I'm sorry that I haven't been able to update my blog lately. Their main server seemed to be down for quite some time and, although I could still view the blog, I couldn't access the site for updating.

Anyway, I'm back in Nicaragua, finally. While I would actually recommend Gracias and Copán as sites to visit in Honduras, I found it very difficult to get over my hospital experience, and I was quite glad to get out of the country.

I travelled with the British girls on Saturday to the capital, Tegucigalpa, and then headed from there with an Austrailian girl to the island of Amapala. We only stayed one night, as our accomodations were horrible and the island was kindof a ghost-town. It was one of the few places I've ever been where Civilization was actively in retreat. It was pleasant enough, but quite hot and a little boring. We spent a night in the crossroads town of Choluteca before crossing the border to Nicaragua.

The border was a mess. Imagine dozens of guys on bicycles swarming you, touching you, trying to convince you to pay them for this or that service, ripping you off on your money exchanges when the government officials won't accept Honduran currency, etc.
But now, I'm in León again, just relaxing, drinking, etc., and generally taking it tranquilo. Maybe a little bit too tranquilo, actually. Shortly, I'm expecting to head further South, to Granada, and I'm hoping to be on Ometepe Island within a week, or thereabouts. We'll see what happens, though.

I'm very excited about getting back to Mexico in less than a month. I miss Mexico in general, and I miss Elena and Frank. In the end, I guess I miss having some constants in my life. For the past couple of months, the only constant has been me, and sometimes that doesn't feel like enough.

Oh, one big news item: My monthly meeting (Heartland Friends, Wichita) has approved $500 for me to travel to England this August as a delegate for the World Gathering of Young Friends. These $500 should hopefully be matched by the yearly meeting as well. That would be really great, because I don't really have much money, and the plane ticket to England (in addition to the program fees for the Gathering) would be too much for me to swing.

I'm looking for a way to travel Europe once I'm already in England. I figure this is the best possible time to do it, as I'm going to be in England already. I've been invited by Ron and Christine (the Canadian-Finnish couple) to come and visit them in Finland this September, and could stay with them for a couple of weeks. Additionally, I'm also going to be making a lot of Quaker contacts from all over the world and, surely, from all over Europe.

My idea is to use those contacts, as well as Esperantist contacts (I'm learning Esperanto, and people who speak Esperanto put other travelling Esperantists up for free), to travel much more cheaply than would otherwise be possible in Europe. If all goes well, this Fall may be a European Fall for me!

So, that's where I'm at.

These past few days have been fairly relaxing and enjoyable. On Wednesday, we went to the natural park and climbed for several hours in order to see a waterfall, which, it turned out, was actually only barely visible from a distance of about half a kilometer from the "lookout point" that we reached through our climb. It was quite a disappointing end-point for our ascent.

However, the country that we climbed through was quite lovely. It was a temperate forest with all kinds of trees that would look appropriate in North America, and it was often easy to forget that we were in Honduras. The highlights were the exceptionally tall pine trees, forming a canopy above us, as well as "babbling brook" that ran through the park. The water was so cool and clear that, if I were really thirsty, I think I might have risked drinking from it. Unfortunately, you just never know what other humans have done upstream.

I think, at this point, that I'm going to head back through Nicaragua and towards Costa Rica. I'm still with my Finnish-Canadian friends, but we've also hooked up with a couple of British girls who are headed South, towards Costa Rica (and, eventually, South America!). As I have to fly out of San José on April 25th, it seems wise for me to go with them, as opposed to continuing North into Guatemala with my other friends. I'm expecting us to head out of Gracias tommorrow and begin the trek South.

Yesterday I went to the bank, and that occupied most of the productive part of the day. I spent three and a half hours waiting in a line that stretched outside of the bank, just to reach the counter and quickly change some dollars for local currency, as there is no ATM here in Gracias. Ridiculous. The worst part was when I was still trapped outside and the sun came over the roof. There was no longer any shade, and we passed an hour in the direct sun, leaving me a little bit burned today. There was plenty of space inside, as two of the four windows weren't open, but we weren't allowed inside and out of the sun. You can't really argue with men wielding shotguns.

Anyway, it looks as though tommorrow we're going to hike in the nature reserve that is near Gracias. It will cost us a bit to get a lift up there and a tiny bit more to get into the park, but I'm really looking forward to hiking up to a waterfall they have there and just enjoying the nature. This is a such a beautiful part of the world, and I'm going to be happy just to be out "in it."

Yesterday I went with a couple I met in Copán Ruinas to the Ruins of Copán. These Mayan ruins impressed me greatly and, even though the cover fee was $10 (a lot of money down here), I still felt it was worth the trip, and took a number of pretty good pictures. An incredible sense of peace was present at that site, and I just wanted to camp there for a week and meditate. Unfortunately, I think that the site administration would have something to say about that sort of thing.

Today I went with this same couple, a man from Canada and his fiancée from Finland, to Gracias. Gracias is a small town up in the hills of Western Honduras, and it took us about five hours to get here today. It's a beautiful little spot, with fresh, cool, mountain air and a special restaurant from which you can see the entire place. It is noted for its tile rooves and charming little church. Very "colonial," as the guides say.

And the accomodations are very cheap as well. We're splitting a room three ways for about US$2.50 a piece (!!), which makes me very happy. The only big downside of the town is that there is no ATM. I'm going to have to cash my US dollars, which I don't want to do. But, that teaches me for not getting more money before coming here.

Anyway, tommorrow, or sometime soon, it appears that we're going to go up to a wilderness preserve they have here and hike for the day. I'm very excited about that; the land here is absolutely gorgeous, the air is clean and I could use some real physical activity now, after coming back from the dead in Tela.

I've been talking with my friends (Ron and Christine), and they are headed up to Lake Atitlán, Guatemala, next, and are encouraging me to go along with them. I'm aware that every step I take North I have to take back South, but their plan sounds pretty good, and they say the lake is only a day's journey away from where we were in Copán... I think I may go with them if things keep up as they are. I like the company and I like what they're telling me about the Guatemalan highlands. This trip could be a preview for the next trip I make to Guatemala from Mexico, and it sounds better than El Salvador ever did.

On a personal note, I must admit that I am still struggling with emotional issues as a result of my experience in Tela. I feel homesick for the United States, something I rarely experience and had not experienced for a very long time, and feel less joy in life than I did before. I feel more serene, more calm and unaffected by everything. I feel like the spark I had was gone. I don't know what to say or do.

Just a quick update. Today I'm heading to Copán Ruinas by way of San Pedro Sula. I'm hoping to arrive before nightfall, but with the reliability of buses and bus schedules around here, who knows.

I'm looking forward to relaxing on the busride and getting out of Northern Honduras.

NOTE: This is a very long entry, but it's length is, I feel, quite necessary to deal with the experiences I've had in the past 72 hours. And, believe me, I'm leaving out a lot of detail.

Monday started out as a good day. I woke up and lingered around downtown for a while, checking my email and scoping out the central park. After that, I went and had a quick and unsatisfying meal at a café near the park. After being sufficiently bored by the town, I headed down to the beach and sat down on the steps of a beachside restaurant. You see, I didn't want to actually sit down on the sand, as it was covered in trash, both organic and inorganic (and there was definitely the real possibility of human waste). So, I sat on the steps and began to work on a bracelet. As I was working, several people came along to talk with me.

One was an old insane begger, another was a younger, but also fairly instable, Honduran tourist who wanted to practice his almost non-existent English. But a few other folks were quite fun to talk with. Two of them were sanitation workers, who spent their days cleaning up the beach after the tourists who used the sands as garbage bins. They were Garífunas, and spoke their own language, Spanish and, in the case of one of them, English, from having lived and worked in the United States. I also spoke with another artisan who made bracelets, drums and polished coral (which is now illegal to harvest, thank the gods). They were all cool people and I had a great time chatting with them. Little by little, as I was chatting with them, I realized that I was starting to feel a little bit... wierd.

I couldn't say that I felt precisely bad, but definitely tired and somewhat "off." I excused myself and planned to come back later to interact some more; but first I had to switch hotels. So, I went back to where I was staying, packed up my gear and hauled it over to my new hotel. Dropping my pack down in my new, cheaper, less beautiful and spacious room, I realized that I really did not feel well at all. I felt exhausted and was sweating a little bit. I lay down and slept for a couple of hours, waking up in a hot sweat.

Standing up, I had a terrible headache, was dizzy, definitely feverish and was sweating profusely. I headed downstairs and ask the woman at reception if she knew how to get to the hospital. She told me just to hail any cab and ask to go to the hospital. Simple, huh? Well, I made my way out of the hotel and down the street, where I proceeded to walk several blocks in the midday sun, semi-delirious and dizzy, trying to find a cab. Finally, arriving at the central park, I just stood alongside an intersection and waited and hoped. I must say, whenever you don't need a cab, they're everywhere and won't leave you alone. However, at this point, the city seemed to be devoid of taxis completely. I tried to flag one cab down, but apparently the hospital wasn't in the direction his other passenger was going, so he couldn't help me. He probably wasn't too thrilled at the obscenity I slurred as I stumbled off, looking for someone who could carry me to what I assumed would be safety. Finally, I did get ahold of a cab and I got to the hospital fairly quickly at that point, it was just outside of town, alongside the major highway connecting Tela with the interior of Honduras.

I paid the driver and staggered into the compound, walking another hundred meters inside to reach the hospital. When I did arrive, as delirious as I might have been in that moment, I knew I was in big trouble. The hospital was filled with fifty to seventy five people, all in one small central passage. Most of the people there did not seem to be in such terrible shape. There looked to be a few cases of broken bones, a few bad cuts, but other than that, it seemed that people were bringing their babies to get check-ups. I came in, not knowing what I had... maybe malaria, maybe appendicitus... I was a little bit stressed out. I began to ask around, as there was no one in obvious control of the situation, to find out where the doctor was, how I could get to see the doctor, if someone could help me, etc. People just pointed in the direction of the doctor's door.

I finally just gave up and sprawled out on the ground in the middle of the plaza, exhausted. I was to the point where I had no shame; if it took me acting like a dog and lying on the ground to get the medical staff's attention, so be it. Finally, after having waited and asked for help for about an hour, a nurse finally took me in to see the doctor. After asking me what I was feeling, he immediately concluded that it was probably a case of malaria and send me to the laboratory to get bloodwork done. They took some blood and told me to go outside and wait five minutes for the results. I lay there for a half an hour on the ground outside the laboratory listening to people talk about me in full voice, as if I wasn't there.

They talked about how bad I looked, about how I surely had malaria, about how I was going to die. One woman felt it important to strike up a conversation with me and talk about what the side-effects of the malaria medication would be. That conversation ended with me yelling at her, on the verge of tears, telling her I didn't want to talk. I couldn't think straight anymore, I was lost in a cyclone of feverish confusion. At some point, someone told me to get up and directed me to a baby-changing table, where I lay for another hour and a half, awaiting my test results. I would, from time to time, ask people who were passing by what was going on. I never really got any results from that. Finally, having waited for two hours for my test results, I got up from the table. I needed to go to the bathroom rather desperately.

I asked around and figured out where the facilities were. However, upon arriving, I realized that I was not at all disposed to using them. The bathrooms at this "hospital" consisted of two wooden shacks with seatless toilets. And, apparently, the users were expected to bring their own toilet paper, as none was provided. I wasn't going to go without toilet paper, so I made my way upstairs into the airconditioned offices that were above the hospital and basically walked into someone's office and used their restroom. When I came out, the office workers were none too pleased with my "abuse" of their facilities. Of course, at that point I didn't care at all. I was too far gone to care about reasonable regulations, much less regulations such as these. How can collapsing, sick people suffering from diarrea be expected to use restrooms such as this "hospital" provided?

When I got back downstairs, my test results were finally given to me and I went and talked to the doctor again. After sustaining myself against his desk for a few minutes while he carried on a phone conversation, he asked me a few more questions and then gave me three perscriptions to take to the pharmacy. "Come back when you have these medications," he told me. Ultimately, I feel that this doctor's decision to have me go and pick up the medication myself was a fairly bad call. Although, who could blame him? The hospital, serving, certainly, hundreds of people daily, had only one doctor and a few nurses. In my case, however, it would have been helpful to have recieved some assistance.

By the time I reached the pharmacy, I was on the point of collapse, leaning against the metal bars on the outside of the pharmacists window. When he gave me my medication, I staggered a few feet and then collapsed onto the ground near where I had laid earlier on the baby-changing station. People, this time, did seem to notice, and after a few minutes a group of women woke me up and had me get up on the baby table and, it seems, went and told the nurses what happened. After a little while - I'm not sure how long, as I was unconscious - a nurse arrived and brusquely shuffled me over to the nurses' station.

Here, she vigorously applied an IV (which, if you haven't had one, is spectacularly painful; or, at least mine was) and hooked me up to a little baggie of solution that, I supposed, should do something helpful. She moved me over to another room where I lay on a metal table, sleeping for the next few hours. During that time, my IV came loose several times, covering my hands and part of my shirt in blood.

When I awoke from this little nap, I found myself very thirsty, confused and in pain. I called out for help for some amount of time, probably between fifteen minutes and a half an hour. No one came, and I felt too weak to raise myself off of the table. Finally, the nurse that had assaulted me before came in to get some equipment for someone else. I called out to her, "Excuse me. But I need some things..."

"Like, what things?" She replied, impatiently.

"Like, water?"

"There isn't any water." She turned her back on me, and I stared at the large container of water that stood on the table behind her.


I called out to her several more times, asking her how it could be that there was no water in a hospital. She repeated several times that there was no water, and then proceeded to ignore me. I eventually pulled myself up from the table and, dragging the apparatus that held my IV bag, whose wheels did not function, I made my way out to the entryway of the hospital and asked passersby if they would please get me some water. Finally someone did, and another person got me a Gatorade (which is, I have found, a very popular drink in Honduras).

I sat there, in the entryway of the hospital for another couple of hours, until my IV bags had dried up. I couldn't think about anything, I couldn't think in any normal sense of the word. I could only attempt to comprehend the situation I was in; I was so mixed up at this point that I felt confused as to why I was in Honduras. When my IV bags finished up, the same nurse who put the IV in took it out... sideways. Yes, I swear to God the woman took the needle out sideways. I don't know what traumatic event this nurse had in the past with redheaded men, but it must have been something horrific.
I limped down to the exit of the hospital, still very ill and limping like a beaten puppy. I was bleeding from my hand and on the point of vomiting, except that I hadn't eaten since that morning. I climbed in the cab and made it safely back to my hotel.

The story since then has been one of sweaty agony. I'll leave the details to my reader's imagination because, frankly, it's too graphic to go into. But, let it be said that I took my first food on Tuesday morning, near lunchtime: a packet of crackers and a Gatorade. Since then I've been working my way up, moving from watermelon to chicken soup (artificially flavored, you vegan fascists!). Today, I ate some oatmeal and bananas. This evening I had my first actual "meal," consisting of some beans, tortillas and eggs.

I'm recovering, and I'm sure I'll be at 100% within a few days, but I must say that this experience has left me feeling very different, in ways that are hard to describe. The words that kept running through my mind this morning were: "La vida ya no tiene sabor" (life doesn't have flavor anymore). It's a strange sensation, but I feel somehow disconnected from life more and more, a sort of negative detachment, not the good kind that buddhists talk about. The kind of disconnection that numbs, that reduces all colors to black and white and all flavors to bitter.

I feel, to a certain extent, like the protagonist of Satre's "The Wall," who, faced with his own demise, ceases to care about anything of this world. It is absurdity, but with a tragic twist; the side of absurdity that sees no point in existence.

I'll get back to you.

Things are looking up, and more so all the time. First of all, this morning I found a much cheaper hotel, which I will move into tommorrow. It's five dollars a night instead of almost nine (100 lempiras vs. 175) and that will let me breathe a whole lot easier, financially speaking. I checked out the room and, actually, it's still pretty sweet. A single room, a bed, a fan a trash can and ajoining (shared) bathroom and shower. Everything looked very clean, including the facilities, which was a very good sign. So, starting tommorrow, hopefully I'll be living on more like $10 a day instead of $15.

How'd I pull off today on (slightly) less than fifteen bucks? Anyone who knows me well knows that the way I eat makes saving money on basic expenses difficult. So, I bought a watermelon, the cheapest bread I could find, two cans of sardines and four apples. Pretty sweet! I did pretty well, though. Apples (from the US) are much cheaper here than in Nicaragua; yay US Imperial Domination! (Honduras has kinda been the US' bitch since it was Spain's) Now to see if I can locate some Peanut Butter, the Holy Grail of all international travellers...

All today, I was thinking that I was going to head out of Tela pretty soon, maybe even tommorrow. You see, there are some little towns where escaped African slaves set up their own independent communities on the coast here near Tela, and one can visit them. I was thinking maybe I'd just pull up my stakes and head out there, after which I'd just abandon the Northern coast altogether. However, after this afternoon, I'm thinking I'll spend a few more days here in Tela, at least, and maybe just make the African villages a day-trip, which is totally possible.

You see, this afternoon I headed out to the main Telan beach. "Crappy beach," said the guide; "You should go further down if you want a good beach," said the guide; "For the love of God, not that beach!" insisted the guide... Boy, was the guide RIGHT! The beach was covered in garbage (seriously), which was periodically swept up by sanitation workers, and beaches and touristy knick-nack shops lined the beachfront. Fortunately, I don't care for beaches that much.

But I do love a human spectacle, any day. And this beach is a spectacular human scene. There are gringo tourists, Honduran tourists, mestizo locals, black African locals, some of whom speak their own creole language which is, I have read, made up of a mix of various African languages and French. And then, of course, there was me, the wierdest of them all.

Since I'm in a beach town, I've taken to letting my hair down... Literally. Now, I attract a lot of attention with my red hair, pale skin and blue eyes, even when my hair is neatly tied up, samauri-style, on the back of my head. But when I occasionally put my hair down, the freak show begins. When I walk down the street, the street watches.

And, as I sat down to work on a new style of bracelet and listen to the ocean, I found that my exceptional apperance has some real advantages for commerce. I, sitting there on the beach, faced away from everyone and working on a bracelet, not trying to attract any attention whatsoever, had at least ten people come up to me in a one hour period (at the end of the day, mind you) to watch me work, look at a couple finished pieces I had and ask me if I sold them. When I was finishing up and everyone was headed out, a man of African descent who was selling jewlery he made out of coconuts noticed me and addressed me in English.

"You're an artist, too!" he beamed.

I replied that I was learning. The man proceeded to tell me that it was important that I produce more work quickly, because Semana Santa (Holy Week) was coming up and business was very good. He gave me some tips about selling my work and said he hoped to see me later and trade skills. Come to think of it, I don't know anything about coconut sculpture. Could be an excellent addition to my craft, perhaps making pendants for necklaces. I think I'll be on the beachfront tommorrow, working on my craft and selling it, if I can.

Yesterday I made the border crossing into Honduras and arrived by night to the capital city of Tegucigalpa (also known as "Tegus"). Coming in by night, it reminded me a great deal of Mexico City, as what one could see was a great number of house lights spread out like a sea among dark spots where sharp hills shot up from the valley. A lot like Mexico City. Getting off my bus in a random bus station on the bad side of town, I got a little bit ripped off by the taxi driver, but I didn't care that much, as I just wanted to know I had a driver. Capital cities in Central America + Micah arriving at night is not my favorite equation. Anyway, the taxi driver took me first to an ATM and then to a hotel.

Where I was dropped off, there were two hotels. The first one I walked into, the men who were waiting at reception gawked at me until I asked, "do you have a room?" The man at the desk replied, "you mean to stay... the night?" I was slightly confused...

Until he went to show me the room. We turned the corner to where the rooms where, facing a courtyard filled with women. "Ah," I thought, "I understand now." I proceeded to ask directions to a hotel for staying the entire night, and the puzzled Honduran was happy to oblige.

The second hotel wasn't much better, but I thought it was at least "decent." It was five dollars a night, more than I wanted to pay, but I was tired. Unfortunately, my room was right up front, where the reception desk was. The reception desk was manned by a few teenage-adultish males who were watching a blaring soap opera just feet from my room. I could hear everything and finally went out and watched television with them for an hour or so until they got the message and turned the box off.

Today has been a journey from the capital to the North of the country. I'm now in a major beach town called Tela. I was hoping to catch a train from here to another town, Omoa, tommorrow morning. According to the Lonely Planet, there is a twice weekly train service between the two towns. Note to travellers: Don't trust the LP on faith. The train hasn't been running for months.

I arrived here in Tela, a beach hot-spot, conscious of the fact that Holy Week, a huge holiday and travel season for Latin Americans, was coming up, not this week, but the next. I knew that there would be no way to get a room on the Honduran coast, and that prices would double, for that week, so the time to travel the coast was now. However, arriving this evening in Tela, I realized the the tourists (Hondurans) have begun their costal assault early. I had a very difficult time finding a hotel room, and I'm paying about double of what I was hoping to pay. I'm trying to run on a budget of $10-$15 (and hopefully more like $10) per day, but I'm really failing miserably, between getting robbed and this Holy Honduran Costal Adventure.

The room where I'm staying right now has its upsides and its downsides. The downside is quite clear: It costs almost $9 per night! However, I will not ignore the immense upsides to this room. First of all: It's a room. I mean, this town is filling up fast, and at least I wasn't caught without a chair when the music stopped. Secondly: It is luxurious. This room is enormous, with a double bed as well as a single bed, a large mirror and dresser, a table, two fans, a closet, a full bathroom and, just outside my door, a balcony overlooking the street. I have never stayed at a place this nice on my own in Latin America and, as I don't have much of a choice in the matter, I've decided to enjoy it.

You see, I was going to Omoa, and I may still go, but I don't think the situation will be any better financially there than it is here in Tela. Apparently the locals have caught on and are heading to the beaches earlier than in the past... Smart of them; but it screws me. I'm probably going to spend a few days here in Tela and then, if I'm tired of it, I'll probably head to Omoa, as originally planned. Apparently there is an early morning bus that heads there more or less directly. I'm definitely going to check on hotels by phone before I go, however.

Well, I was totally right about León; it was cramping my adventuring style big time! I'm sure of this because, within a few hours of leaving there, I've got a new, interesting, unforseen situation to report. Today, as I was making my way out of Estelí, in Northern Nicaragua, and towards the border with Honduras, I was robbed.

Some teenager did it, this kid who squeezed up against me and got right off the bus when it next stopped. It's really ridiculous that I let it happen, anyway. I actually, in retrospect, remember thinking, "you know, this is a lot like how a pickpocket would act." But the worst part wasn't being robbed. The worst part was being ditched alongside the highway.

You see, I didn't realize I had been robbed until I reached for my wallet. The bus men wanted their money, you see. Made sense I suppose; but I simply didn't have it. I was a little concerned at this point, and asked them if they would accept dollars, which I still had in another bag that held my most important valuables. Well, of course, for the first time in modern Central American history, a Central American wasn't interested in greenbacks. "No. You're going to have to get off."

I looked up at the bus driver. He made a motion with his hand that indicated that I needed to take a walk. So, I did. I found myself standing by the edge of a highway in Northern Nicaragua, having no clue as of what to do. I threw down my backpack and then dropped to the ground next to it, letting the situation soak in for a few minutes. Of course, the people who lived by the highway were also soaking in the situation; and believe me, someone of my appearence in that part of Nicaragua is definitely a situation.

What appeared to be the women of the family emerged from their home and came close to me, but didn't say anything. I guess they weren't quite sure of what to do. I figured I had moped for long enough, and asked them how far Estelí was. They said it was pretty far, that I'd need to take a bus. I told them what had happened to me, and that I really didn't have any money for a bus.

So they gave me some. One of the women ran into the house and came back a short time later with my busfare. I tried to offer them a dollar to pay them back, but they wouldn't take it. "Hurry," they told me, "the bus is arriving - over there, where the school kids are getting on." I ran to the bus and jumped on board, riding it back to the bus station from which I had just departed.

I was pretty upset at having lost my billfold, because that meant that I had lost my driver's license, another couple IDs, some written notes that I had, about twenty bucks in cash and a momento that I had kept in there. I felt pretty violated. When I arrived at the bus station, people looked at me, confused, as they had just seen me depart a half an hour earlier. I walked past them, out of the station.

At this point, I still didn't know what to do. I still had no money and didn't know where I was. I noticed a young woman looking at me and decided that she would be as good a person as any to ask for help. I asked her if she knew where an ATM was, and she thought that such a thing would only be found downtown. Upon further questioning, the suspect indicated that downtown was quite far away... A busride away. I was once again faced with my cashless state.

I asked, "Well, do you even know where there might be some people changing money on the street? Because I've got some dollars that I could change." Those changers were downtown, too, it seemed. But all hope was not lost.

"Well, I can help you get downtown. I'll pay your busfare," she said. We walked down by the highway and, when no bus arrived, she hailed a taxi and we both got inside. The taxi took us right to where the money changers were and I got twenty dollars worth of Córdobas (Nicaraguan currency), and, after checking with my new friend that the amount I was given seemed right (I wasn't sure), I paid her back the cab fare.

At this point I whipped out my Lonely Planet and looked up a cheap hostel. I knew I didn't want to try to make the trip across the border today; I was already way behind schedule and far too frazzled to make the journey. I didn't want to stress myself any further than I had already been. My friend hailed another cab for me and, after thanking her, I was on my way.

I'm now resting safely in a small private room for about four dollars a night and just trying to recover from the shock of today. One thing that kept coming back to me during the events of today was the part of the gospels where Jesus says, "Who, when asked for a loaf of bread, gives instead a viper?" It seemed to me that, even though I was in a pretty uncomfortable situation, people seemed naturally inclined to help me. "Ask and you shall recieve."

I must say, I don't feel that bad, even though I was wronged today, because others did right by me. I was robbed, but others took money from their own pockets to help a stranger. "The birds do not sow or reap, but still they are provided for."

(Note: If my posts are vaguely reminiscent of a Sunday School lesson, you'll have to deal with it. I've been reading the New Testament recently.)

I leave tommorrow morning for Tegucigalpa. Eduardo, it appears, committed his guitar to someone and has to stay to wait for its safe return until Saturday; we'll meet in Tela (Northern Honduras) on Sunday or thereabouts, however. I'm definitely sad that I won't be travelling North with him, because I'm not big on border crossings and I would have preferred company. However, I will hopefully survive the border crossing and make it up to Hondura's capital to stay a night tommorrow evening. After that, I'd like to make my way to Omoa, where I'll chill out a few days at the beach and wait for Eduardo to catch up.

I'm making a lot of progress on my crafts, and, considering that I've only been at it a few days, I think I'm doing very well. Last night I made a "floral" pattern for myself, and I think it's the best design that I've seen for a bracelet. Once I get good materials in Costa Rica, I'm convinced that I should be able to start making some money from this, because I really am producing some really quality products.

Note: The fact that my posts are getting progressively more boring is a good indication that it's time for me to move on. Tegucigalpa, here I come!

I remain in Léon more than a week after having first arrived, but I now have a solid exit date: Wednesday. I talked with Eduardo, my friend from Mexico, and he is headed in the same direction as I, so I'm going to cross into Honduras on Wednesday and we'll head first to the capital, Tegucigalpa. I'm still pretty sick, but I hope that I'll be feeling a bit better by the time Wednesday morning rolls around; I need to get moving, anyway. On a timeframe of two months, staying in León for so long is kindof crazy.

But I've learned a whole lot here. I learned an additional style of bracelet today, and I'm starting to figure out how to modify designs independently. I'm forced to use inferior materials that significantly reduce the quality of my work; but once I get back to Costa Rica, I'll run right to San José and pick up a lot of colorful, high quality weaving thread.

Beyond my artisan training and my impending departure, there is nothing new to report. I'll keep you informed as events develop.

So, it's Saturday evening and I'm still in León. But I have good reason. Yesterday I began working as an artisan. I am making bracelets and hope to figure out how to make necklaces soon, as well. Incredibly enough, the only good materials in Central America are to be found in Costa Rica, so I've only got two colors of weaving string, black and white, and before using them I have to scrape them all down to get off the excess wax. But, in the end. It works. I'm definitely going to pick up a variety of colors when I get back to Costa Rica, however. I am staying here in León over the weekend, and mabye even a little longer, to consult more with the artisans who live here in my hostel and learn more from them, although I think that, at this point, I can figure most of it out on my own.

This is phase two of my Three Point Plan to become a self-sufficent adventurer. Phase one was to get certified as an English teacher (although, in truth, the Three Point Plan did not exist when phase one was underway). Phase two, the one I am currently engaged in: Learn how to make artisans' works - bracelets, necklaces, etc. - of a quality that can be sold for decent prices. Phase three will take place, I hope, when I get back to Mexico, and it involves learning how to play the guitar.

The reasoning behind these three phases is that, having completed them, I hope to be able to be self-sufficent wherever I am. I have met several people here in Central America that make jewlery for a living and travel on that money. I believe that singing at bars or on the street could bring in money. And English, in Latin America anyway, is always a sure bet. The downside to English is that, many times, it ties me to a place for longer than I might like. Anyway, with these three skills, I think I'll have a good start towards independence.

I'm really taking a liking to León. I finally figured out where the grocery store is, so my food is cheaper now that I am doing my own cooking at the hostel, and I'm getting to know people both in my hostel and in the wider community of León, as well. My favorite people at this point are Eduardo, a Mexican man, and a guy I just met, Douglas, who is from Nicaragua and lives here in León. I've been hanging out with Eduardo for a few days now, and I just met Douglas last night.

Honestly, I'd really like to spend a lot of time here in León. Apart from the heat, this city is an incredibly great place to be, and reminds me of Xalapa in many respects. And there's definitely a demand for English teachers, so if I wanted to come back at some point in the future, I have no doubt that I could.

My idea right now is that I'll probably leave for Estelí on Saturday morning. As much as I love this town, I really have to get moving, because I have so much to see and do in these next two months. I can't let myself get bogged down in once place, unfortunately. My guess is that I'll be in Honduras by this time next week, although it's crazy to try and predict these things. I've seen already how quickly my plans can change.