Alex & The Baleada Stand

by Kat Welling (United States of America)

Making a local connection Honduras

The day I met Alex, I had been living in Honduras for almost five weeks. I had recently committed to spending a year teaching English at an elementary school in a small, rural town called Juticalpa in Olancho, Honduras. The initial “honeymoon” phase of travel was starting to wear off, and I was feeling slightly discouraged. It was a cloudy day in mid-september, and I had to stay home from school due to an “unsettled” stomach that resulted from being a little too adventurous in my late-night Honduran street food cravings. I slept for most of the day so, when I woke up, I was feeling much better. My stomach had settled, and I actually felt hungry for the first time in about two days. Despite sleeping all day, I was still running low on energy and didn’t feel like walking too far to find food. Luckily, there was a street vendor just steps away from my house that sold “baleadas,” a traditional Honduran cuisine made with tortillas, beans, cheese, and mantequilla. I slipped on my sneakers, stuffed a few Lempiras in my pocket, and made my way towards the baleada stand. As I approached the table, I was greeted by the woman working the grill. Her hands were caked with flour, as she was kneading the tortilla dough to the perfect consistency. There was also an older gentleman present who seemed to be in his late 60’s or 70’s. The man introduced himself as Alex, and he asked if I wanted to sit and visit with him while I ate my baleada. Excited at the opportunity to chat with a local, I pulled up a chair and prepared myself to struggle through a conversation in Spanish. I sat with Alex at the baleada stand for the remainder of the afternoon. I stumbled over my words as I tried to speak in Spanish, often using hand motions or filling in the gaps with English words and hoping that he could understand. Alex was patient with me. He listened intently, and he spoke slowly so that I could follow along. In the best Spanish I could muster, I expressed my frustrations, fears, and aspirations about the year ahead. In return, Alex listened, offered comforting words, and even shared stories about his own experiences growing up and living in Honduras. As dinnertime approached, the line started filling up with people waiting to order baleadas. I shook hands with Alex, and he told me to come back for another Spanish conversation tomorrow. So, I did. I returned the next day, and the day after that, and then every day for the rest of my year spent in Honduras. Our two-hour, afternoon chat on that cloudy day in September had turned into daily conversations about life. In a unique way, Alex knew me better than many of the other people I interacted with on a day-to-day basis. He knew my passion for learning Spanish and my desire to connect with people. He knew my fascination and appreciation for rich Honduran history and culture. He saw me on my good days, when I felt like I was truly living out my purpose, and on my bad days, when I just couldn’t seem to find my place. On my last day in Honduras, June 2, 2019, I stopped by the baleada stand one last time to say goodbye before leaving town. I gave Alex a hug and thanked him for how much he had taught me over the past year. He chuckled to himself, patted me on the back, and said, “I thought you should know before you leave; I’m actually an English teacher. I’ve been speaking English for years. Thanks to you, I’m a Spanish teacher now too.” All I could do was laugh. I laughed for all of the times that I struggled to come up with a word, and he had let me struggle so that I could learn the hard way. Without even realizing it, Alex had become one of the most influential people that I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. Gracias por todo, Alex.