Christmas vacation has already started for me since we’ve been on half days since last Thursday. For the first time in the three years that I’ve been teaching at my current high school, all four of the exam days are “early release,” which means my professional stress level has gone dramatically down. Even with the students turning in the last of their make up work, I have time during the two-hour final to start planning for the upcoming semester, but at least it’s a leisurely, pleasurable experience to map it all out.
Of course, nature abhors a vaccum; so I do have things scheduled for all of the half days. Thursday, I had my dentist appt. Friday, my academy had its culminating secret santa pot luck, where I discovered that my secret santa and I pulled each other’s names. And my “award-winning” cornbread went deliciously well with a coworker’s chili. Afterwards, I went to a Christmas bazaar and bought all the gifts I needed for my family.
Monday morning, I’m joining my science colleagues at IHOP for our semester breakfast since none of us have third period exams. Third period is when we’re scheduled to have our meetings. I must admit, this is my absolute favorite one. Even though we get around to shop talk, at least we’re eating! Actually, I usually bring my lunch to the meetings since I don’t care to wolf down my lunch in the allotted 38 minutes that I’m scheduled.
And this Tuesday, my favorite day since it will be the last day of finals, I’m having lunch at one of my favorite sushi places to talk with another writer. Wednesday, I think we’re obligated to report to school to sign for our grades and attendance sheets, but I’ve already planned to go to yoga and the chiropractor afterwards. What a dream!
Then, the real vacation begins, five days of being with my family…all nine of us under one roof! For just one week. That’s about the proper amount of time before I start sprouting more gray hair. Then it’s back to Austin to ring in the New Year.
Funny how this blog post still reads as if I’m plotting out lesson plans. Some things don’t take a holiday.
As the semester draws to an end, one would think that I would spend a great deal of my time preparing final exams and their accompanying study guides, but the school administration has geared up a final kick of its own. We’re now spending too much time in too many meetings “analyzing student data.” Once we finish analyzing that data, we have to drill and kill those objectives, assess the students again, then analyze that data. The cycle never ends until the students take their standardized tests in late spring.
In the meantime, I’ve been wrapping up the last physics objectives, which deal with the scientific meanings of “work” and “power,” along with their equations. The basic work equation is work equals force times distance (W = Fd). Sometimes, depending on the given information, we have to calculate force, using mass and acceleration; so work equals mass times acceleration times distance (W = mad).
And there it is: Work = mad. Very rarely does what I teach mirror how I feel about the bureacratic aspect of my career. I proudly told my students that the “mad” equation was my favorite work equation. I didn’t explain why.
I wrote all the work and power equations on the whiteboard. To help my students set up the practice problems, I read each scenario and asked them to identify the given variables. Then, I asked them which equation was needed in order to answer the question. Everytime the scenario gave the mass, acceleration and distance, some students chorused that we had to use the “mad equation.” Hearing them correctly identify the needed equation scenario after scenario made me less mad about the behind the scenes BS involved.
I wonder how many of them will remember the mad equation long after graduation. I hope I can always find a silver lining in the classroom to counteract the horrors of standardized testing.
I’m so happy for the overcast, misty skies, given our triple-digit, drought conditions in the recent past. Yet, I live in Austin and the best thing about this vibrant city is having far more things to do than humanly possible–rain or shine!
Part one of my Saturday morning involved writing the last of my 19 handmade greeting cards. Since I’ve been painting on the back of cereal boxes for the past 2 years, I spent part of Thanksgiving Day cutting my paintings into pieces no bigger than 4″ x 6″. This past week, I cut some folders into cards. Once I glued the painting pieces onto the cards, I was amazed how beautiful the cards looked. Once again, it has been proven that the sum is greater than the whole. My paintings had never looked as good as they did when I put them on cards.
Part two of my Saturday involved going to my capoeira music class followed by three hours of tango. Now that I’ve reached the next plateau with my tango dancing, I really dance with a lot of enthusiasm. It makes such a big difference to have the basics down and build confidentally from there. Plus, the beginner’s class had a shortage of women; so I got my money’s worth, followed by a milonga class.
Part three involved going to a “passion party” held at one of the downtown condos. I was mostly excited because I was reading a racy chapter from Tribe of One. No matter how big my audience is, I love the opportunity to read to people who aren’t familiar with my writing. And reading to women who’ve come together for a passion party is a primed pump of potential fans. No one was motivated to buy at that moment, but I left everyone with a business card and let them know that my book was available electronically, which made quite a few happy. Even if they do me the courtesy of reading some pieces from my blog, at least they will be more familiar with my writing. A few suggested that I should record myself reading Tribe since I have an entertaining voice.
For the final chapter of my rainy Saturday, I went to a salsa Christmas party at one of my friend’s house. The party was in full swing by the time I got there. I made a beeline to the kitchen for a glass of wine and a bowl of the most delicious chicken and seafood gumbo. After I was properly fed and wined, I then changed my shoes to dance. About two hours later, I was finally outta steam and ready to retire for the evening (or shall I say “wee Sunday morning”?).
I can hardly believe some people would let a little rain stop them from having the type of Saturday fun I’ve just had. Rain doesn’t stop me from enjoying life. Just means I’ll be wet while doing it.
This past week has been my favorite work week of the school year: two days at work, followed by five days off. Some students reminisced about the good ol’ days when they got the entire week off, but I reminded them that any time off was a good thing.
During the school year, my life is so scheduled that I normally do certain things on certain days just to make sure it all gets done. Most of it is social/health, such as my capoeira, yoga and tango classes. Then, there are the things I have to do: laundry, grocery shopping. Whenever there’s a change to the regular routine, I have to adjust the rest of my programed life. While on wonderful vacations, I have surplus time, which I attempt to preserve as much as possible for just relaxing.
Of course, with a more flexible schedule, I can pursue some other creative things. The one thing that I thought I would accomplish was making my own greeting cards. Not only did I envision making them, but writing them out as well. The first prototype batch looked so “ghetto” that I had to recycle them in the name of aesthetics and the environment. At least I know one way not to make greeting cards! I managed to cut up some of my older paintings that I had painted on thin cardboard. They are ready to be glued on cardstock just as soon as I get some.
During my programed life, I normally go grocery shopping on Thursdays, but since that was actually Thanksgiving day, I figured I’d avoid the crowd and go on Wednesday. Apparently, the crowd had the same idea. As packed as the parking lot was, there wasn’t a scarcity of food nor long lines at the checkout. Then again, the only traditional Thanksgiving item I bought was a bag of fresh cranberries. They looked so richly red that I could hardly resist. Too bad I didn’t realize that all the cranberries I’d ever eaten were artifically sugared. Those berries were the sourest things since my ex-boyfriend’s kisses. But I was determined not to waste my money. So I garnished my wine glass with cranberries. Absolutely beautiful, but they would have had to soak for a much longer time that it takes me to consume a glass of wine in order for the berries to absorb the wine.
Although I had been invited to a couple of Thanksgiving celebrations, I wasn’t in the mood for all the hoopla. Instead, I made pasta putanesca for the first time. While I prepared it on Thanksgiving Day, I called family and friends. I figured as long as I got in touch with people who I don’t get to see/talk to on a regular basis, I was generally observing the holiday. I watched some back episodes of one of my favorite TV shows and read. The way I saw it, I’d spent Wednesday being sociable by training capoeira and then dancing salsaafterwards.
Friday I painted, read and of course wrote my daily contribution toward my second novel. I went to Central Market to have dinner and get a good table close to where the salsa band would be playing about an hour and a half later. Since I love living alone, it’s nothing for me to dine alone with a good book and enjoy myself. Besides, I knew in this case, my salsero friends would join me closer to 6:30.
As predicted, my little table for 6 swelled well beyond 6 people and we cannibalized chairs from surrounding tables. Despite the crowd, most people were not salseros and there was a distinct lack of leaders. I still had a good time talking with my friends.
Saturday was the day I’d been looking forward to. Last year, I had participated in 3 out of 5 available days of a tango workshop. This year, I wisedup and figured that I actually wanted to be more than a tango zombie; so I only planned to attend the tango show and milonga afterwards.
Well before the tango festivities began, I had attended my capoeira music class and two tango classes. Of course I regrouped, napped and then got ready to tango for real. I was most proud to show off my “new” tango outfit. I spent one hour and less than $12 at Goodwill for it.
In between the magnificent tango show and the milonga, I grabbed two friends to pose with me. I spent the rest of the night dancing and resting up for the next tanda. Not only could I feel that I was dancing my best, but guys who didn’t even know me approached me for a dance. Normally, only the guys I knew from class would ask. As I was leaving around half past midnight, my tango teacher expressed surprise that I was going so early. He told me that I looked really relaxed on the dance floor and lamented that he would not have a chance to dance with me. That was truly the biggest compliment of the night.
As wonderful as my Thanksgiving vacation was, I celebrated every day without a drop of hot water running through my faucets! Once again, my Peace Corps experience helped me out. The two and a half years that I volunteered in Tanzania, I had to warm up my water and take a bucket bath. Here’s my “developed” country version of a bucket bath:
I actually don’t need a lot of water in order to get squeaky clean, especially since I only wash my hair once a week and that’s usually at the gym after swimming. It’s just so much more convenient to have hot water coming out of the faucet.
Apparently the apartment complex had some boiler issues and parts had to be ordered and didn’t arrive until Friday. Then, only 5 out of 6 circuits worked. The next memo posted outside my door informed me that someone had gone to Dallas to get the missing part. In the meantime, the chilly howling winds truly picked up enthusiasm throughout the week.
Sunday morning, after my 10 am bikram yoga class, I just had it in my mind that hot water or not, I was going to turn on the faucet and shower. Even if I had to run in place for 5 minutes to make the icy cold water feel refreshing, I was in no mood to warm up a pot of water, carry it to the bathtub, stoop over and go through the whole bucket-bathing ritual.
As I washed off my yoga mat, it took me a full minute to register that the water coming out of the faucet was warm. I laughed with joy, finished rinsing off my mat and then I draped it over the shower rod. Clang! That damn rod hit the floor. I just stood there in disbelief. I think things like that always happen in threes.
First, the smoke detector, then the hot water and now the shower rod. I laughed, shook my head and put the rod back up along with the shower curtain and my damp yoga mat.
What isn’t a laughing matter is how long I had to go without hot water. I emailed the property manager about compensation/a discount off next month’s rent for going a week without hot water. I’m already motivated to start searching for a new place. Before I do that, I want to give them an opportunity to appease me. With exam week two weeks away, I’ll have a few half days on my precious schedule to check things out. Granted, my lease isn’t up until mid-July, I don’t want to wait until the last moment and make a mad dash out of here.
I unofficially woke up much earlier than I’d intended, thanks to my mysterious smoke alarm that would start randomly beeping at thirty-second intervals for 5 minutes or so. Just when I’d fall asleep about 45 minutes later, it would start up again. I’d reported it three times, starting with last Friday morning.
A maintenance guy checked the battery and I thought the issue had been remedied, but a few days later, it started up again. I got up around 7:30 only because that was around the time I’d intended to get out of bed. I drearily gave the smoke alarm the finger as I dragged into the bathroom. Once I finished my business, I returned to the offending smoke alarm and pushed the test button as if I could miraculously fix it.
The real miracle occurred: I heard the alarm again, but not from the smoke detector that I was standing under. I entered my bedroom and to my surprise, a SECOND smoke alarm lie, flashing its red light. All I can say is that because I thought this tiny apartment only had one smoke detector, which was located in the hallway, I had not seen the one in my bedroom. I immediately took out the battery and felt a surge of energy that comes with being empowered over an annoying situation.
I preceded about my morning making breakfast, writing, painting and then waiting patiently for my friend to come over so we could hit the road to Houston to attend a “Getting Published” workshop.
Her good company made that 3-hour drive full of bad drivers bearable. We swapped war stories and discovered in many ways that we had had similar experiences although she’s more than ten years older than me, divorced with kids. It’s always a pleasure to find a kindred spirit, especially one who is far more spiritual than me.
As par for the course for me, I got a little turned around about ten minutes away from the destination, but I stopped at a gas station where, fortunately for us, I bumped into a mailman, who pointed me in the correct direction. We turned out to be one of the first of the thirteen participants to arrive.
We got situated and the 4-hourlong meeting started off with each of us introducing ourselves. I was delighted to have the opportunity to use my smartpen again. Thank goodness I had it, because there was so much information flying around the room, I could not have possibly caught it all. I discovered I was the only self-pub author in the room. (Rita, the facilitator, told us from here on out to refer to ourselves as “independently published authors,” but I’m not so sure if that’s just not swapping one stigmatized title for another. In which case, I’ll just stick to the original!)
During my intro, she asked me about how much money I’d spent on publishing my book. I told her around $3000. Then she asked if I got a ISBN through the company I’d published with or my own. I vaguely recalled getting one through the company. At that point she informed me that I’d made a $3000 mistake! Another woman, who represented one of the printers that Rita used, echoed that this is why it was important for new authors such as myself to attend workshops like this one.
I learned nearly two agonizing hours later that the reason indy authors want to purchase their own ISBNs is that there is a stigma associated with the “well-established” ISBNs that fall under the company I published with and some powerful people will not touch my book because they’ll recognize it.
I felt instantly relieved because I still see my $3000 investment as worth it. I have a sense of completion for that story and confident that I’m growing as a writer. Besides, I believe in the quality of my book. I just need to get motivated to promote it!
I was greatly disappointed that there were no healthy snacks available and anxiously looked for the conclusion of the workshop. Other participants started dropping off until only half of us remained. For one of the few times in my life, I actually heard and felt my stomach grumble.
I got a recommendation for a non-chain restaurant and was delighted that there was a huge steak place on our way out of town. We opted to eat at the bar in order to avoid the 45-min wait, which turned out to be an entertaining spot since the bartenders were fascinating to watch. Of course I had the inclination to flirt with one to get a free drink until I saw the security camera pointed directly at where all the drinks were made!
We both opted for a black Angus cheeseburger–I certainly was in no mood to shell out $30+ for a steak! And a much-needed glass of malbec was a sandalously-priced $12.50! I stuck to water, figuring I’d have a glass of wine at the birthday party I’d planned to attend once I returned to Austin.
The food was absolutely delicious and hit the spot. Again, I was happy to have such good company to curse at the other drivers on the highway and talk to in between.
I washed my face, put on my contacts, brushed my teeth, packed my wine paraphrenalia, including my impressive wine opener and headed for the birthday party, which was conveniently 5 min away.
I’d planned to stay about two hours or so, but hit my second wind and people started to arrive around that time. I got to talk with people I had not seen in a while. My only disappointment was that the designated DJ did not have any salsa on his laptop. Who does that? I would have figured that as a DJ, he would have made it his business to have a little bit of everything, especially here in Austin. I did manage to dance the bare minimum amount to justify going out to a party, but I still need to have a good salsa outing in the upcoming week.
I had taken a break from tango classes over the summer just to free up my schedule and pursue other interests. When I returned three months later in September, I was a little rusty, but quickly got up to speed. I’m such a busybody that I had not managed to attend a milonga until last night–in mid-November.
Outside of the safe, predictable confines of tango class, my dancing ability truly buckled. I danced less graceful than a dancing bear. Jumping back into tango class was just like riding a bike, but the more appropriate cliche for dancing at a milonga would be “practice makes perfect.”
Sometimes I feel that I spend far too much time planning my personal schedule. I even plan to relax, which is a good thing because some other busybodies don’t even do that. Now, I’m concerned about scheduling more tango time, especially since a huge tango event is rapidly approaching over Thanksgiving weekend, which will bring people from other states and countries.
Last year, I took three days of tango workshops during the festival, but emerged a worse dancer due to information overload and I felt like a zombie. This year, I’m only going to the Saturday night milonga along with the tango show by the master instructors. I’m definitely going to enjoy my 5-day Thanksgiving vacation, reading, writing and catching up on a few things that I’ve been neglecting.
Yet, I plan to attend another milonga or two before the great event just so I can shine more. If anything, I want to be as comfortable expressing my musicality as I do with salsa. Stiff dancing like I have a stick up my butt is not going to work well at the tango festival. I think some guys asked me to dance last night because we take classes together. Toward the end of the night, I was one of the few options some guys had to dance with. Even if that was not exactly true, I certainly felt like the last kid picked for the kickball team.
At least I got to practice and socialize with some people I had not seen in awhile. I plan to be more than a social butterfly at the next milonga.
During the week, I hustle throughout the school day, juggling so many tasks that when I hit the weekend and only do 20 things during the weekend, I actually feel as if I’ve had a mini-vacation.
My weekend consisted of swimming, samba, flash mob practice, capoeira performance, salsa, painting, yoga, cooking for the week and a writers’ critique meeting–and those were just the big-ticket items I checked off the weekend to-do list. Some people don’t do that much during the week and yet, it’s my typical weekend.
I believe in making the most of my life. I want to spend every moment pursuing happiness. I enjoy being a busybody since I truly rejuvenate through my activities. The past three weeks have been the most intense at school and I’m attempting to turn things around so I can even out my stress level. At the same time, I feel that the more connections I make with people here, the closer I’ll get to the next big thing in my life.
One thing about my adult life since graduating from college, I’ve not stayed in one place beyond three years. I purposely chose Austin since it looked a creative crucible where I could be happy. The only thing I overlooked was how challenging teaching in its public school system was. I’m not going to allow the hostile school system to drive me outta town, but I’ve not yet discovered my next career.
I’d love to transition into writing, but I don’t want to close off any other creative avenues. Today, after I read the first chapter of my second novel, The Adventures of Infinity and Negativa, one of my critique partners suggested that I start a foundation for female mathematicians. What a lighting bolt! I’d never thought of starting my own foundation, but it gives me another realm of possibilities to explore. If I’m driven out of the classroom because administrators would rather have obedient robots rather than creative teachers, then I may have to start my own creative outlet in addition to writing.
I’ll have to sleep on that and see what my subconcious dreams about the situation.
Given the fact that this past week marked my second week of Tuesday through Thursday insomnia, I’m now well rested and ready for another challenging week at school. I also can reflect on last Monday when I first learned that my educational critique, “Monochromatic Butterfly,” had been published by the Texas Observer–three days earlier than I had expected. http://www.texasobserver.org/oped/monochromatic-butterfly
Through my sleep-deprived days following, I forwarded the link to friends, family and my writers’ group. It’s amazing to think that what began as my way of dealing with the angst of teaching under such an oppressive educational system that functions solely to prepare students for a high-stakes test, is now “out there” for interested people to read and get a small taste of what a creative, practing teacher is up against.
People assume that the students are a teacher’s main source of angst, but it’s truly the system, perpetuated by politicians and school administrators who keep me up at night. They have the luxury of sitting remotely in their offices, far away from the students, and designing bureaucratic, nightmarish educational policies with disregard to how it will affect students in both the short and long term.
Common sense and logic should tell them that if a teacher is forced to focus more on an assessment than on content, then the challenge of students learning that content well will be much more difficult. The overemphasis on generating “data driven assessment” opportunities continues to plague classrooms.
And yet, my glimmer of hope lies in the fact that my voice is being heard. There are like-minded people who are in position of power and are willing to do what they can in order to help. It’s going to take a network of such people to change the direction.
Just last week, I heard a brief report on CNN about how the president was reevaluating No Child Left Behind. The report mentioned how some things would change in order to help schools better serve the students. This is the level that needs to start the momentum. I just pray that it is a change for the better and not just yet another assessment in the name of educational reform.
I should’ve known that since I’d had a wonderfully, relaxing Labor Day weekend, followed by a three-day work week, had attended the best concert I’ve ever seen and had participated in the best capoeira performance ever that the week following all that joy would be painful. Literally. Monday was the first day of spirit week, when we showed our school spirit by dressing up as a Hollywood star; so I dressed up as “Storm” from the Xmen in order to show that I was Halle Berry. Granted, my white wig was a little discolored and my cape was a bit raggedy since that’s been my fall back Halloween costume for years, but the students and my colleagues loved it. Capoeira training later that night was quite good as well. I had no major body pain and trained with my former intensity before I’d started experiencing the middle age back blues.
By Tuesday, a lot of bureacratic bullshit had taken a hold of me. It was all I could do to get to a good stopping point at work and drive to a diner to eat before attending my monthly Romantic Writers’ meeting. I was in luck since the special was chicken and dumplings and they offered chocolate pecan pie as one of their desserts. It should go without saying that I had my “medicine” aka a glass of red wine in addition to every other culinary delight.
Our meeting was entertaining and informative as they usually are and I left feeling good. That night, I woke up in the middle of the night in what was the closest to a panic attack as I’ve ever come. I hadn’t broken out into a sweat nor was my heart racing, but I couldn’t go back to sleep.
I dragged ass at school the next day.I entertained the thought of going into the first hour of the two-hour capoeira training, but figured that getting an extra hour of sleep would serve me better since the twenty-minute drive home from work was a waking challenge. Besides, now that my capoeira group offered classes on Saturdays, I’d still get my second day of training then.
Once over the hump, I sailed into the weekend, exhausted, but I still attended my Friday night bikram yoga class, which was not overcrowded since many people were at ACL.
I incorrectly figured that I’d sleep like a baby, but once again, I woke up in the middle of the night. This time, a normal, random dream turned into a nightmare. I dreamed that my students were watching a movie that I had not authorized. When I asked them what they were watching, they told me it was a remake of “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” I told them that the original with Donald Sutherland was better. Then, my mind kept replaying the ending of that movie.
That’s when I finally woke up. I’ve tried to figure out the significance of that dream since I’m currently reading a dream interpretation book, but the best I can come of with is that my fear at work is becoming a teaching robot who uses scripted lessons rather than being the creative teacher that I’ve always been before moving to TX. In my dream, “robot” changed to “pod person.”
At least I returned to sleep and had a wonderful Saturday complete with painting before both capoeira and tango classes, then hanging with friends to watch a pay-per-view boxing match and later salsa dancing. Despite all those wonderful activities, I still had an anxiety dream. Even though this was pretty mild compared to the other anxiety-producing dreams, this dream made me anxious because I had changed money from US currency to a foreign currency. My biggest concern was the locals discovering that I had such a wad of money on me. I divided up the money and put it in two different places in my purse, then I went with a friend to go shopping. I don’t think that in real life, I know who the “friend” was and I don’t recall what I was shopping for, but I did manage to secure the money.
I can interpret that dream two ways. The first way is that since I’ve self-published my first novel, Tribe of One, I have dabbled into being a small business woman. As a matter of fact, my latest pursuit will be attending a free two-hour seminar about how to start or run a small business.
The second, longshot interpretation is working outside the States again. Eleven out of sixteen of my teaching years have been outside of the States; so the foreign money could be a sign of making money out of the States since I’ve done that before.
Nonetheless, my daily barometer continues to be my happiness. I usually guide how much I can humanly do in any given day based on how much time I have to do things and go from there. Now that my emotional pendulum has swung back and forth, perhaps this week will be “normal.”
Convenient enough, this week’s blog title is a double entendre since I visited Utila, a Honduran Caribbean island in order to do research for my second novel and this was the first time that I had done such a thing. If I were the least bit apprehensive, other than my brush with ESP about the flight itinerary fiasco last Monday, then my giddiness about my new venture was laid to rest.
Not only was Utila the lush, green beauty that I had remembered previously, but it had also changed. The nuanced details that I gathered simply from being there in person are priceless. I managed to conduct four formal interviews with my favorite new toy, a smart pen that records the conversation. Everyone who I warned about the fact that my pen records, seemed rather impressed at such a piece of technology being used to conduct an interview.
I took pictures of the mundane as well as the spectacular during my five days on the island with the only notable exception being a yearly “underground electronic” music event known as Sunjam. Among other restricted items, event goers could not bring a camera or cellphones or anyother image-recording recording device. I had to take more notes during my four hours on the rented island where Sunjam took place than at any other location.
At one point, I saw four out-of-place looking older gentlemen. They weren’t exactly dressed in three piece suits, but still had that aurora about them. And stereotypically, the tallest man in the foursome was obviously the one in charge to which the others deferred. I kept my eyes on them as the tallest man, who happened to be Honduran, walked slowly around, leading the other three men and pointing things out. I waited until they made their way in my direction and took the opportunity to approach them. I figured that they had been on the island about thirty minutes discussing things in their tight little circle of four and wouldn’t mind too terribly if I asked a question.
“Excuse me, are you one of the event organizers?” I asked the tall Honduran man with my nicest, most nervous smile. He politely informed me that he was a commissioner. I nodded in acknowledgement and continued to hand him one of my business cards, explaining that I was a novelist and I had wanted to interview one of the organizers to get some background information about Sunjam. At that point, two of beta males looked around and one of them told me that when he saw one of the organizers, he’d point him in my direction for an interview. I thanked him. Before I returned to my palm tree to sit down, the commissioner handed me one of his business cards in return.
Not ten minutes had passed before I was introduced to Luis Maier, a promoter based out of Tegus who, together with his partner who owns a dive shop in Utila, had started this event 15 years ago. He graciously granted me an interview, not at all minding that my smart pen was a recording device. I just marveled at how with just a little initiative on my part, I found myself interviewing one of the top guys.
I must admit that a combination of my “star struck-ness” and inexperience at interviewing, I missed asking some of the obvious questions, but fortunately, I was able to glean more information from the official Sunjam website.
I dedicated about a fifth of all the pictures I took to my gloriously named room at the surreal Jade Seahorse hotel, Shangri-La. What a joy it was for the five days that I spent in Utila to return to that place. During my first visit to Utila, I’d taken many pictures of the grounds, but this time around, I actually stayed there and dedicated all my picture taking to my room.
Now, I’m en route to the States, but I have to first spend a day on mainland Honduras. I had caught an earlier ferry than the original one I’d planned to take, thanks to the additional transportation that Sunjam caused. I’ve finally managed to escape the airport in La Ceiba, which is by far the worst of the three mainland airports. Due to incompetence on part of the Taca Airline people working the desk, I had to pass through security a whopping four times since, for one reason or another, they kept messing up my flight information and had to issue me boarding passes three times!
Nonetheless, I don’t want to end this blog in a negative note since it’s suffice to say that I’ll never fly Taca again. What I plan to do once I’m back in Austin is to work on my novel for several hours a day, incorporating all the delicious details that I’ve gathered through traveling and interviewing people.
