A Year and a Day #22: Honduras - Honduras

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Some bad news

In the capital of Honduras right now, the easy to pronounce Tegucigalpa. Had an amazing week scuba diving, off the wonderful island of Utila, but just received some bad news. The language school in Todosantos have decided to give the coordinator job to someone else, for reasons that aren't very clear to me. Only discovered on the 16th that there was any real competition, and on the 20th (my five month anniversary of leaving England) got an email saying the decision had been made (against me). Feel very disappointed and somewhat angry with the odd way I've been treated; not quite sure where to go next now. Was really quite looking forward to a several month break from being on the road.

Only in Tegucigalpa did I realise quite how tired I am. After five months travelling, tired from lugging this backpack around, tired from navigating totally new countries, tired of always meeting new people, tired as well from just finishing a fairly intense week of scuba diving. Although I have no desire to come back to England for a rest, the idea of fixing myself for a while was immensely appealing.

I have a twenty quetzale note in one of my pockets, I didn't change it when I left Guatemala, figuring I'd be back soon. Now it seems to keep resurfacing every time I look for change, reminding me that I'm not going back after all. There are a lot of things about Todosantos I had settled in my head that I would soon be seeing again: the friends I had made, the mountains sharp against the morning sunlight, hiking, getting my traditional red trousers and big collared white shirt made up at one of the town's tailors... Deeply sad to think I am unlikely to see these things again for quite some time, if ever.

Going to have a rest and a think over Christmas and try to work out another plan. Think it is either to head up north via Belize and maybe stopping in Cuba and go back towards LA, to fly on to SE Asia, or alternatively fly to somewhere in South America, and make my way to Australia in time for my work visa. Probably I will fly to somewhere in South America around mid-January. I realise, in the grand scheme of things, perhaps this isn't a big problem to have, but suspect it will be a week or so before I've resolved the disappointment. Any suggestions of what and where next would be very welcome.

Anyway, aside from all the above, what is Honduras like? Here's some of the things Gari and myself saw in mainland Honduras. An update on my amazing week diving in the island of Utila should follow soon.

To the border

After the Day of the Devil in Coban, Gari and I travelled south to the Guatemalan border town of Chiquimula. Chiquimula is like nowhere I had been in Guatemala, it was hot, relaxed, with a distinctly freer, partying atmosphere. Was this what Honduras would be like? It was a similar feeling to arriving in Chiapas: where although I was still officially in Mexico, I felt powerfully as though I had already crossed into a different country.

Gari and myself wandered the nighttime streets, stumbling across the first gay bar I had seen in Guatemala. Gari is gay, and immediately remarked "Dan, something tells me this is a gay bar." I resumed my customary vague awkwardness that amuses Gari whenever he and I drink in gay bars either in Soho or abroad, but I slowly relaxed somewhat, and ended up having a long conversation with a Chiquimulan guy called Byron. This ended abruptly when his intimidatingly large boyfriend sloped over and muttered to him, "Vamos". It was a fun and strange goodbye to Guatemala, us and regulars choosing cheesy '80s anthems from the jukebox: Girls Just Want to Have Fun, Total Eclipse of the Heart, Bette Davis Eyes.

Copan Ruinas

Copan is the southernmost major Mayan archeological site, and as I hadn't seen any of them yet, and Gari wanted to see something of the history of Central America, our first stop in Honduras was the pleasant town of Copan Ruinas. The ruins themselves were kind of how I expected � not that exciting. Most of the site had been so well restored you could have played cricket on the grass, which didn't really do much to convey the wonder of this civilization long lost to the jungle, and according to my guidebook many of the treasures of Copan are now held in the British Museum. Wherever you go in the world, one can always count on the British having nicked stuff.

One section really spoke to me, however, a great pyramid only partly restored, its broken stone blocks all out of kilter, with great trees bursting triumphant from its slopes, the claws of their long snaking roots proclaiming their victory. This I felt conveyed the ancientness of Copan better than all the pristinely preserved carved statues. I tried to hold in my mind the reality of the Mayan population slowly leaving this great city (as the valley's agriculture failed) and the jungle stretching out and reclaiming the land.

A real highlight of our time in the town of Copan was a birthday party we stumbled on. Walking out of the tourist centre, looking for an actual Honduran type restaurant, we came to a simple concrete building with three Mariachi players standing outside. The manager came up and said, "We're having a fiesta, it's my birthday, but come in, come in, dinner is free". Somewhat unsure what to do, we sat down and were served dinner along with everyone else, and the Mariachis started playing. We tried to think of an appropriate birthday present, as we felt privileged to have been invited in � but we got stuck between somehow showing our thanks and not taking over the party with our tourist novelty. Gari had a £20 note with him, which would be good as a present from England, but this seemed too much, if anyone realized how many Lempiras this would be worth (probably much more than any of the other presents). We thought about singing Happy Birthday in English, but felt this would just emphasise our tourist-ness, and decided we didn't want to ruin the quiet acceptance of our presence. Perhaps the best thing was to simply accept his hospitality, as he could have easily and politely turned us away had he wanted.

Slowly we realised what an unhappy birthday this seemed to be for him. Few people in the room seemed to be genuine friends of his � silent men sat drinking his rum without more than a grunt of thanks. He was alone most of the night, looking anxiously around, and it turned out a remarkably boorish old man sitting behind us was paying for much of the party. After a while, we thanked him for the meal and decided to leave, still unsure whether we should have done more to make the night happier for him.

In the glare of the Honduras sun

The Honduras sun is fierce. I feel it wounding my skin, the brightness leaves me blind every time I cross into shade. The coastal city of La Ceiba is my first ever taste of the Caribbean � I have unquestionably left the Indian world of southern Mexico and Guatemala behind. The quietness of Guatemala, the simplicity of an early rising, early to bed life, three kids by your eighteenth birthday � all these seem to have gone. Hondurans are much taller and much more multi-racial than Guatemalans � I weave my way past skin tones from Afro-Caribbean to northern European white.

This feels like a more extrovert, quick tempered country, people shout much more here, though I rarely hear a voice raised in anger. Kids use an immense amount of swearing talking to their friends; La Ceiba school girls idlingly on their lunch break whistle at me and shout "Hey handsome!", something which hasn't happened to me since Oaxaca. The people wear shorts and sun glasses, two items I haven't seen in months, and I look utterly out of place in my Panama hat from Chichi.

Honduras seems less communal than Guatemala, people walk the streets without acknowledging each other, until they run into a friend and shout out happy greetings, making everyone wait while they embrace and natter. The way many of the younger people hold themselves strongly reminds me of parts of New York or LA, a bold swagger in their walk says "look at me, don't get in my way". Hondurans may not have much of the Mayan quietness about them, but this doesn't make them any less friendly. I find it hard to wait long at a bar without some young guy barking at one of the staff to get their attention for me.

Honduras is supposed to be the poorest country in Central America, but it is sometimes hard to see where all this poverty is (at least in the urban centres Gari and I visited). People seem more or less well fed (some are fantastically fat, something else I haven't seen in months), children run happily around La Ceiba's sea front laughing, prices are if anything a little higher than in Guatemala, people's English often seems better too.

One thing that is very noticeable is the way the power of the United States shines everywhere here. In San Pedro Sula's centre, it is all but impossible to eat in a non US-chain restaurant. The American world of shopping malls, junk food and hip hop styles seems to have been transplanted whole, something I find often disorientating. Honduras has historically been an ally of the US in Central America; I see many men wearing pro-USA t-shirts with the stars and stripes or with lines like "We will win!"

Other aspects of past US involvement can be seen. An articulate Honduran tells me that after the US sponsored war against the Nicuraguan Sandinistas ended, guns flooded the country. An AK47 with ammunition at one point apparently sold for 150 Lempiras (approx. £5), but now bank robbers in San Pedro Sula have upgraded to anti-tank rocket launchers. Honduras does seem a somewhat more militarised, gun-ified country than anywhere I've been yet. Uniformed men carry assault rifles or huge shotguns everywhere, even if they are just guarding a fast food restaurant. Walking past the police station of the capital Tegucigalpa on the way back to my hotel one night, I see four soldiers with immense rifles sitting in a car, and in the back cowers a scruffy man, blood seeping from his mouth. I walk on quickly - there are some suns is it perhaps best not to fly too close to.

PS: Merry Christmas to all. Thanks for reading my travel diary and thanks to everyone who has been emailing me, I really appreciate it. It has been a great boon on tough days to be able to retreat to an internet cafe and see who has sent me a message.


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