22 April 2010

ancient

We arrived in La Ceiba just in time to rush to the bus station and throw A. and B. on a bus back to Tegucigalpa. They had term papers to write, and Semana Santa was beginning, which meant that if they did not hasten back home they might get stuck wherever they were. (Where they were was La Ceiba, at that point, but it would have applied regardless.)

I hugged A. a bunch of times and slipped some lempiras to B. to give to her after they were gone because she would not take them from me and waved and waved as the bus disappeared down the street. Then I looked around. Hm. It was 9 am, and my bus for San Pedro didn't leave until 2:30 pm. I was alone in La Ceiba.

La Ceiba is a beach town, so I paid a taxi to take me to a restaurant by the beach. Except, as it turns out, all of the restaurants by the beach that my taxi driver knew of were 1. closed that early in the morning, and 2. served only seafood. I know, I know. Logic. We finally found one that would let me sit there and drink a Pepsi until the kitchen opened, only by the time the kitchen opened I had drunk 1/2 a large Pepsi, realized how sick it was making me after 4 hours of sleep, breakfast of little processed cakes called Bimbolettas, and a nauseating ferry ride, and abandoned the half-empty bottle. I just could not handle seafood at 10 am.

I went on an internet and baleada quest. After asking a couple of people, I found a place that looked technology-filled, and opened the door. A young teen-aged boy came rushing in horror to the door. "Do you have internet?" I asked.

"No, no! No internet!" he said, pushing me back out and closing the door in my face. I caught a glimpse of serious gaming equipment - big screens and teenagers gathered around computers. I guarantee that there was internet in that place, but clearly the teenagers did not want adults anywhere around.

I retreated to the tiny restaurant next door and ordered myself some baleadas and coffee. The tiny restaurant doubled as a stationery store, and people came in periodically to fax and photocopy things. There were a few notebooks, pens, etc. on the shelves, along with one box of milk, several juice boxes, and quite a few cans of Vienna sausages. Every person who came in did a double take upon seeing me, and then politely said hello and went about their business. There was a park across the street, with a little tram waiting next to it.

After breakfast, I finally found some internet. When I was done, the 18-or-so year old guy who was running the cafe said something to me that made no sense whatsoever. It didn't even sound familiar. "Was that Spanish?" I wondered. I asked him to repeat it, and he did, and it made no more sense than before. He said it a third time, and still nothing. His friend said, in Spanish, "I can't think of any other way to say it," and called to the single other customer, "How can I say 'eighteen'?"

"Eighteen?" I asked, also in Spanish. "You said eighteen?"

"Yes," said the first guy, repeating the still indecipherable word.

At that point, I realized that the problem was not me, it was him. He was a mumbler. Obviously I know the Spanish word for eighteen. I gave him eighteen lempiras and left, muttering to myself about how kids these days don't enunciate, do they?

I am so incredibly old.

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