Trip Start Nov 04, 2006
Trip End Dec 03, 2006

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Flag of Honduras  ,
Monday, November 6, 2006


Call me humble (and that would be a bad call), but I think I'm getting the hang of this travel thing. So far things have gone smoother than Travis's ass (he diverts all hair growth to that behemoth on his chin). Not many problems so far. Unless you count right now, when I'm on the world's most crowded and humid bus. Hey I'm saving money and losing weight! Serious, this is like Auschwitz on wheels without the snazzy togs. (Mel Gibson I am not) Sometimes you need to be face deep in Honduran armpits to come to grips with your own self importance. (How self important? You obviously have not visited my penis's MySpace page. 28 friends. . .and rising. But you're here and I'm here, so doesn't that make it OurSpace?) I'm currently cruising up the North Coast of Honduras today on my way to catch a boat to the island of Utila. Observations on this bus- The little boy behind me is playing with a toy cell phone that keeps repeating the same phrase in Spanish over and over, I can only hope its SEVEN DAYS. The gorgeous girl sitting beside me is wearing a short halter that reveals more belly hair than me (yuckas, yuckas, yuckas) and I would gladly give up my seat to the elderly lady standing 10 feet up the crowded aisle, but I promised to save my trans-teleportation skillz for my wedding night. We're looking at a June wedding. 2010ish. . .

So let's bring it on back to Saturday. Ride to the airport courtesy of Ms. Schifsky. MSP to Miami, Miami to Guatemala City (GC). Clearing customs was as difficult as walking out of a room, which was what happened. My 45 minute shuttle turned into a 2 hour fiasco, but it allowed me to breathe in the chunky style urban Latin American air while watching the latest new techniques in public spitting and throwing garbage on the streets. By the time I go to the town of Antigua, I was starving and found a Peruvian restaurant that served a better Ceviche than you would expect to find in the mountains. Ceviche? (yo LaToya, I don't serve ribs). Guatemalan Beers? Like Schlitz with a metal aftertaste. Ymmmmm. But the cocktails, they kill me. Right?

Antigua is a touristy mountain town known for it's beautiful colonial architecture, and the earthquakes that bring it down. The only thing quaking is my stomach from all those onions. I hit a happy hour on the way back to the hotel and was seriously tempted to get a cup of Antiguan Coffee but my 4am shuttle to Honduras made that idea not so hot. So I went home to "lay down" before going out later. GOOD----NITE!!! Woke up at 2am worried about not waking up at 3am and showered. Listened to the people next door do it, "Mas Fuerte!" as I brushed my teeth. Couldn't find the light switch in the lobby so I sat in the dark reading my Rolling Stone by light of headlamp. The 5 hour shuttle to Honduras made the poop dragon growl, but I held it together amidst the speed bumps and frequent violent braking for stray cattle. I saw two women waiting at a bus stop not 4 feet away from a dead goat that was being feasted upon by vultures. This is what happens when you don't have TiVo.

The border crossing was cool, a small, ahem "unofficial" fee to grease some palms I guess, and I was in the town of Copan Ruinas taking a dump-shower by 11am. Gel on hair, bug spray on legs, talc on the goods. I was ready to visit the Copan Ruins. Very impressive, they are intricate and sprawling, but they are small time compared to the ones I will be visiting in Guate in a few weeks. Oh my, it was a hot one!! Ended up going on a hike to some lesser known structures with one of my shuttle mates, Tony. British and prim, but social. Took some sweet pix of the ruins. The final, hidden ones were called Las Sepulturas so I poured some of my agua on the ground for Travvy and then went back into town to pour some beer in me. And that is how you go from "Dead Embryonic Cells" to dead brain cells, my friends. Tony and I hit happy hour and did a Beer Tour of Honduras. Salva Vida is like a Mich Golden with a Leinie aftertaste. Imperial will flock you up. Port Royal is like Rolling Rock with cojones, and the last one I don't remember the name but the aftertaste remains even today. The last bar we went to, Tony almost got into it with some local who thought Tony was staring at his crappy car too long. Ahh, machismo! I was in bed by midnite after hitting the local food stalls. Grillicious!! Caught a 7am bus outta town and that brings us to now. 200 sweaty people in a school bus and the Caribbean a stone's throw to my right. Tomorrow, I will face my fear of the deep. And I will find out if everything really IS better when it is wetter, under the sea.

Peace Love and SCUBA,

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