Al final, por ahora...

Life on the road certainly takes a toll on the mind and the body, but it is a fatigue like any other, where the initial down is a necessary sacrifice in order to achieve the overall improvement that will be provided in the long run. I feel this way often while I’m traveling, perhaps like I’m exercising my soul, a tiresome exercise that heightens my perspective and expands my self-awareness; an exercise in wisdom and worldliness.

It would be hard to say I’ve been traveling over the last while, as I’ve been situated in the same place for about two months. But today traveling describes a lifestyle and a state of being rather than necessarily the physical act itself. It describes the state of being in a new and different place, and experiencing new and different things; it describes a disposition of open mindedness. By that definition of travel, it is something I intend to continue with for the rest of my life.

My stay in El Salvador was exactly how I wanted to finish this leg of my ever lasting journey. It was my third time coming back to this special land, and as I arrived two months ago on a bus from Honduras I immediately felt settled and at home.

I stayed with a family that I have come to know very well here in El Salvador, so much so that I call the lady of the home “Madre” or mother. Such is the nature of things in El Salvador where close friends are treated like family and strangers like friends.

Christmas, for a second year in a row, was signaled once again by a pumping swell bearing epic gifts of huge drop-ins and perfect faces. We frolicked in the water for hours catching wave after wave, like children back home playing in the snow.

New Years was passed on the beach with many drinks raised in the air and many songs danced to, all of this shared with special people from different corners of the globe.

I’m on my way back to Canada now, undoubtedly a changed person from the one I was so long ago when I first hit the road, and with the excited anticipation of the many more changes that will surely unfold before and within me.

I’m sure I’ll be back to Central America sooner than later, and it will always hold a special place inside me. This leg of my life long journey is now over though, and as such so too will end my postings on this page. Sharing my thoughts and experiences has been incredible in itself, and I thank everyone who took the time and patience to follow me. Just as I hope for my writings to inspire, I am equally inspired by those who read them. I maintain my conviction that travel is a powerful force of balance in this often antagonistic world, and that the more people that travel, the more people there are to spread the positive message of harmony, solidarity, and peace.

Gracias a todo que he conocido en el camino, soy un parte de cada uno de ustedes.

Anthony William Persaud

2010-02-26

Two weeks under a coup regime...

I awoke in my bus from a drug-induced sleep drowsy and dazed, not sure where I was or what I was doing. We were cruising down a highway surrounded by lush green mountains rolling into the distance, every few minutes we would pass by some man-made structure splattered with graffiti. I was in Honduras I suddenly remembered, where a coup d’état had occurred and an oligarchic-military backed regime was in control. But where were all the soldiers? I didn’t even remember seeing any at the border crossing. How much longer until we reached our destination? Suddenly the mountainous landscape broke into a vast sea of concrete buildings and shacks stretching into the distance – we had arrived in Tegucigalpa, the capital city of Honduras. What a sight this city is, just seeing it took away any anxiety I had about spending time in another bustling, stinky Latin American metropolis. It is situated within a giant mountain valley filled with hills, and it is the different levels that make it so visually stunning. The clusters of buildings and homes never seem to stop and just roll over the steeping terrain. For some reason this makes it a very confusing city to traverse, and it never really leaves you feeling grounded.

The first thing that one notices in Tegucigalpa is the deep intrusion of corporate America into Honduran society. It is a city of brand new fast food chains: McDonald’s, Burger King, KFC, Wendy’s, Dunkin’ Donuts, Pizza Hut, they are everywhere. Literally hundreds of each of these chains are scattered across the city, more so than in any North American city that I’ve seen. The odd thing about these chains is that here in Honduras they are status locations, places for the middle and upper-class people to go and eat among their own social class. It is easy to understand why a coup d’etat took place here – the rich elites have so much at stake. Any economic model other than unfettered capitalism could mean a loss of profits for them, and an encroachment of the poor masses into the exclusive middle/upper-class society. So rather than let democracy take its course, the people with power and money pulled a few strings and shot the socio-political development of Honduras dead in its tracks.

However, it wasn’t easy to tell at first that a coup d’etat had occurred here, I guess it never really is. People have to survive; they have to learn how to cope with whatever situation is thrown at them and just keep on living their lives. So, of course at first glance all seems normal here in Honduras, but after a little more exploration one begins to notice that the graffiti all over the city is actually political, with the majority being anti-coup propaganda. It also quickly becomes apparent that this country is heavily militarized, albeit they are not as visual as I thought they might be, at least not until I went to certain areas or events. Whenever the resistance took to the streets for a peaceful protest against the coup regime, the police were always out in force, ready to repress at a moments notice. Election Day might as well have been called the Honduran Armed Forces Convention, with soldiers or police on almost every corner of the sprawling city. I experienced these police first hand that day as me and my trusted amigo made our way to various polling stations to do some investigating. A truck filled with police felt that my backpack was dangerous and they thus decided to stop us on the highway. About five of them surrounded us, fingers on the triggers of their assault rifles, ready for anything that the two of us might do to disrupt their precious elections. They, searched us and questioned us, kept us waiting a bit, then insisted on driving us to the next town where we were heading. Later my friend told me that it was extremely rare these days for a Honduran to get in the back of a police truck without disappearing.

The real sign that this was a country under siege was not in the public displays of military might or the graffiti on the walls, but rather the fear and despair of everyday people. Because I was working in human rights I was introduced to those people whose stories the rest of society does not hear. I met a lawyer who had worked as a government prosecutor for many years, and who was critical of the coup regime. The day we met he had been fired from his position, with no reason given. I met several people who no longer sleep in their homes for fear that the government forces will take them away in the middle of the night. I met a woman, lying in a hospital bed with a bullet in her head after being shot by the military and left to die. Lives are being ruined, families torn apart, all because of the economic interests of a few people. Sure, there are many people who just go on living like nothing has happened here, who leave the decision making to the forces that be – political apathy is rampant here like anywhere else. But there are those who will not stand for a dictatorship, those who will protest until they gain the rights and freedoms that they deserve. It is those people who really see and experience the dark side of Honduras today, and it is those people that will change things.

Human rights work can be exhausting, but it is a struggle that pales in comparison to the toils of those people we are trying to support. I always try to keep that in mind, especially as I head back to the coast for some sunshine and waves. I’m off to El Salvador and the great Pacific Ocean. My injuries have healed and my mind feels strong, what I really need right now is the sound of the surf and the company of some old friends.

$ LIFE $...

I was reluctant to share the following, as it was not exactly the highest point in my life, and it was admittedly a little embarrassing. However, I feel obliged not only because it was a significant event in my travels thus far, but also because of the many thoughts and emotions that it has stirred within me.

I took a fall about ten days ago. It was a rather hard fall, from a small concrete bridge without railings, and I landed on a rock directly on my side around where my ribs lay. How I fell off the bridge I must admit I am not quite sure; in retrospect I would say that it was a combination of things with the biggest factor simply being carelessness. It must have been quite comical while happening and I probably would have laughed if such a thing befell someone else. It happened to me however, and I am now the guy that fell off a bridge while walking. There, that is the embarrassing part.

The direct aftermath was quite bad, and I was lucky to have friends to help me out that night. I went to the doctor the next day and he told me that my ribs were fine but that there could be other complications and I should go to the nearest city for an x-ray. I am rather stubborn at times when it comes to my health and I am a firm believer in the power of the mind and body to heal itself, so as I slowly felt better I decided the x-ray was unnecessary. It took some pushing from friends and some words of wisdom from my uncle who is also a doctor back in Canada for me to go and get it done.

Everything happened quite quickly after that. I found myself in a little backroom of a clinic with an x-ray technician telling me to go to the hospital immediately; then in the emergency room with a doctor telling me that they needed to perform a procedure, but with an assurance that it was quick and easy. I thought at that point that I could still make the 5:00 ferry back to my place. It wasn’t until I was already on the operating bed and a nurse told me that I would probably be in the hospital for about a week that I really realized the magnitude of the situation. Now, the sad part of this is that the first thing that came to my mind when they told me this was not that my life was in danger but rather that I did not have the money to pay for the procedure. My travel insurance had expired sometime ago and I hadn’t really thought about it until I took the fall, but now it became my number one concern. Now I know how so many people around the world, even in the United States, feel when their health is in jeopardy. This is what capitalism has done to us: we have commodified our bodies; we have let that ubiquitous dollar sign haunt us even in our most vulnerable of times.

I panicked and tried to back out of the operation for some time to think about what I was going to do, but the doctors insisted that I had no choice, that my life was worth any price. They started cutting away at my side while I was still anxious about the whole money situation, calming me in whatever way they could. I recall at one point while they were attempting to jam a tube in between my ribs one doctor telling me “pura vida”.

A bit later as I lay in a bed numbed on drugs I broke down. All I could think about was that with every hour that I lay there my future slowly disappeared - I’ve never felt so vulnerable in my life. Perhaps I felt, just for that short period lying on my bed, what so many people here in the poor world feel all the time, and it is not something that anyone should have to feel.

As it turns out, I had nothing to fear. The reason the doctors were not worried was because Costa Rica constitutionally recognizes the right to life, and that the State is obligated to care for anyone who needs it, whether they have money or not. Money in Costa Rica comes second to health, and several people told me that Costa Ricans always take care of their fellow humans – they certainly proved this true. They did give me a large bill in the end, but they said I have to pay it when I can, and I will, eventually.

Although I would rather have avoided the entire situation, the experience itself was quite interesting. I felt like being in a hospital for three days, and being the only foreigner there, really helped me gain an intimate understanding of Costa Rica and the way life is seen here. Everybody was so sympathetic and helpful, professional and reassuring. They made me feel safe, and they made me feel like they were pleased to care for me. I was staying in a hospital in an area of Costa Rica that foreigners tend to avoid, and because I was the only one there I think I was a bit of a novelty. I was the Spanish speaking Canadian who fell off a bridge, or the “Mal Caminador” as one person put it. In the room where the patients were observed directly after surgery I met a fellow named Elrey who seemed to be in severe pain. He looked at the tube in my side and then lifted his shirt and showed me his scar from the same procedure he had years before. He assured me I’d be alright and then let me use his phone to call my friends. When we were being moved up to permanent rooms he demanded that we be put together. I’ll never forget him for his kindness and the comfort he provided. I stayed in a room with five other people who were all in various conditions, and we all gained a seemingly deep connection in the short time that I was there. I’ve never really been a patient in a hospital before, but I can confidently say that since it had to happen, I’m glad it was there. When I was first wheeled up to the room an old fellow named William came bouncing over to me, he told me whatever I needed he’d take care of it. He was a patient who had been waiting for weeks for some sort of prostate surgery, he reminded me of a Latin Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, able to brighten the darkest of situations. My recovery was rapid and I was out in three days, even the nurses were surprised when I told them that the doctors had let me go.

I suppose if I were to get seriously injured it couldn’t have happened at a better time. My plans were to head away from the coast for a while anyways, so it all worked out in the end. I had a conversation with a girl from Honduras the other night, she told me that the world is wrong and that the majority of Hondurans support the coup government. I chose not to get into an argument with her, instead I just asked her what she was doing here in Costa Rica, already knowing the answer. She, a girl from one of the poorest countries in Latin America, was here in one of the most expensive countries in Latin America, on vacation. I’ll leave it at that, and simply go see for myself. I’m on my way to Honduras to take part in a human rights delegation during the upcoming controversial elections. I’m anxious to get back into the struggle, and I intend to keep constant updates on what is happening there. I have decided that this is a good opportunity to take my writing into two different directions, and so I invite you all to follow a new blog that I have begun at www.riseuplatinamerica.blogspot.com.