Goodbye Honduras!
Trip Start
Feb 10, 2008
1
23
29
Trip End
Aug 06, 2008
Managua,
Nicaragua
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Anyway, back to the "present"; I actually ended up getting a bit carried away in the excitement of finding such a treasure trove of literary works, and ended up blowing about $80 on five books and a magazine. I must admit that for a short while I had been clutching "The Notebook" in my collection of possible puchases, mainly due to my teen-like crush on Rachel McAdams, but, after considering that I had already been to see Sex and the City and P.S. I Love You on this trip, I decided that The Notebook might just have been the straw that broke the camels back. Or rather, the feminine story that inverted my penis.
As I made my way back to the hotel, delighted with my purchases, I suddenly came across the cement football pitch where one of the other volunteers and I had played against a group of local youngsters the last time I was here. Iīm sure by now you are probably bored of hearing about all of these places that I recognized, but for some reason they all induced in me this weird, intense feeling that Iīm not really sure how to describe. The thing is, for as long as I can remember, as opposed to looking back on my life as a continuous passage of time, I have always seen it as being divided into a series of strictly separate epochs or eras, some of which almost seem like a different lifetime - as if it was a different person who lived through them. My time in Honduras is one of these "eras", and I think that because these concrete places are so intrinsically linked with events and memories that had seemed forever banished to my past - to this different era of my life - it felt really strange to see them again in the present. I guess the feeling is not unlike a form of nostalgia, and I also experienced it when we went back to visit the school in Amsterdam that I had attended as a little kid.
That evening, and indeed the following day, were fairly uneventful, as I spent most of my time reading my new books. The only event that might be seen as noteworthy (though not necessarily interesting) was watching the European Championship final with a German guy. He wasnīt happy. That Sunday evening I headed to the local pizza hut for a meal, as it was the only place that seemed to be open after 7pm. However, the waiter informed me that they would be closing in twenty minutes and so, knowing how annoying it is when customers stay much later than the closing time, I decided to be kind by ordering just a starter. After about 35 minutes of waiting I was beginning to get a little bit impatient; a feeling that soon grew to annoyance when they started to turn off all the televisions and close all the shutters. It was at this point the waiter came over and asked me if there was anything that I wanted.
"Excuse me?"
"Can I get you anything else sir?"
"Ermmm... I havenīt had anything yet." (I hadnīt even ordered a drink.)
"Ah Iīm sorry sir, I didnīt understand you earlier; I thought youīd said you didnīt want anything."
I knew my Spanish hadnīt advanced as much as I was hoping it would, but I didnīt think it was so poor that "Iīll have the chicken tacos please" could be misinterpreted as "No I donīt want anything to eat thank you." Whatīs even weirder is that they just let me sit there on my own for thirty five minutes without ordering even so much as a drink. In the end I just got a dessert to take away, as I couldnīt be bothered to wait any longer. This whole event just seemed to typify what had been a frustrating few days.
The following morning, after picking up my laundry, I grabbed a taxi to the immigration office in the hope that I could finally pay my fine and arrange an extension. To cut a long story short I had to fill out a lot of different forms, join a lot of different queues, talk to a lot of stupid people, and ultimately pay the disappointingly high combined fine and fee of $110; all in return for the promise that I could return the following day to pick up my passport, complete with a freshly extended tourist card. So although I was both a little saddened and surprised by how much I had had to pay, I was relieved that there had been no talk of writing letters or waiting fifteen days.
That evening I went to the cinema to see Untraceable, a movie about a murderer who broadcasts his killings live on the internet. Although I had been planning to go and see The Incredible Hulk at a movie theatre that was mere metres from my hotel, my taxi driver had told me that thatīs where local men went to masturbate. I was somewhat shocked and surprised to learn that Hondurans were in the habit of paying $2 for the privilege of pleasuring themselves to the latest Hollywood release - in this case polishing the one eyed monster whilst watching a two eyed green one - I would have imagined that the comfort of oneīs own home and imagination were far more suitable, let alone cheap, places to carry out such an activity. But then that is what is so fascinating about visiting and learning about other cultures.
It transpired that that nugget of extremely useful information was just one of many that the taxi driver had had to offer. In fact one of my favourite things about Tegucigalpa was actually the taxi drivers - they were all super friendly and talkative, and also extremely proud; whenever I asked them if they were from Honduras, they almost all responded by thumping their chest and saying "Of course, 100%". The only downside of taking taxis was that the entire city was riddled with never ending traffic jams, which meant that it took about fifteen minutes to travel one kilometer. I have no idea how the drivers make any money, especially considering the current cost of fuel, as at least half of the journey is spent being completely stationary whilst the engine is left running.
Anyway, I digress. After finally arriving at the cinema about a quarter into the film, I spent the next hour or so watching a movie that I thought had a very interesting premise and message, but ultimately proved to be fairly bland and average. That night I was unfortunate enough to endure that experience that seems to happen approximately once a year for no apparent reason - namely an inability to get to sleep, no matter how exhausted you might feel. So the following morning, after about one hour of sleep, I headed to the immigration office where I was delighted to be able to collect my passport in record time, with no issues whatsoever. This meant that I was finally free to leave the country, and so I got straight into a taxi to take me to one of the international coach stations. What followed was a ten hour journey to Managua - the capital of Nicaragua - which can most effectively be described in one word as "annoying". For a start, despite the fact that the coach was only full to approximately 15% of its total capacity, the other passengers insisted on regimentally sticking to the seat numbers that had been arbitrarily assigned to them by the company. So, just as I had settled down in one of the empty seats, someone informed me that I happened to be sitting in theirs. As I looked up and down the bus and saw approximately thirty identical seats, I was forced to bite my tongue as I made way for the gentleman. When a lady asked me what seat number was written on my ticket, and I had answered, she said "Oh, it looks like youīre sitting next to me then." Once again, I looked up and saw thirty other empty seats, and this time I politely informed her that I was going to go and find one of my own. What a rebel. After just an hour or two we had to change coaches, which involved waiting under shelter from the pouring rain for another half hour or so. When the next bus eventually arrived I noticed that it was a lot fuller than the previous one, and so I thought that I had better adhere to the sacred seat allocation system. It made me chuckle when the man behind me was forced to give up his seat to its rightful owner, but my laughs soon gave way to a frown when he stepped forward to inform me that I was in fact in his seat - it seemed that I had mistakenly sat by the window instead of the aisle.
"Canīt you just sit there, in the empty seat? I asked him. I had already made the seat my own you see, and was feeling rather snug.
"No, you are sitting in my seat", came his reply.
"But does it really matter? You were sitting next to the aisle before you were forced to move. Canīt you just sit in the seat that is already free?"
"But you are sitting in my seat."
This made me angry. I would have thought that, having himself been so violently ejected from his previous seat, he would have sympathized with me somewhat. But this was not the case. To make matters worse, he spent the majority of the remainder of the journey CLEARLY taking up a disproportionate amount of the central arm rest, which I found extremely selfish. On the plus side I did get to watch Kindergarten Cop.
After what seemed like several hours waiting at the border, we finally made it into Nicaragua, and eventually Managua. As we all disembarked I met a trio of Germans, and we agreed to share a taxi to one of the recommended hotels. Iīve never felt so famous - as we approached the exit we came across hoards of screaming Nicaraguans, all vying for our trade. "Taxi, taxi!" they shouted, as they battled against each other to push their faces and limbs through the iron fence that separated us from them. First of all we had to withdraw some money from an ATM, and eventually our money went to the most persistent of the drivers - the one who followed us to the petrol station and waited outside whilst we bought and ate some late night snacks and sandwiches.
In the end I ended up sharing a room with one of the Germans, in a slightly seedy hotel (it was gone midnight, and it seemed to be the only one that was open). When it came to paying the owner, I asked if we could pay the following morning, but he replied that he would prefer the money there and then. When I explained that we didnīt all have the correct change, he disappeared without a word and left us alone for about a minute. The next thing we knew we spotted one of the most ripped men I have ever seen in the flesh, swaggering toward us in just a pair of jeans. Shit, I thought, this is it; Iīm about to be beaten to death by a man with a neck thicker than my waist. Luckily no such beating took place, and instead he just stopped a yard away and stared at us, without so much as a word. I swiftly handed over enough money for the four of us (which I have only just remembered I never got reimbursed for....), and the giant turned around and went on his way. I have no idea where he came from, nor where he went, but I hope to never see him again.
Whilst I have now been in Managua for a day and a half, I feel that I have come to the end of this entry and that I should therefore give my closing thoughts on Honduras. To be honest, alongside Belize, it has probably been my least favourite of the countries through which I have travelled so far. Characterized by uninspiring towns and cities, delays, queues, ATM issues, passport issues, sunburn, and too much time spent in hotel rooms and watching cable TV, it has left a general feeling of frustration and boredom. Having said that, the above have been due in the most part to situational factors and shouldnīt really be seen as a reflection of the country itself. And on the plus side I really enjoyed my brief foray into diving, watching the European Championship, the relaxed vibe of Utila, and the friendliness and eccentricity of the locals. Plus I think the Honduran women have been the hottest of all the countries so far, with El Salvador and Mexico coming in a close second. Guatemala? Not so much.....
Hasta luego
x
