The Baleada - The Best in Honduras

Image from the "I ♥ BALEADAS" Facebook group.

A Baleada is a staple food in Honduras. Flour tortillas, beans, dry cheese, (censilla or plain) and whatever else you want on them (preparada or prepared, make sure you specify what you want though). A burrito you ask? No. The Baleada is one level down on the evolution chart.

Allow me to explain: A burrito wraps it's contents, thus allowing you more convenience while eating. In a Baleada, the tortilla merely folds over its contents, sometimes causing its contents to drip off the ends of tear through the tortilla. In short, you can ride a bike or skateboard (even drive, although I don't recommend it) while eating a burrito, you can't with a Baleada.

For me it is a must to immediately find the best Baleada when going somewhere in Honduras I've never been. I've had some hilarious conversatotions regarding the common belief that only certain women can make a good baleada. Apperantly, the woman's (typical) hands must be at a certain temperature and right size produce a good tortilla.

If you'd like to join a Facebook group created in appreciation of the baleada, you may do so here:

I LOVE BALEADAS ON FACEBOOK

The best baleadas in Honduran cities I've lived in:

San Pedro Sula, Cortes

• I have to give this one to Baleadas Express. BE is quick, delicious, and they make them big there.
• Runner up goes to the Texaco Station at Ave. Circumvalacion and 1ra calle. This place is open 24 Hrs, this is the place everyone heads to after the bars and dance clubs.

La Ceiba, Atlantida

• The best place in La Ceiba has to be Super Baleadas, located near the Banana Republic Guesthouse and Las Guacamayas hostels.
• Mazapan has good Baleadas too, but they premake tortillas and set them under a heat lamp.
  
• "La linea" refers to the stretch of railroads where people set up shop and sell food. Baleadas are available there until the early hours, but I don't reccommend anyone go out there looking for them that late.

Tela, Atlantida

• Ask anyone in Tela for the best Baleada and they will more than likely respond with "Tia Carmen". I don't know what the secret is, but they are BOMB! This place is located in front of Telamar. Good Coffee too!

El Porvenir, Cortes

• The only place that sells baleadas in El Porvenir is located at the "Pavimentada". They're ok.

Roatan, Islas de la Bahia

• Roatan hasn't mastered the art of the Baleada.
  

Chachahuate, Cayos Cochinos

• I got awesome baleadas at the community restaurant on Chachahuate, on of the two inhabited keys on Cayos Chochinos. Although I ordered them at the restaurant, they came out of a house down the beach a bit. It appears that they distribute the orders to the homes when the restaurant kitchen was closed.
  

Hip Hop Vs. Classical

This song is in my top ten favorites of all time!!! When things aren't going right or I feel down, this puts me back on the grind. I rarely listen to this without tearing up. SERIOUSLY! I had to add the lyrics below for anyone that hasn't heard it before. "I know I can!"

For anyone of you struggling on a daily basis trying to improve your living conditions, get your mind staright, everything else will straighten out on its own.





"I Can"

[Kids]
I know I can (I know I can)
Be what I wanna be (be what I wanna be)
If I work hard at it (If I work hard at it)
I'll be where I wanna be (I'll be where I wanna be)

[Nas]
Be, B-Boys and girls, listen up
You can be anything in the world, in God we trust
An architect, doctor, maybe an actress
But nothing comes easy it takes much practice
Like, I met a woman who's becoming a star
She was very beautiful, leaving people in awe
Singing songs, Lina Horn, but the younger version
Hung with the wrong person
Got her strung on that
Heroin, cocaine, sniffin up drugs all in her nose...
Coulda died, so young, now looks ugly and old
No fun cause now when she reaches for hugs people hold they breath
Cause she smells of corrosion and death
Watch the company you keep and the crowd you bring
Cause they came to do drugs and you came to sing
So if you gonna be the best, I'ma tell you how,
Put your hands in the air, and take a vow

[Chorus - 2x (Nas and Kids)]
I know I can (I know I can)
Be what I wanna be (be what I wanna be)
If I work hard at it (If I work hard at it)
I'll be where I wanna be (I'll be where I wanna be)

[Nas]
Be, B-Boys and girls, listen again
This is for grown looking girls who's only ten
The ones who watch videos and do what they see
As cute as can be, up in the club with fake ID
Careful, 'fore you meet a man with HIV
You can host the TV like Oprah Winfrey
Whatever you decide, be careful, some men be
Rapists, so act your age, don't pretend to be
Older than you are, give yourself time to grow
You thinking he can give you wealth, but so
Young boys, you can use a lot of help, you know
You thinkin life's all about smokin weed and ice
You don't wanna be my age and can't read and write
Begging different women for a place to sleep at night
Smart boys turn to men and do whatever they wish
If you believe you can achieve, then say it like this

[Chorus]

[Nas]
Be, be, 'fore we came to this country
We were kings and queens, never porch monkeys
There was empires in Africa called Kush
Timbuktu, where every race came to get books
To learn from black teachers who taught Greeks and Romans
Asian Arabs and gave them gold when
Gold was converted to money it all changed
Money then became empowerment for Europeans
The Persian military invaded
They heard about the gold, the teachings, and everything sacred
Africa was almost robbed naked
Slavery was money, so they began making slave ships
Egypt was the place that Alexander the Great went
He was so shocked at the mountains with black faces
Shot up they nose to impose what basically
Still goes on today, you see?
If the truth is told, the youth can grow
Then learn to survive until they gain control
Nobody says you have to be gangstas, hoes
Read more learn more, change the globe
Ghetto children, do your thing
Hold your head up, little man, you're a king
Young Princess when you get your wedding ring
Your man is saying "She's my queen"

[Chorus]

Save the music y'all, save the music y'all
Save the music y'all, save the music y'all
Save the music

I had to put on a Throwback... not referring to a jersey - Bruce Hornsby Vrs. Tupac Amaru Shakur

Another post on Hip Hop!!!! I would have zero exposure to legendary artists without Hip Hop artists introducing me to them. I love the genre! It is ME. It voices my frustrations and highlights my achivements. It inspires me to see someone coming from "the gutter" and then "getting it" thourgh hard work and dedication. Someone rhyming about being on welfare and later on buying a house for "mama" is the type of ish that drives me. Not to say that other genres don't "keep it real", Hornsby is straight up truth on this song!

If you don't like or understand it, I don't blame you. It exposes the harsh realities experienced in an urban enviroment, also third world countries. The "man" whomever that is to you, would rather opaque Hip Hop's brilliance because it's the voice of people they are taking advantage of. Again, not all Hip Hop is worthy of my time or attention. But the songs I will post on here have powerful messages that should not be ignored. Messages that are so disturbing you'd rather turn away, but you shouldn't. You should make an attempt to understand it instead of fear it. It's poetry to my ears. Watch the youtube vids and then take a minute to read Tupac's lyrics below.

If you missed it, here is my first Hip Hop blog entry
http://returningcatrachoreport.blogspot.com/2009/05/its-bigger-than-hip-hop-hip-hop-hip-hop.html

Come on come on

I see no changes

wake up in the morning and I ask myself

is life worth living should I blast myself?

I'm tired of bein' poor & even worse I'm black

my stomach hurts so I'm lookin' for a purse to snatch

Cops give a damn about a negro

pull the trigger kill a nigga he's a hero

Give the crack to the kids who the hell cares

one less hungry mouth on the welfare

First ship 'em dope & let 'em deal the brothers

give 'em guns step back watch 'em kill each other

It's time to fight back that's what Huey said

2 shots in the dark now Huey's dead

I got love for my brother but we can never go nowhere

unless we share with each other

We gotta start makin' changes

learn to see me as a brother instead of 2 distant strangersand

that's how it's supposed to be

How can the Devil take a brother if he's close to me?

I'd love to go back to when we played as kids

but things changed, and that's the way it is

[Bridge w/ changing ad libs]

Come on come on

That's just the way it is

Things'll never be the same

That's just the way it is

aww yeah

[Repeat]

[2]

I see no changes all I see is racist faces

misplaced hate makes disgrace to races

We under I wonder what it takes to make this

one better place, let's erase the wasted

Take the evil out the people they'll be acting right

'cause both black and white is smokin' crack tonight

and only time we chill is when we kill each other

it takes skill to be real, time to heal each other

And although it seems heaven sent

We ain't ready, to see a black President,

uhh It ain't a secret don't conceal the fact

the penitentiary's packed, and it's filled with blacks

But some things will never change

try to show another way but you stayin' in the dope game

Now tell me what's a mother to do

bein' real don't appeal to the brother in you

You gotta operate the easy way

"I made a G today" But you made it in a sleazy way

sellin' crack to the kid. " I gotta get paid,

"Well hey, well that's the way it is

[Bridge][Talking:]

We gotta make a change...It's time for us as a people to start makin' some changes.

Let's change the way we eat, let's change the way we live

and let's change the way we treat each other.

You see the old way wasn't working so it's on us to do

what we gotta do, to survive.

[3]

And still I see no changes

can't a brother get a little peace

It's war on the streets & the war in the Middle East

Instead of war on poverty they got a war on drugs

so the police can bother me

And I ain't never did a crime I ain't have to do

But now I'm back with the facts givin' it back to you

Don't let 'em jack you up, back you up,

crack you up and pimp smack you up

You gotta learn to hold ya own

they get jealous when they see ya with ya mobile phone

But tell the cops they can't touch this

I don't trust this when they try to rush I bust this

That's the sound of my tool you say it ain't cool

my mama didn't raise no fool

And as long as I stay black I gotta stay strapped

& I never get to lay back'

Cause I always got to worry 'bout the pay backs

some punk that I roughed up way back

comin' back after all these years

rat-tat-tat-tat-tat that's the way it is uhh

[Bridge 'til fade:]Some things will never change

My First Job - Carpet Cleaning Apprentice

GIT UP, GIT OUT and GET SOMETHIN' - Outkast

Although my first taste of employment wasn't fun, sanitary or voluntary, I learned valuable lessons during my tenure as a carpet cleaning apprentice. My stepfather Antonio, or "Toño", owned carpet cleaning equipment that almost materialized his American Dream and at the same time created nightmares for me. Since I was the oldest child in the home, I was expected to assist with any jobs that didn't coincide with school hours. Although I wasn't thrilled to help or bond with my stepfather, I always tried to do a good job. After all, I was getting paid. Peanuts, but it's the lessons learned that count at that age.

We traveled in his pick up and I awaited our arrival impatiently like Hussein Bolt waiting to burst out of the blocks. After helping unload the cleaning equipment and supplies I scurried into the work site and meticulously scanned the carpet for any small objects that may damage the equipment and pretreated stains. The main targets were staples, coins, nails (both kind, I'm gagging and the memories), and everything else that isn't dust or hair. At the same time Toño assembled his spin brush machine like someone putting a Harley Davidson back together. Milliseconds after the machine was put together he would always ask, "No has terminado?" and before that last tone in a sentence that identifies a question came out, he would proceed to shout in typical Honduran fashion "HEH!!! NO'MBE, NO ESTAS EN NADA! SI NO ESTUVIERAS ABRIENDO LA JETA YA HUBIERAS TERMINADO!" I don't know how you read "HEH!!!", but a million exclamation marks aren't enough to express his emphasis on that. I used to cringe at that sound. Every time he would burst one out I knew that was a penalty on my compensation.

Image from jccarpet.com

The following hour or so became pretty uneventful for me, I blankly followed Toño around trying to keep the electric cord off the carpet behind him. When the brushing was finished I hurried over to the vacuum machine and connected the hose and head piece, filled it with water rolled it into the room where the carpet was brushed last. Since the vacuum absorbs the fluids that were emitted from both the spin brush and vacuum (final treatment), it will require emptying a few times before the objective was completed. Alone at the bottom of the latter, I had to shoulder this responsibility. This led me to despise any customers opting for dwelling in apartments higher than the first floor in buildings without elevators. The dirty water aspirated was like yoo-hoo. I could barely carry the five gallon bucket to the street without resting along the way. On more than one occasion, I spilled the filthy water on already cleaned carpet.

The compensation was a slap in the face. My "allowance" was $5 a week (no I didn't grow up in the 50's, we were po' folks), but if I worked I didn't get an allowance. I only got what I earned. How much you ask? $5 bucks... If I complained, then I got a slap in the face, literally.

Antonio would always promise to leave his equipment to me so I can carry on with the "family business". I would always think to myself, "The moment you look away, I'm rolling these things off a cliff." I always pictured the machines being blown up by dynamite, or falling of the back of the pick up and rolling until they collided with a train. I remember being really embarrassed by having to work, unlike my school friends. I also dreaded being seen carrying the carpet cleaning equipment. I laugh at young vanity, I'm now proud to have worked all these odd jobs in my early years.

I don't remember how long I had to help with this, but it was longer than I would have preferred. This job sucked, but you have to start somewhere. A few years after this dude separated from my mom he put a little business together. He set up a computers, ads (fliers), and a dedicated phone line for it. He didn't know how to use a computer, or even what he would use it for so he called me up to help. I became his "office manager" at the age of 16. I guess that was my first "office" gig. I didn't know what to do either, so I began setting up a schedule from the phone calls, and making fliers on paint. I didn't like the guy much, but now I have a deep appreciation for him because he taught me how to work hard. It was his lessons that lead me to believe that it's better to "work smart, not hard".

Image from extracta.co.uk

A Day in The Life of a Honduran - Herding Cows

I didn't expect to herd cows for my first job in Honduras. I arrived in May 08 and didn't immediately find work as I expected. Living in a little pueblo didn't help my efforts either. My half orange ("My better half" in Spanish,I don't get it) and I moved from L. A. to El Porvenir.

From a previous blog post:

This little town is in nestled in between hills and sugar cane fields of San Manuel, Cortes. Being the city slicker that I am, I immediately took note of how isolated this town is and said to myself “DAMN!” I knew my family is from a little village, but DAMN!!!

(I said it more like "DAAAAAYYYUMMMM!!!!")

http://returningcatrachoreport.blogspot.com/2009/05/hittin-somersaults-without-nest-this-be_10.html

So you get a better picture of where El Porvenir is, take a look at the images below.
This is a close up of San Pedro Sula and El Porvenir at the same distance from Google maps.

El Porvenir is 35 minutes outside of San Pedro Sula, 45 by rapidito and an hour or more by chicken bus. I had no choice but to travel by bus because taxi drivers know better than to pick up passengers there. They wont even take you there from San Pedro Sula out of fear of being robbed (or worse) while navigating the desolate strech of road embedded by sugar cane fields that splits from the road to El Progreso. The piece of road highlighted in red on the first image is the "hot zone" or zona caliente, as dubbed by local media. This area is used to either murder people or dump limp bodies that were murdered elsewhere.

Finding work became impossible; I didn't want to move to San Pedro Sula without finding a job first and employers in SPS don't hire candidates residing outside of the "casco urbano". By this time, my "media Naranja" was understandably growing frustrated with our surroundings (possibly me too) and home sickness (or being sick of Carlos) made her go back to L.A. three times in the first couple of months. The last time she went away for over three weeks. I feared she wouldn't return. I would have understood too. I decided to move, and arrived in Honduras three months after. I was amazed that she decided to join by extending her fiancee contract agreement instead of opting out of it as a free agent. She had no time to plan for it, I unconsciously planned for decades.

The last time she left I became Atlas, carrying the weight of the heavens on my shoulders, wishing to become Heracles instead. The weight on my shoulders, represented by the tumultuous task that was finding work, became unbearable. I was being overwhelmed by the pressure I put on myself. I worried that I wouldn't find work or improve living conditions by the time Rosa returned. In the case she didn't return, I had to bounce up out of there anyway. During this mental and emotional struggle, I temporarily lost grasp of some of the reasons that drove me to move back to Honduras on impulse. I wasn't getting a taste of "Honduras Living", or getting to know "my people". I was in a place I wished to visit for years, my mother's little village, but I wasn't taking advantage of it.

Then... a revelation descended from the heavens, "WWLD?". What would "Los" do? I wasn't me anymore... I had to get back to ME. I thought about what would have become of me if I had lived there my while life. I came to the conclusion that I could very likely be in the same position; unemployed, alone, and lost. That was me, even though it wasn't. That same room, in that same village, that same day. I realized that it was time slow the wheels from Angeleno speed to Catracho speed.

I decided to join the only person in the village I befriended (not by lack of effort either) in his work. Byron, 20, is the nephew of a cattle farmer. Not like a Wild Wild West tycoon, they only owned 25 cows. Initially I didn't know what he did exactly. When I asked, he responded with "cuido las vacas" or "I take care of the cows". That didn't sound like he slaughtered them, so far so good. I told him I would like to "work" with him, for a day. He immediately responded with a burst of laughter. Our conversations usually consisted of me imposing some curiosity about life in Honduras and him responding with boisterous laughter.

C: Is there malaria and dengue here?

B: JAJAJAJAJAJAJAJA!!!! Of course

C: Do you brush your teeth with tap water?
B:WAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! Obviously

C: Do you know what Dry Cleaning is?
B: JAJAJAJAJAJAJA!!!! You are lost (estas perdido compa)

C: Where can I get some trees?
B: JAJAJAJAJAJA!!! Follow me...

It was set. I was to work with Byron for 50 lps, half of his daily pay, 100 lps. FYI, that's $2.50 for a whole day of work, he earns $5.00 a day. That's tough cookies considering that a can of corn is more expensive here than it is in the states. He instructed me to join him at his uncles farm (more like a field with a fence around it) at 5 A.M. the following morning so we can milk the cows, he also said lunch would be provided. MILK THE COWS!?!?!?!? I don't know about all that! I didn't have a "Four H" club in my high school and I sure as heck never touched a cow. I would arrive fashionably late as to avoid milking cows. The rest of his day was built up by herding the cows while they graze and any other task he needs to take care of on the family properties.

When I arrived Byron had finished filling empty 1 liter soda bottles with fresh milk, tied bottles to rope and hung them over his shoulder and we were off. As we began our journey on foot, he delivered the milk and collected empty bottles delivered days before. There isn't much to do with the cows, they pretty much roamed in any direction they felt like. Byron complained about their eating habits. He asked "Why the hell can't they eat all this grass? Why do they have to go way up the hill to eat? It's the same gras!!!" By the time all the milk was delivered the grass grew to my torso and mosquitoes appeared to be flying spiders. These mosquitoes even big through jeans! After 4 hours of "herding", Byron called for a lunch break. He broke out a liter of Coke and four little bags of chips. That's it. That was our lunch. Needless to say, I was pissed. I didn't express my disappointment because I didn't want to offend him, but I was outraged. I later considered that he had already given me half of his pay, then used his half to buy our "lunch", leaving him with only a quarter of his regular pay.

After this hearty lunch, Byron told me he had to "chapiar" (clear a field with a machete) at his uncles house up on the hill. We arrived at the little house under siege by the grass. He went inside and brought out two machetes and a file, proceeded to sharpen the machetes and handed me one. While he did this I walked around kicking air and swinging my arms to keep the mosquitoes from biting. He gave me a quick training in machete skills. I proceeded to swing the machete like a bat at a t-ball. As expected from a city slicker, I failed miserably at my first experience with clearing a field. Pay attention to machete training to avoid back injuries or loss of digits.

We finally decided to head back to the village before sunset. I was dead tired by this time. We walked the cows back to the "farm" and to my surprise, many of the cows jumped over the fence to get back in. I didn't even know that cows can jump! He invited me into his home for dinner. Before entering he warned me, "I have three sister, if you mess with any of them, I'll kill you". ok... His sisters were nice and they CAN COOK!

After dinner I headed back home and began counting my blessings. I rolled something up, bumped some Talib Kweli and Kanye and began planning my take over on the world. That experience is just what I needed to "get back on the grind". I also decided that I would continue to try and experience a day in the life of a Honduran for research toward my 2039 presidential campaign. Seriously, well... maybe.

Month's later, a lady posted this on Honduras Living. Props to her! By this time I was living in La Ceiba selling coconuts on the beach. I'll write about that in another post.

> I have a challenge to those who think the average Honduran worker is paidenough. Take an average job working in a field or in a maquila, making the same average wage, for one month, all the time living in comparable conditions. Thenreport back to us on the adequacy of the average Honduran paycheck.>>

I love you for putting this out there. I'm actually doing this as research for my 2040 campaign. I'll start a new thread on it.Carlos M - La Ceiba - Not too good with a machete, cows or the hot sun...