One morning, after our tortillas and beans, José stood, removed his straw cowboy hat and looked out of the doorway of his earth-floor hut towards the hills.
“I saw the haruca in the forest last night,” he said. I glanced across at his wife, Maria, but she wasn’t smiling. She stayed near to the wood fire on the hearth, rigid and silent. “Walking through the trees,” he added.
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.
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.
The nail has yet to be driven, but the spot has been picked out on the living room wall of the Richt house.
It’s there, in the room where it will be seen the most, the Richts will hang a wood carving of a Honduran village as a symbol of a mission trip they will never forget and a place they know they will return to one day.
Closer to home, Mark Richt coaches campers with cancer at Camp Sunshine in Rutledge.
“We are going to go back,” Georgia football coach Mark Richt said.
People who have visited Honduras and will talk of the Bay Islands lifestyle, or the famous ruins near Copán. I agree that, in terms of tourism, they are indeed the undisputed heavyweight champions, yet there is much more to this diverse Central American nation than sun, sea, and statues.
After a month of exploration in El Salvador, we began to hanker for the relative creature comforts afforded by the Central American Gringo Trail. From the Salvadoran border town of Perquín, we planned to cross into Honduras and head directly to Copán - a distance totaling 160 miles. We would pass through Marcala, Gracias, Santa Rosa de Copán, and La Entrada en route, and arrive at the final destination the following morning – in time for a generous portion of yoghurt and granola, a breakfast option solely available in tourist hotspots.
Upon my arrival in Honduras, my initial thoughts were, “OK, another vacation.” After two weeks away from home, “vacation” ceased to apply. I was living in Honduras and would live there for six weeks.
After riding in a packed bus without air conditioning, we arrived in El Obraje and hitchhiked in the back of a pickup to reach our host family. Don’t be alarmed: Hitchhiking in Latin America is the equivalent of taking a taxi in New York, and it’s free.
El Obraje is a serene community: Everything is green, butterflies are everywhere. After a 20-minute uphill hike with 50 pounds of luggage in 113-degree heat, I arrived at my host family’s home.
An Inland Empire marine biologist is on his way to Honduras this month for a turtle awareness biological tour and will take four Yucaipa Valley locals with him for the experience.
Dr. Stephen G. Dunbar is heading up a group of 10 people from Loma Linda University on an eight-day tropical, marine biology excursion starting Sept. 10.
Tagging along for the adventure will be Cindi and Kenneth Wright and Elmar and Darilee Sakala. While some participants on the official university trip will receive academic credit, the class is geared toward non-specialists interested in learning more about tropical, marine environments.