the size but the closeness that the guides seem to share as well. Money is not distributed solely within the immediate family, nor is living space. On one of our return trips from the village of Buenos Aires, one guide, Juan, invited three of us in for coffee, an extremely generous offer considering many guides make a mere $3 a day from what I've heard. The coffee was awesome- possibly grown within a couple of kilometers from where we were drinking it, and prepared hot, fresh, and with lots of sugar (I think the generosity of the act added to the flavor as well). In the time it took me to drink my cup, I might have met Juan's mother, sister or sister-in-law, sons, daughters, nieces, and nephews in one little house. Juan's daughter, not quite two years old yet, was possibly the cutest little girl I'd ever seen. For most of our visit she stared up at me with big Latin eyes and kept hitting my knee with her bottle.

The coffee invite was, hands-down, the best cultural experience I've had in Honduras, perhaps anywhere, and I look forward to the next one.

Critters

Cusuco National Park, and the tropics in general, are home to an incredible diversity of plants and wildlife. The year-round heat and humidity, combined with intense seasonal bursts of rainfall, create the perfect recipe from which life can flourish. Some species are ubiquitous throughout the region, but many are so specialized in their habitats that they are found nowhere else on earth. Cusuco alone has several of these species, including at least one type of tree along with several frogs that exist only within the park's boundaries.

In my short time here I have already seen an amazing variety of snakes. One kind, a parrot snake, is bright green and climbs effortlessly in a vertical motion through the branches of the forest. Another snake looks identical to the highly venomous coral snake found here, but is only colored this way as a mimic to fool predators. A third snake, a blond something or other (insert blond joke here), is so strong that it can extend a third of its body length straight out from a branch without bending. And one of my more recent snake encounters was with one that actually eats scorpions.

In addition to the snakes here, I have also seen some interesting insects and arachnids. The other day someone found a small tarantula, and I've also seen some other large spiders a little closer than I'd like, with one in the bathroom and one above my tent.

As for insects, I have frequent battles with small ants that make their way into my tent, and less confrontational encounters with large beetles, some dung, some scarub, that are often colored bright green and/or make strange clicking noises, audible if you hold the beetle up to your ear. In addition to these little guys, I have also witnessed a beautiful variety of butterflies, as well as a vicious looking, three-inch-long dobson fly complete with jaws and beady eyes.

And we can't leave out the birds. Someone caught an amazing hummingbird with an irridescent purple throat. There have also been reports of quetzals in the area, which I unfortunately have yet to see (and photograph), but if you do a quick Google Image search for 'quetzal', you'll see what I mean.

Cool, huh? Now the bad news- many of these amazing species, both here and around the world, are going extinct. Not just declining, but disappearing completely, meaning we will never see them again. Ever. How does this happen? There are a lot of factors, but the single most deadly culprit of species loss is habitat destruction. We're always hearing about saving the rainforest and, holy crap, there's a reason for it. Much of the world's tropical forests have already been wiped out for timber, agriculture, and urban development, and the outlook for the remainder isn't great..

It's one thing to hear about this sort of thing when I'm back home, but seeing it in person is a different story. Take one of my walks to the village of Buenos Aires for example. On the way down we are nicely surrounded by a mix of dense jungle and pine forest, but off in the distance (take your pick on which direction), are huge bare patches of hillside where more of that same dense jungle used to be. Now it's just a useless disaster waiting to happen- once there is no vegetation left, rainwater has a free-for-all since there is nothing to slow it down, which soon results in a mess of erosion that leads to some very murky rivers that were once crystal clear, not to mention the increase in potential for landslides.

A few years ago I would have just put all the blame on the loggers and farmers, whose little plantations can only be farmed for a couple of years at the expense of the former centuries-old arboreal residents, but I think it's important to look at their side of the story.

For one thing, Honduras is dirt poor, as are many tropical nations, so people are going to do whatever they need to in order to get money. And who can blame them? When it comes down to saving some frogs or feeding your children, the frogs are going to lose, every time.

So, what do we do? There is no single answer to this, of course, but there a lot a of steps that make a difference. A big one of these involves promoting more sustainable practices, such as shade-grown coffee. Chances are, if you're buying cheap shit, such as Folgers and Maxwell House, it may have been grown on a farm where a rainforest once stood. I realize you're going to keep buying the cheap shit, but treat yourself (and the jungle) to some good stuff once in awhile by splurging on anything with a 'Rainforest Alliance' logo on the package. The symbol indicates that the R.A. has monitored the environmental practices of its coffee-growing members.

Another way to combat habitat destruction, this one more obvious, is preservation. Designating land with protection in mind, such as creation of national parks and wildlife refuges, is generally a good way to ensure that forests will remain untouched. I have to stress the word 'generally', however, because in certain countries the concept of federally protected land is somewhat of a joke. Thailand, for example, has dozens of national parks, yet habitat destruction remains persistent.

Fortunately for Cusuco National Park, the organization under which I am employed, Operation Wallacea, or Opwall for short, is responsbile for a serious conservation effort for the benefit of the park. Opwall provides a base from which a variety of research can be conducted by a variety of people. Currently we have people from Ireland, the U.K., Germany, Belgium, Poland, Canada, Honduras, and the U.S. studying bats, reptiles, invertebrates, birds, plants, small mammals, and large mammals such as howler monkeys, tapirs, and large cats. Opwall provides the means and resources (food, guides, equipment, communication, etc.) by which scientists, dissertation students, and volunteers can collect considerable amounts of data at a variety of camps throughout the jungle. Or, to be accurate, throughout the world, as there are sites in Peru, Cuba, South Africa, Indonesia, and Egypt.

The conservation effort here in Cusuco is an ongoing one that has been around for several years. Soon, however, the data will be presented to large conservation organizations such as the World Wildlife Fund in the hopes that such organizations will recognize the biological value of the park and, in turn, provide the funding necessary to protect it- guards, guides, and infrastructure all cost money, and this is the best way we know of to get it.

To wrap this one up, I must say I am happy and grateful to be working for this organization. In my short time here I have seen an amazing variety of plants and wildlife, and I hope that my small contributions here will in some way support the efforts to preserve the complex and peaceful beauty of the rainforest.

Base Camp

It was nice to get out of the steamy mess of the city. We met up at the comparatively fancy Gran Hotel Sula, had our little intro to the program, then boarded a converted school bus reminiscent of my Guatemala visit, and headed out of town.

The initial bus ride was relatively short and ended at the small village of Cofradia. Still uncomfortably hot, the little community was a typical one with unpaved streets and various animals running around. In a short, chaotic span of fifteen minutes, we helped load our bags into the bed of a pickup truck and hopped into the other empty ones.

To say the least, the road heading to Base Camp was a bumpy one. Wide enough for barely more than a car in spots, with no guardrails between us and the numerous steep hillsides, the “road” wound up and up through the jungle and increasingly further from civilization. We crossed small streams that trickled over the road, and did our best to get comfortable, a task that proved difficult with the many large bumps and a steep upgrade that made all bodies gradually slide to the back of the truck bed, readjust, and repeat for the duration of the two-hour climb.

I try not to have expectations about these sorts of things, so my first glimpse of Base Camp was a relatively neutral one. The camp was laid out neatly with dozens of tents protected by tarps, a main office, and a building containing the computer and genetics labs. We were given a brief tour, which included directions to the urinal, a.k.a. a PVC tube sticking into the ground; the showers, whose water temperature is identical to that of the groundwater; and two types of toilets. One of these was a set of regular toilets that, although not connected to actual plumbing, still “flush” the water that you bring in from a bucket, but I have yet to figure out the process. That said, when it comes time to drop the Cosby kids off at the pool, I opt for the simpler “Long Drop”, which is essentially a standard outhouse containing a PVC vent pipe.

As spartan as my summer existence may sound, I am living in a veritable palace compared to the other camps scattered throughout Cusuco National Park. Here we have internet (weather permitting), showers, and entertainment such as movies at night. The other camps have none of these things, nor tents for that matter, just hammocks enveloped by mosquito nets. So, it is difficult to complain about conditions here and, overall, I am content with the level of luxury we have at Base Camp.

The little discomforts associated with this place, such as cold showers and often monotonous food, are the easiest to deal with. It is the more persistent annoyances that pose greater challenges. One of the main examples of these, to me, is the humidity. It is not hot here, in fact often somewhat chilly, but the dampness is penetrating and constant. Being over a thousand meters above sea level, we are literally in the clouds at times, so the moisture gets everywhere- on computer screens and benches, tent floors, towels, and, of course, clothes. We may not be hot or cold but, to be sure, we are damp.

In addition to the humidity, boredom is a nagging concern. The camp operators do their best to keep us entertained but, this being a dry camp (technically a dry park), the lack of alcohol makes for some dull evenings. Initially we found little things to keep us occupied, such as gathering around the blueness of the bug light, as drawn to the glow as the insects themselves, watching the huge variety of strange creatures fluttering about. The light, which was our equivalent of a fire to stand around, hasn’t been on in awhile, so we end up just listening to music and occasionally playing cards to pass the time.

Our little routines make the evenings go by decently enough, but since the majority of camp tenants are young people, we would jump at any opportunity to go out and party once in awhile. We have already examined, albeit somewhat jokingly, the possibility of drinking some of the ethanol used to preserve specimens, but concluded that, since the additional additives of the liquid were designed to prevent bored individuals such as ourselves from reaching our goals, we should probably hold out for some less toxic beverages.

I have considered smuggling in some beer from the nearby village of Buenos Aires, but since I am part of the staff here, and since it is still early in the season, I am reluctant to pursue such a risky endeavor at this point. Another week of lackluster evenings, however, and we’ll see what sort of chances I’ll be willing to take.

In the meantime, enjoy your warm, dry houses, your freedom to drink and eat whatever you want, whenever you want, and keep on reading!

Getting Here

The flight itinerary to Honduras was not a good one. Anything involving a 14-hour overnight layover in Houston cannot be good. I was as prepared as possible, of course, with my sleeping pad, travel pillow, earplugs, and travel sheet. Unfortunately I couldn't prepare for the security announcements, which run all night despite the fact that there's about four people in the airport. I think our nation is much safer from terrorism because the unoccupied D Terminal of George Bush International gets instructed not to leave its baggage unattended at 3:30 in the morning. Oh, and leaving every light on in the airport definitely keeps the bad guys (and sleep) away.

In my search for a good spot I consulted a large, black cleaning lady in D Terminal about a potential spot.

"What you need, baby?" she said.

"Will anybody bother me if I sleep here?"

"Somebody always comin' around. If they wake you up, they wake you up, but you best get to some kind of sleepin'."

I felt the need to point out the woman's skin color and size not because of the burning racism I harbor within myself, but because the phrase "What you need, baby?" cannot be uttered so eloquently by any other combination of race and girth.

Despite the unpleasant brightness and loudness, it was a more successful airport sleeping experience than my other two this year. In the first situation, in the unsecure area of Los Angeles International (they don't let you check your bag until morning for some reason), I had a great spot picked out. It was behind the farthest row of seats, safe from excessive light, but not from the good old security annoucements, which, after about 47 repetitions, led me to think "You know, lady, I don't have a bomb in my bag, but I'm starting to think about getting one if it will shut your ass up.”

I did the best I could to appreciate my dark little corner, until some time in the middle of the night when I was awakened by some flashlights and talking. Turns out, the voices and lights belonged to about five armed LAX cops. I figured that they were there to kick me out of my home, so I got my passport and boarding pass ready, but when I showed it to one of the officers, he just responded with an indifferent wave. I soon learned they weren't concerned with my sleeping arrangements as much as those of a woman nearby, who evidently had a flight, but not for another five days. What she didn't have, however, was much coherence, or an ID for that matter. She was promptly escorted, as I imagine were some of the other nearby "passengers".

My stay at Chateau de Tucson Baggage Claim was not so smooth either. I had a ridiculously early flight the next morning, 5:00, but the airline still wouldn't allow me to check my bag until 3:30a.m. So, the usual airport sleeping materials laid out, I gave sleep a shot. Not much success, however, after being briefly questioned by an airport cop, who evidently was not satisfied with the legible note I left for him, which contained my name, itinerary, and flight number. Oh well, at least I had my security announcements to keep me comfortable and safe. Also comforting was the wake-up call (and curious stares) that I received from passengers who arrived on a late flight and soon afterward congregated at the baggage carousel about twenty feet from my head.

So, you could say my Houston sleepover was a relative success compared to the other adventures, and the rest of the trip went smoothly as well. The flight from Houston to San Pedro Sula was a mere two hours and fifteen minutes, which was actually shorter than the jaunt from Detroit to Houston. On the plane I sat next to a guy from Arkansas who would soon be visiting a coffee farm in the northwest part of the country. I got the scoop on Honduras from him, as well as some answered questions I'd had about quality coffee.

I was worried at first about not having a work visa, but I decided that, since I am not being paid, that's technically not working, right? Well, I never found out, because the customs official simply glanced at the 'Tourist' box I had checked on my immigration form, asked "San Pedro Sula?" to make sure I was in the right place, then returned me my documents. I'm in!

I found my mochila immediately, then headed out to the main part of the aiport, which sadly contained a Wendy's immediately outside the doors of customs. I traveled over 24 hours to Honduras to see another shitty fast food restaurant? Things better get a little less familiar real soon...

They did. I found the driver of my hostel's shuttle immediately (yes, I wimped out and didn't take a cab because the shuttle was only a bit pricier, but actually turned out to be cheaper in the end), thanks to the sign he was holding with my name on it. If there's anything that promotes a feeling of self-importance more than someone waiting with your name on a sign at the airport, I have yet to find it. If you haven’t had this experience yet, you should arrange it some time.

I got some cash out of the ATM quickly and painlessly. Well, almost painlessly: the 18-to-1 exchange rate on the lempira made withdrawing 1,900 seem like a lot). The driver and I then went to meet our other passengers, a couple arriving from Texas. We headed toward the airport exit, which contained a little breezeway in which the air was a bit warmer than the moderately air-conditioned airport, prompting me to think, "Hey, this isn't so bad", a mentality that lasted the full three seconds of the walk through the breezeway, then BAM we were outside. It was kind of like opening a door to an oven. It was just after noon so the sun was completely out, there was no shade and, like most of Central America, it was humid. It was like being under a big sweaty blanket, becoming even more pronounced once we got into the old van, which had to be over 100 degrees inside, with no A/C, and I was sweating immediately.

Fortunately once we got going the open window provided a nice relief, at least in terms of temperature, but no so much for scenery. Wendy's was just the beginning- I saw Pizza Huts, Church's Chicken, McDonald's (of course), and a bunch of other crap-ass establishments that I would have loved to leave home.

San Pedro Sula is Honduras' second largest city after the capital, Tegucigalpa, but it kind of runs the show in terms of the country's business affairs from what I've read. Its appearance was not unlike that of cities I saw in Mexico and Guatemala, but the country's Top-5 spot in the "Poorest Nations in the Western Hemisphere" contest quickly became evident (I think only Haiti and another country are poorer than Honduras).

Littering is a massive problem in most or all Third World countries, and San Pedro is no exception. I have certainly seen garbage floating in rivers in Guatemala, Romania, and Bosnia, but the trash I saw in just a single stream in SP looked like a miniature landfill. Other than that, it was just a typical Central American city- crazy driving, unchecked diesel fumes, and the general calculated chaos I'd come to expect.

My hostel was decent, nothing special, but the cold shower provided another brief relief from the heat. I had plenty of time and little difficulty finding a pharmacy where I could obtain more Chloroquine for malaria prevention. Some broken Spanish, no prescription, and a few dollars was all it took.

I met up with the Texas couple and we walked downtown to look for a good place to eat. The city center, considering its being surrounded by half a million residents, wsa quite small with just a small main square with decent landscaping as well as a large, dirtyish church nearby. Other than that it was just a boring, scattered pile of chain restaurants and commercialism. Oh, except for the protest, or something that looked like a protest anyway- a large group of people marching down the street holding signs. Everything I've read about travel safety indicates that protests should be avoided, so our little group took the long way around the block.

We settled on a recommendation from Lonely Planet's "Central America on a Shoestring" guidebook, which miraculously manages to precisely direct the lives of thousands of travelers every year. The menu was nothing special, and the restaurant was out of both things we tried to order, but they had cold beer, which is important.

We finished off the hot, uneventful evening at the hostel, where I met a few of the people who I would be working with for the summer. After getting a pretty good intro on the project and what to expect, I decided to call it a night, and headed off to bed for a night of humid, choppy rest before my jungle introduction the next day.

Welcome to the Jungle

Once again, it's been a really long time since I've updated this, but I'm going to try and keep up with it now, for real this time. And, someday, I'd like to get all my stories, travel and otherwise, on here, so keep yourselves posted, even if there's months in between. The internet is such a perfect medium for publishing shameless narcissism, it's hard to turn down the opportunity.

So, a quick re-cap of my last 9 months: Europe >> home for holidays >> volunteered on farm in Mexico >> traveled around Mexico, Guatemala, Belize >> (screeching sound of brakes) went home to live with my mom and her husband in the cold, stale fog of conservative monotony that is my hometown, Alpena.

Why the return to the nest? Like all good things, the travel had to come to an end. I get burned out on traveling, believe it or not, and so does my bank account. But why go home for three long months? That brings us to my current location and how I got here.

Some time during my travels in Mexico, I came across a posting online for a Database Manager/GPS Course Leader wanted in Honduras for the summer. And, if you know anything about me, you know that this is right up my alley, so I applied immediately.

A short time went by before I got my first response and, after a few e-mails back and forth, I was offered the position! Psyched, I of course accepted, despite the fact that the job was unpaid, and that I would be required to live in a frigid wasteland, jobless, for three months.

Aside from a few bumps along the way (which can be expected when you're 27, unemployed, and living with your mother), the three months turned out well enough and I'm thankful for the experience. I learned some good lessons, both in life and on the computer, and was able to make my first website, this one being for my parents' moving company. Despite the fact that I had to learn nearly everything from the ground up, I think it turned out all right, so check 'er out HERE.

So, why take an unpaid position in the jungle for two months when I could probably find a decently paying job in the States? Well, for one, it's good professional experience. Up to this point, I haven't had this much responsibility in any job, and it will look great on a resume. Secondly, the cause is a good one. I'm not working for a timber company down here, this place is straight-up conservation. You know the cliche "save the rainforest"? The people I work for are the ones who carry out that task. Lastly, and this should be the most obvious reason for coming down here- more traveling!

Well, hopefully that will be enough to keep you reading, but you'll have to wait until the next post to hear about my jungle experience so far...

Prague

Wow, it's been awhile since I've updated this, but it certainly hasn't been for lack of material. I have been to seven countries in the past month, and have seen and done many interesting things, and met heaps of amazing people, and I'm only halfway through my trip!

I will say that this past week has, hands down, been the most intense part of the trip, but I feel like I should cover some things before that.

Hmmm, where to start. I guess I left off at my departure from Amsterdam into Germany. Basically I skipped Berlin (biggest regret of this trip since I've heard it's amazing) because I had no lodging booked and it would have been midnight by the time I got in. The other option would have been to stay in Hannover, but it seemed like a waste of time and money to stay there. So, in Hannover, I headed to an internet cafe, looked up some train times, and found a night train heading to Prague very shortly. So, I figured that would be in my best interest given the situation, and went back to the train station to buy another expensive ticket, this time for a sleeper.

Sleepers might sound great, but there isn't much sleep going on. You feel every bump and curve (at least on this train, which I think might have been a Czech one, German ones are likely better), and there are a lot of curves. I had the top bunk in a 4 or 5 bunk cabin, and there was only one other dude in the bottom bunk.

Needless to say I didn't sleep worth shit, and got into Prague the next morning feeling pretty out of it. First priority there was to get into the city and find some lodging since the station I came into was definitely out of town a bit. Getting to the city may sound like an easy task, but when you're in a new country for the first time, everything becomes its own little adventure. What is the exchange rate? Where is an ATM? Do I withdraw 100 or 500 krona? What tickets do I need to ride public transport, where are they, how much do they cost?

Everything went somewhat smoothly, despite having to wait in line twice because one window was out of day passes. Now what? What tram, what stop, which direction from there? Oh, I forgot to mention, everything is in Czech, which is a Slavic language and bears nearly no resemblance to English.


Prague, in a nutshell: scenic, but touristy and somewhat overrated. People (and my trusty guidebook, whose suggestions I rely on less by the day) told me to spend three to seven days in Prague. Are you serious? What the hell would I do with five days? I suppose if I wanted to see every single museum, every church, and every square, then maybe five days would be a good idea. However, in two or three days I felt I had seen enough to get a feeling, albeit a subtle one, for Prague. Charles Bridge and some of the squares were cool, but I was really impressed (and that's a hard thing to do) by Prague Castle. It sits above the city on a hill and completely dominates Prague's skyline "like a giant beached battleship" as the guidebook says. To me it would be an impressive piece of work if built within the last century, but the building is several hundred years old!

I think the most random and exciting thing to happen in Prague was to meet up with a friend from Alpena. I had updated my status on Facebook to include a reference that I had made it to Prague (if you don't know what Facebook is, it means you're old). John saw this and sent me a message saying he too was in the city! How about that, another Alpenian on the other side of the ocean, yet just minutes away! Small world indeed.

John and I covered the usual Alpena topics (unfortunately for his friend), and then wandered in the rain through the dark, cobblestone corridors of Prague's streets until the wee hours. We managed to squeeze in a shot of Absinthe (140 proof, yikes!) at a touristy pub, and eat some ridiculously large Czech sausages (they hang off the bun by a good two or three inches on each side) while John chatted it up in Russian and English with the Ukranian girl who sold us the food. I had told him earlier that my great-grandfather (last name Senchuk) had come from the Ukraine. John mentioned this to our new friend, who said she indeed knew some Senchuks!


We parted ways after some more wandering and I headed back to my pretty-decent hostel, then I think I went to Kutna Hora that day, which has this crazy church with a whole bunch of sculptures and chandeliers made out of human bones. It was interesting, but the 20 minutes I spent there probably weren't worth the three-hour round trip!

Moving on

On Sunday I concluded that there was no point in staying in Amsterdam any longer, even though I had already paid for a third night. But really, what else would I DO with another day? I already did a city tour, went to some bars and coffee shops, ate some good (and not so good) food, saw the Red Lights, and got a feel for the city and its people, history, and transportation. I am not into museums, which seemed like the only thing I might have missed, so my best option was to hit the road.

I find it funny the difference between the decisions I have to make here and those I had to make back home. In Denver it was usually "What Netflix disc should we watch tonight?" or "Where should we eat?". On the road, it's more like "What country should I go to today?". This type of traveling is the closest thing to complete freedom that I have discovered in my life. There is something slightly liberating about having to rely upon only what you can carry on your person.

On a related note I was thinking about the pattern of minimalism I have experienced in recent years: my parents' warehouse burned down a few years ago and I lost a lot of possessions, my house got broken into the first week I moved to Denver (laptop and camera: gone), I had my bike stolen last year, I lost some stuff in a work vehicle fire this past summer, and before this trip I had to part with a lot of stuff since I could only take what would fit in my car to take to Michigan. Now I am down to a backpack for the next seven weeks. What's next, a plastic bag on the end of a stick?

If I could have posted some Red Light District shots, I would have. Unfortunately, in the interest of remaining anonymous, the ladies don't really appreciate having their photo taken, and they will remind you of that if you try otherwise. I saw one dumbass guy try to get a shot in, despite the "No Photo" stickers on the windows, and the girl completely freaked out on him, hitting the glass and proving the extent of her English vocabulary.

Oh, and by the way, if you have the same preconceptions of what prostitutes are supposed to look like, you are probably incorrect. I anticipated a row of dirty, cracked-out East Colfax types clinging to life by a single desperate thread. What I saw, however, were women who belonged not behind a window but on a magazine cover. They were probably some of the most beautiful women I have seen in my life (most of them anyway), and it was amazing that they would choose such a profession.

Also, to give you an idea of what I saw, our tour guide described the Red Light as the "Baskin Robbins of Prostitution". Every size, shape, ethnicity, age, and specialty (i.e. a dominatrix to punish you or a nurse to take care of you) seemed to be present behind the windows. And for 50 Euros, any one of them could be yours for 10-15 minutes.

Some final Amsterdam notes: I did try another coffee shop, wisely skipped the tobacco this time, but concluded what I have known for years- that marijuana just isn't for me. An anxious introvert will only become more anxious after a couple of puffs, so what's the point? I appreciate the effects it has on the mind, but not the tension, which is usually to the point of physical discomfort. I have a drinking personality, probably always will, so I think I will stick to what I know best.

To create a perfect framing effect for this post, I will wrap it up with my decision to leave Amsterdam. My original plan was to head to Berlin, but seeing as how I wasn't up to a six-hour train ride, nor did I have any lodging booked, I opted for the shorter destination of Hannover, Germany, a decision I made literally on the bus ride to the train station.

I'll tell you about the train ride next time...

http://Internet.situation.sucks!

Unfortunately I haven't updated this thing because the internet situation has been ridiculous. For example, there are about 8 computers at this hostel here in Prague, 6 of which are actually functional online. So, if i want to do anything at all on the internet, i have to sit and wait in line anywhere from 15 minutes to an hour because there is a queue of other travelers waiting to do the same things. I sit on the couch behind the computers and watch people go to Facebook, Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo! Mail, HostelWorld, HostelBookers, Skype, bahn.de, RailEurope, uploading photos, all the exact same things i do. It's amazing how popular the online world has gotten!

So, long story short, it has been really difficult to do anything online so far. There are definitely internet cafes around, but so many people have laptops these days and wi-fi is so popular that i think internet cafes are dying. Basically, if you don't have your own computer, it's a huge pain in the ass to do anything. If you start wondering why you haven't heard from me, that's why! Trust me, I have so much stuff I would like to say (I'm about two days behind actually), and many photos to go with it, but there are about three people waiting to use this computer. so frustrating!

Be patient....