The New Blog Title

*Credit goes entirely to one Michael Giancarlo Pacchione.

My greatest idea yet.

Introducing the S'mOreo.
Double the Chocolate.
Double the Gooey White Stuff.
Quadruple the fun.

The last Monday...

I really will do anything to avoid packing. Now that the first wave is over, sent messily in boxes with my folks more than a week ago, I have lost all motivation to sort and toss, sort and toss. “My head is much more organized than my apartment.” I told my dad, trying to offer us both some type of reassurance, about what, I'm not quite sure. Truth be told, my head is not really as organized as I would like it to be either.

It's Monday now, and my last Monday living in this area that has been my home for the past two years. The difference in leaving this time around is that I feel like I am leaving a community that, though has it's share of problems, is nonetheless one that has adopted me with open arms. Cambridge is home to some of the smartest, most artistic, insane and talented individuals in the country, living side by side, getting in each other's ways, complaining about the same small and large things. A bubble, some may say, but an interesting bubble made of some weird chemical compound and painted with organic African paints.

The wanderer's dilemma is this; we love community, the connections, the smiles on the street and unexpected friendships, but we can't stay for long because we know that there are other communities to be welcomed into or shaken from, other bonds to form and break. Maybe we are merely greedy, wantingneedingwanting more of this life-stuff.



What I know is this: I will miss my friends. My dearest Julie and Meg, the only people in the world I can and do say everything to. The only people who can and do tell it to me like it is. The memories of too many laughs to count, at each other and at ourselves. I will miss my parents being 45 minutes away, helping me when I need help and enjoying sunny Sundays in the city. And my unexpected relationships with pilots and addicts and artists and poets and math genius's and multi-billionaire-philosophers. I will miss the Cantab. I will miss my apartment. I will miss 1369. I will miss the best hugger I have known. I will miss my proximity to the ocean. I will miss making Julie pizza and reading my book in Davis Square. I will miss the street performers and the free music. I will miss the rosemary truffle fries and the double iced soy lattes.

I will not miss serving people. There are as many bad things to say about the Cambridge/Boston community as there are good. For all their crazy genius the majority have trouble understanding that there is a human being, who may or may not be smarter/kinder/more creative/more evolved than you are, so perhaps they just may be due a small moment of politeness and respect. The burn out is inevitable in any service job. Serving people coffee may be one of the easier in the realm, but regardless, you've worn me down. Get off your cell phones and smile at me. I will probably smile back. Go a step further and say hello, I will probably say hello back. Stop demanding free wi-fi and complaining about the price of tea. Stop acting like I am a moron because I am behind a counter and Old Men, stop thinking I want to sleep with you because I am polite.

There are countless things to enjoy and annoy in this and every area. I am looking fondly back on the last two years and find little regret and mostly good memories. I am also quite happy to have made a choice for a change, and though I have no idea where I will be in a year, I am hopeful that I will be in a good place with good people.

The countdown begins...

So I unfortunately was not gone long enough to experience the shock of readjustment, but now I am faced with the fact that I am moving out of my apartment and leaving this shiny green Eastern Coast in a mere few weeks. Proud to admit that I based this decision almost entirely on gut instinct (with a little heart guidance as well) I am quickly understanding that neither gut nor heart help me in the more practical matters, such as getting rid of furniture (dining room table, anyone?) cleaning out my closet (high heeled brown boots, anyone?) or most importantly, budgeting just how I may be able to afford a few months sans income.

The Trip

Alas, we are back on American soil. The plus side of this being we are now brushing our teeth with good ol' American tap water. And I am sure there are other positive things too, I just am having trouble thinking of them. Indeed, ending our far too short trip in a tropical jungle wonderland is making it hard to embrace this gray Somerville morning... but let me start at the beginning.


After the disappointing two day flight delay, we flew Friday morning to Fort Lauderdale on the extremely budget Spirit Airlines flight. ( A moment to offer this advice to anyone who is interested in any slight amount of comfort on a flight, Don't Fly Spirit.) Arriving at lunchtime with ten hours until our leg to San Pedro Sula, Julie and I took a cab to the beach and enjoyed an extremely pleasant layover, reading, jumping in warm Floridian waves and drinking the most enormous margaritas I have ever seen. ( Another note, In Fort Lauderdale when they offer a “2 for 1 Margarita Special” it may well mean that one costs $17 and both will be larger than your head.)


Alas, what seemed like days later we boarded our flight to Honduras and endured a long 2+ hour trip with what may have possibly been the most annoying little girl in the world kicking the seat behind me. It was the middle of the night in San Pedro Sula when we arrived and found a taxi to take us to the hotel where we had booked our room... for two days prior. Driving through slums, littered streets, homeless people and shady characters on every street corner, we each wondered what we had gotten ourselves into. We pulled up to the Hotel Marina 1, on a dark and filthy street to see it unlit and barred. Our taxi driver knocked on the door until at last a night guard appeared. The man told him there were no rooms available. Our driver, puzzled, asked us if we had made a reservation. We answered, in broken, tired and nervous Spanish, we had, but it was for Wednesday night, realizing the gravity of our assumption of “I'm sure there will be rooms.” Taking pity on us, our poor driver drove us to all of the shady budget hotels he knew of, eventually after three or four unsuccessful attempts finding us a room. This was no Marriott. This was a “let's not tell our mothers we slept here” sort of place.

We survived, without bed bugs or finding dirty needles and awoke early excited to start this new day off right after a shaky beginning. We walked to the bus station , hoping to find seats on a 9:50 am bus to Copan Ruinas. Alas, the bus station was no longer the bus station but was an abandoned building with the fading signs of what once had been a bus station. Luckily for us, another taxi driver cruising past explained to our confused faces that the station had moved and would we like a ride? Trusting that this man was not up to anything funny, we taxied our way to the terminal, some 15 minutes away. Arriving we were told our desired bus was full and we would have to wait until 2:30. Another day ruined? No! Seeing our disappointment she offered that we could wait to see if any seats became available. Luckily for us, they did. Things were looking up!
Arriving in Copan Ruinas after a , scenic, air conditioned three hour trip we found a charming hotel up a steep cobblestoned hill. We wandered around the colorful, dusty streets, had a delicious meal a couple of cerveza and were officially vacationing! The mountains, the greenery, the smells, the people, the buildings, the children! This was the Central America that I had been waiting for.



The next day we walked down a pleasant shady path towards the ruins at Copan.
After going through the unassuming park entrance we were greeted by several of the Macaws that enjoy a leisurely life flitting amidst the remains of the thousands of years old Mayan civilizations. Hiring a capable guide, we explored the park, quite more substantial than I had expected and extremely well preserved. What a thing to be walking where thousands and thousands of years ago Mayan children played, priests divined and human sacrifices were beheaded!


Enjoying another cool night in town, we departed early the next day for La Ceiba. Arriving in the evening to our less-than-nice and more-than-cheap hotel. After settling in, we diligently went in search of food having only eaten the Frito's and cokes given to us on our bus ride. Unfortunately, La Ceiba does not appear to be the culinary capital of Honduras. Nor do they appear to be very health conscious. Our options were limited to Pizza Hut, Wendy's, Dunkin' Donuts, Papa Gino's or Popeye's. We chose the least offensive and shared a greasy pie at the Pizza Hut closest to our hotel door. La Ceiba itself was pretty unappetizing as well, dirty streets, glaring men, unkempt and unattractive, we chose the solace of our hotel room and ended our night watching TV.

Happy to leave, we boarded the ferry in La Ceiba heading to Roatan and beachy bliss.
After an invigorating hour and a half ride over crystal Caribbean waters we landed on Roatan, staying in the tropical and internationally flaired beach town at the West End.
Our hotel was directly across the street from the warmest, clearest water I have ever seen. We swam, we read, we drank beers on the beach and watched magnificent sunsets. We took a beginner dive course and went down to 30 feet, seeing amazing coral, tropical fish, eels and color. If only we had a few more days! We both vowed to return to get further dive certifications, one of the cheapest places in the world to do so. (PADI basic certification is only $250!) We kayaked and explored, even coming across a giant tarantula that will haunt my dreams for rest of my life. We met some charming Swiss men and enjoyed dinners talking about travel and life and love.


At last we left Roatan to end our trip in the jungles near La Ceiba bordering the Pico Bonito National Park. This was truly paradise, deep in the forest, surrounded only by the sounds of tree frogs, cicadas and exotic birds. We ate amazing food, for amazingly cheap prices and relaxed at the well designed and well groomed jungle lodge, anxiously awaiting our white water rafting trip the next morning.


I admit, I was disappointed when we drove up towards the lodge along the Rio Condregal. The water seemed low, and there were not many rapids that I could discern. Expecting a leisurely boat ride then, I was greatly impressed with how exciting and somewhat technical the river actually was! Our long tour went past some of the most beautiful untouched tropical scenery that I have ever seen. We rafted in level 2- 4 rapids, with one extremely fun and scary 8 meter drop called “the Ziplock”. We jumped off of high cliffs into the rolling river below, and overall had a perfectly amazing time. It was an excellent way to end a trip, but also extremely difficult to muster any sort of desire to leave.

It was very nearly a perfect trip. A good combination of adventure, relaxation, and culture. Getting around was much easier than I had expected, and I found the Honduran people extremely kind and patient with our mediocre traveller's Spanish. Julie and I (I think anyway!) travelled quite well together, enjoying good talks as well as happy silences. We are already looking forward to planning our next trip to Guatemala...