Mayan Revenge: A Not So Settling Experience

A view over the ruins looking at mountains in the Copan Valley

A well framed mountain view while standing
outside of a gas station in Guatemala.

When I arrived in the small village of Copan Ruinas, my insides were gurgling with a fury. Although we had stopped for snacks along the way, Guatemalan gas station food was not exactly the sustenance my stomach was hoping for that day. We arrived at the Hostel Berakah as the sun was setting over a mountainous hillside just beyond the border of town.

The buildings were no more than a couple stories high, and the hostel was located on the cobblestone Avenue de Copan, only a few hundred feet from the Parque Central. As you exit the hostel to the right, just before reaching the parque, the archaic yet still useful road hangs a left downhill over a small stream and into the surrounding farmlands. This would be the route I would take the following morning to visit the crown jewel of this small valley in western Honduras, the famous Mayan Ruinas de Copan (Mayan Ruins of Copan).

Since my stomach was empty, however, I turned left out of the hostel that first evening and around the next corner was a small indoor market, Dispensa Familiar. Grateful for some regular food choices, my stomach decided that a salad would be the best option for the evening - nothing like a bowl of fruits and vegetables to make up for such Central American gas station delicacies as "meat wrapped in dough" and "stale crackers with fat cream and red flakes."

I returned home from the market with a bag full of grapes, tomatoes, broccoli, and other greens. Having had my full of the plato tipico de Honduras (eggs, beans, fried plantains, and tortillas - a traditional plate of Honduran food), I prepared what I felt was a healthy, delicious meal that would give me the right boost of energy for my final few days in this part of the World.

The fog burning off the mountains during my first morning in Copan.

I felt fine when I woke the next day, and it was only a short walk to the entrance of the ruins which were designated a UNESCO World Heritage property in 1980. I initially walked right past the main entrance where I should have bought a $15 ticket, but it wasn't too difficult to remedy my mistake. Once I reached the main path leading to the ruins, a path lined with tall trees and flocks of colorful macaws flying overhead, it hit me - the kind of hit that can only come from some terrible bug destroying your insides.

From the moment I saw the first bricks protruding from the ground to form either a temple or a ceremonial alter, my stomach was rumbling and the pain was almost unbearable. Apparently, the salad I consumed the prior evening was not as healthy as I originally thought. Something was wrong. Something was oh-so-terribly wrong. However, I had just paid $15 to see some Mayan ruins and dammit I'm gonna see some ruins.

Although I snapped a few selfies of me smiling while looking over the ancient courtyards and surrounding mountains, the only happy memory I have from that day was returning to my hostel and laying in a hammock for many hours (only getting up to use the bathroom multiple times). My two hours of attempting to be happy while enjoying Copan Ruians will surely be remembered - just not for the ruins, and more for the runs.

After a miserable evening of trying to calm my innards and find a few moments of sleep, I woke early and walked along the cobblestone streets where a town map indicated I would find a farmacia. I purchased what I assumed was the Central American equivalent of Pepto and Pedialyte (they were pink and orange, respectively). I consumed both bottles and spent the entire day either in the hammock or in the bathroom. However, I relished knowing that I had just seen my second of three ancient civilizations in Central and South America (the first was the Incan ruins at Machu Picchu in Peru back in 2011), and now all I have left are the Aztecs in Mexico to complete the set.

A view into The Great Plaza. The tent to the
right is covering an active restoration site.

I returned twice more throughout the day to the farmacia to purchase more colored liquids, and slowly my body's urge to regurgitate itself in various forms began to subside.When sun began to rise the next morning, I was able to muster the energy needed to once again walk down the cobblestone roads, but this time to a bus stop. Here I would begin my final leg of this journey back to San Pedro Sula (SPS) where I flew into Aeropuerto Ramon Villeda almost three months prior.

Back in SPS, the bustling transit station on the outskirts of town was just as it had been on my prior visit to the terminal before traveling to the port town of La Cieba (before spending two months on Utila). The station is lined on the outside with a seemingly endless number of white vans - all with at least one hype guy ensuring that if you pay them money they will get you where you need to go. Although I had been through this dog and pony show many times over the course of my trip, this one proved an extra difficult task as I was now searching for transportation to the airport. The "aeropuerto" is a buzz word for most of the profiteering taxi men as they know it is their final opportunity to squeeze as much money as possible from a well traveled, but exhausted American - and I can only imagine their increased pressure tactics work quite well.

A monument that sits outside of
the main walls of the ruins.
In other words, it's free to see.

After one failed attempt to find suitable transportation, I found myself somewhere in the heart of SPS. The driver and hype guy had ensured me the airport was one of their first stops and I gladly gave them most of my remaining lempiras. However, once the little blue dot on my google maps began drifting away from the airport and towards the middle of the city, I decided to express my disdain with the best broken Spanish I could, and I must have made a few solid points as something happened that can only be described as a miracle to most weary travelers - the van driver gave me my money back! Although that didn't make up for the fact that I was still in the middle of an international city for which the U.S. State Department has a continuous travel warning.

I suppose it was serendipity rendering its little face that afternoon as a white taxi was idling just around the corner from where I exited the first van. However, it didn't take the form of Kate Beckinsale or a stripping Selma Hayek, but that of a dark skinned man wearing a hat, sunglasses, and a New York Knicks t-shirt who spoke nearly perfect English. After three months of practicing and struggling to speak another language, it was nice to find some familiarity for my final ride to the airport:

Me: Where'd you learn English?
Driver: I use to live in New York.
Me: Why'd you move back?
Driver: Oh, I was deported.
Me: Oh, really? What happened?
Driver: Felony drug and attempted murder charges...
Me: (Silence)
Driver: But that was a long time ago...

--

Back at the airport, someone had a puppy.

Thank you again for reading and following along with my impromptu journey through Central America. As usual, my time there was not long enough to see everything I would have wanted, and now there are new places I will need to return to see in the future (it's funny how that works, uh?). I returned to the States just in time for my friend Evan's bachelor party at Oyster Fest in New Orleans in early June. I will continue to write about stories from when I returned earlier this summer, including a motorcycle road trip to Yellowstone, a mother moose encounter in Rocky Mountain National Park, and my return to living in Denver. Hope you had a great Thanksgiving and a good start to the Holiday season!

-Dustin

Honduras: A Different Kind of Travel Experience

If you are in the United States and perform a Google search for "Honduras Travel", at least as of a few months ago the top result was a link to the official U.S. State Department's warning that Honduras, specifically the city of San Pedro Sula, was a very dangerous and crime-filled place to travel, and all Americans should take extreme caution if considering a trip to the area. So, naturally, I bought a one way ticket to San Pedro Sula to meet a new girlfriend.

I flew into Honduras from a connecting flight out of Houston. Our approach came in via the Caribbean coastline and as we descended I was able to see the outline of Puerto Cortes, a small peninsula that I had only seen on Google maps up until this point. Although the recognizable shape of this port city was obvious, it was the ridge line of the mountains inland that caught my attention the most.

After a few months of reading about Honduras, attempting to learn the history and culture of the Central American country, somehow a lot of the websites I had been looking at neglected to mention the beautiful landscape of lush green mountains that surround the supposed deadly compound of San Pedro Sula. However, if you haven't caught onto my tone yet, I can assure you that this country, at least in my experience, is far from what the online warnings would have you believe. Which isn't to say there aren't examples of travelers experiencing crime, or that you should do anything outside of safe foreign travel practices, just that you shouldn't be so quick to judge.

I met up with Beris and she introduced me to some of the local flare and cuisine. Although I had purchased the Babbel app to learn some more Spanish before the trip, it was clear that having a local friend with whom I could experience this new place was invaluable. Not all of Honduras necessarily requires a traveler to be fluent in Spanish, nonetheless it would be a great asset to possess before booking a trip. Although we did not spend much time in San Pedro Sula, we did spend time in the neighboring town of Choloma where Beris' mother runs a tortilla business out of her home.

A few days into my stay Beris asked if I would like to attend her aunt's birthday party of which I happily agreed. However, it's here I will let you know that even though I knew a little Spanish and Beris knew a little English, there was still quite the language barrier between us. That barrier was alleviated on our Facebook messenger chats by using translator apps, however, it can be a bit tedious to constantly use a translator for every conversation. So when Beris asked if I wanted to go to her aunt's birthday party (which I understood), the full question actually was "would you like to spend two full days in a small village in a sugar cane field for my aunt's birthday?"

Armed guards stood at the entrance to the sugar cane field as we drove our two car caravan through the gate. We passed some of the fields that had been harvested and then proceeded down a small road that was lined with huts and homes along both sides. We had reached the village of Masicales. The village was nestled in a valley with mountain ridges visible on both ends of the road that divided the town, and there was a small body of water over which we had to cross to enter the village. It wasn't clear exactly where the water was coming from when we pumped it from the well, however, considering I was using that water to brush my teeth and make coffee, I thought it was best I didn't investigate that matter further.

I mingled with Beris' family members, including her adorable grandparents, and practiced some of my Spanish with them as they prepared various dishes for the party that evening. All the while some form of up beat Latin music was blasting from a stereo in one of the many surrounding homes near where the party was to be held. A staple of tortillas, beans, sour cream, and fried plantains was abundant in the food prepared for the weekend. We also had eggs, chicken soup, and of course birthday cake, which was quickly devoured by every child at the party - which appeared to be every child in the village (Birthday Parties apparently have no property boundaries in Masicales). The most fun part of the evening, besides a tandem motorcycle ride through the village, was the dancing. The aforementioned music did not stop until early in the morning, much past my bedtime, but before that time I enjoyed an evening of dancing with Beris, her aunt, and her grandmother, all of whom could out dance me, however I think I held my own. 

The trip back to the coast was complete with road side stops to purchase small bags of popcorn and water, and we even passed a semi-trailer carrying a full load of brand new Pampers baby diapers that had tipped over along the side of the road. We returned to the motel at which we were staying just outside of Puerto Cortes. We stayed here for the next few evenings as I looked into what I would do with the rest of my 90 day visa for Central America.

Admittedly, I hadn't made any concrete plans past spending a few weeks with Beris. We had known each other for only a few months prior to my arrival. Although this may seem like a quick friendship with which to trust my safety in another country, however, I have more regretted the opportunities of which I didn't take in my life than the ones I did. So who cares how long I had known her? We had enjoyed video chatting and learning about each other's country's and a one way ticket to San Pedro Sula at the time, undoubtedly because of the travel warnings, was only $150. I had made the mistake of not purchasing a plane ticket once before to further pursue a relationship, and I suppose you could say this was my way of redeeming myself. I was excited at the prospect of possibly starting a relationship with Beris, however, I was very aware of the many obstacles that path would present. I didn't speak her language and she didn't speak mine. Obviously the distance would prove difficult, but I didn't see any reason why I shouldn't take advantage of some inexpensive foreign travel and see if there was something more to this. Unfortunately, it was not the correct timing for this to last.

This isn't to say that Beris and I are not still friends, or that coming to Honduras was a mistake. Far from it. We just had different expectations of this relationship that had spawned over the past few months. I do not regret for one second my decision to travel here and talk with Beris in person about all of this. The romantic side of this relationship didn't end in turmoil, it ended because two people communicated their intentions with each other - which I find to be a very fulfilling endeavor. Even if it was done with a translator app. To paraphrase Barney Stinson from How I met Your Mother, this was not a failed relationship, it was a very successful three month relationship.

I had not intended to be down here much longer than a month, but when I realized I had nothing to do until my friends bachelor party in June in New Orleans, I figured why not stick around Central America a bit longer? I chose the island of Utila off the eastern Honduran coastline. Beris accompanied me to the bus station where I purchased a ticket with Hedman Alas Buses for 350 lempiras, or approximately $12 USD, and then proceeded on a four hour bus ride in an air conditioned charter bus through the mountains. The ride ended in the small town of La Ceiba where I would take a ferry to the island for the next part of this journey.  

Although this may not sound like a typical travel experience to Honduras, it was very much mine - and I wouldn't have traded it for anything. It provided me with cultural experiences beyond what I could expect from any travel guide, and it all started with a friend request on Facebook. Thank you, Beris.

I'm currently in Leon, Nicaragua where a rain storm just blasted the main square. Needless to say all the street vendors went running! I'll hopefully get caught up on my blogs with some insight from my time in Utila and Nicaragua shortly. Thanks for reading!

-Dustin

Travel Tip: When your Sprint representative says you will have reliable data connectivity with your international phone plan in Honduras, they are lying.