The new normal

Probably the single greatest "cultural" difference that we have experienced since coming to Honduras (apart from the whole language thing) is the driving culture. If you put a group of ex-pats together the conversation will turn to driving before too long.

There's just so much to talk about. Because just when you think you've seen it all, you're wrong. Like when several people decide that this long line can't possibly be for the left turn lane so they go on the outside of it only to get to the light and realize that, yes, it was the left turn lane and now they are in the left lane of oncoming traffic at one of the busiest intersections in the city. Or when the power goes out at the same intersection and 8 lanes of through traffic and 4 left turn lanes are attempting to negotiate the intersection without any plan. (Yes, this did happen, and yes, it did look a great deal like the game RushHour.)

There are three possible responses to the realities of driving here:

• Irritation. By far the most popular, this is a poor choice because the sheer number of opportunities for exasperation almost guarantee that your blood pressure will permanently assume an unhealthy level.
  
• Resignation. Its principal symptom being deep and regular sighs, resignation is slightly better for your health than irritation but not really a long-term solution. Even the Dalai Lama would be brought to wits' end. There are just too many possibilities for unexpected flare-ups for one to maintain a permanent attitude of transportational disinterest.
  
• Expectation. The hardest to cultivate yet the most rewarding, this response remains open to the limitless possibilities that lie around every corner. Only if you maintain an attitude of expectation can you derive the full joy from driving here. Then you can wring the full delight out of such phrases as: 
• "Look! It's a cow walking down the road in the middle of town." 
• "Hey! A taxi passing a busito passing a bus! (The Teguz traffic equivalent of turducken.) 
• "Nifty! A taxi up on a jack with its tire off in the middle of the intersection."
• "Wow. A car with one tire up in the air because another went into a manhole with no cover."
• "I would have never thought of four cars going through after the light turned red."

For the record, on any given day I exhibit all three of these.

Random observation

Moving to a Spanish-speaking country raises exponentially the likelihood that your friends in the states will refer to you as "amigo."

Weird Waftings

Both yesterday and today I have had unexpected things wafting through my window:

• Yesterday it was the sounds of my native tongue. Now, granted, as pastor of an English-speaking church I hear my share of English in this Spanish-speaking land, but not often is there a group of young people outside my window chatting in English. So unexpected was it that it took me awhile to grasp what was happening. Then the conversation turned to various ways to swear in Spanish significantly diminishing my interest.
  
• Today it was a passing whiff of freshly-mowed grass. There is not a great deal of grass in Honduras in general and in our neighborhood in particular there are only postage-stamp sized "lawns" so I have no idea where it came from but it provoked a brief moment's reverie. 

DMV

I have had the "privilege" of dealing with the Department of Motor Vehicles or its equivalent in 4 states and now 1 foreign country. There seems to be some transcultural features of this particular branch of bureaucracy.* Honduras offers its own permutation on the theme.

Because the country has run out of license plates, many cars (ours included) are forced to drive without them. However, one must have permission to drive without a plate so there is a form one must carry with them to establish the legitimacy of their platelessness. Now whether out of shortsightedness or optimism that the necessary plates will soon be produced, the aforementioned certificate of permission to drive without plates is only valid two months at a time. So every two months I have to go to DEI to have someone put a seal and a new date on the back of this form. For DMV type transactions it's fairly painless, but inconvenient to have to do so often.

Well I am due this week to renew but I observed earlier in the week that DEI had abandoned the offices that I was familiar with. (I've been told that the government does not own many or even most of the buildings it uses.) But I did not know where it had moved. Through a fortuitous phone call from a friend who works at the Embassy I learned that it had moved around the corner. I was fortunate enough to find a parking space on the street (the building has about 4) where someone would wash my car and resist stealing my mirrors for a mere $3. Upon entering the new DEI building (a huge improvement on the previous one) I was informed by the guard that the particular section of the department that I needed was no longer housed in the same building as DEI. He kindly offered directions. I don't thrill to taking down directions in Spanish so I tend to quiz the information giver just for my own security that I know what he's talking about.

In the end it was late enough in the day that I didn't think that I had time to make it to this new office before they closed so I will add it to my errands for Monday. The whole thing isn't really that bothersome. The only part about it that galls me a bit is that in their last location, from where I had to wait for my form to be renewed, I could see a room with shelves absolutely filled with license plates.

Can I have one of those?


*The one exception in our experience may be Nebraska. We did interact with plenty of the expressionless DMV type workers there, but had one employee track down a title problem with WI on our behalf, and actually had a few DMV employees casually joke with us while they processed our documents!

Why I'm glad I DON'T live in Belgium

After the last post I was afraid people might think that I'm discontent in Honduras and pining to serve God somewhere else. So as a follow-up I thought I'd give you a list of reasons why I'm glad I don't live in Belgium.

• I don't speak Flemish or Frenchish.
• I'm not a huge fan of waffles.
• Cost of living is much lower here.
• I don't have to fly overnight to get to the states.
• I rather like rice and beans.
• I'm average height here.
• There's really good but cheap coffee here.
• It doesn't cost as much to fly to the states.
• It's not gray and rainy 300 days of the year.
• Protestants are nearly a majority here.
• The people here are friendlier. (Well, so they tell me. Not being especially friendly myself, I don't feel qualified to assess whether they are or not.)

Some perspective

As some of you know, my (Stephen's) sister and her family have ministered for several years in the Flemish-speaking region of Belgium. They went intending to do church leadership development but have ended up doing as much church leadership themselves as training anybody else to do it. In any event, there are similarities between our work.

However, I must confess that on more than a few occasions since arriving here in Honduras I have had cause to make mental note of certain inequalities in our callings, you might say. Often these are prompted by my brother-in-law's regular picture updates. As I (and most of humanity) am wont to do, I compare our situations.

• They have quaint European villages and shops. We have dilapidated third world style architecture and markets with animals in varying states of life, death and dismemberment.
• They have a cozy farm house in the country. We have a cinderblock condo behind a gate with a guard.
• They have universal health care. We have universal security issues.
• They have relatively easy access to France, the Netherlands, Germany, Switzerland, etc. We can take eternal bus trips to Guatemala, El Salvador, and Nicaragua. (Not knocking CA countries, but at least to me they don't measure up to the tourist bonanza that is Europe.)
• They have 300 types of cheese, fresh bread, chocolate, waffles, and fries. We have rice and beans. (For me this one almost breaks even. But not for Debbie.)

As you can see, by my quick reckoning, Honduras doesn't measure up too well. Clearly God loves them more than he loves us, right? But today I have been brought me up short about at least one resource we have that they don't.

Recently my sister and her husband had to address an inappropriate song that was being used in their son's third grade class. After confronting the teacher with their concerns, they ultimately requested permission for their son to sit out of this song and dance routine. This, of course, took place in a public education institution. In general they have been pleased with their sons' education but this is not the first incident that they have had to deal with.

As my wife was telling me all this the realization hit me forcefully that one of the great blessings that we have here is a plethora of quality Christian education options. I have long been of the conviction that there is no one right educational choice and that all of the options--Christian, home, private, public--demand much of the parents in offsetting and addressing the dangers and shortcomings particular to each model. But we are absolutely convinced that our daughter's teachers have not only her best educational interests in mind but care for her spiritual well-being as well. That is a gift.

I won't lie. I will probably always rather visit Switzerland than Nicaragua. And this realization of our blessing is not likely to cure me of my tendency to think others have it better than I do. But it supplies me with a new truth to speak to myself when the lies and distortions come my way.

Have "helmet" will travel

Motorcycles are ubiquitous here. And by ubiquitous I mean really, REALLY annoying. There appear to be no rules governing motorcycle traffic patterns.

There must be rules requiring helmets, however, because virtually all motorcyclists and riders are seen wearing them. The type and use of the helmet seems not to be very regulated because I have seen all of the following serving as motorcycle headgear:

The standard motorcycle helmet. Many of these are seen to be in less than stellar condition and even more frequent is to see riders with the helmet tipped back on their head so they are not looking through visor but rather under the chin of the helmet.

The standard bicycle helmet. This is especially common on motorcycle passengers which I just can't figure. First, passengers tend to be children or girlfriends/wives. Wouldn't you want to give them the superior protection? Furthermore, the driver has something to hold on to and is more likely to know when the accident is going to happen. Give him the chintzy helmet! (By the way, a common passenger arrangement is smallest child in front of driver, medium child behind driver, and wife behind that.)

I have also witnessed the following as helmets:

The Batting Helmet

The Hard Hat

And for the first time today...

The Equestrian Riding Helmet