I Saw a Guy with a Shotgun Riding a Bicycle

No lie. I wouldn't be surprised if he had his finger on the trigger.

I belive I last wrote from Flores, after the strange meeting with Sterling and a great Brit named Botz (short for Ian Bottomly), who is now about 45 but was previously in a punk band in the 70s. Also met a travel writer for The Guardian newspaper in London, who had some great stories from Central and South America.

I took a day trip to Tikal, to visit the Mayan ruins. Jungle covered towering stone structures, with birds and monkeys everywhere. Pictures worth more than words here.

Leaving Flores, I took a bus through extremely twisty roads to the town of Coban. Arriving at mid-day, I had heard that there was a large orchid farm a bit outside the city. I took a taxi to the base of a large hill, and walked up a steep muddy road to a nursery on the hill. I was immediately greeted by about 1,000 Monja Blanca, an orchid and national flower of Guatemala. In total, the farm had over 8,000 orchids of various species, and a number of other flowers. Despite my poor Spanish, the owner arranged for a personal tour, explaining all the different types of orchids (flowering, nonflowering, micro-orchids, etc). Fantastic.

Back in town, I swung by a local coffee farm to sample some of their world renowned Guatemalan coffee before settling down at the hotel.

In the morning, after an interesting conversation with the night watchman at the hotel about having paid already the night before, I caught a bus back through the highlands to Guatemala City. Arriving a little after noon, I asked some taxi drivers where I could catch a bus to Panajachel, on Lake Atitlan, but everyone seemed to think that there was only one bus, which had left at 8am. Thinking that couldn't be right, I stopped in at Hotel Fenix, my hotel the first night in Guatemala (which happened to be around the corner), to ask the owner if I had in fact missed the bus. The wonderful woman who owns the hotel made some phonecalls, and determined that all of the shuttle busses had left or were full, but I could still catch a chicken bus until 3:30.

The chicken bus is a phenomenon in Guatemala that I may never understand. First, picture a bus that might take sleepy school children in America to classes each morning. Add a wild paint job, say firetruck red or avacado green. Slap on enormous decals of reading ¨JesuCristo mi amor¨ or ¨Jesus, El Senor,¨ add a luggage rack on top and ladders on the sides, and you might get the idea. The bus driver usually works with a partner, who has the job of shuttling people on and off the always moving bus. The travel books warn against such buses, calling them dangerous and unnecessary. I say for a couple of cents to just about anywhere you can't get a better ride.

Jumping on a chicken bus to the Lake, I knew I was in for an interesting ride. Traveling into the mountains, the fog in the cloud forests quickly became quite thick. Still, the bus roared through narrow streets, crossing the yellow line to pass cars and trucks at every opportunity, honking loudly. At one point, we can to a downhill slope where a long line of traffic was stopped. Apparently there had been an accident somewhere on the road ahead, but the bus driver wasn´t about to take that for an answer. On a road only big enough for about one lane of cars, the bus crossed the dividing line and into oncoming traffic, darting between trucks, vans, and other oncoming buses. At one point the fog was so thick that all you could see was about 10 meters of road on either side, and headlights coming on quick from the front. To make things more interesting, guard rails in Guatemala are almost nonexistant.

After speeding down the hill passing hundreds of stopped cars, we arrived at a point where men were carrying crates of potates from up over the cliff to the right. Rolling closer, I saw that a truck full of potato crates had toppled over the edge, spilling the contents all over the landscape. Speeding past the scene, we continued toward the west.

It turned out that the bus did not go all the way to Panajachel, my destination for the evening, so I took another small bus to the city of Solola, where a giant market was in full swing at the city center, near a towering church. From the vantage point of the hill, you could easily see the lake in the distance, flanked by three separate volcanos.

Walking out of town, the signs read 7 km to Panajachel. After about 1 km of walking, I met up with an Italian couple also making their way toward the city. Through a mix of broken English, Spanish, and French, we got to know each other well by the time we were a bit outside the city. Stopping to get a fabulous view of the lake from the side of a cliff, we were offered a ride in a pickup down to the city proper. There in town, we parted ways as I made for a hotel.

After purchasing an enchilada, taco, and a donut from the local bakery, I walked down the docks to enjoy the meal. The volcanoes are a powerful sight against the red hues of the setting sun. As I was about the eat the donut, I heard someone call ¨Ben-ya-min,¨ and saw none other than the Italian couple. The man is a fireman, and apparently they were staying with the other firemen in the town of Panajachel. They have traveled all around Central and South America, but thought that Argentina was the best, or at least offered the widest variety of scenery.

Tomorrow it´s off to San Pedro, by boat across the lake.

Absurd

In Flores, I am staying at a hostel called Los Amigos. Upon walking into the place, I saw a number of foreigners lounging in hammocks and the like, as the place is popular with the backpacking crowd.

Sitting down at a table, I pulled out a book by Mishima, a Japanese author, that was lent to me by Kiira´s room mate Karen. Three other guys were sitting at the table, and one started talking about Mishima. I asked if he had ever been to Japan, and he said he was an English teacher in Yamaguchi.

He stared at me for a second, and says ¨You´re Ben from Japan!¨

Apparently this guy, Sterling, had read Angela´s blog and the blogs of the other people in Yamagichi before arriving in 2005. He remembered who I was from some of the pictures.

Small world, eh?

Into the Highlands

Coming to you live from the island city of Flores. But for now, back to Omoa.

Crossing from Omoa into Guatemala involved flagging down a highway bus filled with locals traveling to the border. Also on the bus was a guy from California, building schools and churches in Honduras. Because of visa issues (reminds me of Micah), he is forced to leave the country every three months, or be deported. We chatted for a bit about Belize, where he was heading, and the general state of affairs in Honduras.

Arriving at the border, everyone exited the bus to walk across the border. The tour book said there would be small (2$) exit and entry fees to get out of Honduras and into Guatemala, but I was waved through with only my passport. I jumped back on a bus to Puerto Barrios, where I could catch another to Rio Dulce, my destination for the evening.

In Puerto Barrios, things started to get a little interesting. My stomach felt queasy, and being packed into a hot, crowded bus wasn´t helping. By the time I got off the bus in Rio Dulce, I knew I needed to find a pace to crash quickly.

Rio Dulce is situated on the water, inland from the Carribean Sea. The north and south halves of the town are separated by a large bridge, then baking the in midday heat. The bus let me off on the north side of the town, so I walked over the bridge to the south to find El Tortugal, a nice looking hotel on the water. Arriving at the south side, I couldn´t find the place anywhere. I trudged back over the bridge ot the north side, where the locals told me I needed to take a boat to get to Tortugal. Trying to relax on the benches at the marina, I knew I was getting sick.

As the boat arrived to take me and a few other guests to the hotel, I picked up my luggage, only to quickly dart for the bathroom before breakfast came back out the way it came in. Throwing up felt oddly refreshing, and continued through most of the day. Riding the boat to Tortugal, I checked in quickly and fell asleep.

Tortugal was a boater´s paradise. Yaghts from all over the world were stationed there, along with various wealthy people to match. The beds were comfy, the food delicious, and the prices were cheap, so I spent the next day recovering while rain soaked the surrounding areas.

Leaving Tortugal, I found a small road through a swampy area, avoiding the boat ride back to the marina. I jumped on bus headed to Poptun, getting off outside the city to visit Finca Ixobel.

Finca is a bit of a commune stationed deep in the highlands. Many people spend weeks there relaxing, horseback riding, or farming to pass the time. At Finca I met a girl named Jenny and her friend, who had made the trek through the states and Mexico to end up in Guatemala. Jenny is a tree planter during the summer, planting over 1000 trees a day. She says it is hard work, but rewarding. Her friend plays the flute, and also dances along with the rythm.

At Finca I spent most of the time wandering around the large farm area, and walking with horses through deep jungley forests. The surroundings were extremely peaceful. The dinners at the place were surved buffet style, with delicious offerings every night. I was a bit sad to leave, but it was nice to know that such a peaceful place exists.

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

Survivor!

When we last left our heros, they were shacked up in a small hotel room above a bread shop in downtown La Ceiba, Honduras...

Tony, one of the directors of the foundation for Cayos Cochinos, is quite an interesting fellow. His enthusiasm is contagious and he is always on the go, but in the coming days I learned that he should avoid the use of the word ¨definitely.¨

Early Wednesday moring, Regina and jumped in the back of Tony´s pickup, along with Kyle and Erika, for a fabulous ride along the ocean toward what he called a ¨secret hot spring.¨ Honduras is graced with towering cloud forests wedged against the shoreline, which makes for a breathtaking drive as the sun is rising over the hillsides. After 30 minutes, Tony suddenly took a right turn onto a dirt road that led over a small hill and down to a stream. Here, the locals pumped hot spring water into a series of holding tanks, which then flowed to a semi-circle of small bathing huts, large enough to fit one or two people each.

I didn´t catch the name of the area, but the bathing huts are located near a detox camp called ¨Usha¨ where celebrities as well as locals come to relax and be healed. Tony said that one of the men running the camp has claimed to be able to cure AIDS, but the evidence is lacking. Lisa ¨Left Eye¨ Lopez, of TLC fame, came to the camp and was living in the area before her untimely death in a nearby car accident. Regardless of the healing properties of the water, the hot spring bath was amazing. A light rain fell through lazy cloudcover, making for interesting trips into the hot water and back out to the rain.

After about an hour at the camp, Tony decided to show us his other favorite local hideaways, including a secluded beach with small grass huts and a waterfall up in the mountains. While climbing the mountain into the jungle, we stopped to pick up some local fisherman who were hunting a little upstream. That area is also popular amoung the adventure seeking crowd, as the rapids make for excellent white water rafting.

Exiting the truck next to a military outpost protecting against illegal logging, we hiked over a wooden foot bridge and through the jungle before arriving at a large rock and crystal clear pool of water. Taking turns jumping off the rock into the water, I couldn´t help but think that this was a part of Honduras that is not in the tour books.

Tony then showed us his favorite restaurant back in town, where we ordered tortillas and beef cooked over a grill, with bananas and beans on the side. I couldn´t discern what kind of fruit comprised the drink, but it was delicious nonetheless. I napped the rest of the evening, and Erika, Regina, and I went to the $1 movie that evening.

The next day, Tony had arranged for us to travel to Cayos Cochinos, the group of small islands off the coast. He said there would definitely be a boat out to the island for the four of us, as well as a boat returning the next day. That´s when the adventure started...

Arriving at the docks, we waited for a boat to arrive to take us to the islands. Apparently on one of the islands, a large film crew was shooting the latest season of the spanish version of Survivor, and had rented almost all of the boats traveling to and from the islands. When the captian arrived, the battery in the boat was dead, but we got a jumpstart from another boat in the area. Things started well as we zoomed out of the harbor and into the blue. About a mile away from out desitnation, we got the rudder snagged on a fishing net, and had to stop the engine. When the captian couldn´t get the engine started again, we had to call the coast guard to jumpstart the boat and deliver us to the largest island of the Cayos. From the main island we took aother boat to the East End, and then another boat to Chachauate, where Tony left us for the night.

Chachauate is a little piece of paradise. Not much more than a sandbar, you can easily walk around the island in under 5 minutes. The island is inhabited by the black Garifuna, a people originially from the area around Jamaica. We spend the rest of the day snorkeling in the reef around the tiny island, and slept in the house of ose of the locals, after a delicious fish dinner. A night, we saw of the of the best star displays, with Mars and the Milky Way clearly visible.

The next day, struggling though a sun burn, we snorkeled throughout the morning and met some more of the foreigners on the island. There was a couple from Canada, who are migrant fruit pickers, working for 3 months out of the year and traveling in the cheaper central american countries during the rest. There was also a couple from Brazil, and an older woman from Barcelona who had lived on the Cayos for seven years.

Toward the afternoon, we had to catch a boat back to the main island by 5 pm in order to get back to the mainland. When Regina called Tony at 3, he said that all the boats were full with the cast and crew of Survivor, who were filming live to Spain that day. Perhaps two of us would be able to leave. Unsure if we would even be able to get a boat in the next few days, we convinced one of the locals to take us all in a small fishing boat to the main island, where we would wait for anything that was traveling back to the shore.

On the main island, we were told that only one person would be able to leave the island. As we discussed the irony of being stuck in Survivor land, we spent the rest of the afternoon trapped in paradise, lounging among the palm trees and clear blue waters. As the boat was ready to leave with the Survivor film crew, one of the entire teams of competitors on the show ran by us to a waiting helicopter. The helicopter took off and shot across the island where we later learned that they had to jump from the craft into the water, and then swim ashore to be rewarded with blankets and matches. On the winning team wwere three members of a popular Spanish band, a famous model, and a well known news reporter. The other team, apparently the losing half yet equally as famous, was relinquished to a smaller island with no matches, blankets, or food.

Regina and I voted Kyle and Erika off the island, as there were two spots in the leaving boat and they needed to ge back to Tegucigalpa. I was happy to stay on the island as long as possible, but Regina had to get back to her Peace Corps site and get some clean clothes before a conference this weekend.

As Regina and I waited on the dock for any other boat returning to the shore, we met Vern, a native of Alaska who has been living on Roatan, a popular dive spot and larger island off the coast of Honduras. Vern owns a sailboat, which he uses to shuttle travelers between Utilia (another popular dive spot) and Roatan, with occasional stops in the Cayos. He had towed a handmade submarine, the only one in the area and owned by another expartiate, Carl, to the island for use in underwater filming for the show.

Carl was quite an amazing guy. A history major, he built his first submarine by hand after heavily researching the topic on the internet. After he had built the sub, he learned about rare shells that could be collected at a depth of more than 300 meters, and made over $200,000 collecting these shells ad selling them to collectors around the world. With that money, he made his second sub, which was the one that had been towed to the island. Vern gave us a tour of his sailboat, before we were told that we could squeeze into the last boat leaving the island along with the remaining crew of the show. Back on the mainland, we hitched a ride in a truck to Tony´s place, and collapsed from exhaustion.

Kyle and Erika left for Tegucigalpa this morning, and Regina is back at her site. I´ll be traveling along the coast this evening, trying to get near the border by nightfall. What a reality show...

Word of the day: ¨Vijase que¨ meaning ¨imagine that.¨ According to Kyle and Regina, the locals use it all the time when they dón´t live up to their word. I was definately supposed to arrange a boat back to the island? Vijase que!

Crossing Borders

The shuttle from sleepy Antigua to the ruins of Copan, Honduras left at 4 in the morning, and was scheduled to arrive at 10am. The van was packed full of travelers, guaranteeing that no one received any sleep as we sped through hairpin turns. Arriving at the border, we were immediately inundated with moneychangers looking to cash in on the new shipload of expats. After a $3 exit fee, and a $2 entrance tariff into Honduras, we were back on the road to Copan.

The ruins of Copan were left largely untouched and unpreserved until a large grant from the Japanese government established the archaelogical site and surrounding park. Mayan ruins, including temples, altars, and towering staircases littered the area, which was both quiet and filled with colorful wildlife.

Erika, Kyle, and I spent the day walking around the ruins before meeting Sarah, a fellow peace corps volunteer, at a delicious cafe in the town proper. She had some interesting travel tips, especially near Tikal, and also recommended a trip through Belize to avoid the questionable roads through Honduras.

Leaving Copan on a much more comfortable bus, we sped toward San Pedro Sula at 2pm, expecting to arrive by 5. When we rolled into the terminal at 5:30, we were assured by a ticket agent that all buses to La Ceiba, our final destination, had already departed. We raced downtown in a small van with 20 oher passengers, arived at another bus depot, and jumped on the last bus to Ceiba just as it was leaving the station.

By nightfall, we exited the bus a bit before Ceiba, to stay with a friend of Kyle´s named Regina. Her house is gigantic, as many of the safest houses in town, the usual spot for peace corps volunteers, are also most extravagant.

This morning we hitched a ride into the city in the back of a pickup. Jumping out of the car at the city center, we dropped our bags at a travel agency owned by a friend of Regina, an then met Tony, an ex peace corps volunteer who now runs a separate NGO. He, Kyle, and I discussed a possible website for the organization over meat and bean stew, before Erika, Kyle, and I left for the beach. Palm trees, sandy beaches, and a few jellyfish.

Heading out to Cayos Cochinos on Wednesday, but exploring La Ceiba today and tomorrow. Grabbed a hotel room with a private bath for $3.50.

Word of the day: Desculpe, meaning listen to me. Kyle uses it often to get people´s attention. I though he was saying esculpe me, which means spit on me.