Yes. It does get cold in Honduras.

From the Archives: We had a good visit this week with friends Stephen and Melissa Smith. Steve and I were reminiscing about the pre-electric days (they visited prior to the arrival of the heavenly light), when I remembered that this post was in a draft from some time last year. Have a great Friday all!


A couple of years ago, on one cold afternoon we found this in the kitchen.

For the most part, living in the un-electrified Concrete Palace when it's cool and cloudy outside is no fun. In winter, the night is;a magical, damp time of 50 degree nights and 100% humidity. Humidity of the sort that you can't see through and slips through the window panes like a smoke monster. Clean laundry won't dry for days, and when it finally does, it has the refreshing smell of clean mildew. My feet spend the hours of 3-6 AM trying to convince me stay in the warm bed (as if I need any encouragement) instead of braving the frigid floor. My mind and body pucker at the very thought of a shower. Kittens go to extreme measures to warm up. 

However, living in a virtually fireproof house in such times does occasionally have its benefits (and not just when the Huns attack with flaming arrows). Say...when you're getting out of said sphincter-clenching shower and all you want is a nice warm fire and maybe a heated floor? After literally hyperventilating a little bit in our shower this winter, I took matters into my own hands with some rubbing alcohol and a match. I won't bother detailing the process; I think you get the idea. However, the results of setting your concrete floor on fire in a spark-less world can be pretty rewarding.
 

And let's not lie. It's fun.

In a 50 square-foot room, a roaring 2-foot tall flame warms things up pretty quickly and not just the air. The floor gets nice and toasty as well. Once the flames die down, the heated floor helps the circulation (and sensation) return to your extremities much quicker than the usual 14 hours. Beyond warmth, the open flame casts a fair amount of light. As it turns out, that dirt you were scrubbing in vain was some sort of insect bite, and you're not going to get that off. And best of all, no clean up!

Significantly less fun is watching the fire die out within a couple of minutes and realizing that you just wasted a 1/4 bottle of rubbing alcohol. But I don't know that wasted is the right word... 

 

Don't try this at home kids.