A Little Poem

On this grand Easter morn, I wish to pay homage to my father, the poet, who taught me a little ditty that goes like so:
Roses are red,
Violets are blueish.
If it were not for Jesus,
You´d all be Jewish.

After an attack of the mosquitos (we were apparently sleeping above a breeding ground last night), I have begged, stolen and borrowed (okay, just hitched) my way out of the jungle and am headed to the isle of Utila.
But first, a little about the place that I have spent most of the past 5 days. It is an amazing little community project, and it is great because there is no phone, no Internet, no t.v. The project was started by the community and they applied to the World Bank for funding. The Peace Corps stepped in and helped to re-write the business plan and voilá, twelve months and lots of trial and error later, they have built these amazing little cabañas overlooking the river and the jungle. The people of the community run the place and the money all goes back into the community. I find it to be a better place to spend my money than the tourist traps further down the road. I sit in my hammock and read my book until it is too hot to stand, then I walk out to the river and swim until it is too dark to swim, then I go home, shower, eat some local fare and go to bed. It is a hard life I am living.
Two days ago I went rafting with the Directora of the Policia Nationale de Honduras. As far as I can garner, she is the equivalent of the head of the FBI(?) We got into the raft and there were about 5 guards in full BDU´s with automatic assault rifles draped across their chests and video cameras in their hands flanking the banks as we went down. She comes with quite an entourage, apparently. We even had a rescue kayak go down with us in case she fell in. The rapids were fun. I have never been rafting before, so I did not know what to expect, but it was quite technical. There were moments when I thought I was going to be decapitated by a cliff overhang that our raft got sucked under, but I survived, head and all.
So, all in all, life in Honduras is good. Last night was the first night that I didn´t dream that I was in San Diego trying to get back to Honduras because I knew that my trip wasn´t over (I had a crazy dream about Pat Sajak one night, too, but that´s a story for another time). I am enjoying the people, I am slowly acquiring the language (and that´s without the help of any escuela), and I am learning new things about myself every day. I wish you all the best, and hope to hear from you soon.

Jen