First Impressions

Cofradia, my new home, is more substantial than I had imagined. There are paved roads in the six block radius surrounding the central plaza, which surprised me.  The test of the roads are dirt and rife with potholes, but in the center of town you can almost fool yourself into believing that you are in any other dirty city in Central America. A layer of dust from the surrounding roads is caked on most storefront walls, giving the town a somewhat bucolic old-west feel. The“downtown”  is busy. There are colorful storefronts, three wheeled tutuk taxis that look like tincan death traps and there is a little shop that sells delicious mango “licuados” and is apparently the hub of all the town gossip. We are 30 miles from San Pedro Sula, a city that is the second largest in Honduras and the HIV capital of Central America. Cofradia is nestled in a very fertile valley at the foot of beautiful mountain lush with greenery. Much greener than I had imagined and believe it or not, much more charming than I had imagined it. In a way.

I am amazed by the dichotomy of modernization and stagnation that exists in this town. The house where I am staying  for the next three weeks has cable television with 90 channels, an amenity universal to virtually every Cofradia resident. It is equipped with high speed internet and all four members of the household where I am staying have cell phones. Usually while we eat dinner, the 16 year old in the family is on facebook or messaging his friends. Maxito, the 18 year old is constantly in and out of the house, grabbing a snack on the way back from class, before going to play futbol  with his friends. In some ways it feels entirely like an American household. On the other hand, the house also has a roof made of ribbed metal (think refugee camp) and last night when I went to take a shower, there was no running water. This is apparently a common experience in Cofradia.

Being that it was a Sunday on my first full day, there was an outdoor market in the town square. This is not a “farmers market” in the Oakland sense of the word (no organic produce, artisan butter, artwork, 60 yr old hippy playing Joni Mitchell or massage tables.). It is more like a swap meet (a plethora of cheap sandles, handbags, hammocks, baby chicks that they painted really bright colors). Yes, you read that right.  You can see the picture below.

I walked through the market with Guilo, a Venezuelan-American teacher who is staying in the same homestay with me, and we saw a huddle of ten kids giggling like crazy. We walked over to see what all of the excitement was about and discovered that they were taking turns weighing themselves on a digital scale. We walked over, and they all introduced themselves and offered us a chance to way ourselves for 1 limpira (8 cents). We thanked them for the offer, declined, and went on our way. I did hit up the booth right next to them for a bag of 5 mangos for 15 lempiras (the equivalent of 80 cents). Delicious.