http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/ At Columbia College Chicago, we’re serious about our “hands-on, minds-on” approach to higher education. We like to say the city is our classroom, and our students learn from the creative professionals producing the culture of our time. In January 2008, a group of journalism students stretches that classroom well beyond the Chicago city limits. Professor Sharon Bloyd-Peshkin takes her J-term Travel Writing class about 2,000 miles south to Honduras. They’re all eager, she says, “to wander through the Mayan ruins, smell the unfamiliar tropical air, meet all kinds of people, marvel at all the birds, hike the trails, splash down the rapids, and try to commit our impressions and excitement to paper.” Read on for their blog entries and photos that let us share in their experiences… en Copyright 2008 Mon, 21 Jan 2008 21:38:21 +0000 http://www.sixapart.com/movabletype/ http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss SHARON BLOYD-PESHKIN writes: I'm sitting on a bench, breathing the exhaust fumes from an air-conditioned van idling in the parking lot next to me. Today, several cruise ships docked here at Roatan. All morning, vans full of westerners on all-inclusive tours have been descending on Marble Hill Farm, where we’re staying. They paw through the organic jams, snap photos of the view, deplete the bathrooms of toilet paper, then board their vans and disappear. It’s pretty easy to see the down sides of their type of travel. These whistle-stop tours leave visitors with cheap souvenirs and the ability to boast that they’ve been to Honduras, but almost no exposure to the country and its culture. It’s harder to admit how little we can see of another country in our own attempt to strike a balance between comfort and authenticity. Because the land is so beautiful and the rivers are so irresistible, we spend part of a day whitewater rafting, but we choose guides from western nations because we have American notions of safety. We grow weary of rice and beans, and seek out pizza. Even when we ride with Honduran taxi drivers and hike with Honduran guides, our primitive Spanish limits the depth of our conversations. (Even if we were all fluent, we could only go so deep on one afternoon.) We would have to stay much longer and work much harder to get much deeper. We skim the surface, barely discerning what lies beneath. ]]> http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/were_immersed_in_the_culture_b.php http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/were_immersed_in_the_culture_b.php Professor Sharon Bloyd-Peshkin's entries Mon, 21 Jan 2008 21:38:21 +0000 KRISTEN PANKOW writes: I was going to celebrate that I am no longer sick. But then I would have to knock on wood. And I do not see anything made of wood around here. Let's just say I ate food today. And some yesterday. It was good. And refreshing. And I am writing in really simple, short sentences. I do not know why. I wrote everyone on this trip a note. Old-school style, folded-up, lined paper with the person's name written on it. I'm pretty high-class when it comes to paper/stationery products, as can be seen. I am glad to be coming home. Two words: DIET PEPSI! Oh, wow, have I missed Diet Pepsi, and especially my true love, Diet Pepsi from a fountain. Mmm. I am actually salivating, sadly. My mom is also bringing me spring water. Both items will be cold. And I am ecstatic because I've been drinking purified water this whole time and, let's be honest, I am picky in my water consumption on a daily basis. Also, for some reason the soda here makes me sick. Like, I can't keep down anything if I drink one. Or maybe since it was two. But I had literally two sips today and felt funny for a while. Oh well. But I loved this trip ... I mean, class. It was completely worth everything and was so much better than I even thought. I have some awesome pictures and memories and such. And I didn't even have my camera attached to me. I will leave you with some John Mayer: I was "hoping to see the world through both my eyes. Maybe I will tell you all about it when I'm in the mood to lose my way with words." Good day and good tidings. Kristen Pankow is an undergraduate journalism student.]]> http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/lament_for_diet_pepsi.php http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/lament_for_diet_pepsi.php Kristen Pankow's entries Mon, 21 Jan 2008 21:13:06 +0000 KRISTEN PANKOW writes: Yesterday we took the ferry to Roatan. It was a rocky, unsteady ride. While I have never experienced motion sickness in the past—thus not taking Dramamine in advance—I certainly did yesterday. I vomited two times and then another on the boat, two times at the supermarket after arriving, and then today, after feeling better kayaking, about six or seven consecutive times. Needless to say, I am wary to eat. I have been sipping on diluted Gatorade I had purchased, in addition to sleeping. Tomorrow, though, is kayaking (actually going somewhere) and snorkeling (finally!). Since I had not vomited in years (I think I had the flu in eighth grade, I don't think after ninth at all), I had forgotten how not fun it is. In case you, too, forgot, it is highly involuntary. I think the soda today did me in. This is strange, since at home a Diet Pepsi usually settles my stomach. Then again, this was Fresca. And Fanta. Oh well. As Sharon (my teacher) told me, no soda (pop) until I am in Chicago, at which time I will likely make my parents bring me a cooler with Diet Pepsi, since I have suffered withdrawal from it. The Packers game is currently on, so I am following it online. I have an extensive amount of writing to complete this evening, so I will need a good start and an awakening of some kind. I can't believe there are only two days left! It has not seemed like 10 days are almost over. At least I have attained a pretty good tan. My face is quite dark. See you all pretty soon. Good day and good tidings. Kristen Pankow is an undergraduate journalism student. ]]> http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/an_unfortunate_case_of_motion.php http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/an_unfortunate_case_of_motion.php Kristen Pankow's entries Mon, 21 Jan 2008 21:07:05 +0000 MEGAN FERRINGER writes: You haven’t truly seen Honduras unless some form of motion sickness has been developed along the way. True enough, only the greatest destinations can be reached by pothole-ridden dirt roads that forever wind and turn, or nauseating ferry rides across the turbulent sea. Beginning my own six-hour voyage from Copan Ruinas to La Ceiba, I took on such a trek optimistically. Focusing on the pristine scenery of green mountainsides rushing past my window, I’m abruptly forced to the left side of the van as the driver maniacally takes on the curving mountain roads with no fear of the 100-foot drop dangerously awaiting the slightest of errors. Suddenly, the next five hours and 45 minutes to La Ceiba became more of a glass-half-empty sort of deal, as I realized the driver had some sort of inferiority complex that was expressed in miles-per-hour. About three hundred swerved potholes and two pills of Dramamine later, the green sign welcoming me to La Ceiba shone like a beacon of hope, signaling the end of my excruciating journey. But as the van neared the mountains outlining the city, breathtaking scenery of palm trees and pineapple fields made me realize just why I had taken on this six-hour journey in the first place. Motion sickness is never enjoyable, but in the case of exploring the jungles up the mountainside, the occasional episodes of vomit just may be worth it. Megan Ferringer is an undergraduate journalism student. ]]> http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/motion_sickness_that_was_worth.php http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/motion_sickness_that_was_worth.php Megan Ferringer's entries Mon, 21 Jan 2008 20:03:55 +0000 KRISTEN RADTKE writes: At five a.m. tomorrow we will fold our discoveries and experiences into our packs and pull the straps around our backs as we leave Roatan. For home. Leaving the island is like waking up from a dream, dense with foliage and lizards scurrying across paths, surrounded by an ocean filled with coral, stingrays, and clown fish. The return home will be long, 18 hours in transit, and I’m leaving with a plethora of nostalgia, a resistance to re-enter the world of sub-zero temperatures, and an excitement to return to the people and places I know so well and love so much. Due to unfortunate lack of internet access through much of the trip, I have not documented it here as thoroughly as I had hoped, but I'll have much more to say about how Honduras has changed me once I leave the country of friendly slowness, of taking my time to breathe deeply and enter the city of delayed public transportation and frustrated shivering commuters. It’s astounding to me the way I have grown to love such different places and see myself reflected so much in both.]]> http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/all_good_things_must_end.php http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/all_good_things_must_end.php Kristen Radtke's entries Mon, 21 Jan 2008 19:31:38 +0000 TRINEA CRAFTON writes: We traveled all day by bus from San Pedro Sula down to Copan, which is on the southwest coast of Honduras. It was so crazy to see firsthand how such a beautiful country could be so poor! It’s so sad! We drove along the countryside seeing the real Honduras and it was unreal! There were little children walking with piles of sticks on their backs, shacks on the sides of the roads, and people bathing in streams. It was nothing I have ever seen before ever! The landscape is so green with mountains in the sky, but the people live off nothing. They don’t have doors or beds. They mostly sleep on hammocks, and the shacks are the size of (maybe) one bedroom. They are clumped together, and I’m sure there are several families that stay near each other. Livestock roam the streets and the roads have no lines, so there are no traffic laws to follow. So basically a few of us got car sick as our driver drove like a madman, racing in between cars, people, and trucks! It's so sad how much we take for granted, things we would never even imagine. We have wireless internet but only one person can be one at a time so even if all 11 of us have computers, really only one person has access to the Internet at a time. (Not ideal for journalists in Honduras.) We are not able to drink the tap water, which is similar to Mexico. And hot water for showers is not regular, so the shower last night was freezing! It’s almost tempting to not shower after an experience of ice cold water, even on my legs. Burr! Tomorrow we are going to the Mayan Ruins, and we are so excited to see that! Trinea Crafton is an undergraduate journalism student.]]> http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/witnessing_poverty_in_honduras.php http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/witnessing_poverty_in_honduras.php Trinea Crafton's entries Mon, 21 Jan 2008 16:48:13 +0000 SHARON BLOYD-PESHKIN writes: Our red, double-cab pickup bumps down the rutted road along the edge of Pico Bonito National Park. One side is protected land, the other private. We pass a small naval base—little more than a hut guarded by impossibly young soldiers with absurdly large rifles. I ask Alejandro, 62, a small, wiry man with boundless energy but no upper teeth, why the soldiers are here on the edge of the park. “They protect the forest,” he tells me in Spanish. “They keep the people from cutting the trees.” The trees blanket the slopes on our right. On the left, the land drops steeply to a deep gorge where the Rio Cangrejal courses through boulders, tumbling to the valley below. As we pass tiny villages, Alejandro waves. “My uncle,” he says. “My cousins.” “My friends.” It seems he knows everyone for miles. At last we stop at the side of the road. We can see a small red-and-white building on the other side—the women’s sewing cooperative we intend to visit—but no obvious way to get there. Then we notice the cable, a 50-or-so-meter twist of rusty steel suspended about 25 meters above the gorge’s craggy bottom. Alejandro scans the other side. “He forgot,” he says, shaking his head, then bounds into the brush at the end of the precipice. Moments later we see him on the other side of the river, wet up to his waist, briskly ascending a dirt path. Soon the cable creaks. At the other end of the cable, a small, dangling cage arcs toward us. It picks up speed as it descends in the middle, then slows as it ascends to where we stand. Alberto, 17, ratchets the cage until it rests on a concrete slab in front of us. He’s tall and thin, with the easy confidence of a trapeze artist. “Two at a time,” he tells us. We nervously look at one another, at the rusty little cage, at one another again. This is how the single mothers who work at the co-op get to and from their jobs every day. This little cage, piloted by this young man, enables them to earn enough money doing piecework to support their children and even send them to school. But for us, it’s optional. We could sit on this side of the gorge, listening to the grackles in the trees, watching campesinos walking down the dirt road, opting out of the journey. Or we could do what Alberto expected: climb over the broken cage door, sit down on the rickety wooden seat, and let Alberto ferry us across the gorge. Travel is full of moments like this—times when we must decide whether to do something that makes us uneasy or skip something we’re likely to regret. There is no right or wrong choice; there’s simply a choice and little time in which to make it. Sharon Bloyd-Peshkin is a professor in Columbia's journalism department. ]]> http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/a_river_runs_threw_it.php http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/a_river_runs_threw_it.php Professor Sharon Bloyd-Peshkin's entries Sun, 20 Jan 2008 21:49:09 +0000 KRISTEN PANKOW writes: Today was white-water rafting day. We trekked down to the river, got into our rafts (mine, "Team Nutrio," had three students and our leader), and began paddling after some instruction. here were fantastic rapids; it was a rush. The scenery, when we were not "holding on" or "over left/right" or "forward paddling" or "back paddling," was beautiful. Near the trip's completion, we got out, took a hike, and went to a waterfall (I did not swim in it, though). Then we finished the paddling and returned to the "jungle," our accommodations. I love it here in Honduras. After a spaghetti lunch, some students went to a women's sewing co-op. I stayed behind with others, laying out/resting in the sun, playing games, and talking with my classmates and the rafting guides (one of whom has "mullet dreads"). Tamarind juice is popular with our group here, something new to me. That is another wonderful thing about this trip: trying new things, and enjoying them as well. I have been surprising myself with my adventurous nature, something I have adopted only in the last few months. I have been learning much here. For instance, even though everyone says to certainly wear sunscreen, I can fail to wear it at all, including today, and still be simply gaining color (and not getting burned). I learned my strength paddling, my fortitude, and the importance of hydration (a long story). I am tired lately, since our days are active and our mornings early. Tomorrow we are off to the ferry, which will take us to Roatan, in the Bay Islands. There we will snorkel and kayak, among things. We will eat salad with lettuce from a greenhouse that grows it hydroponic and uses filtered water. I cannot wait. More to come after needed sleep. Good day and good tidings.]]> http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/in_the_jungle_and_the_river.php http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/in_the_jungle_and_the_river.php Kristen Pankow's entries Sat, 19 Jan 2008 21:00:43 +0000 JONATHAN BINDER writes: I only brought four shirts with me, including the one I wore to travel. Although I was trying to pack light, I don’t know what I was thinking. Any amount of physical activity causes me to sweat profusely. So far in the Honduras heat we have hiked through rainforests and ruins, whitewater rafted, and traveled many hours in bulky vans that lacked the air conditioning that I consider to be air conditioning. Yeah, a lot sweating. I had three options: smell bad, buy new clothes, or do some laundry. Well, I hate to smell (and I am sure others don’t enjoy it much either) and I am cheap. So by process of elimination, it was laundry time. But for many people in Honduras, laundry doesn’t involve any machines. I grabbed the bar of laundry soap and went to work at the stone washer board. It may be a very old practice, but it was certainly a new experience for me. I must say Honduras is the perfect place to use this method. I clean my clothes in the morning, hang them up on the clothesline and the sun does the rest. Now, I can sweat without sweating it. So, as all the water we drink turns into a salty, smelly discharge, it will be nice to know I’ll have something fresh to wear. (I am wearing a hand-washed shirt right now; it smells fantastic!) Jonathan Binder is an undergraduate journalism student. ]]> http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/doing_laundry_honduras_style.php http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/doing_laundry_honduras_style.php Jonathan Binder's entries Sat, 19 Jan 2008 20:24:23 +0000 MEGAN FERRINGER writes: The thought of tourists attacking a city with their relentless flashing of cameras brings no room for doubt as to why most cities despise hordes of fanny-pack-wearing people. Strangely enough, however, the attitude Hondurans have toward tourists emerges as being refreshingly the opposite. Not only do they convey a genuine appreciation and respect for those travelers exploring their native soil, but an intense sense of curiosity beams back to us as we travel the cobblestone streets of Copan. The usual expectations of judgmental sneers and disapproval I’ve developed during previous travels have been defied through the showering of greetings as we make our way through the morning mountain haze covering the narrow roads. A lesson can certainly be learned from the Hondurans’ welcoming attitude. It seems this general mindset stems from their obviously easy-going lifestyle. Men and women sit along the stone walls in Copan’s center as their children find absolute joy in chasing each other up and down a sidewalk. And on each store corner, older men decked in old cowboy hats gather together to share an afternoon conversation as they seem to have no other obligations in the world. Granted, much of this leisurely lifestyle comes from high unemployment rates, but their simple love for family, their country, and life is obvious. Copan is a city that seems grounded in simplicity. It appears to newcomers that the town has a certain laid-back vacationer feel, where the bars never close and the festive music continues on through all hours of the night. It’s the perfect getaway from busy Chicago life as the outdoor restaurants encourage you with their scents and open view of the starry sky above. It’s no wonder I have come across such a diverse group of people, both young and old, in Copan. From an Irish man sitting at the Red Frog bar on a Monday night, to a younger bar owner who moved from the States after buying his Honduran restaurant for $4,000 online, the attraction is obvious. Copan provides simplicity to those desperately needing to slow things down and essentially seeking to return to the basics of living. Considering our standards for living a successful life, most would consider the Hondurans to be underprivileged. And while the abundance of shanty houses may suggest this to be true, this different lifestyle brings privilege in a way that we outsiders would not be used to. With nothing but green bordering their town, the Hondurans have the beauty of sharing a closer connection to the natural environment around them. From being able to experience a breathtaking sunrise over the mountains to simply having a view of every single star above, Hondurans are extremely privileged, but certainly not in a manner that we are used to.]]> http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/grounded_in_simplicity.php http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/grounded_in_simplicity.php Megan Ferringer's entries Sat, 19 Jan 2008 19:53:05 +0000 SHARON BLOYD-PESHKIN writes: I’m afraid I’ve arrived at an unfortunate truth about any decent trip: At least once, you will find yourself barreling down poorly maintained streets in a motor vehicle driven by a maniac and think, “OK, this might be my last ride.” As you’ll see in my students’ postings, today provided that near-death experience for the 11 of us. Those are the times you think, “What kind of an idiot am I to have gotten myself into this situation?” and then, “But at least I’m doing something I love,” and then, “But I’m responsible to my students and their families and my family and…” and then, “OK, what are the chances, really, that we’ll all die?” and then, “But if we do, it will be a disaster.” And so on. But by now, you know we arrived safely at Omega Lodge, an outdoor oasis made all the sweeter by the distress we endured getting here. We’re almost at the midpoint of our trip. I’m impressed by how hard everyone is working and how well they are working together. We haven’t been able to blog as often as we had hoped, partly because internet access has been uneven and partly because we’re so busy exploring, interviewing, and reporting our stories. But we’re also bumping into an interesting conundrum: We don’t want to put material in our blogs that we plan to pitch to publications (print or online). Tomorrow we’ll spend the morning whitewater rafting, hiking to a waterfall, and swimming. Then we’ll visit a women’s sewing cooperative. All without setting foot in a van. Sharon Bloyd-Peshkin is a professor in Columbia's journalism department. ]]> http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/a_neardeath_experience.php http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/a_neardeath_experience.php Professor Sharon Bloyd-Peshkin's entries Fri, 18 Jan 2008 22:00:29 +0000 DANA NELSON writes: I'm overwhelmed. I'm overwhelmed by the smell of a finished meal being cleaned and the sounds of millions of bugs humming into the night. I'm overwhelmed by the range of mountains that flood every viewpoint, no matter how high or how low I go. I'm overwhelmed by the calluses on my dusty, traveled feet. I'm overwhelmed by the difficulty it takes to type these words because the keys are so hard. I'm overwhelmed by the pressure to write and write and write before these moments slip away and vanish. It's no longer about a class for me. It's about the experience to explore and study (more like cram) this country into my sphere of awareness. It's about a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that I may not have again. And yet, I have been trying to let go (just a little bit) of all the moments. I've been establishing friendships I probably wouldn't have made if I didn't go on this trip. I've been learning about my own sense of the world, where I'm wrong, where I could be right, and where there is no real answer to the questions I have. I've also spent a lot of time longing to see my boyfriend and cats again; longing to take the "el" instead of being transported by reckless van-driving Hondurans; longing to not be completely overwhelmed with every new discovery and the desire to tattoo it into my memories. The country is beautiful, no doubt about it. There are hills feathered with trees taller than I've ever seen. People with seemingly simple lives whom I admire. Rivers and streams and pools that lazily tickle the huge rocks they run past. I've seen birds painted all colors of the rainbow and stray dogs so friendly they'll follow me home (barking all the way) to ensure my safety. And I've seen run-down shacks that would collapse with a heavy gust of wind, as small as a walk-in closet, where families live. I've heard the stories of rising electric rates and government corruption. I've read about the poverty of people who don´t even have the resources to plant a reliable food crop. And more, each and every day. So all I can really say now, halfway into our trip, is that no matter how overwhelmed I am by this beautiful, wonderful country, I will go home different. But I don't think that will be a bad thing at all. ]]> http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/longing_and_overwhelmed.php http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/longing_and_overwhelmed.php Dana Nelson's entries Fri, 18 Jan 2008 18:22:12 +0000 DANA NELSON writes: As we skidded around the last turn to the bird preserve, I could have seen my life flash before my eyes, if I wasn’t seeing my death flash by a lot quicker: there was the car, tipping and skidding out on the gravel, falling to the left. I fell out the open side of the car (since I was sitting on that side) and hit the road with a sharp smack. Then the car fell and crushed me. Fortunately, the toc toc (Honduran taxi cab) didn’t tip as we turned, and I didn’t die by being crushed by a tiny red vehicle. You may think taxi drivers are crazy in Chicago, with the way they swerve in and out of lanes, pull up in no-stopping zones and stop on a dime (or at least a quarter). Even in New York City, I remember holding on for dear life as drivers skidded like drag racers through snow- and sleet-covered streets in a blizzard. But New York City and Chicago cab drivers have nothing on Honduran toc toc drivers (or any Honduran drivers for that matter). In charge of a powerful, tiny, three-wheeled vehicle, these drivers maneuver through rocky, pedestrian-filled streets and around large trucks coming the other way. But the skill, and perhaps madness or luck, of these drivers is so great that they can roar through the rocks and dart around corners without toppling the seemingly highly unstable vehicles. Our group had been admiring the toc tocs since we arrived in Copan Ruinas, so Michael (our guide) decided that we would take them to the coffee plantation and bird rehabilitation center called Macaw Mountain. All 11 of us crowded into three toc tocs. In my car, three people (me, Sharon, Molly) squeezed knee to knee on the short bench in back. Michael sat in the front with Miraela, our pretty Honduran driver. The cars are about four or five feet tall and are open on the side, so while we bumped speedily along the narrow streets (imagine cobblestone, except with rocks), Molly throwing bread out the door for the poorly fed stray dogs and Miraela swerving to avoid potholes, I held on for dear life, afraid of a too-fast turn that would tip the car and drop me right out the door and onto the road. And then the hills! I didn’t think the car had enough power to get up, but it did, sputtering and groaning and growling all the way up as it struggled to tote all five of us (I think it was only meant for two or three, four at best) up the hill. Downhill was horrifying, with all the people and vehicles in the road, but uphill was scarier, as we had no idea if the car might decide to stall and drop us back down—not like the way we came, but much rougher. The fear of crashing into one of those much-larger vehicles brought to mind this statistic: The leading cause of death for tourists to Honduras is vehicular accident. Since toc tocs have only been in Copan Ruinas for about three years, the experience level of these drivers isn’t very high. It’s enough to make anyone anxious. Smoke clouds rose as huge trucks and vans passed us, getting dust into our eyes but fortunately not destroying us. Children shouted to Miraela from the side of the road and she honked to them and other toc toc drivers, and fortunately didn’t hit any of them. Once we made it out of the city, the roads were wider and paved, but not much smoother. We still jolted uncomfortably in the tiny toc toc as she whizzed down the curvy road. The last curve, well, you know how that went. We lived and made it to Macaw Mountain, and Miraela had a smug grin of accomplishment on her face as her neon orange and yellow mesh vest hung off her shoulder, as if she knew we would make it all along. Photo: Miraela smiles from inside her toc toc, which is decorated with Tweety Bird stickers. Most of the drivers put the name of their vehicle in stickers on the windshield, and other fun stickers throughout the cab and on its outside to showcase the driver's personality.]]> http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/one_wild_ride.php http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/one_wild_ride.php Dana Nelson's entries Thu, 17 Jan 2008 18:39:56 +0000 SHARON BLOYD-PESHKIN writes: It’s easy to regard days spent moving from place to place as at best merely necessary or at worst a waste of time. In fact, travel days are a rich and revealing part of any trip, offering lasting images and an awareness of how here connects to there. Yesterday we spent half a day getting from the city of San Pedro Sula to the small town of Copan Ruinas. We left behind the noise and heat of a modern Central American city and headed for the ancient land of the Maya. The road, which was rebuilt after Hurricane Mitch struck in 1998, is in relatively good repair and efforts to keep the greenery from taking over are obvious. Along the side of the road, machete-wielding men rhythmically sliced the roadside grasses. People hauled bundles of newly felled firewood on their backs and their heads. The road is a museum of the architecture of necessity. We passed mud-brick and thatch huts made of available materials and small cinder-block stores with corrugated-metal roofs and signs advertising Pepsi, comida, and Alka-Seltzer. We saw people carrying food and equipment by bicycle, stray dogs prowling for food, and little children scampering up steep dirt footpaths that disappeared into the greenery. Cars and trucks barreled along, passing without regard for double yellow lines, oncoming traffic, and the bikes, people, and animals on the sides of the road. When we reached the cobbled streets of Copan Ruinas—sweaty, dusty, and tired—we reveled in the cooler, drier air of the mountain town. The noise of cars and crowds was replaced by the crowing of roosters and the calls of unfamiliar birds. Airplane travel always leaves me with an odd feeling of dislocation. The connection between the place I was and the place I am is lost to the speed of the journey. Cars and buses come a little closer to human scale; at least we can gain impressions like these. But the best pace of travel is what’s to come over the next few days as we explore the town and visit the nearby Mayan ruins, coffee plantation, and bird sanctuary. Then images will cede to encounters as we get to know this place and the people who call it home. Sharon Bloyd-Peshkin is a professor in Columbia's journalism department. ]]> http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/impressions_in_motion.php http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/impressions_in_motion.php Professor Sharon Bloyd-Peshkin's entries Wed, 16 Jan 2008 22:15:33 +0000 SHARON BLOYD-PESHKIN writes: Forget celebrity journalism. Today we found some birds that were so showy, we mobbed them. After a little while, they got back at us by threatening to nip at any exposed toes. We've learned one of the early lessons of press trips: You have to find your own story angle, tailored to a specific publication, even when you're part of an organized tour. And sometimes you have to insist on leaving the group so you can discover stories that nobody else has noticed. Copan Ruinas is providing fodder for a wide range of stories, from the Mayan excavations to the bird preserve and coffee plantation, to discoveries in the town itself. If you want to read about them, click on the students' blogs. Sharon Bloyd-Peshkin is a professor in Columbia's journalism department. ]]> http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/the_macaw_paparazzi.php http://cms.colum.edu/honduras08/2008/01/the_macaw_paparazzi.php Professor Sharon Bloyd-Peshkin's entries Wed, 16 Jan 2008 22:10:56 +0000