Miches Part 3

Demonstrating proper form when posing on a fourwheeler

After a few trips down the beach on the fourwheeler and a few dips in the ocean, we played in the sand and took pictures. Then, at dusk we packed up our things and hit the road. When we reached the main drag in Miches we turned in the opposite direction from home. When I consulted Bobby, it explained that we were going to a nearby town for some cheese. By about halfway there, I was tired of the bumpy road and really indifferent to the experience of getting cheese, but also mildly amused at how parallel it paralleled the tradition of visiting the cheese factory in Tillamook.

Gracia, Julieta, Yonathan, Libby, Criseida, Vivi

The cheese turned out to consist of balls the size of tennis balls that had the texture of fresh mozarella and tasted of raw milk and, strangely, straw. For the next two hours I was miserable and tired, shivering in the back of the truck as it tossed me up and down all the way to El Seibo.

I emerge from a sandy grave

On the outskirts of town we passed a check point where some kind of officer in uniform who asked to see the permit for the pistol it turns out Jesus had brought on the trip. Although he was able to provide it, he did so in such a manner that the officer became unpleasant, looking for a reason to hold us up longer. The result was that we were made to go to the police station with an official escort. At that point I knew my way home, so I walked. I later heard from Jesus that he had loitered inside the police station until the escort was gone and the simply drove away.

Time to go home

Miches Part 2

Miches Beach

As we reached the outskirts of Miches, the landscape assumed a character I recognized from rural communities in Intibucá, Honduras and Guatemala's Altiplano. Small homesteads held sway against the eroding slopes at either side of the road, abruptly giving way to cinderblock structures and storm drains where the road descended into town.

Jodiendo with the doomed kite: Muchacho, Jesus, Adonis, Bobby, Yonathan

Moments later we found ourselves at a beach with late afternoon sunshine casting long shadows and a gentle breeze stirring the leaves of palms. The beach was situated at one end of long, lazy bay whose other extreme could be seen on the horizon at one's one o'clock when facing perpendicular to the coastline. Two or three other parties idled in the shade or tossed about in the gentle sea.

Bobby explains to me some finer point of tigueraje to me while Angel plays in the surf.

 After watching the lowering of the fourwheeler and the stranding of a kite in a tree, I could wait no longer. The hopped in the water. After more than a month spent sticky with sweat, my constitution vaguely fogged over with the constant warmth of the Caribbean, words cannot not describe my refreshmentment. It was as if I had been holding my breath for a long time and cold finally exhale.

Miches Part 1

Let's go to the beach!

During my first week in El Seibo, I was told by my host family that on Sunday they would take me to the beach. Something you need to understand, though, is that they meant they would take me to the coast si dios quiere (if God wants). Whenever someone here mentions that they intend to do something, what they are really mean to express as a desire to do said thing. Whether or not the desire is sincere, it is goes without that any divine intervention is not out of the question.

Bobby approves of the scenery

You can understand my lack of surprise, then, on the Sunday after I arrived, when the beach plan suddenly and mysteriously dissolved. By the same token, on the following Sunday I was taken off guard when Libby's wife, Jesus appeared in front of my host house in his Mitsubishi cargo truck, complete with a forwiler lashed to the bed and a crew that included Libby, friends Vivi, Bobby, and Criseida, and a couple of muchachos (young guys) from around the way. Along with Julietta, her friend and fellow KOICA volunteer, Gracia, and host nephews Adonis and Yonathan, I hopped in the bed.

Look! It's a view!

Moments later we were at a gas station filling up, when Jesus hopped across the street into a local colmado (convenient store) and emerged with about ten liters of cheap beer. What followed was a unruly hour-and-a-half episode involving much spilling of beer and hollering. I clung to the fourwheeler and struggled to maintain my balance as we sped along the bumpy, winding road to Miches and my fellow passengers board cup after cup of Brahma Light and tried to engage me in sexist banter.

Angel, Julietta, Me, Adonis

One of the muchachos, named Angel, seemed intent on the tiresome routine of tricking the gringo into agreeing with some outrageous statement on account of not knowing the local slang. Equally obnoxious was the other muchacho's insistence on barking token English at me (wayornaim? omaiga! Ulai tu wakin?) as if he thought the mere sound of his unintelligible English was an irresistable delight to an American such as I. However, as we drove out of the morning's sprinkling rain and crested the coastal mountains a view opened up that told me this trip was going to be worth the hassle.

It was like something out of a dream