It was going to be a long day
on the bike as I headed up to San Pedro Sula, the world’s most dangerous city.
I bypassed the city and continued to a small coastal town called Tula. It was a charming little place with the Garufina people very apparent with their dark skin, Rastafarian hair and big white smiles. I found a cheapish hotel that let me park my bike right inside.
I walked the town, went for a swim in the Caribbean, ate some local food and enjoyed the slow relaxed place of the town.
I bypassed the city and continued to a small coastal town called Tula. It was a charming little place with the Garufina people very apparent with their dark skin, Rastafarian hair and big white smiles. I found a cheapish hotel that let me park my bike right inside.
I walked the town, went for a swim in the Caribbean, ate some local food and enjoyed the slow relaxed place of the town.
I had my eye on La Ceiba where the ferries leave for the well known Utila island but as I passed I didn’t feel drawn to go and explore, instead choosing the town at the end of the peninsula, Trujillo. Well and truly off the beaten tourist path, I liked the little hilltop town with its Caribbean flavor, quaint beachside bars and restaurants with music reminiscent of Cuba.
I had my first swim in the Caribbean from Honduras
There were not many people around but I spent a couple of hours reading in a hammock in a bar over a Pina Colada with this view.
It was a Spanish-looking
colonial town with some interesting buildings and an old cemetery, housing the
remains of the notorious William Walker, who ran amok trying to take control of
Central America in the mid 1800s.
I did some more exploring by foot and stopped into a local place for breakfast, then loaded up and headed to the end of the peninsular at Puerto Castilla which ended up being a secured commercial port but the scenery on the way was stunning, this is the crossing at Jericho.
On the way I found a small waterfront block for sale...
Then stopped in at a small town and met some locals
Heading inland again there were two roads I could take. One had roads that disappeared from my electronic map but were solid lines on the paper map. The other had solid lines on both but took me almost directly to the capital of Tegucigalpa, south of a couple of places I wanted to look at. I decided on the latter easier option. Always sharing the road with interesting things.
I did some more exploring by foot and stopped into a local place for breakfast, then loaded up and headed to the end of the peninsular at Puerto Castilla which ended up being a secured commercial port but the scenery on the way was stunning, this is the crossing at Jericho.
On the way I found a small waterfront block for sale...
Then stopped in at a small town and met some locals
Heading inland again there were two roads I could take. One had roads that disappeared from my electronic map but were solid lines on the paper map. The other had solid lines on both but took me almost directly to the capital of Tegucigalpa, south of a couple of places I wanted to look at. I decided on the latter easier option. Always sharing the road with interesting things.
Then it turned narrow, hilly with some serious ruts and holes. I’m glad I took the good road!
I shared the road with some trucks and some cattle.
I spoke to this guy herding the cows and he told me it was 200kms to Juticalpa, my next destination. Oh well, gravel and standing on the pegs it is!
The road continued for 30-40kms like this
over a number of rivers
and as I was settled into this type of riding I came over a rise and the bitumen started again.
Not only started but it was the newest road in the country. It was built to international standards, wide with lines, guardrails and excellent signage.
It was a beautiful winding road with some straights where I let Ziggy stretch her legs a bit. It was the only road without potholes and so unexpected leaving me to wonder which corrupt politician lived in this area.
For an off the beaten (tourist) track it was a great oasis. A leisurely stroll into the town and I feed on some pupusas and fruit juice and watched the setting up of a huge flea market that will be going for three days over the weekend. Jorge spoke English, having lived in the US for five years and was very interested in the bike and bike travellers. Great spot in Honduras guys!
then broke up into gravel and tar and potholes and the typical back roads of Honduras.
It started a day where I was pulled over five times at road blocks by the police. Yesterday it was three times. On two of the occasions they genuinely wanted to see my papers, one asked for the passport and the other asked for my import permit. One asked me for my new gloves I had bought in Guatemala. The others didn’t ask for anything, but intimated that they wanted a bribe. I saw a car pass through quickly after handing some Lempiras to an officer. I refused to pay and refused to play their game. My paperwork is all in order and I don’t want to feed the corruption machine. Suddenly I have no Spanish. I tell them I can’t understand anything they are saying…partly true…then I start on a barrage in English telling them where I am from and about where I’ve travelled so far. I don’t take a breath, just keep telling my story in rapid English, punctuated with smiles, handshakes and the odd bouncing around like a kangaroo to show I’m not from Austria. They tire of this quickly and realise they are not getting any money from me so wave me on.
We rode for a couple more
hours to the town of El Paraiso where we found a hotel to rest up before the
border crossing.
The roads are terrible with
potholes throughout. I only hit one badly and it has put a dent in my front
wheel that I will have to fix in Panama. One beautiful stretch of new road for
200kms was bordered by rough, poor dirt roads.
People are poor with their
housing and clothing older and less vibrant than El Salvador or Guatemala. The
place has a feel of being run down and still in decline. With a horribly
corrupt government failing to provide proper infrastructure and police stopping
people to extract bribes, it feels that Hondurenos are trying to squeeze the
last bit of life out of their soil, their country, each other. Of all the
places I have visited I fear for the future here more than anywhere else.
No comments:
Post a Comment