Honduras! (Sticking with the theme....)
Trip Start
Feb 10, 2008
1
19
29
Trip End
Aug 06, 2008
La Ceiba,
Honduras
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
But now it is time to leave El Salvador behind me, as I have arrived in Honduras - the beginning of my Latin experience all those years ago
The "Bum Bus"
. Unfortunately it has been a relatively boring few days as, due to time constraints, I have been making my way north to the Bay Islands as quickly as possible, and so have spent the majority of my time in fairly nondescript towns and cities, or indeed travelling between them. The first example of such travel began on Friday, as I made my way from Perquin to Marcala - a little town in the south of Honduras. Unfortunately I had the pleasure of making the three hour journey on the most decrepit bus of my trip so far - not only was it impossible to close any of the windows or indeed the doors; not only did the seat cushions frequently come unattached from their foundations; not only was it so full that no-one had any personal space whatsoever; it also reeked of bum. And please note, I speak not of buttocks and anuses (ani?), but rather of the Burping Ron type (RIP) - that smell that isnīt quite urine, faeces, BO, fish, eggs, vomit, alcohol, or indeed a mixture of any of the above - it is simply the smell of bum, in the same way that oranges smell of oranges and flowers smell of flowers. Anyway where was I? Ah yes, the bus smelled. To make matters worse, I was charged a scandalous $3 to cross the border by the cheeky immigration officer, who Iīm sure knew as well as I did that all travel between Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras and Nicaragua is completely free. But I didnīt have the energy nor the inclination to argue - whilst at the beginning of my trip I would barter every taxi, banana and prostitute that I paid for, I have since given up. When youīre refusing to get in a taxi because it is 10p more than youīre willing to pay, you suddenly realise what an asshole you have become. And whilst the whole "gringo price" (which I never ended up writing about, sorry) can be annoying, I figure they probably need the money more than I do.Upon my arrival in Marcala, I was somewhat dismayed to learn from the miserable tourist officer that there were no ATMs in town, and that all the banks had closed for the evening. With only $4 on my person, this posed somewhat of a problem. Luckily I managed to persuade the kindly hotel manager to allow me to pay for my overnight stay the following morning, and also managed to find a supermarket that accepted dollars. Still, all was not perfect - for some reason I had only eaten two packs of the Salvadoran equivalent of Wotsits all day (it was about 17:00), and I was starving - I had to spend my $4 wisely, so that I cold fill myself up as well as saving some food for later. In the end I decided to purhcase one bottle of water, one big bag of doritos, one loaf of bread, and one jar of peanut butter - excellent choices I felt. Why am I telling you all of this? Because that was pretty much the most exciting thing that has happened in the last few days. To prove my point, that evening I had the choice of reading, listening to music, watching a really quiet Mexican soap opera (the only functioning button on my TV was the "reduce volume", somewhat frustratingly) or sleeping. I chose the latter.
Friday was yet another uneventful day, as I spent most of it looking around for the ATM (that bitch had lied to me), waiting around for buses, and sitting on buses. When I finally arrived in San Pedro Sula that evening, I once again was short on cash (the ATM had only deemed me worthy of receiving about $25 for some reason). Unfortunately of the two ATMs mentioned in the Lonely Planet, one proved impossible to find, and the other wouldnīt read my card. I must say you really take it for granted having such a consistent flow of ready cash - I had no choice but to spend the evening in my RIDICULOUSLY hot room, watching cable TV.
The following day, having watched Spain vs Sweden, I was determined to sort out my money woes once and for all. Unfortunately the kind Lord wasnīt going to make it easy for me - for a start, I would estimate that approximately 97% of the ATMs in the city were out of order, and so if you were lucky enough to actually find a functioning one the queue was ridiculous. This was only made worse by the fact that every single person seemed to spend about five minutes carrying out their transaction. I had no idea it was even possible to take this long; after a while I became convinced that there was some sort of secret combination of buttons that was only known to locals, and that when entered would reveal a game of tetris or a short pornographic film. I have to say that there is something about queuing that drives me insane; I am a pretty easy going person in general, and I am quite happy to wait around for a bus or just sit in a park and watch the world go by, but any time there is some sort of line involved I feel overcome with rage and impatience. So one can imgaine how I felt when, upon finally arriving at the working ATM, and entering my request for 1000 Lempiras, my card was returned to me along with the friendly message "This transaction has been cancelled, as you requested". "AS I FUCKING REQUESTED?!" I pondered. I had no choice but to go and join the queue for the only other working ATM - the one that hadnīt been able to read my card the previous evening. After about ten minutes of waiting, I couldnīt stand it any more. As if the hanging around wasnīt annoying enough, the stifling heat just added insult to injury (or probably vice versa), and to top everything off I hadnīt had anything to eat or drink all day (due to the lack of funds). I began to fantasise about freaking out, and physically assaulting the next person to look at me, but being that I was a lanky, sweaty Gringo in the middle of Honduras, pretty much everyone within a 10m radius was staring at me, and I donīt think I could have taken everyone on. Luckily I managed to find a cafe in a nearby swanky hotel that would accept VISA, and so I was at least able to fill the void in my stomach before returning to my waking nightmare. There were actually two ATMS side by side, but the one on the left was out of order and so being ignored by everyone in line. I think the most irritating aspect of the whole affair was that every few minutes or so, someone would enter the aforementioned ATM and, following a minute or so of fruitless button mashing, would exit shaking their head, and inform everyone that "no sirve" (itīs not working). REALLY?! THANKS FOR LETTING US KNOW YOU SILLY FAT COW, WEīRE ALL JUST STANDING AROUND BURNING OUR BOLLOCKS OFF IN THE MIDDAY SUN FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES! When I finally arrived at the preciously air conditioned cubicle, it was no real surprise to discover that my card couldnīt be read. But the woman behind me told me to keep trying (as this problem always occurs), and after my fourth failed swipe she had a go herself - AND IT WORKED FIRST TIME. By this point I was almost reduced to tears, but luckily some friendly local policewomen came to my rescue and following a further five swipes, I was finally able to withdraw some cash for the first time in about five days.
The relief I felt as I fondled the fresh notes in my hands was quite incredible, and it made me realise that that was pretty much the first time Iīd been really stressed on my travels. I think it made up for the previous four months to be honest. In fact it was only as the red mists ascended that my vision was clear enough to realise that the swanky hotel I had eaten at was the one I had stayed at five and a half years ago! And suddenly it all came flooding back - the central park opposite where I had refused to give a homeless child my McDonalds chips, the McDonalds from where I bought them, and the little cafe where I have a photo of the four girls I was travelling with at the time enjoying smoothies. Iīm not entirely sure why, but it felt quite amazing and even emotional to recognise these same places that I had visited when I was just eighteen. It could be because Iīm a bit of a woman.
I had been hoping to have my second Couchsurfing experience that night, but presumably Lucho had told everyone what a bender I was, as I never got a reply from the guy I e-mailed. Instead I had to settle for a trip to see the second Narnia film, which was the only subtitled offfering that I hadnīt already seen. To to be honest I didnīt enjoy it that much. Maybe because Iīm not eleven years old. Or it could be that the four main characters are presumably the most annoying children alive in the United Kingdom today. In fairness though it did get better towards the end, and I have now decided to grow my hair like Prince Caspian in the hope that I will be as cool as him.
The following day I was excited to leave the smog and queues of San Pedro behind me, as I headed north to Tela. Tela is a little Caribbean town on the north coast, which also happens to be 7km away from the botanical garden where I spent six weeks as a volunteer back in 2003. For those of you who donīt know, I spent two months in Honduras hoping to "help the Honduran people recover from the devastation of Hurricane Mitch", but instead found myself pruning bushes and raking grass. Still I was excited to see the town again. As the bus rumbled along, and my surroundings gradually transformed from urban Central America to Caribbean paradise, it suddenly dawned on me that I had recently been spending all of my time in towns and cities, and it had actually been almost three months since Iīd seen the sea. Iīve always thought of myself as a city boy as opposed to a nature lover, but as I watched the beautiful scenery rush by I wasnīt so sure anymore.
Upon my arrival in Tela, I was shocked by how much I recognised; the bus stop near the cafe (where my taxi driver had called me a son of a bitch gringo), the turnoff to the botanical garden from the main road, a pool bar that I used to walk past, the bank on the corner that I had always used, the internet cafe where Iīd shared a beer with one of the other volunteers, the petrol station in the middle of town, the local supermarket; even the emblem of the tourist agency we had used! Whilst these feats of memory may not seem that remarkable considering it was only five years ago that I had been there previously, a) it seems like a different lifetime, and b) I normally struggle to remember details from last week.
But unfortunately I am being kicked out of another internet cafe, these damn Honduran Nazis!
Until next time
x
