On the road to who knows where in Honduras
So, the day after getting up at 5:30 in the morning to climb up a volcano, I got up at 3:30 to catch a 4am shuttle to Honduras. In Guatemala, things run a little behind (around 30 minutes), so I suppose the shuttle was almost a little early when it arrived at 4:20. When it pulled up, some guy opened the window and shouted “Only 4 people!”. Well, when I got on, it was quite obvious that I was the 4th passenger getting on this shuttle to Honduras, which means lots of stretching room, quite luxurious, if such a concept exists in Guatemala…this may be it: leg room + reclining seat in an uncrowded van = luxury in Guatemala.
The other 3 passengers were 3 guys from Sweden who pulled my old trick when trying to catch an early departure out of town – stay up all night and drink until it’s time to leave. They were pretty hilarious. I think. Their drunken Swedish rambling sounded pretty funny to me, anyway. Wtihin 15 minutes they were all passed out, and I probably followed about 5 minutes later. A few hours later we stopped somewhere for breakfast. Nothing exciting here, except my coffee tasted like egg rolls. The only reason I mention this is because it took me a damn long time to figure that out, and I was pretty proud of my keen sense of taste matching.
The border crossing from Guatemala to Honduras was really too easy. We all filled out some form, gave the form, our passports, and 40 Quetzales (Guatemalan currency = $5-$6) to our driver, and he took the stuff to the windows for us to get our stamps. We just stood by the van watching some dogs hump in the empty lot nearby. It seems a little odd to me that no one even wanted to look at our faces to make sure they match the passport, but I surely do have the stamps in the book, and that’s all that really matters at this point. The Swedish boys and I all agreed that our driver probably pocketed a dollar or 2 a peice, but were hardly concerned.
I didn’t go to far over the border to Copán Ruinas, a town named after the Mayan ruins just nearby. There was something about Honduras that I really liked…the people seemed very calm, unsuspicious, and pretty laid back. The town was adorable…small with cobblestone roads and lots of cowboys riding horses everywhere. I took a short walk to the ruins…the most southern of the major Mayan ruins (which is good, because I think I’m a little ruined-out by now). They were different than the others, though – more sculpture based, and some were still pretty well intact. So, not much more that day…had some beers with some other travelers I met. Oh yeah, almost got locked out of the hotel. Well, did get locked out of the hotel and had to wake the poor little old lady up to let me in. Felt like an ass for that one.
The next day was one of those days where nothing seemed to go right, but it all worked out in the end. I got up to take the 7:30 bus out of town when some guys operating a much nicer bus offered me the same price, leaving at 8. Sounds perfect. Well, then 8 got moved to 9 for some reason…something about a strike, and we need to wait for another bus to come before we can leave. No problem. So we left at 9 (though I never saw another bus come), and I promptly fell asleep. Not long after leaving, I could tell that we were stopped for quite a while, not sure why, but I just kept sleeping. Then somebody told me we all had to get out of the bus to cross. Cross what? I though, but just followed suit, grabbed my backpack and followed the group. Cars and trucks were all lined up on the side of the road, and we just walked right past them (I strangely felt like I did hoofing into Coventry, though with a bit more in town this time, and with no beer). So, anyway, it all made sense once I saw the roadblock because of the people striking. Apparently they were teachers who hadn’t been paid for 4 months. I was really proud of them…and proud to give them a little laugh while I stumbled trying to crawl underneath their rope, falling and scraping up my knee (where are those knee pads when you really need them). But, as always, I stood up laughing, flashed them a smile, and continued on.
Back on the bus, we continued along and got to an accident just before arriving at the next big town, where I had to change buses. Nobody was hurt, it was no big deal, but from inside the bus I could see that the whole front window was smashed up. When we got to the bus station, we all had to squeeze out the doorway because the whole front of the bus had been smashed in. So, I took the next bus out for Tela, a north Carribean town. Well, about 2 hours later I conceded the fact that I had indeed missed that stop and would be going to La Ceiba instead. That was all cool, because it was my next stop anyway. Luckily, I didn’t have to pay more for the bus ride, so I guess I got a little freebie there. I took the little extra time to read up on where I was now going and decided to head to this place called the Jungle River Lodge, just a few kilometers outside of town. The Jungle River Lodge sounds heaps more exciting than just the same old boring places in the city, doesn’t it? The cab driver told me it was 25 Lempira (the Honduran currency, about $1.25), and we were off. About 15 minutes later, we’re on some lonely unpaved mountain road and the driver keeps telling me that we’re very alone out there, of which I’ve become quite aware. Half of me trusts him and is planning on giving him a little extra for the long ride and half of me is planning my getaway…maybe it was a little more like 60/40 in favor of the trust side, but deep inside I was calling myself a big asshole for not just going to the city (in my favor, I had no idea where I was going and didn’t know it was quite this remote). So, anyway, we get there and then the guy wants 300 Lempira (about $15), and I was pissed (but relieved, indeed) over the what? 1100% markup? I lowered it a little and carefully navigated down the stone steps into the candelit lodge, where I was greeted by 5 cute Honduran boys who showed me to my room, and invited me to join them for a beer.
Tags: Honduras, Tag Index
Tania