Some pics - Dan Rodgerson

Separating the rice from the shells

smashing the rice

A few young girls grinding the beans

A snack of come coconut

Pigs by the river

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Going deep.... - Dan Rodgerson

Here is the airport. Dirt runway

Here is the plane :(

Every time I grab a cab, I negotiate feverously for a lower price. Usually after I get it, I end up tipping close to the amount the driver originally game me. What is wrong with me? I guess I just don’t want to be taken advantage of. I think I got that trait from my father. Incredibly generous until he feels someone is taking advantage of him.

Sitting in the airport for a few hours so I have a few minutes to write. A few things I forgot. Martin, my buddy from Denmark was on the island when the tsunami hit. He was fortunate enough to be on high ground but spent the following few days of his vacation pulling bodies out of the mess. Across his stomach he memorialized the experience in a tattoo. When he told the story on the snorkeling boat, everyone was riveted. When he was asked what the tattoo on him back meant, he replied that he could not remember, he was too “pissed drunk.”

Got up at 4:30 to catch the flight and did not know until I arrived it was first come first served. They put me on the following flight at 9:30. Gad I woke at 4:30. Eight seats on the plane. I wonder if a meal with be good. I hear the fish is wonderful.

Got a hotel with hot water. At the desk they always say not to leave valuables in the room. Local thieves check into rooms of the hotels, make copies of the keys and simply return to lift what they can.

One of my first days I came into contact with the American hippies. Now that I have gotten into some of the more poor areas I have found even worse. The Christian evangelists. They are easy to spot. Mostly pale white with funny clothes like crocs, visors, fanny packs, Velcro shoes and wear their nicely pressed pants too high. They take more pictures than oriental tourists and often found in souvenir shops. Very pretentious and seem to finish each sentence with an inflection at the end. I would rather be an American hippie than an American Christian evangelist. If you are sensitive please don't read on.

Now my tirade. The latin people are not more receptive to Christianity or the gospel. They are receptive to anything that can help them. Here they do not have social security, savings, welfare, retirement programs, health insurance. If barney the dinosaur came walking through town giving out loafs of bread, the people would believe and follow whatever ideology he was selling. Barney actually peddles some good stuff. Love, patience and I remember that song about turning off the water when you brush your teeth. I believe in Barney.

I don’t intend to be cynical but it is true. It is not a belief, it is basic survival. If these pasty white Americans can help me and my family, sure I will listen. So they swarm into poverty stricken areas from their upper middle class neighborhoods in the states with their satchels full of books, never realizing that most of these people cannot read. So the hope for dozens of “converts” so their status on the right hand of their maker is elevated. In reality the people are simply trying to create a social network or social safety net.

On the flip side, I do believe that if people put into practice basic Christian principles they will live happier and healthier lives. The problem is that basic Christian principles get saddled with so much rhetoric and “teachings of men” that they become polluted. I suppose they are doing more good than harm. God bless them. God help them. They need it.

A cab driver told me this morning that 50% of the girls between the age of 13 and 16 have babies. That is amazing.

So I hate to fly. Sitting here at a shack of an airport watching my plane pull up. It only holds eight passengers. Propellers. No jet. We need to fly nearly straight up to avoid the surrounding mountains. No co-pilot. What will happen if this guys empanada he ate this morning is tainted? No more zanax. I was popping them like tic-tacks on my last flight. Too early to get a drink. I may cross my fingers and re-acquaint myself with god. Maybe I don’t want to remind him who I am. I figure there will a few bible toting evangelists on the plane. Hopefully their righteousness will carry us safely there.

I asked the pilot if he had parachutes on the plane. He laughed. I did not reciprocate, I was serious. If this plane is going down, I would put more trust in a fabric parachute than Pablo the pilot. Hopefully we arrive in one piece.

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The plan....

About 6 hours a day combing classifieds...career builder, monster, hot jobs, yeah! Staring at this box, thinking as each day goes by my income requirements seem to go down. (This is kind of like dating in your thirties.) Do I want to manage a beach in CA? Do I want to manage fairgrounds in WA? Or, do I want to be a Parks and Recreation Director in the small town where my ex in-laws live? Not!

When you are teetering on depression, you might consider that a small remote oil field town in Northern Utah where it averages 8 degrees in the winter is not one of the best places to be. I feel about as out of place as I did as a Yankee living in South Carolina. The only thing worse than not being Mormon and living is Utah is once having been Mormon and living in Utah.

I figured the best way to keep my head was to head out of town. I headed back east to eat turkey with my folks for Thanksgiving. I received an e-mail from Gigi Love, an artist/musician/friend, whose mother runs a foundation in a remote area of Honduras. I spent some time looking at the site...her mission...philosophy, etc. Suddenly, I thought, “How can I help?” I am not much of a builder or farmer, and I have no medical skills (besides putting hydrogen peroxide on everything). Hell, I could help them recreate! At least I am good at something. My girls and I met her as she strummed a guitar in a coffee shop in Sugar House about two years ago. I-tune her. Good stuff. She was singing a song about giving her a smile and making her day. Apparently, she was not specifically talking to me.

You can view the foundation at normalove.org. Enter the site and watch the video on U-tube. I particularly like the idea that they are not trying to cram an ideology or sell salvation for a pair of shoes.

I have spent years writing grants and soliciting money for municipal organizations. I figured I would visit the area, humor them with my attempts to help with manual labor, and come back to the States to help where I can. Since I am technically unemployed, I figured the trip would have to be cheap: dirty chicken busses, hostels, hitching a ride whenever possible, etc. The most expensive part will be getting there and back. I figured the best way for me to travel would be to fly into Cancun or Belize and travel down the coast.

While looking for fares on Orbitz, I saw one of those annoying ticklers about "Cruise to Cozumel for $199". Since I was on ambien and a bit dazed, I followed the link. I am pretty sure this is how gay porn infiltrated and took over my desk top computer (following links, not chasing porn). Twenty minutes later I was on the phone with the lady from Carnival Cruise Lines. "Sir, why would you not want to get back on the boat in Cozumel?" After lengthy communication three supervisors later, I learned you need the captain’s approval to "jump ship".

I have been on a few cruises before, and I felt that nearly every port on the K-mart cruises was so plastic, fake, staged, and no real representation of the local area. They were more like some cardboard cut-outs from Hollywood with 150 locals broken-English hawkers pushing taxi rides, tours, and weed. I was looking to quickly get out of the tourist areas. There is nothing about this trip that makes practical or financial sense. Not sure why I am inclined. I think mainly to help put things into perspective and realize there is life past Utah.


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