Fast forward to the final half inning: we are at the hour mark but its clear the umpire/tournament organizer (who is wearing an authentic replica Cubs uniform from head to toe for some reason) is going to let San Luis have its final swings before the game is called. Our pitcher is tired and not nearly as effective as earlier and after four batters there are runners on second and third with two outs. It is at this point that he calls to be replaced—my first thought is “C’mon! Are you kidding me, Fernando?! You’re one out away
from finishing this thing off!” Plus there’s the whole issue of someone not warmed up being called in to make sure no one crosses home plate when there are already two runners in scoring position. I don’t say any of this, though, and it ends up being the decision Grady Little never made but should have in ’03 against the Yanks. Our relief pitcher (and game 2 starter) comes in throwing hard and getting strikes and the PC volunteer from San Luis gives me a look that says, “Where did SHE come from?!” With two strikes and two outs the batter is free swinging and after a couple of fouls he pops one up toward second. You guys can imagine that with 10-12 yr olds who have just learned the game that routine plays are anything but—up to that point every time a ball was hit into the field of play the batter had reached base safely. So there is this moment where the ball is just hanging in the air, the runners are heading home, and Gen and I are both screaming something stupid in slow motion. But our second baseman catches the ball and we win! 
In the second game of the tournament Minas de Oro stomped all over the team we had just barely beaten and their score was 10-0. The team from Minas does not have a PC volunteer as a coach and they are oddly disciplined and very, very good (weird). As batters they hit home runs, as fielders they scoop up the ball and accurately throw to whatever base they want like its nothing. No one…drops…anything. It’s bizarre and I seriously can’t imagine there are children this age looking much more proficient at the sport in the traditional powerhouse countries that dominate it. After watching that second game suddenly our guys and girls are completely lacking motivation for the final, even after Mr. Cubs Uni explains that the winner gets a trophy and goes to Tegucigalpa to play in the national tournament.
The game begins and our squad bucks up and looks ready for the test. We get a couple of baserunners but don’t score in our half of the first; they get one run in the bottom half. After three or four innings we are hanging with them, 3-1, and everyone at the field is excited. We have to make a pitching change in the fourth and he is throwing alternately lasers or moonbeams and as a result walks three batters and strikes out two. So the bases are loaded with two outs and the first two pitches to the next batter are strikes. “Whew,” I think, “we’re almost out of this one.” The next pitch is hit for a grand slam and that’s the ball game. We score once in our half of the final inning for a respectable 7-2 final, but we know it could have been different. We just know it.
So with baseball complete I left Victoria the week following (last week) and did a water project. This was kind of cool, actually—I took a bus and went the long way around the municipality to get to a village up in the north. From there I visited two villages a day and stayed in a different one each night as I slowly made my way, by foot or horseback, back to Victoria. The plan this time was to do aforos, or measurements of each community’s water source, to see if they can sustain the population during the dry season. During the rainy season there is water coming out of every hole in the ground but some institutions will not give money to a project unless there is proof that the aforo was done in the dry season. So I went from one aldea to the next, hiking up
to the fuente with my 5 gallon bucket and camera and taking pictures of the guys measuring the output. In the morning I would do one village, come down and have some coffee or a bit of food with a generous family and then in the afternoon some representatives would arrive (sometimes with a horse) to take me to their village.
It is never usually more than a one hour walk from one town to the next but the last day, Friday, was a different story. We left in the morning from one village and did a nearly two hour hike up to its fuente. Once we finished measuring the flow we came back and I was handed off to a group from another village about twenty minutes away. When we had finished measuring their fuente we began what is normally a three hour hike to a town that is a one hour bus ride from Victoria. But three hours is really if you are walking the whole time and though I did not have much hope of catching that last bus to Victoria (when I had done this same trip in late October I ended up having to walk the hour-plus from the town in question to another town and taking a bus the last thirty minutes to Victoria), I did want to give myself as much daylight as possible to not only do the walk to the next town over but possibly catch a jalón back to Victoria. Luckily, so many aldeas have put me on horseback since my time here began that I have now perfected the sustained trot—its not a gallop, don’t be ridiculous. But it is a trot. So whenever possible my companion and I were at a trot and the stars aligned because we arrived in town just over two hours after leaving and not five minutes before the last bus left for Victoria!
And that brings us to this week. Unfortunately the news of this week is that I came down with something shortly after returning from my weeklong excursion. Bacterial stomach infection is the verdict, much better than the dreaded malaria or dengue, and I am well on my way with antibiotics. Classes will continue in the first part of next week and then I am off to the States to join some friends and go to a wedding! Below are some pics I did not include in the first half of this blog entry (published on Wednesday, Apr 30).
from finishing this thing off!” Plus there’s the whole issue of someone not warmed up being called in to make sure no one crosses home plate when there are already two runners in scoring position. I don’t say any of this, though, and it ends up being the decision Grady Little never made but should have in ’03 against the Yanks. Our relief pitcher (and game 2 starter) comes in throwing hard and getting strikes and the PC volunteer from San Luis gives me a look that says, “Where did SHE come from?!” With two strikes and two outs the batter is free swinging and after a couple of fouls he pops one up toward second. You guys can imagine that with 10-12 yr olds who have just learned the game that routine plays are anything but—up to that point every time a ball was hit into the field of play the batter had reached base safely. So there is this moment where the ball is just hanging in the air, the runners are heading home, and Gen and I are both screaming something stupid in slow motion. But our second baseman catches the ball and we win! 
In the second game of the tournament Minas de Oro stomped all over the team we had just barely beaten and their score was 10-0. The team from Minas does not have a PC volunteer as a coach and they are oddly disciplined and very, very good (weird). As batters they hit home runs, as fielders they scoop up the ball and accurately throw to whatever base they want like its nothing. No one…drops…anything. It’s bizarre and I seriously can’t imagine there are children this age looking much more proficient at the sport in the traditional powerhouse countries that dominate it. After watching that second game suddenly our guys and girls are completely lacking motivation for the final, even after Mr. Cubs Uni explains that the winner gets a trophy and goes to Tegucigalpa to play in the national tournament.
The game begins and our squad bucks up and looks ready for the test. We get a couple of baserunners but don’t score in our half of the first; they get one run in the bottom half. After three or four innings we are hanging with them, 3-1, and everyone at the field is excited. We have to make a pitching change in the fourth and he is throwing alternately lasers or moonbeams and as a result walks three batters and strikes out two. So the bases are loaded with two outs and the first two pitches to the next batter are strikes. “Whew,” I think, “we’re almost out of this one.” The next pitch is hit for a grand slam and that’s the ball game. We score once in our half of the final inning for a respectable 7-2 final, but we know it could have been different. We just know it.
So with baseball complete I left Victoria the week following (last week) and did a water project. This was kind of cool, actually—I took a bus and went the long way around the municipality to get to a village up in the north. From there I visited two villages a day and stayed in a different one each night as I slowly made my way, by foot or horseback, back to Victoria. The plan this time was to do aforos, or measurements of each community’s water source, to see if they can sustain the population during the dry season. During the rainy season there is water coming out of every hole in the ground but some institutions will not give money to a project unless there is proof that the aforo was done in the dry season. So I went from one aldea to the next, hiking up
to the fuente with my 5 gallon bucket and camera and taking pictures of the guys measuring the output. In the morning I would do one village, come down and have some coffee or a bit of food with a generous family and then in the afternoon some representatives would arrive (sometimes with a horse) to take me to their village.It is never usually more than a one hour walk from one town to the next but the last day, Friday, was a different story. We left in the morning from one village and did a nearly two hour hike up to its fuente. Once we finished measuring the flow we came back and I was handed off to a group from another village about twenty minutes away. When we had finished measuring their fuente we began what is normally a three hour hike to a town that is a one hour bus ride from Victoria. But three hours is really if you are walking the whole time and though I did not have much hope of catching that last bus to Victoria (when I had done this same trip in late October I ended up having to walk the hour-plus from the town in question to another town and taking a bus the last thirty minutes to Victoria), I did want to give myself as much daylight as possible to not only do the walk to the next town over but possibly catch a jalón back to Victoria. Luckily, so many aldeas have put me on horseback since my time here began that I have now perfected the sustained trot—its not a gallop, don’t be ridiculous. But it is a trot. So whenever possible my companion and I were at a trot and the stars aligned because we arrived in town just over two hours after leaving and not five minutes before the last bus left for Victoria!
And that brings us to this week. Unfortunately the news of this week is that I came down with something shortly after returning from my weeklong excursion. Bacterial stomach infection is the verdict, much better than the dreaded malaria or dengue, and I am well on my way with antibiotics. Classes will continue in the first part of next week and then I am off to the States to join some friends and go to a wedding! Below are some pics I did not include in the first half of this blog entry (published on Wednesday, Apr 30).
The top of La Picucha as seen from the first day of hiking... 
...crossing one of the streams on a nature-built bridge......views along the way...
...and reunited at the summit!
4 comments:
BH
You look super hot with a beard. Holy Moses.
xo
A Secret Admirer
Remember when you used to actively rid yourself of body hair?
I miss that BH.
Good luck combating the bacteria, my friend. We can't wait to see you for some debauchery in B'more.
More pictures, less words. Reading is hard.
Great to see you this weekend, my friend.
Thanks for the can opener.
Godspeed down there.
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