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Sunday, 30 June 2013

Moving to Honduras - Page 3

Written by Treva Wynn
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"Oh yeah, one more thing... you can't flush the toilet paper."


As they filled me in on the major exports of my new country, my inner-ninja continually looked for something in the van that I could use as a weapon. I had to be prepared for anything.

I silently gasped out of overwhelming relief as we pulled into the front parking lot of a quaint hotel ironically named "La Casa Blanca." It's real! The hotel is real! Maybe these people don't want to kill me and are just genuinely wonderful! I rejoiced internally. Although the hotel was located directly on the busy street, once inside, the traffic was taken over by exotic birds calls. There was a gigantic cage near the entrance to the lobby that housed several macaws (the National Bird of Honduras). 

My missionaries talked to the young girl at the front desk and I could tell they were informing her of my situation. After a few moments, her eyes enlarged, she looked at me, and had to fight back a smirk. Dumb gringa. I'm sure she thought. I was thinking the same thing.

My new heroes and I traded phone numbers and they told me they would return the day after to see if I had resolved my problems. They also informed me that if I hadn't, they would be glad to have me live and work at the orphanage. I think that was the first moment I had exhaled since realizing I was alone, really alone. I immediately relaxed and hugged my hippie nun.

A teenage boy carried all of my bags up and placed them in the room. I was happy and proud to use the only Spanish word I knew at the time, "Gracias!" I closed the door and sat on the bed. Immediately, I had the same rush of feelings I did at the airport. Freedom. Independence. The unknown. I gave myself a few necessary moments to absorb the situation. Well, it looks like I have two options: stay here with these amazing people I just met, or go back to the airport, and buy a ticket to Jamaica. Either way, I'm not going home. I already had my good-bye party. How embarrassing.... I decided to call Cathy again and give these mystery girls one more chance. Thank God, she had Kristen's number waiting for me when it rang. I punched in the country code and her other eight numbers. My heart started racing as I started pacing around the hotel's courtyard. One ring: nothing. Two rings: nothing. Three rings: a distorted "hello!?"

"Kristen! Is that you!? Can you hear me?"

"Wh-- th--s?" Her connection was terrible.

"This is Treva! I'm at a hotel. You weren't at the airport!"

"A ho-el!? Where!?"

(Page 3 of 7)
Last modified on Monday, 01 July 2013

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