Faviole looks up at me with her big chestnut eyes. “¿Quiere usted un poco de agua?”
I smile sympathetically, “No comprendo . . . lo siento,” while gesturing to tell her that I am sorry, but I don’t understand her.
She laughs, used to this response, and mimes for me to come with her. At this, I follow my new Honduran friend across the field — my pasty-white, 17-year-old legs trying to keep up with her experienced seven-year-old ones.
Guanaja Honduras is a stunning tropical gem. A small island, only three by eleven miles, it is located in the Bay Islands off the northern coast of Honduras. When I was growing up in the Pacific Northwest, little did I know that someday I would be opening my eyes to a sunrise in Guanaja!
So we are here, my husband, our little Maltese dog and me. We came down to visit this Central American beauty for our birthday celebrations, only two days apart.
When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When in Honduras during Semana Santa, do as the Hondurans do: go to the beach, spend time with friends and family and eat fish. Last week for Semana Santa, I did all three.
Semana Santa, otherwise known as Holy Week, begins on what is commonly known as Palm Sunday and ends on Easter Sunday.
This being said, it is also the unofficial spring break for the entire country; schools close, stores shut their doors and taxi drivers take their taxis to their pueblos to visit friends and family.
I began Semana Santa by travelling to La Ceiba, a city on the northern coast of Honduras to visit some friends living there. There’s a saying in Honduras that states: “Tegucigalpa thinks, San Pedro Sula works and La Ceiba celebrates.”
With the easy-going attitude of the locals, at least the ones I met, it was easy to believe such a saying.
My son and I spent a week last month on the island of Utila, each getting our advanced open water C-card.
Completing accommodation arrangements was the toughest part of the trip; the entire island lost internet service Jan. through March.
We took the ferry from La Ceiba, arriving without reservations but found out that there are many lodging sites. We chose a combination package with Cross Creek, staying in a duplex bungalow and taking our class work and dives through their school. This resort is mainly geared for lower budget travelers and those interested in obtaining certifications from open card to dive master. The instruction was very organized and thorough.
I looked out our twin engine aircraft’s window at the island of Guanaja’s verdant peaks. We had just landed on the airstrip in this valley. The “terminal” was a thatched roof house set off to the side. Moments later we were cruising over a cobalt sea, past a jungle choked coast that looked as if it might conceal Jurassic Park.
On the way, we passed a town that rose out of the sea on posts. This was Bonacca, the island’s capital, a town that outgrew two tiny cays, forming a 17 acre stilt village. It was christened a “little Venice of the Caribbean” by author Jane Houlson (Blue Blaze, 1934).
When I return to the United States, I think I will be selling my apartment and moving into a bus. On a bus, or in a truck, is where I’ve spent a majority of my time the past few weeks for the sake of travel.
Being on a bus or being on the road is starting to feel like my new home.
Last weekend I left the mountains of Olancho, Honduras for the hills of Honduras’ capital city, Tegucigalpa, to visit some friends. Though in the same country, I quickly realized that the two cities are two very different communities.
In the communities of Olancho, I had traveled dirt roads, and in Teguc (as the capital is affectionately nicknamed) I found myself inhaling diesel in the back of a taxi as the
driver adeptly maneuvered the crowded streets of the city.
In the mountains I ate beans, eggs and tortillas for breakfast and tortillas, eggs and beans for supper. In Teguc, I consumed every type of Western food imaginable from cappuccinos to cheese pizza, since my friends insisted that I consume something other than typical Honduran fare.
In the mountains, I awoke to the sounds of roosters and cattle, and in Teguc I awoke to the sounds of my friends’ children turning on the TV to watch Saturday morning cartoons.
Many people that I had met in the mountain communities of Olancho had never had the opportunity to complete elementary school, much less high school, while in Teguc I listened as a group of accountants, lawyers and engineers discussed the resolution of the parking situation of their neighborhood.
Two cities, but two very different communities. Before traveling to each community, the mountain villages of Olancho and the capital city of Tegucigalpa, the only difference that existed for me between the two communities was the location of their dots on the map.
Now I realize that geographic location is not the only thing that defines the differences between these two communities.
Despite the noticeable contrast in transportation, diet and lifestyle, I realize that people of Olancho have much in common with the people in Teguc.
The mother in Olancho warns her daughter about walking alone at night just like mothers in Teguc.
The boy at the school in Olancho likes to buy the same bag of potato chips as the boy at the school in Teguc. And as I interact with people in Honduras, in Olancho and Teguc, I realize that many of their hopes, dreams and fears are the same as many of my own hopes, dreams and fears.
We may come from different geographic locations, from different communities, rural mountain communities of Honduras or semi-urban communities of Tennessee, but we’re all human.
And that’s what I love about travel. Through the lens of travel I see the differences and similarities that make us all “people.”
I was a little worried as the young man lifted me up and hooked my harness to the cable. He smiled and warned me not to crash in to any trees.
He then let me go and all at once I was flying through the treetops at Gumba Limba Park in Roatan, Honduras. I really enjoyed this great adventure, even though, after my canopy tour, a very impolite monkey stole my water bottle out of my back pack.
There’s nothing better than learning something new while traveling, learning about ancient and unknown worlds, lose myself in nature and exercise, and be pampered in total relaxation. Honduras offers all of this and a lot more.
Roatan Island in Honduras is more than just a geographic location. It’s a state of mind.
On your worst days when you fantasize about escaping to a movie-set-perfect tropical island, Roatan would do nicely. Still largely undeveloped for tourism, it’s a laid-back, pristine, breathtaking speck of Earth that attracts backpackers, divers and, increasingly, mainstream Americans as it begins to make it onto the vacation radar.
So, undoubtedly, it will change. But for now, it’s still an amalgamation of privately owned small beachfront inns with mosquito netting suspended over the beds, ceiling fans languidly distributing the balmy air and the transparent aquamarine Caribbean Sea just feet away.
If you want to visit a cloud forest while trekking through Central America, hopefully you’ll check out Parque Nacional La Muralla in Olancho, Honduras. This park has one of the better infrastructures in Honduras, allowing visitors the opportunity to experience the beauty and richness of Honduran tropical forests.
When you arrive in La Union, the closest town to the park, give yourself a day to set up the transportation and guide service. (You can travel to the park on your own, but a local service has been set up which helps the community and provides invaluable details and assistance for the traveler). Guide service starts at 30 lempiras or lemps, though this will likely increase some in 1997. Prices are negotiable.
COPAN, HONDURAS–Lying on the open-air yoga platform at the Hacienda San Lucas, a rustic but chic adobe resort, I try to ground my body and lengthen my spine, but really, I’m here for the view.
Spreading out below me are the lush Honduran mountains, the green river valley and, though I can’t see them from my lizard-like pose, the Mayan ruins of Copan.
Normally 8 a.m. wouldn’t see me doing anything remotely physical, but the chance to do yoga on a hill overlooking the ruins is just a great way of soaking up the atmosphere.
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