Honduras Travels

To get to the Honduras, we had to first take a launch along the coast to Puerto Barrios, another once-important port for the United Fruit company. Omoa lies on the Caribbean coast about 2 hours east of Puerto Barrios. Barrios is a rather squalid seaside town with few still-important commerce connections. The last working train in the Honduras is here, which is evident by the sprawl of tracks that indiscriminately cut across the main street where the buses and collectivos gather.

Collectivos are an interesting concept. You would think that these small minivans, which are slightly more expensive than buses, would be quicker and less crowded . . . not so. I hear the record number of passengers is 25, not including the driver and steward. We only had 14, but we stopped for everybody. I will never complain about chicken buses again. Actually, I have become quite fond of C.B.s and it is a good topic for the forum–”The many good things about chicken buses,” one that I will expand on later.

So off to the border in a collectivo we go–a routine I am familiar with now. No big problems. Sometimes it seems like I fall into a trance on these road trips. Perhaps it’s a protective thing. My senses heighten, I become very alert, and time seems to fly by. Or maybe it is the lack of circulation in my legs from my pack on my lap and the crush of people. Whatever, I am ready for it. We arrive at the border, pass through Customs, and grab a pickup truck to the Honduran side. Customs here is very relaxed, and soon we are all waiting for the bus.

It is early morning, but it is already getting hot and humid. I buy a big jug of orange juice, have a smoke, and relax. A big yellow school bus arrives and we board it. Where are all the vivid colors of Guate’s C.B.s? Oh well, I open the window and try to relax, but the road begins as a half-rock and half-pothole cruise at 30km per hour. The road winds through every little village along the way. There is no relief from the bumpy and jarring ride. One hour later, the orange juice kicks in. My bladder is ready to burst and we have an hour to go.

There are many creative ways to solve problems, and necessity is the mother of invention. The bus only stops long enough for passengers and there is no bathroom on this bus. Oh, and then I discover the fish in the back have been leaking down the aisle where I have put my mandolin bag. The road seems to be getting rougher. Time to meditate. Concentrate on emptiness. No, concentrate on . . . hell, I don’t know, I really have to go.

Finally the road smoothes out and we arrive at Omoa the town. The beach and Roli’s place is about a 2-kilometer walk up the road. We pass by a 17th-century fort on the way. The fort is now a museum, but there is not much to see as far as tourist attractions go.

Omoa is spread out along the beach and is quite a sleepy little place. The beach is nothing special, either. What is good about the place is the quiet atmosphere and the great seafood. Roli’s place is a haven for the backpacker, and he sure knows how to make them feel at home. Many of the amenities are included in the price: free fishing poles, kayaks, bikes, communal kitchen and fridge. He even sells Drum tobacco.

Roli is originally from Switzerland. Once a backpacker himself, he gave up the road about 7 years ago to build this place. He also fixes cars and rents out a fishing boat.

What makes the place special is the people that show up. It’s a great place to unwind and refuel on some good home-cooked meals. I met many great people there from all over the globe. We ate great food, drank a few beers, played a few games of Ping-Pong, chess, cards, Frisbee, and music. We walked, swam, kayaked, biked, and lounged around reading books. This is the ultimate chill zone.

On one occasion, we celebrated Erin’s birthday with her brother Jim and Bryant. They are volunteering in an orphanage in El Salvador, but were taking a break. What a great night. The postcard video is from them.

I felt a little blue when everybody left the next day. I was the last person at the party and it was raining with grey skies. The same day, however, a whole new crowd showed up. Already I was the veteran and felt like I was working there. Roli had gone out, so I just gave everybody the tour and they all stayed ’til he got back. He was surprised, to say the least, with seven or eight people waiting to check in. The next 2 days, we got to know each other, and on the final night before many of us were leaving, we cooked up a huge feast with fish soup and the recipe I got from Copan called Chimimulas. It’s a mixture of beans, cheese, onions, tomatoes, cream, peppers, chicken, and spices poured over fried corn chips. We did not have chips, so we used rice. Then, for dessert, we had Chocobananas–basically a fondue with bananas, a regional favorite. Wow, another great day with some great people.

The next day we went our separate ways, some to the Bay Islands for diving, some for Gracias in the western highlands, and myself and others for San Pedro Sula to catch connecting buses. I was headed for Lago Yoyoa in the central highlands on my way to Nicaragua. There is a waterfall near Lago Yoyoa that I wanted to see. Brigitta from Holland was also going in that direction, so we traveled together.

The waterfalls at Pena Blanca, called Catarata de Pulhanpanzak, are truly amazing. We had to descend on a narrow slippery path using roots and branches as footholds and hand grabs. At times, the jungle was so thick that we had to duck through the overhanging vines and bushes. The journey was worth it. The falls plunge over the edge for 40-some meters into the river below. The mist rises far above, creating rainbows over the churning water.

Later we went to an eco-archaeological park called Los Naranjos. This is a site of the Lenca people, dating back to 2000 B.C. The route was a little confusing and we had to backtrack, take a boat back across the river, and walk down a road between fields of sugarcane and ranches. A rancher picked us up and drove us the rest of the way to the highway.

The park is fairly new, so there was not much to see yet, but the trails are magnificent as they circle the park and converge on a lookout by the lake.

The Honduras are just in the development stage of tourism, so there is not a lot of well-defined backpacker routes. The upside is there are not a lot of tourists, and it is much easier to meet the locals. The pine forests and sheer mountains are truly amazing. I was told there are many places to camp in this area because it so isolated, but there are not a lot of camping facilities. This would be a true wilderness trek. You can hire a guide from some local village and just go.

The next day, I went south to Comayagua and Brigitta headed north to Gracias. Brigitta told me that one thing she does not like about traveling is that you are always saying goodbye. I guess that is also true at home, only we do not notice it so much. I told her the upside is that you are always saying hello again. Hello, Brigitta.

Comayagua is a colonial town in the Comayagua basin. At one time, it was the capital of the Honduras. It seems like a nice place, but I did not plan on staying long. The Museum of Archeology is definitely worth a visit.