If you have a few minutes, check out this video by Oscar Valenica, a Medical Brigade coordinator for GB Panama who was visiting for the week.
Just a small glimpse into a couple of our programs, communities and the work Global Brigades is doing in different parts of rural Honduras.
27.6.11
la catarata escondida
Is it bad that I secretly love it, that I get an adrenaline rush, that I feel slightly bad ass, when the thought, "maybe, just maybe, this wasn't the best idea," crosses my mind?
As such, that was precisely what I was thinking whilst clinging to the jutted rock face underneath a gushing waterfall in the midst of a downpour somewhere in the middle of the Honduran jungle. Maybe, just maybe, trekking to the hidden waterfalls, las cataratas escondidas, during the height of the rainy season wasn't the best idea.
Getting there wasn't without it's share of mishaps. A couple mix-ups with cab drivers between Comayagua (the bus we wanted) and Comayagüela (dubbed the most dangerous area of Tegus-which is really saying something), Dstrong assuring us that "he would know where we were going when we got there," which inevitably resulted in all six of us gringos getting off the bus only to realize we were one stop too soon and had to turn around and re-board, oh, and the steady storm of rain. Typical.
Dstrong and Frank had done this same hike a couple of weeks ago, albeit with the sun shining. Hence, without the slick rocks and mudslides, conditions that were only slightly exacerbated by the precipitation.
The initial hike to the top of the waterfall was short, a quick ten minutes through a muddy but well-worn path, the meditative sound of forest rain replaced by the gradual thunder of the falls. Amid the dense canopy of green, misty fog was suspended low in the valleys, wispy fingers stretched through the cloud forest. Standing at the mouth of a 300-meter waterfall cascading into pools below, it felt like we had stumbled across a place hidden and Jurassic--despite evidence of previous visitors in the form of a homemade rope-swing dangling from a hanging branch over the small pool before the falls. In true Honduran fashion, the swing was made from thick black electrical wires. Why wire? That's violating the first rule of living in Honduras without getting frustrated by what could be perceived to be a complete lack of logic and reason-don't ask why.
I got as close as I could to the edge, peering down the drop below. That's where we were headed.
The descent down wasn't easy. Our hands swung from tree branch to exposed root, our feet sought firm footing on the mossy rock, taking calculated steps when we found them and testing the roots strength when we couldn't. A couple times I just resorted to the good ol' ass slide. The rain was steady and strong, but I didn't mind it-it actually added to the whole ambiance. At the river bed, I quickly hopscotched and weaved between the rocks up to the main pool, a successful descent instilling confidence in my rock-balancing skills. Murky green, colored from the churning water, the pool looked frigid and less than inviting, but according to Frank, the only way was through the pool, up the rocks and onward to the falls.
Stripping down to suits, in we went, one by one, the shock of the freezing water momentarily taking my breath away. Never have I been so cold in Honduras. Treading, partly to keep warm and partly to ward off any underwater creatures, we swam to the base of the first falls. The boys, naturally, made the climb look easily, channeling their inner Spider-man skills. The other two girls gave up, headed back to land. I figured we had come this far. I started the climb, Dstrong and Tony dictating where I should grab as I pulled myself from rock to rock. Only once did they point out a grip only for that rock to break off in my hand. Thanks, guys. The water was rushing over me, my contacts sliding all over my eyeballs. Reason #523423 why I need Lasik--so I can ninja-climb my way through waterfalls. Sometimes I would have to pull myself up to the next hand hold without knowing where my feet were going, legs desperately slipping against the wet granite, relying on muscle and trust in my own body. Ok, so it wasn't the biggest climb, but getting to the top I was shaking with adrenaline. And probably hypothermia.
Onward, inching on tiny rock ledges, we finally made it to the base of the main falls. The sound was thunderous, the power palpable. Mist mixed with the rain, creating a hazy fog so that the falling water all but disappeared. The current was so strong that getting underneath the actual falls was nearly impossible. One of those moments when you are that close to something so strong, so natural, so ancient, you realize you are a very small part in a very big world, you feel both humbled and empowered, but overall, grateful to experience nature in one of its purest form.
Roadside coconuts while waiting for the bus topped it all off. With speed and dexterity (I never know how a finger isn't lost), the coconut top was sliced off, straw inserted, delicious coconut water to be had. The man waited for me for me to finish the juice, then macheted the shell so I could eat the meat as well. We were planning on celebration cervezas, but a coconut will always be a sufficient replacement.
Bad idea? Totally worth it.
As such, that was precisely what I was thinking whilst clinging to the jutted rock face underneath a gushing waterfall in the midst of a downpour somewhere in the middle of the Honduran jungle. Maybe, just maybe, trekking to the hidden waterfalls, las cataratas escondidas, during the height of the rainy season wasn't the best idea.
Getting there wasn't without it's share of mishaps. A couple mix-ups with cab drivers between Comayagua (the bus we wanted) and Comayagüela (dubbed the most dangerous area of Tegus-which is really saying something), Dstrong assuring us that "he would know where we were going when we got there," which inevitably resulted in all six of us gringos getting off the bus only to realize we were one stop too soon and had to turn around and re-board, oh, and the steady storm of rain. Typical.
Dstrong and Frank had done this same hike a couple of weeks ago, albeit with the sun shining. Hence, without the slick rocks and mudslides, conditions that were only slightly exacerbated by the precipitation.
The initial hike to the top of the waterfall was short, a quick ten minutes through a muddy but well-worn path, the meditative sound of forest rain replaced by the gradual thunder of the falls. Amid the dense canopy of green, misty fog was suspended low in the valleys, wispy fingers stretched through the cloud forest. Standing at the mouth of a 300-meter waterfall cascading into pools below, it felt like we had stumbled across a place hidden and Jurassic--despite evidence of previous visitors in the form of a homemade rope-swing dangling from a hanging branch over the small pool before the falls. In true Honduran fashion, the swing was made from thick black electrical wires. Why wire? That's violating the first rule of living in Honduras without getting frustrated by what could be perceived to be a complete lack of logic and reason-don't ask why.
I got as close as I could to the edge, peering down the drop below. That's where we were headed.
The descent down wasn't easy. Our hands swung from tree branch to exposed root, our feet sought firm footing on the mossy rock, taking calculated steps when we found them and testing the roots strength when we couldn't. A couple times I just resorted to the good ol' ass slide. The rain was steady and strong, but I didn't mind it-it actually added to the whole ambiance. At the river bed, I quickly hopscotched and weaved between the rocks up to the main pool, a successful descent instilling confidence in my rock-balancing skills. Murky green, colored from the churning water, the pool looked frigid and less than inviting, but according to Frank, the only way was through the pool, up the rocks and onward to the falls.
Stripping down to suits, in we went, one by one, the shock of the freezing water momentarily taking my breath away. Never have I been so cold in Honduras. Treading, partly to keep warm and partly to ward off any underwater creatures, we swam to the base of the first falls. The boys, naturally, made the climb look easily, channeling their inner Spider-man skills. The other two girls gave up, headed back to land. I figured we had come this far. I started the climb, Dstrong and Tony dictating where I should grab as I pulled myself from rock to rock. Only once did they point out a grip only for that rock to break off in my hand. Thanks, guys. The water was rushing over me, my contacts sliding all over my eyeballs. Reason #523423 why I need Lasik--so I can ninja-climb my way through waterfalls. Sometimes I would have to pull myself up to the next hand hold without knowing where my feet were going, legs desperately slipping against the wet granite, relying on muscle and trust in my own body. Ok, so it wasn't the biggest climb, but getting to the top I was shaking with adrenaline. And probably hypothermia.
Onward, inching on tiny rock ledges, we finally made it to the base of the main falls. The sound was thunderous, the power palpable. Mist mixed with the rain, creating a hazy fog so that the falling water all but disappeared. The current was so strong that getting underneath the actual falls was nearly impossible. One of those moments when you are that close to something so strong, so natural, so ancient, you realize you are a very small part in a very big world, you feel both humbled and empowered, but overall, grateful to experience nature in one of its purest form.
Roadside coconuts while waiting for the bus topped it all off. With speed and dexterity (I never know how a finger isn't lost), the coconut top was sliced off, straw inserted, delicious coconut water to be had. The man waited for me for me to finish the juice, then macheted the shell so I could eat the meat as well. We were planning on celebration cervezas, but a coconut will always be a sufficient replacement.
Bad idea? Totally worth it.
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