Yay chickens. I wonder why I was concerned with bringing an alarm clock when I am awakened every morning at godless hours by pollo locos.
I am starting to think that Central America is actually (I had to go back and rewrite that in English cuz I started in Spanish) ruled by a secret army of chickens. They dominate the transport industry with their chicken busses, they control the breakfast market with their eggs, and are second only to corn or perhaps rice in their lunch and dinner proliferation. Not to mention they actively control the sleep cycles of all the humans. This could be a real crisis.
No shower today, since I left my sandals in Antigua and haven’t managed to purchase more, despite wandering the streets for quite some time last night. FYI: I love pupusas. Today is a leisurely morning. Pack the bag, pick up the stuff. Another lovely surprise is that somehow all my Velcro that I use to tie up cords and things has disappeared from the room. I wonder if grandmother was helping me out by cleaning and threw them all out. Nice.
Halfway through packing, grandmother brings me a cup of coffee, which is especially cool because the cup is decidedly cleaner than it was yesterday. I tell her I am rolling out and she tells me a whole bunch of things I don’t actually understand.
I make mention that the dog bite wasn’t the highlight of my week to grandmother and grandfather and they regale me with a wonderful story that, if I understood properly, goes something like this. Little girl walks down the street. She is wearing jeans and passes in front of their house. Awesome dog runs out the door and sinks all his teeth into her calf. Dog needs to be beaten and forcibly removed from her leg by grown man from across the street, but not before it has caused massive injury to the girls calf and shredded the jeans. The End.
Lovely story. I stop to take a few pictures of the chickens and am assaulted by the rooster; should have seen that one coming. It’s time to roll out, so we all say our goodbyes and I walk into town to get directions to the bus station from the only English speaking person I know how to find; Melissa from the internet café.
The walk feels good. It’s probably only about a kilometer, but the weight of the pack makes the work feel sincere; honest. Melissa really goes above and beyond by helping me to find a supercheap ($2.50) pair of sandals, and then hailing a tuktuk for me to take to the bus station.
Once I arrive, it’s time to play Musical Busses!!! I need to get to the city Angiatu. There is a conveniently marked bus labeled “Angiatu” near the rear of the dirt bus complex. In speaking to the bus driver, I learn that this is not the bus to Angiatu as the gigantic sign would lead me to believe, but that the bus is elsewhere. The next 20 minutes consists of me bouncing from bus to bus in some heinous recreation of a pinball game getting stranger and more varied answers with each bus. Half of this time I am accompanied by the only ambulatory person I have ever seen who is actually more drunk before noon than Jack Sparrow was. He makes the experience more flavorful.
Finally, I walk up to what appears to be the El Salvadoran equivalent of a supermarket that has been placed inside the bus terminal and just start asking people if they are going where I need to go. This works VERY well, and within moments I add myself to a large pile of children and women in varying stages of gestation who are all bound in the same direction I am. A gentleman in a clean black polo materializes next to me and says a few phrases to me in English. “Hello.” “How are you?” “It is warm today.” “I have a car.” “Have a good day.”
I think he simply said every word he knew in English and then shook my hand and walked away. On a side note, women over 300 pounds should wear bras; No Exceptions. Here comes the bus.
The fun part about a chicken bus is that the emergency exit is not just for emergencies anymore! You get to climb in or out of it whenever you want! The bus fills up from both sides like a pair of Chinese fingercuffs. Promptly on the tail of the passengers come the vendors. Ice cream, vegetables, all manner of snack foods and drinks come through the bus and are purchased with surprising frequency. After a few minutes we are on the way. I ask how many stops there are between the terminal and Angiatu. The lady in front of me says there are none. Apparently I asked the wrong question. Our bus stops about 50 times between Metapan and Angiatu.
The Guatemalan border crossing is confusing to them because I just left two days before. Noone can figure out why I would want to come back so soon. Apparently they have never been to El Salvador. I catch a couple more shuttles for a total of about 50Q to get from one border to the next. One guy even lets me pay in American quarters, which blew my mind. I got a glimpse of just how loose the intercity busses run when we pulled up at Vado Hondo to switch shuttles to take me to the border of Honduras and the other shuttle was already several hundred yards down the road and leaving. Through a process of laying on the horn, screaming, and madly waving arms in the air my shuttle drivers were able to communicate to the rapidly disappearing bus that they needed to stop and wait for me. It all worked out in the end and I made it across the border to Honduras with minimal issue.
One thing to note, when crossing out of Guatemala to El Salvador it is free (unless you are stupid), but when crossing from Guatemala into Honduras it will cost you $2 US to leave Guatemala and $3 US to enter Honduras. There was no logical or discernible explanation given to me despite repeated questioning for why You must pay to leave Guatemala at one point and not another. There was also no signage indicating that one needed to pay. Again, I must assume this is an agreement between the border officials and the tour bus companies who filter massive amounts of turistas through the border there to go to Copan.
The first guy across the border offers me a taxi ride which I promptly turn down. The next guy was a wildly lazy eye and a shuttle he wants me to ride in for 20 Limpiras, but it won’t leave for at least 15 minutes. I decide I’d rather hitchhike and walk back up to the road and thumb down a car. It turns out to be the taxi driver and he will take me to Copan for 20L. At least I don’t have to hang around the border any longer. It’s a beautiful drive and I use the time to relax and review my next steps.
- Procure a place to sleep.
- Find internet and figure out what Schwab Banks problem is.
- Get food.
Hopefully I can combine these last two. I chose a hotel to check out first from my book a while ago. Turns out they have one room left and it’s 150L a night. I get her to drop to 130L, about 7 dollars, and book it.
Luckily there is a place next door called Casa de Todo which is not a lie. They have internet, Laundry Service, Food, coffee, alcohol, books, souvenirs, and a cat. Platos tipical go a long way after being on a bus for most of the day.
Fed and watered, I go out to wander the city. The layout is really quite similar to Antigua; central park surrounded by a grid of streets. I spend a couple hours just wandering in and out of shops getting a coffee or trying one of the national cervezas and striking up a conversation with anyone there.
Things are progressing well, and I’m walking back through Parque Central to go grab my laptop and do some writing when I hear, “Genki desu ka?” come from behind me. Given the number of comparisons between C.A. and Japan that I have thrown out there lately, this should not really be that surprising, but it stops me dead in my tracks.
Turning around I see a rather unassuming Honduran man standing on a corner all by himself. He repeats,”Genki desu ka?”
I reply in the affirmative and greasing the wheels of the Japanese section of my brain, I rattle off a few more sentences at him. The lost look appears on his face that tells me we have passed the threshold of his Japanese knowledge.
Manuel, a caballero tour guide, tells me that there is a surprising number of Japanese turistas that come through Copan. He has managed to pick up a few phrases to pick up tourist business and even speaks English serviceably.
We sit and jabber for a while in the square with the barrage of startled and confused humanity flowing around us in the Honduran night. It’s fun to think about what the others wandering around us must think hearing our voices bounce in and out of several different languages without warning. Finally, Manuel gives me his phone number, so I’ll pass it on to you in case you are even in Copan and need a hand.
Manuel: 011-504-9823-3144
The rest of the night is passed at a wine and coffee bar with a pair of Japanese turistas enjoying a glass of Chilean red and trying to write with little success.
Morning in Honduras is somewhat of a novelty. For starters there are NO ROOSTERS screaming at me to get out of bed. I’m thrilled to have a shower waiting for me , so I make a small effort of getting my act together and getting into the shower. The “hot water” that is available in some of the hotels here in C.A. is actually an electric showerhead that, when wired improperly or hastily, can shock a person while they are trying to get clean. Luckily, Hotel Los Gemenos does not have that problem and I am able to get a decent warm shower by finding the delicate balance where the shower is heated and the water pressure is still strong enough to get me clean.
Outside of Copan there is a significant amount of rainforest. Over said rainforest, there are some gigantic steel cables that are used as ziplines. You won’t find this in any guide books, and you won’t see it advertised in town. You have to know about it and ask one of the locals how to get there. If you ask for a zipline, you will get a blank look. You will have to ask for “Canopy” and any local will pick up the phone and call Canopy Tours and have them come pick you up wherever you are and take you up to ride about 15 different ziplines that span a few kilometers. I learned about this from a family at dinner last night and it was confirmed by Manuel.
After Copan Ruins, this is my next destination; but first to go see another dead city. The Ruins are roughly a kilometer outside of the city. It’s a nice walk and happily I am not assaulted by the taxi and tuktuk drivers on the way, making it that much more pleasant.
Looking at the map, the city is compact, especially in comparison to Tikal which stretched over many kilometers. What in Tikal would have been a 5-30 minute walk from structure to structure was as simple as turning around here in Copan. The reality of Copan is quite different from the map. The buildings are beautifully crafted. Nearly every building is covered with ornate carvings and crafts. Entire gigantic staircases ornately carved telling the history of the Mayans in this valley and the story of creation. From time to time I hook up with a tour and listen to the guide filling in the people on what’s what. I even roll with a Japanese and Spanish speaking tour at different points, though I understand little of the Japanese with my brain primarily in Spanish mode. It’s interesting to me that the Mayans were making pokemon sculptures and emoticons a thousand or so years before anyone else. 🙂
Also, note that the combination Tiger/penis/flamethrower seems to be a recurring decorative tough.
The fun part of the morning comes in the form of a strange North American. He walks around the temple performing pseudo-yoga and wearing what appears to be a hotel towel as a headband while doing a Mister Miagi impression over his expansive gut.
After spending most of the morning in the ruins, I’m starting to get a little hungry and decide it is time to head back in to town. I’d like to find another panaderia in town to get some rolls for traveling food.
Café Viavia is in every guidebook I have seen. It’s a short walk from Parque Central west, and is popular for good reason. Wireless internet, good food, large portions, and a very cool environment. The bartender speaks a very small amount of English, so We chat for a moment and I order something called a baleada. This is basically a quesadilla about twice the size of any you have ever seen, filled with all manner of meat and spice and awesome. By the time I am done with it, I’m considering just laying down and going to sleep. Two things stop me from doing so. A pair of hungry looking dogs sitting and staring at me from a few feet away who I know are fully capable of eating my face, should I put it in range. And the thought of zipline greatness over the rainforest. I swing by the local bodega that I have been buying water at for the last couple days and ask her about the canopy tours. She says she knows the guy and picks up the phone to call him. Informing me that he’ll be right over and that I should wait, she goes back to work. This whole scenario sounds awfully familiar to Antigua, so after waiting for about 5 minutes, I get bored and walk off to Parque Central to find my own ride there.
Noone driving a tuktuk speaks English; this is a fact you must realize and deal with if you are traveling. If they WERE bilingual, they would be working a better paying job. My new tuktuk driver makes pleasant conversation over the bone rattling ride through the cobblestone streets of downtown. I don’t bother to reply for fear of biting my tongue off on accident.
In typical Central American form, the Canopy guide is asleep when we arrive. He seems a likeable enough fellow after waking up, though, and I would surprised if he were even 20 years of age. We do a brief introduction, then he starts giving me a TSA-familiar brushing of the inside of my legs while he is hooking up my harness. Now that he has felt my member and we are properly acquainted, he gives me a brief demonstration of how to hook up to the line and where to place my hands, which when you look at the following video, you’ll see that I completely disregard.
The view from the top is everything that we have been promised it would be. Wild and unspoilt, the forest is inspiring, even at speeds that seem properly unsafe. I must say, if you ever get the chance to do something similar, do not let it pass you by. If given the chance to go upside down or ‘Superman’ style, do it… and try not to puke.
Garrett is the other gentleman on the ziplide ride with me. He is an English teacher from the Virgin Islands with a love for travel and an extremely well endowed girlfriend. I imagine that this works in his favor while his students are hitting on him, as seems to be commonplace. Over the course of the tour, we discover that he and I are staying at the same hotel and traveling to the same city tomorrow. We pay the kingly sum of $35 each plus tip and head out for happy hour at Twisted Tanya’s.
Tanya’s is also in every guide book you will find. I’m not sure why, other than the prolific use of garlic in their cooking which makes my mouth water so much I’m going to look like I just wet myself from the slobber. The food I can’t speak for, not having eaten here, but the drinks are mildly weak and the waitress, Victoria (NOT Vicki as I am informed), has a left eye that is decidedly lower on her face than her right. Britons being as they are, a somewhat challenged gene pool at times, I have to assume this isn’t actually a setback in her country. Though, perhaps that is the reason that she came to Central America.
Garrett informs me that rather than pay 200L for dinner at Tanya’s there is a place down the road that serves great tacos for next to nothing. Little did I know that “down the road” also meant “IN the road.” Thus far I have been quite lucky. I have brushed my teeth with the water, I have had drinks with local ice, and I have eaten fresh vegetables and fruit from time to time. Having a go at some grilled meat tacos doesn’t seem like too much of a stretch.
Perhaps this was ill advised.
After chowing down on some rather bland tacos to fill my stomach up in the lobby of the Hotel Los Gemenos, Garrett and I kick back and chat for a little while until a slender dark haired Briton comes into the hotel and asks for a room. The hotel owner quotes the standard rate of 150L a night and the girls is obviously too tired to do anything but nod. Catching her attention, I tell her quietly in English that she can easily get 20L taken off the price just by asking. She thanks me, though I have no idea if she did, since I bid Garrett good night and wander off to find a wireless signal.
After a few minutes on the web, I start to feel terrible. By the time I get back to the hotel, I am having chills, sweats, and my stomach is doing backflips. As one can rightly assume from this knowledge, I had a long night.
Hallucinations can be troubling, especially when they are so close to real life. Between ill fated visits to the restroom, I imagine all manner of weird and awful things. Just about the only good part of the whole night is when I dreamt I was driving my truck. What a distant memory driving a vehicle is after just a few short weeks.
The morning light finally filters in and I make a show of getting dressed. Today is the first day I have worn pants, because it is completely overcast and there is a light rain coming down. Casasolas sells relatively cheap $6 tickets to San Pedro Sula, so that is my first stop for the day before heading out to find something to put back in my stomach and hope it won’t come right back out again.
Welchez gourmet coffee house has become my base camp for the last few days. They serve something for every meal, and have lovely coffee drinks of just about any kind and a real espresso machine! You can choose from a two level courtyard, open air seats, a balcony, or the main dining area. The staff is helpful, though none of them speak English, and the bread they serve is among the best I have tasted. Try the Mocha.
Breakfast comes in the form of a very basic ommelette and their lovely bread with some black coffee. Despite repeated waves of nausea, it all seems to have stayed down and I need to head back to the hotel and pack my bag before killing a couple hours. Checkout time is 10:30.