DAY TRIP- 2nd Grade School Trip to Tela

Sunday.  Up at 5:30 am.  Bus stop- no friend, no teacher.  Left water bottle at home.  Went back to house.  Back to bus stop.  Everyone there, but Honduran teachers?  Big public/school bus full.  Busito (van) comes for the rest of us.  Leaving about an hour late.  About 20 of us packed in tight.  No seat belts.  Benjamin (Honduran friend) facing me, my knees between his legs.  Hoping for no sudden stops.  Almost exited bus, suffocating thinking about a 3 hour trip just like this.  Sarah, you can do it!  Journey begins.  Pick up Miguelito (2nd grade father) and his two children on the side of the road.  Drop off Adam (volunteer) and Mike (BECA Director) in neighborhood to scout out the details of new school to be added next year.  Keep driving.  Pull over to buy a chicken for me.  Benjamin puts it in his satchel.  Can't wait!  Sarah picking chicken from the bone, passing around the meat.  Benjamin eating bones, "They are my favorite."  Trip getting better.  We laugh.  Arrive in Tela.  Buses, military, people, no parking.  We finally exit the bus.  Walking toward the beach.  Vendors, people bouncing off long packed peer, beautiful crowded beach.  Reminds me of areal views of Brazil, people packed so tight.  We find a spot to put our stuff.  Volunteers debating about which outfits to wear...  Appreciating cultural differences... I am not going to wear my clothes into the water.  Hoping not to offend.  Pack of Gringos swimming in their bathing suits.  Hondurans bathing in their clothes.  Hondurans packed in the shallow water.  Gringos in the deep.  Perplexed by the amount of people in the water who cannot swim.  Day is going well.  Benjamin and I go for a walk.  Enjoying the immense beauty of the ocean.  Calm supercedes all that is happening around us.  Hand in hand, crossing rivers, looking for ice cream.  Crowd of people gathering around.  Woman's unconscious body being dragged out of the sea.  Limp.  Head hanging.  People hauling her by her arms and legs.  Heart drops.  Walking.  Eventually, we turn around.  Benjamin leads me under a tent.  Black.  Drummers.  Hips shaking.  Dancing punta.  Tension.  Heart pounding.  Breathless smile.  I look at him.  He can do that, too.  Squeeze out of the crowd.  Ice cream.  Blanket of trash everywhere.  Reach our group sitting under the palm's shade.  Benjamin in jeans.  Another Honduran in his socks, hitting on women in the ocean with his pregnant wife sitting peacefully with our group.  Juggling a soccer ball with Wilito and Maynor (Honduran friends).  Feels good in my chest despite the sand chopping away my skin, the ball bending my toenails back.  Never could stop playing this game.  Time to rinse off and gather our things. Wilito steps on a used syringe.  Always the same juxtaposition in this country.  Heart pulled taut between the earth's breathtaking beauty and all of its suffering.