Copan Ruinas- Ancient Maya

Some Background Info

Honduras was home to the Mayan people, who are thought to have arrived in Honduras as early as 1000 BC. This society of people settled in North Western Honduras on the beautiful plains of the Copan River, and built the city of Copan. Honduras has a variety of attractions to offer travelers, and one of the main attractions is the remains of the ancient Mayan city of Copan.




There is archeological evidence that the Copan Valley has been inhabited since as early as 1200 BC. However it was not until AD 426 that Copan was ruled by a royal family. Copan is not the biggest Mayan City in Central America, however it was the predominant cultural centre during the Mayan period. It mounted to be highly advanced in its evolvement of sculptures, astronomy and hieroglyphic writing.

In AD 749 the most famous monument the city ever saw was erected, the spectacular Hieroglyphic Stairway, by King Smoky Shell. The stairway was created in order to perpetuate the success of the kingdom. The inscription found on the hieroglyphic staircase is the longest inscription found in the Mayan world. Initially it was thought that the hieroglyphs found in Copan were firmly rooted in astronomical and calendaric calculations. Through recent investigations it has been discovered that the script actually refers to the life and times of the Mayan rulers.

 There are more than 1250 glyph blocks in its inscription. The stairway is important because many monuments of previous rulers had been destroyed by their successors, and the stairway provides the names and dates of the rulers and furthermore it narrates battles and conquests of these leaders. The final ruler of Copan, U Cit Tok', came to power in AD 822, it is still unknown when he died.

It is only recently that archeologists are beginning to comprehend the reasons behind the collapse of Copan. Amid the last few decades the city saw and immense population growth, and this was a huge strain for the land, which the people of Copan were being agriculturally active on, leading to environmental degradation. The civilization began to migrate to other areas of the valley which were not designed for settlement. Many areas were deforested, and during the monsoon season the land would subsequently flood as there was an increased lack of vegetation to absorb the water. The society not only had to cope with floods during a period climatic fluctuations, but also intense droughts. Scientists have found evidence of malnutrition in the remains they have discovered, and during this period life expectancy decreased dramatically. The valley was not abandoned by the society instantly, it is thought that it was still inhabited for another one or two hundred years.

The first recorded discovery of the ruins was by Diego Garcia de Palacios on March 8th, 1576. It was not until three hundred years later that the history of the ruins was investigated. Archeologists are continuing to make new discoveries in the site. They have divided the site into five phases and it is the fifth phase that is visible to people today. However layers of the other phases are buried underneath the standing ruins. These remains are beginning to be explored today through the means of underground tunnels, two of which are now open to the public.

-Mayan Ruins of Copan, by Lowri Gilbert

This information was found at: http://travel-to-honduras.com/travel/honduras-mayan-ruins-of-copan.php

*****
Ok, now that I got that out of the way and you have some educational background about the Mayans and the ruins at Copan, I will continue with my narrative of my experience there.

So after breakfast, we set out on a hike across town to get to the ruins by foot. We picked up some bottled water, threw our cameras and notepads in our day packs, and set out for the road. The young daughter of the woman who runs the hostel we're staying at drew us a little picture of the route to take to get to the ruins. I was getting more and more excited by the minute.

The city of Copan was a lot more lively during the daytime. As we walked through the narrow cobblestone streets, people were shouting and selling handmade crafts and little tacos smelling all kinds of yummy every street we walked down. The market called out to me and I wanted to partake in the fun of it all, but the ruins were a-waitin'. As we walked farther away from town, down a country road that would lead us to the ruins, I could not contain my excitement.

But then we came to a fork in the road. To the right, the ruins were less than 1 km away. To the left there was a 4 km road that would take us to Macaw Moutain, where the native birds of Honduras dwell. Colorful, beautiful, tropical macaws. We couldn't say no.

So we began trekking up the steep hillside and immediately sweat poured down our faces and backs. But it felt good to hike. Along the way, we saw wooden shacks, with dirt floors. I realized people lived inside. Here is a picture of me in front of one:



That shack behind me there- is someone's home.
It was shocking. I couldn't fathom what life would be like living in there, and I was drowned in these thoughts as we continued to hike up the hill. It was a quiet, peaceful hike. It was wonderful to be out there, on a country road, under the clear, blue Honduran sky, hiking up the road and feeling the good burning throughout my legs, my core, and my back, heading towards the macaws. Here is a picture of the greenery all around me:



After a long, hot, sweaty hike which we thoroughly enjoyed, we finally arrived at the bird sanctuary. We joined a guided tour of the place, and saw many different kinds of birds. We saw cocoa plants, big spiders, and owls, parakeets, toucans and macaws. Here is a picture of a toucan, our tour guide and a macaw:



 


It was a lot of fun. I fell in love with these owls:

 

The first one had these big, beautiful dark eyes and he stared back at me with such intent, I wanted to make him mine.

After our tour and a cup of fresh coffee, we decided to hop on a tuck-tuck and get a ride to the ruins. I couldn't wait any longer. Here's us in a tuck-tuck:

 

And off we went!

******
Because of our pit stop, it was already pretty late in the day. But we didn't mind. We had every intention of going back the following day. So by the time we arrived, the park was only open for another hour or so.
We took a guide and allowed her to show us around. When we began walking down the path, several macaws flew over our heads, taking our breath away. It was beautiful. When I finally caught my first glimpse of the ruins, my heart skipped a beat. The ancient ruins of the Maya completed my trifecta of seeing the ruins of the Aztecs, the Incas, and now the Mayans. We immediately climbed the first pyramid we saw and took in the view from atop. It was grand.

 


The intricate carvings are astonishing. It was breathtaking to see that so many centuries ago, they were able to carve these designs into rock and here we were, standing in front of it, centuries later, marveling in all of its glory. It really humbles you and you think about how advanced these people were to be able to produce such art with perfection. Seeing these carvings made me feel connected to people who existed thousands of years ago. I can see how they would have bent over a giant piece of rock, and how they would chisel or carve away on the hard surface to painstakingly create a curve or a ditch, blowing on it and working day after day to smooth its sides. There is no denying the hard work and effort they put into creating such intricate sculptures.

 


Ancient, I tell you. Old-ass stuff. Puts the world into perspective and how far we've come, and where we were. It's amazing to see the passage of time, and everything trivial in my life suddenly doesn't matter. We are a blink of an eye. Long after I'm gone, this thing will still be standing here. And then you begin to think about how you can make a mark on this earth while you are here.







So as the day began coming to a close, we decided to take a few more looks around and just come back the following day. We were getting hungry. We took a few more shots of the digs and began walking out of the park.

For dinner, we wanted to try some street food- so we went straight for those delicious smelling tacos and satisfied our hunger. They were pretty darn good. And so darn cheap. And fresh. Again, no preservatives, no chemicals. We plopped down on the side of the road and chowed down, taking in the night scene.


 

We walked around, trying to work off our filling meal, and tried to chat with the locals in more of our broken Spanish. It's amazing though, how much of what I learned came back to me, and I was able to get a few compliments from them- they commented about how well I spoke Spanish, and I was pleased to be able to understand them when they said that. We walked up steeper streets to get exercise, and talked about what more we wanted to do. We definitely wanted to go back to the ruins, check out their museums, and maybe try horseback riding. Also, the next day was New Year's Eve. We couldn't wait to see how the Hondurans celebrated their New Year's. In our scattered conversations with the locals, Paul kept asking about the "Apocalypto" and how they all felt about the Mayan calendar ending. That brought about a lot of laughs from the Hondurans. They giggled when Paul would widen his eyes, raise his arms, and say "Apocalypto!" in his animated way. And it was funny and surprising to me when I saw that they all understood what Paul meant. From what I can gather, they reassured us that life is a cycle, and the Mayan calendar ending is only the end of the previous cycle. At least we heard it from the source. The world will not end in 2012, sorry to disappoint you.

We then hit up some souvenir shops, and met some really nice salesfolks who had cute ways of making a sale. This one particular store I liked had a girl who would tell us "It really costs 300 limperas, but I'll give to you for 250." She pretty much used that line for everything, and it worked. I bought quite a lot of trinkets from that store. They had some nice things, and I just liked her sales method. It was cute. I tried to pick out authentic things, things that would bring back special memories, something I'd treasure. I have a hard time buying things for myself when I travel, but I've learned over time that every single knick knack I pick up becomes absolutely precious when I'm back home in California. They are all one of a kind and special and worth so much more than the dollar amount I pay for them.

After a healthy amount of souvenir shopping and walking around aimlessly, fully enjoying just the act of wandering down unfamiliar streets, we finally headed back to our hostel and spent the rest of the evening playing with the owner's adorable little boy:

  

*****

The next morning was New Year's Eve Day. We were giddy and excited to go back to the ruins. We found another great breakfast nook and had a filling, delicious breakfast of El Tipico:

  

And then we immediately set out for the road again. Here's a picture of the road:



When we got there, we took our time, without a guide, just walking around and taking it all in. We marveled at the giant trees, the jungle-like growth on the pyramids, the age-old stones with all of their carvings, and imagined what a Mayan empire might have been like in its hayday.
 

Above is a shot of Paul standing over the ball court. They say that during the Mayan civilization, they held fighting competitions there, and they would kill the winners. I could almost hear the screams, the bashing of bones on the rock, and the blood dripping from the steps and onto the grass. The cheering and the booing. Us humans have a history of enjoying violence for sport. It goes way back, doesn't it?

We checked out the museum and saw a replica of the temple that used to stand on the holy grounds:



Most of all, we were so happy to have visited another country where we can learn about another culture, an ancient civilization, and expand our horizons even more. The study of another language, another world, another race- it allows us to see beyond our world and our lives, and learn to appreciate diversity and it enriches our own experiences to be able to be grateful for what we have and be open to others' views. I couldn't think of a better way to spend the last day of 2011.

 

After spending the day at the ruins, we were eager to partake in the celebration of New Year's Eve.

***to be continued.

arriving in copan ruinas

We hopped off the bus and scrambled to get our big, overstuffed hikers' packs that were being thrown down to us by a guy perched on top of the bus. I looked around. It was already dark. People were staring at us. I could only imagine how much we stuck out- a tall, muscular, scholarly looking white man, and a short, muscular Asian girl standing there, with "Tourist!" written all over us. I was thankful that I was at least covered up and not showing too much skin or wearing any makeup. I didn't want to attract attention to myself.

We tried to look for a sign that could tell us what street we were on. We couldn't find one right away. I asked Paul what hostel he had in mind. We had no idea where it was and how far we had to walk. After walking up an especially steep uphill street, we decided to grab a "tuck-tuck." Our bags were feeling heavier by the minute and I was dying for some food and a beer. A tuck-tuck is a small, covered motorbike that can seat two in the back. As soon as we stopped walking, a tuck-tuck drove by and stopped in front of us, waving for us to hop in. We told him the name of the hostel and he nodded, putting his foot on the pedal and revving some power into his tiny little tuck-tuck engine.

We drove by the "Parque El Centro"- every Spanish-speaking village or city has one. It's the main square that helps us to figure out our bearings. We continued to drive. The village wasn't much. No majestic cathedral like we've seen in Mexico City or Cuzco, Peru. There was a plain-looking church, a square with fountains that didn't run water, and people just standing around, talking and smoking cigarettes. The streets were narrow and bumpy. The driver took us farther away from the main square and continued into a dark neighborhood.

When he finally reached a small building, it was on the outskirts of town, and I saw a big dog sitting in the entrance doorway. A white man came out to greet us. Thick with a Dutch-sounding accent, he welcomed us and asked if we'd like to stay. We asked him if he had any private rooms with hot running water available, and he said yes. We asked him how much. He said $20 a night per person. We read that it should be cheaper than that. We thought about it for a moment, and decided we'd keep looking. Now that we had taken a drive and seen the tiny town a bit, we knew we could start walking back towards the Parque El Centro and get our bearings there. We hopped off the tuck-tuck and began walking back into town.

Just as we saw bright lights again, an old woman walked by us, and then stopped and turned around. She asked, "Necessita hotel?" We said, "Si." She motioned for us to follow her. She led us to a hotel a few buildings away, with a sign that read "Hotel Moises" and took us inside to the reception desk. It was tiny, but I saw many signs with tourist attraction information, so I thought, this would probably work. A younger woman greeted us, and we asked her if there were any rooms available. She nodded and showed us to a room. It was ok, but it had a shared bathroom. We asked if there was anything else. She again nodded and led us upstairs. This room had a private bathroom. I asked her, "Agua as caliente?" She nodded again, "Si. Agua as caliente." The room was small and crowded, but I was tired. It was clean. I nodded to Paul and we agreed to take it. It was only 130 limperas, or about $7 per night.

Finally, we threw our bags down and ventured out into the village of Copan, in search of a restaurant. We were starving. Walking around, we saw that there wasn't much of a night life or scene. A few bars here and there, and a lot of random, skinny stray dogs sniffing around for food. At first I thought I was in dog heaven, thinking I'd pet them all and fall in love, but these dogs were not open to being petted. They stared at me, as if they can tell I didn't have any food, and then moved on without coming close. I tried to follow one, but he didn't let me get close or embrace him.

We walked through the Parque and tried to read the signs. We wondered why the fountains didn't run water.
Here's a picture of the Parque at night:



Here's a picture of one of their streets:



Streets were unfinished and would abruptly end. Paul joked, Tort all over this place. I laughed. I didn't even want to think about law school.

 

Finally we came across a restaurant that looked somewhat lively and had a balcony. We went in and were eager to take a look at their menu. We read in our guidebooks that they have dishes called "El Tipico" which literally just translates to "The Typical" and it consisted of beans, tortillas, eggs, avocados, plaintains, and a piece of salty cheese. We decided to try it out and ordered some "Salva Vidas"- their version of our Budweisers.

Here's my first Honduran meal:



I wasn't aware that it would come with steak, but anyway it was damn good. Here are pictures of us with our first Salva Vidas in Honduras:

 

After our meals, we were exhausted, but we decided to keep walking around as we tried to figure out what we will be doing for the few days we planned on staying in Copan. The first thing on our list was obviously, the Mayan ruins. So we talked about getting up early the next morning, heading straight for the ruins, and taking our time there. After a couple more hours of wandering around under the warm Honduran night sky, we headed back to our hotel and climbed into our bed. We knocked out in no time.

****

The next morning, we got up fairly early and looked for a place to have breakfast. We found another fun looking restaurant with an outdoor patio and ordered another plate of Tipico for each of us.



A little girl came up to me while we waited for our food and tried to sell me a corn-husk doll. It was only 20 limperas. A dollar.



We scarfed on the food and our bellies became full of beans, eggs, and tortillas. Everything tasted fresh and organic- nothing processed, no chemicals.



We paid our bill (dirt cheap) and left, eager to get on with our day. I was getting really really excited.
Here is a shot of the village by day:




Finally, we were headed for the Mayan ruins.

memories of honduras

Ok, so I lost the momentum. Too much happened, one thing after another, upon my return from the wonderful Honduras trip. My life is a constant whirlwind, and I have no time to catch a breath.

Now I'm scared of being stabbed in my sleep at my new place and people t-boning me at intersections. My beanie is missing its top, and I have no idea how it happened.

This morning, as I ran in the cold, I thought about Honduras again. I tried to remember the way their sun felt on my skin, the way the people looked at me and smiled. All the green hills, and the clouds in the sky. The way their bumpy, cobblestone streets felt under my feet.

I have not forgotten. I've been putting it off because there is such a wonderful story to be told. But maybe I'll just have to tell it in bits and pieces.

When we arrived in San Pedro Sula airport after two full days of travel (we stopped off in Houston, Texas), we immediately felt the warmth of their changing season. As a matter of fact, it was hot- the kind of hot with a thick, humid blanket of air that instantly gives you a film of sweat that sits on your forehead and upper lip and doesn't dissipate, no matter how much you fan yourself.

Here's our first glimpse of Honduras as our plane was getting ready to land:


We tightened our grip around our hiker's packs, stuffed full of clothing, hiking food, and other travelers' needs, and rapidly tried to think of Spanish words to strike a deal for a cab ride to the next bus station across town. We've been ripped off by cab drivers before. We wanted a fair price.

We had no idea what a fair price would be, but according to our guidebooks, it shouldn't cost more than a couple of bucks.

"Cuanto cuesta? " we asked. "Tres cien limperas para una persona" they all replied, one after another. "Too much!" we exclaimed. And then we quickly tried to translate, but couldn't remember how to say it. They looked back at us with curious eyes. But their prices did not change. I felt the sudden urge to reach for my iPhone and google what a fair price for a cab ride would be. And then it hit me that my phone was dead, and I had promised myself not to buy a charger or use my phone on this trip at all. I realized I was on my own. No google to help me.

After asking about four cab drivers, we stood there under the beating sun, holding on to our backpacks. We had half a day to get to a bus station and take the long ride to our destination village. Time was ticking.

Finally, we decided we had no choice. Really, it was only $15 and by our standards, that's nothing. We had to get going. So we picked out an elderly looking man who looked kind, and climbed into his Corolla sedan.

As we began driving, Paul asked, "Como estas? Te gusta el Presidente? Es corropto o bueno?" He likes to ask the natives, every country we go, whether they like their president. We get different answers. This guy was honest. "Asi asi. No es bueno, pero no es mal." We laughed quietly and continued our gaze out the window, as our brains racked through more of our broken Spanish words.

Paul continued to think of questions in half-English and messed up Spanish and tried to continue the conversation in scattered efforts, getting really animated as he often does. I kept looking out the window and tried to take it all in. Before us were fields of dead grass, but the hills were lush and green. People were on the streets, and I saw a few policemen standing around with rifles smoking cigarettes. There weren't many buildings, a lot of open land dotted with small shacks. I read "Digicel" and "Coca Cola" on store walls and on doors. We passed by a few buildings that looked like small factories. I thought about Mexico and Peru, and couldn't help comparing Honduras to the previous Spanish-speaking countries I've visited. So far from what little I could see on that drive, I thought to myself it is a lot more "country" here than Mexico and Peru. Far less developed.

The drive was not long, and soon enough we arrived at the Gran Terminal Del Autobuses. It was a big bus station with a lot of commotion. There were at least a hundred buses parked outside and people were getting on and off. Bus attendants- young boys in street clothing- would stand near the buses and shout out the destination city loudly and usher people to their buses quickly and briskly. They would stand by the entrances of the bus station and literally grab people and their bags and rush you on a bus, acting as if the bus was departing in mere seconds. Then once the buses are full, they sit there until departure time. Sometimes a loaded bus would stay parked for an hour before the driver suddenly shows up and starts the engine.

We went into the station to purchase our tickets and found out our departure time. We still had an hour before our bus headed for Copan. We took a look around the waiting area. They all sure were looking at us. There were a few food stands, and we were good and hungry. We picked up a few food items- what looked like a bean burrito, a couple of taquitos, and a piece of fried chicken, and some Tampico-like juices. The food tasted a little stale. I read in the guidebook that Hondurans mainly ate a lot of beans, rice, tortillas, and fried chicken. American influence.

A thin, young girl with dark eyes came up to us with a baby in her arms and began speaking rapidly. We didn't have a clue what she was saying. Paul handed her a bill. She muttered "Gracias" and began to walk away. I asked Paul, what did she say? He answered, I don't know but it was clear what she wanted. I nodded. Paul caught the young girl's eye and motioned for her to come back. She paused and looked back at him. He reached into his bag and took out a few pencils. "Lapiz? Te gusta lapizes?" He held out the pencils to the baby clutched tightly in her arms. The baby began to smile and reach out to grab the pencils. The girl seemed confused and reluctant, but she allowed her baby to take the pencils from Paul's hand. Then she hurriedly walked off.

I decided to venture into the mall that was built inside the bus station, and went on a search to buy a headband to keep my hair from falling on my sweaty face. I couldn't remember how to say headband. As I tried to find the words, I browsed through each store, looking for a decent headband to buy. I found some, but they were either sparkly or too girly. Some of the girls came up to me and asked me questions in Spanish. I couldn't catch all of it, but I imagined they were asking if I needed help finding something. I said, "Tiene bando para mi pello?" I pointed to my hair, and demonstrated with my hands what a headband would do. They cocked their head to the side, thought for a second, and then motioned for me to follow them. They pointed to a few headbands that were bright pink and orange. I asked, "Otra colores?" They paused and then shook their heads no. I said, "No problemo. Gracias!" and kept walking.

I finally found a brown one, with black spots and asked the girl how much it was. "Treinta limperas" she replied. I said, "Ok." and paid her the money. I glanced at my watch. Fifteen minutes left.

I headed back to my bus stop with Paul, and immediately a crowd of boys grabbed my backpack off my back and shouted, Copan? Copan! and hurried me on the bus. We quickly found seats in the back and sat down. It was hot and cramped. I still had winter clothes on from our stop in Houston. I wanted a shower and a clean bed to sleep in but we had a while to go before I'd see a bed.

Peddlers began storming us on the bus. They'd shout prices and the names of their goods. Agua! Agua! Helados! Mangos! They tried to sell all kinds of stuff. One guy came to us and tried his hardest to sell us chiclets. We ended up buying a box. Paul handed him a boligrafo. The peddler smiled and nodded "Gracias!" with a good-natured look in his eyes. Paul and I smiled at each other. Paul had a lot of those to give out.

Slowly the bus filled up and it became packed and crowded. Bus attendants began pulling out stools stacked in the back of the bus and began placing them as seats in the middle aisle. People sat on each others' laps. It was so crowded I was shoulder to shoulder, completely surrounded by human bodies without a single inch of personal bubble space to spare. More than half an hour later, we were on our way. It was 3:15 pm their time. The guidebook told us it will be a four-to-five hour bus ride. We closed our eyes and allowed our tired bodies to nap.

Throughout the ride, we weaved in and out of sleep. I saw a lot of people continuing to get packed on our bus. A little girl was sitting near me with a bright pink princess dress on. She had beautiful brown skin and shiny brown hair. Her eyes were black and sparkly. I looked at her mother. She was thin, with a few wrinkles around her eyes, and her hands were chafed from doing some kind of labor. They both looked at me curiously for a few seconds and quickly diverted their gaze to a different direction. I imagined what that little girl's life was like. I wondered whether she knew about America and whether she compared her life to Americans. I wondered what she would daydream about, what she wanted to be when she grew up. I drifted off to sleep again.

I blinked and looked out the window. We were passing through some cities. The buildings were falling apart, dingy, dirty, in need of a paint job. Rubbles of concrete were piled here and there. Roads were not paved- they were either dirt or half-built with cobblestones or random slabs of cement. All the women wore really skin-tight clothing, no matter their figure. Most of them were curvy, with bellies sticking out but they had thin limbs. All the men were thin and short. I don't think I saw a single overweight man on my entire trip, as I later saw. A lot of peddlers were selling pre-cut fruit, sheets of coconut, bottles of Fanta and Coca Cola. A boy not more than eight or nine years old was standing outside the bus when we stopped to let off a few passengers. Paul asked through his window "Cuanto cuesta?" and pointed to the boy's peeled oranges he was holding in a basket. He eagerly replied, "Cinco limperas!" Paul then took out a pencil and handed it to him along with a bill. The boy had a blank look on his face, but handed Paul the orange and took the bill and the pencil and nodded. I think he didn't really know what to say or do. The bus pulled away and I looked to see where the boy would go. He began walking back to a fruit stand on the side of the road, where I imagined his family worked or lived or both. I felt my eyes getting heavy again.

When I opened my eyes, it was dark. The bus was climbing up a steep hill with dirt roads. I looked at my watch again. We had to be pretty close. Sure enough, a few minutes later we pulled into a small village. A sign read "Copan Ruinas" and the bus stopped about a mile after that sign. We finally arrived in Copan.




It was a small village but we were instantly wide awake, and hungry. But we needed to find lodging first, I couldn't get excited yet. We had no reservations, just a few names of hostels that we read in the guidebook.

**** to be continued.

a whirlwind move into my own apartment sans roommates!

So, I'm still itching and scratching to write about Honduras, and I assure you juicy details and deep insight are soon to come, but I will explain in this entry what is causing the hold up.

I finally moved out of J Street lofts and into my own place in midtown, and for the first time in my entire life, I have no roommates. I have no idea why I didn't do it sooner. Since leaving home at sixteen years of age, I had to budget, and count pennies to scrap by, so my frugal ways just didn't allow for me to pay for a luxury such as living in an apartment all to myself.

But no more. I decided enough is enough, I deserve to pay for liberty and freedom to come home to a place that is all mine and no one else's. I can now prance around in my underwear if I want, and if I have dirty dishes in the sink, I have no one else to blame but myself.

Before I go on and on about how great it is, I'll show you some before and after shots of my little nook. Here is the entrance of the building. It's Spanish-inspired and quaint.



Next, you walk up a flight of stairs and the studio is located on the second story. When you walk in, there is a fair-sized window facing you and a fairly big walk-in closet with french doors to your left. The closet is still not quite big enough to house my insanely huge wardrobe ( more on this later), but it is adequate.

 
 

The small but clean bathroom features a window, which is important to me because I like scalding hot showers and the steam can cause mold if I don't have a window to air it out, and a pedestal sink that adds a unique touch.

 
The kitchen is my favorite part because it has built in bookcases with glass doors. That is pretty much what closed the deal for me. The photo taken here was rushed so I failed to include the archway at the ceiling but that is also a small detail that I appreciate and like most about the kitchen.
 
 

So, I saw the ad on craigslist, and went to see the apartment, literally the night before I left for Honduras. The morning before taking off, I stopped by and submitted an application, the credit check fee, and a list of references. When I got back 13 days later, I had an apartment waiting for me. The day I got back into the country, I had a lease waiting to be signed and a set of keys.

I also had a full week of classes waiting for me, as well as work. Functioning on less than four hours of sleep each night, I plowed through work, classes, homework, packing, and moving the first week I returned to the country from an amazing backpacking trip through the villages and cloud forests of Honduras.

All weekend long with the help of my brother, my parents, and Paul, I managed to get my upright piano to my parents' house, pack all of my wordly belongings, and refused to sleep until every single box was unpacked and thrown into the recycle bins. Now I am all settled in, with most of my law school homework done and loving this new habitat that I've set up for myself. I am longing to catch up on sleep sometime soon, but I have a CASA crab feed and a boatload of more law school homework waiting for me so it is hard to tell when that opportunity will come next. But for now, I am really pleased that I was able to do this.

Go. Go. Go. The craziness just won't stop!

Here is my work in progress:

Ok, so the eliptical machine isn't very fung shui but so what? I use it on rainy days when I don't feel like getting soaked for a workout. 

Below is my closet in progress. The shoes displayed here is not even half of my collection and I haven't color-coordinated them yet. I have two more shoe racks coming. Stay tuned.

 
Actually, as I was organizing the clothes and shoes, I was ashamed of myself. I just got back from a country so poor that some children didn't have shoes on their feet, and here I am huffing and puffing about having too many clothes and shoes. Correction, I was huffing and puffing about not having a closet big enough to house my clothes and shoes. So ridiculous. So I had to take a few big garbage bags and start throwing things in. I had to let go of some of this materiality. Now I have a couple of big fat garbage bags full of designer clothes that still fit me, but don't fit into my closet or dresser. I'm not sure what I'm going to do, but my intention is to donate them all to a good cause or a person who really needs it.

 



 
If you can't tell, I decided to take these pictures while in the middle of studying. I needed a break. So please excuse the mess and the beer bottle that is hiding my wonderfully colorful Honduran cloth that I used to decorate my kitchen table.

It's tiny and humble, but this place is my own, and I am satisfied and happy about this move.

Entry on Honduras is soon to follow.

my federal courthouse experience (oh and happy new year)

Happy New Year folks! Wow it's already 2012, time is just flying by. New Year's is my favorite holiday because we celebrate life, and the future ahead of us. It's the day we realize that time keeps going, and we have to enjoy the here and the now and to make goals and live our lives to the fullest.

I just got back to the country four days ago, and it already feels like I never left. I am barely keeping my head above water. Survived my first set of law school exams with B's (disappointing but it's a starting point), started classes in full swing, have a fourth class (crim law) on Thursday nights, and I'm hitting the road running at work, and moving to a new apartment, my very own apartment with absolutely no roommates (!) this weekend and thoughts of Honduras are floating around in my head like crazy. I am literally itching to write about my experience there but there is so much to say, so much reflection that I want to share, that I can't just hurriedly knock it out on my lunch hour at work.

All I have to say for now is that it was once again, much like all of my world travels, a life-altering experience where I feel like I'll never be the same again. And the trip generated more than ever, questions about our role in the world as Americans, our foreign policies, and outside views about the U.S. and to see our own culture from an outside perspective as well as learn about the culture of their country... I will save these insights for later.

Today I want to talk about my tour of the federal courthouse that I went to for a school assignment. This morning, a few of my classmates and I went to the district courthouse and sat in on Judge Morrison England's proceedings and heard about five to six criminal cases being presented before the judge. It was pretty intense in there. There were a lot of black power suits and serious attitudes. When the prisoners were escorted into the room with their orange jumpsuits on, their hands and feet shackled in chains, my skin tingled and a wave of emotion overtook me, pinched my nose and I felt stinging wetness in my eyes.

There was a child pornography case, and a couple of serious drug charges. These were repeat offenders with a long history of convicted crimes, and were there for various reasons like a disposition hearing, or entering into a plea. There was one kid who was facing charges for having in his possession 50 grams of methamphetamine (actual). He is my age. He doesn't speak any English. He had a translator with him, and he entered a plea bargain and gave up his constitutional rights. He will face possible deportation. It broke my heart as I thought about what this means for his life, his family, and his future. What a devestating event in his life, for him to go through this.

I couldn't help but remember my past and how I, too, once stood in court, spoke to a judge, shaking from the fear and anticipation of being there and the outcome to follow. So I knew that although outwardly they seemed calm and quiet, on the inside how fearful they might have been feeling. I don't feel sorry for them, but it was terribly sad the poor decisions they made and how those decisions will now impact their own lives as well as their families.

These are people's lives that are being decided in courthouses, and it makes such a huge impact. Whether they will change for the better or not remains to be seen. Some of them need help, not jailtime. I was once again reminded of how fortunate I was to have a family and a home that welcomed me back after my rebellious stint and helped me to get back on my feet. If I didn't have that, would I be where I am today? And for all of those who don't have that- what are they supposed to do? As my classmate and I walked out of there, he muttered that it isn't the government's role to rehabilitate drug addicts. I bit my tongue. But I managed to control the emotion in my voice when I asked him, so do you think locking them up is the answer? He said, yes, if they do the crime, they need to just go to jail. Although, it's too comfortable in there for them. I got into a restrained explanation of the policy implications about what it means to just lock people up and the costs and effects associated with that, but I knew that I wasn't going to single-handedly convince him otherwise of his views, so I didn't push the matter.

I walked away from that building remembering my own experiences and how far I've come. I remember the fear, and the days of when I hit rock bottom and how hard that was. I saw those prisoners and just felt the emotions they are experiencing at this point in their lives. And my heart hurts for them. It's not sympathy I feel, but I don't feel anger or disgust either. This is life, and we are all human, and we all make mistakes. Once again, I am filled with gratitude for all that I have and all the support I was given along the way to change my life for the better. It gives me renewed inspiration to keep working hard to achieve my goals and stay focused.

Anyway, I think more people should go to the courthouse and see for themselves what the proceedings are like. It definitely adds a human element to see how these cases are affecting people's lives and they are not just numbers or cases, they are people. And what happens to them affects us as a society. If you don't think it has anything to do with you, you're refusing to see the blatant fact that we are all connected. Your tax dollars are paying for that court proceeding and the housing and medical care that the convicts will receive when they are incarcerated. So if you think it's a waste of money to get them treatment or some kind of help, you will be wasting money on incarcerating them. So which would you rather spend your money on?