29 Going On 9...

I'd been warned by a half dozen former Peace Corps Volunteers about training.  About how we'd be herded around like Kindergartners.  About how there'd be more rules than trainees.  About how we'd want to tear our hair out having to live under the roofs of new 'parents' with new rules.  About how all the above would make us feel like we were 9 years old again.  While most of that is true, I feel like the last bit is mostly due however to how we trainees have adapted socially to our new environment.  That said, the 9pm curfew is a bit of a downer...

It all starts with the home stay.  Having used my cellphone back home to wake me up every morning, I mindlessly forgot to pack an alarm clock.  During the first week, before I am able to buy a cellphone, my host Dad has to yell down to me to wake up every morning...  I then get ready in my room and head upstairs for breakfast.  Around 6:55am, I am sent on my way, usually running borderline late (really, nothing changes...), with my backpack around my shoulders and my lunch bag in hand.  I meet the other volunteers and we pile into our old, discarded yellow school bus, formerly used in some random county somewhere in the US.  Now I'm only 5'7" (a tall 5'7" mind you...), but those yellow school buses must have been made for kids under 5' tall.  The ride is only 15-20 minutes, and thank goodness for that.  I don't know how the 6'4" guys manage.

Taking the bus to school
(Photo by Vlad Pascu)

Once at the training center, many of us cram every second of free time with any number of sports like soccer and games we'd invented on the spot, like ultimate frisbee with a rugby ball and our latest favorite, ass-ball (basically, the losers of a soccer juggling circle go up against a wall while the winners get to kick the ball at them as hard as possible).  The first half of recess sees the 53 of us sitting on the ground, nervously opening up our lunch bags to see what Honduran treats our mothers have packed for us.  Then the bartering and sharing begins.  None of us want any of the food to go to waste, but clearly some of us don't want to eat absolutely everything that's packed for us.  Some guys are known as the trash compactors, capable of eating anything and everything placed in front of them, and therefore they are the go-tos when someone gets something fairly unpalatable.  It definitely resembles any cafeteria scene in any middle school in the US, sans delicious Capri-Suns and Ho-Hos.

Let the bartering begin!
(Photo by Ryan Gever)

The second half of recess (well, really the majority of recess after we quickly wolf down our food) is dedicated to the aforementioned sports and games.  No matter how badly I want to stay sweat-free for our classes in tight quarters, the lure of playground sports glory always gets the better of me.  One lesson learned the hard way so far is that once you start sweating in Honduras, it's nearly impossible to stop.  I generally spend the second half of the day in the corner of the classroom, as far from the fairer sex as I can get. 

The soccer isn't the best quality, but certainly competitive!
One of my friends broke 2 ribs when he was slide-tackled into a bench...

Golaso by Jeremy

Tom doles out some punishment
(Photo credit to Jeffrey Wetzel)

Finally, betting pools are back and better than ever.  Apparently there are secret pools about who is going to head home first, who is going to get sent home first, who is going to hook up with whom, on and on.  But my favorite and the best-natured pool is the Dengue Pool.  Thought up by my buddy Rojo, the idea is that anyone who wants to participate needs to put in 10 Lempira (roughly 50c).  The winner (or loser depending on how you look at it) is the first person to come down with Dengue, and the money is seen as a consolation prize to help them endure the days of endless pain and misery.  As of yet, there has been no winner, keeping my fingers crossed on this one...