Westward, Manifest Destiny!
Leaving La Ceiba, Honduras was easy enough, packed into a small van with 30 to 40 other passengers. The babies are amazingly quiet, but then again a good number are breastfeeding.
The first stop on the way to the Guatemalan border was Tela, which the guidebook said ran a railroad to Puerto Cortez, a jumping off point for Guatemalan entry. Exiting the bus, I was blasted with the Carribean heat, even while carrying my meager belongings. Walking through the streets of the town, I could not determine where this mysterious train track was hidden. Turning a corner to the local stadium, I noticed a single rail, running under cars and through grassy patches, obviously not used in years. Checking the revision on the Lonely Planet guide: 2004.
So it was back in a cramped bus to San Pedro Sula, and then a van to Puerto Cortez. The van literally had no more room - despite most passengers standing in the entrance or on each others laps. Gasping for air as the doors swung open, it was then into a small chicken bus (converted school bus from the states with x3 or x4 capacity) for Omoa, a sleepy town near the border.
I had heard much about Roli's Place, a little hostel run by a Swiss gentleman about 1 km down the main road of Omoa. Men with bicycles, converted into foot pedal chariots, ferried passengers down the long expanse of street, but I opted for the path on foot. Roli's was a large grassy area with small signs posted all around in English, as Roli does not live there all year round. Free drinking water, kitchen usage, laundry on a washboard, shower, and bicycles - all for the price of $4 a night. Being the off season, the place was almost deserted, save for the Honduran woman running the place and two travelers from Switzerland and Germany, respectively. They were traveling following a stint working with disabled children in Guatemala. We made dinner together, before I crashed from exhaustion into the large, empty, dormitory room.
The next morning I woke up early (the sun generally rises a 6am, and sets at 6pm, regardless of the time of year). Packing my freshly laundered clothes (first time on a washboard!), I walked toward the main road, stopping at the fortress of San Fernando - largest Colonial-era fortress in Central America. Its main purpose was to protect against pirates robbing Spanish holdings, but due to the lack of stone in the area, lack of workers due to smallpox outbreaks among the locals conscripted to work, and various other blunders, the fortress took over 20 years to be built. Adding insult to injury, the fortress was captured almost immediately, and never protected the area from pirates. According to the guide, "deciding it was easier to get into than out of," the fortress was converted to a jail, and later simply a historical monument.
Word assignment for the day: learn how to say "packed like sardines" in Spanish
The first stop on the way to the Guatemalan border was Tela, which the guidebook said ran a railroad to Puerto Cortez, a jumping off point for Guatemalan entry. Exiting the bus, I was blasted with the Carribean heat, even while carrying my meager belongings. Walking through the streets of the town, I could not determine where this mysterious train track was hidden. Turning a corner to the local stadium, I noticed a single rail, running under cars and through grassy patches, obviously not used in years. Checking the revision on the Lonely Planet guide: 2004.
So it was back in a cramped bus to San Pedro Sula, and then a van to Puerto Cortez. The van literally had no more room - despite most passengers standing in the entrance or on each others laps. Gasping for air as the doors swung open, it was then into a small chicken bus (converted school bus from the states with x3 or x4 capacity) for Omoa, a sleepy town near the border.
I had heard much about Roli's Place, a little hostel run by a Swiss gentleman about 1 km down the main road of Omoa. Men with bicycles, converted into foot pedal chariots, ferried passengers down the long expanse of street, but I opted for the path on foot. Roli's was a large grassy area with small signs posted all around in English, as Roli does not live there all year round. Free drinking water, kitchen usage, laundry on a washboard, shower, and bicycles - all for the price of $4 a night. Being the off season, the place was almost deserted, save for the Honduran woman running the place and two travelers from Switzerland and Germany, respectively. They were traveling following a stint working with disabled children in Guatemala. We made dinner together, before I crashed from exhaustion into the large, empty, dormitory room.
The next morning I woke up early (the sun generally rises a 6am, and sets at 6pm, regardless of the time of year). Packing my freshly laundered clothes (first time on a washboard!), I walked toward the main road, stopping at the fortress of San Fernando - largest Colonial-era fortress in Central America. Its main purpose was to protect against pirates robbing Spanish holdings, but due to the lack of stone in the area, lack of workers due to smallpox outbreaks among the locals conscripted to work, and various other blunders, the fortress took over 20 years to be built. Adding insult to injury, the fortress was captured almost immediately, and never protected the area from pirates. According to the guide, "deciding it was easier to get into than out of," the fortress was converted to a jail, and later simply a historical monument.
Word assignment for the day: learn how to say "packed like sardines" in Spanish
posted by Benjamin at
8:05 PM
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