A slingshot to the head...get me outta here!!
Trip Start
Dec 26, 2006
1
13
90
Trip End
Dec 25, 2007
Livingstone, Guatemala
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Alarm goes off in Roatan, Honduras at 5.15am and we bid farewell to Paradise
Catch cab to the ferry terminal with a couple of chilenos
Ferry departs Roatan at 7am and arrives on the mainland in La Cieba, Honduras at 8.30am.
Collect bags in the most disorganised fashion possible, like an auction where you bid for your bags before receiving them
01 - Another family flees Livingstone
. Take a cab from the ferry to the bus terminal in La Cieba, located in the most remote and inaccessible location possible and book the 9.30am bus for San Pedro Sula.
It is 11.30am so it must be San Pedro Sula, the Aids capital of Central America but I guess you won't find that in any tourist brochures. Then again the locals are told that Aids is an airborne disease which I guess rules out casual sex and intravenous drugs as possible causes. I digress, and it is a quick 5 minute walk to the next bus terminal. If you are following you will realise that buses do not depart from the one terminal in Honduras. Each bus has their own terminal so you spend as much energy locating and getting to each terminal as the journey itself. Its a Central American thing!
No time for lunch apart from a few stale Ritz Crackers that have been begging to be eaten but I got there about a week too late. They were about as appealing as a session of bongo drumming in Livingstone, assuming it is still standing after the great fire of '07. Man I really am bitter about that place! Deep breaths now. So back to the journey, our next trip is to the town of Puerto Cortes (still in Honduras, stick with me now) and we arrive with minutes to spare, jump on in and somehow arrange the backpacks amongst the locals before assuming the seats front and centre. And no these buses are not air conditioned, the seats do not recline but the jesus statue up front is most reassuring. And Honduran bus drivers are much less crazy than their Guatemalan counterparts given that they dare adhere to road rules. So two hours later we arrive in Puerto Cortes, a town I like to refer to as the Honeymoon Capital of Honduras if for no other reason than it would be the last place you would Honeymoon in Honduras, unless freight ships and questionable waterways get you active between the sheets
02 - Main street Livingstone at rush hour
. So now the challenge has been thrown down to us (after we walk to the next bus station of course) we have to get over the border to Guatemala and into Puerto Barrios thus saving about a day in meaningless travel. Can it be done? Will the dynamic duo hit a snag on the border and be sent back to Honduras? Is it a case of do not pass go and do not collect $200? All will be revealed in the next bullet point.
It is now 3pm as we trundle out of Puerto Cortes for the Frontera Guatemala, a trip described as an "easy 1 and a 1/4 hour trip". How hard can it be? Well the early signs were good despite the packed 1950's American School Bus, and man the seats had legroom, were padded and all was sweet. And then the tide bagn to turn, first the jesus preachers boarded the bus and proceeded to sing whilst blocking both ears just so he could ensure he hit every flat note possible. All this within a half metre of my already perforated eardrum (refer Honduras Dive section for further details).
After failing to get a rousing chorus happening he decided it was better to move up a bit closer to his countrymen and start the preaching, well yelling really loud in Spanish whatever crazy verse he could clamp his eyes on in the Gideon Bible. As the locals eardrums began to bleed as he shouted louder to make his voice heard over the mariachi music, a funny thing happened. They started to give him money and then he left the bus. If only I had known I would have slipped him a tenner about an hour ago and saved us all from eternal damnation. So the time is looking good as we roll throught he Honduran countryside which in all seriousness (I think that is possible) it was a frantastic way to see how the real Hondurans live, work and play because lets face it, the majority of Hondurans do not scuba dive and snorkel on the island of Roatan.
Funny thing was there were no signs for the border town of Cortino in Honduras, just more palm trees, beach scenes and locals kicking back in las casas. And we are now heading for 5.30pm and the trip is twice the promised time with no end in sight. Was this day to be for nothing? Quite possibly yes as we spent the next half hour going in and out of neighbourhoods dropping off and picking up the locals as the clock now hit 6pm. And still no sugn of Cortino and no sign of a sealed road either. And then like a miracle from above, the seas parted, I walked on water and a sign for Cortino appeared and all was well in the world. Or at least for 8 travellers on the bus to nowhere.
As you can tell this story is heading for a happy ending (well if you discount the unusually aggressive german shepherd dog at our accomodation) as we set out on foot for a 15 minute walk to the Guatemalan border, paved road and all and not a crazy bus driver in sight. Passports were signed, pleasantaries exchanged and the four dutch hopped into the cab whilst Tiffany, Raphael, Guillermo and yo boarded the shuttle bus headed for Puerto Barrios in Guatemala, in anticipation of that cool little town called Livingstone a mere 30 minute boat ride across the water, complete with Bob Marley lookalikes and reefers the size of small shipping containers. Oh the joy!
So into the bus we hopped and before you could say Bobs ya Uncle, Fanny's ya Aunt the shuttle bus for 13 people had become the shuttle bus for 25 people with four people hanging out the door as the bus approached speeds of 60km'hr. As one who had a seat I could only marvel at the way these guys literally hung on for their life. And given that a door of a moving micro bus fell off in Xela with two people attached, both of who are no longer with us, it was a feat to behold. And I forgot, as we were back in Guatemala it was obligatory to be stopped by the police, and glad to say they were true to form.
And we finally at 7pm arrive at our accomodation in this not so charming port town in Guatemala, known as a place to ship banana's rather than tourists, we sit back and marvel at the day that began a mere 14 hours ago and say to ourselves, only in Central America. Congrats to all who took part in this production with special mention to all bus drivers who ensured we made it in one piece, the taxi drivers and the Honduran preacher whose songs and words of encouragement yelled at inopportune moments will always be remembered. My eardrums thank you.
As a footnote to this trip, our accommodation contained a viscious looking german shepherd that proceeded to bark at everyone entering or exiting the rooms from the balcony above. As Tiffany attracts dogs the way she attracts insects I was not worried so much for my own safety but more concerned for hers given her track record with mans best friend in Xela and Copan. And dueling dogs barking does not make for a good nights sleep.
Livingstone is described in the Lonely Planet as "a fascinating Caribbean enclave", "interesting anomoly with a laid-back way of life, coconut palms, gaily painted wooden buildings and an economy based on fishing and tourism". What they failed to menion is that it is also the armpit of the Caribbean or a giant wart on the face of the Caribbean. Yeah not my favourite place. However if scamming drunk Bob Marley wannabe rasta's offering weed and dodgy accommodation, children begging you to buy them stuff (well begging me for icecream and I finally stood my ground and said no...they had not even finished the ones they were eating at the time) and endless impromptu bongo sessions is your thing then Livingstone is waiting to be discovered. Send me a postcard!
Our accomodation was to be shared with a nest of friendly Caribbean bugs which given Tiffany's role in life as everyone elses insect repellant (her words not mine) suited me fine however we opted for the room with a view on the balcony as opposed to the dank insect infected accomodation out back where the only thing seperating the bedroom from the crapper was a small wall. Charming! Great couple next door from Northern California (Michelle and Cam) and between the four of us we managed to spend the hours eating and drinking and trying to forget the fact that one of the locals cracked me in the back of the head with a stone from a slingshot. Oh yeah, tourism advertising at its best folks. It fact it was at this stage I wanted to torch their "gaily painted wooden buildings" however I soon realised this would include my digs for the night so instead l had to settle with the mental images of burning dreads, slightly singed sling shots (tongue twister for ya) and a world where there are fewer bongo drums. Is that wrong I ask you?
I will plug the one saving grace of Livingstone which was Tingle Lingle, a restaurant run by a thrice married Mexican women whose Indian Fish Curry (yes, husband number two was Indian) was the equal of any tasted yet and just below the Sharma's/Kumar's of Calgary. Other than that it was with a smile, a spring in my step and a quick flick of a match that I bid Livingstone adeiu!
