For a mere 60 lemps Gladys' mother Doña Soledad offered me a coffee toasting demonstration with a huge breakfast. It was the typical breakfast of eggs, cheese, beans, tortillas and cream, but unfortunately Doña Soledad's version seemed encrusted in salt. I balanced it out as much as possible with the tortillas, and was grateful for dessert, which was a moist pineapple cake.

Toasting coffee was a long, slow process; Doña Soledad carefully spread the beans into a single layer on a flat metal stovetop, then methodically pushed them around with a spatula until every side was blackened. During the toasting, her nephew Henry showed up for a visit. Henry used to live in Texas and happily spoke English with me about how much he'd enjoyed the States. But he'd also loved his home, so he came back to start a family in this tiny town. I got the feeling he missed single life.

I'd noticed that day there was no water in my room, and now it seemed Doña Soledad's coffee grinder wasn't working. It didn't matter as I preferred to buy whole beans anyway. Due to a misunderstanding, she ended up tossing in a handful of allspice. I tried a cup of it this way and found it unpleasant; with whole cloves of allspice in whole beans, I hoped my friends would have no difficulty sifting through. A pound of freshly-toasted coffee cost only 50 lemps.

Beautiful little boy with his own enterprise

While waiting for Doña Soledad to return with my bagged coffee, I observed the beautiful boy from Comedor Paty's setting up a little shop of candy and snacks in the doorway of Doña Soledad's home. He grinned broadly when he saw me. It was Monday, and I wished I'd remembered to ask Henry why none of the kids were in school. With tiendas just a few steps away, I don't know why various passerby chose to buy from him, other than his sheer cuteness.

The only way to La Esperanza was by jalón. Café Lizette was clearly the transport hub of town, with plenty of other people getting on buses or waiting for rides. A man in a cowboy hat leaning casually against the porch assured me there was a real bus going to La Esperanza. A bus soon rumbled into town in the opposite direction, but while I waited to see if it would turn back, a pick-up truck pulled up and the cowboy encouraged me to hop in the back.

At Café Lizette, San Juan's transportation hub

View from the back of the truck

What a ride! I was windblown and nervous during the speedy paved parts, and developed a thick coating of dirt on the unpaved parts. I often find myself hitching even though I don't recommend it to any women. But it seemed that even though I was sliding around the truck bed, squeezing my eyes shut tightly against the dust and feeling my hair whipping itself larger, that a jalón isn't considered real hitching. Women and children occasionally got on as well, and everyone paid for their rides.

Almost two hours later we got to town, which was much bigger and busier than I expected. The drivers asked for a very reasonable 30 lempiras. Only two others rode with me all the way from San Juan to La Esperanza—fortunately, as I wouldn't have been comfortable enough in Spanish to lean over and shout at the drivers, "are we there yet?" Feeling like I'd either had years added to OR taken away from my face due to the sandblasting, I stumbled into a taxi toward my hotel.

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