Honduras - Caribbean Coast and Exit

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 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.

 After a lunch and fuel stop at Benito Oriental the road turned to gravel. 

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.

 It was just on 5pm when I came to San Esteban and a brand new motel. Jorge is the owner and he only opened a few days ago but still finishing off. He was open to a bit of negotiation for a night so I got a room for $15. The motel was beautifully done. Everything worked, nice hot water shower, large rooms with brand new mattresses and a huge undercover area for Ziggy to park. 

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!

 The good road continued to the little town of Gualaco then turned again to the old tar, 

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.

 The police are always very friendly and they approach with a smile and a handshake. They were never threatening or sinister. They never made strong demands or tried to keep me there or keep any of my paperwork. It is just annoying for the third, fourth and fifth times knowing I have to go through my little play. Still, that’s how it is here with the national police. The army on the other hand, was also at a number of separate checkpoints and seeing that I was a tourist, they never stopped me, just waved me on with a polite nod. I preferred this naturally.

 The kilometres rolled on through this internal road, passing a number of small and medium sized towns and eventually heading towards the capital Tegucigalpa. I tried to turnoff at Talanga to take a route that bypassed the city but the road kept petering out on minor dirt tracks and I couldn’t figure out which one went through. This was fortuitous in the end because as I was navigating my way through the city pretty successfully, I came to my last multi-choice junction and turned the incorrect way, immediately followed by two other motorcycles that started flashing their headlights at me. I thought I was getting stopped by the police again so I pulled up and cast my eyes on two loaded up BMW 1200GS motorcycles just like mine. I met Walter and Mario.

 These guys were from Venezuela, Mario is actually Colombian, and they had bought their bikes in the USA, visited Canada and were on their way back to Venezuela. They spoke no English so it was a good test for my Spanish. We managed to work out that we were all heading to Nicaragua and had taken the wrong turn so we mounted the grassy verge in the centre and rode onto the correct road. I had companions for the border crossing into Nicaragua.

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.

 I feel like I haven’t given Honduras a really good shot having only spent a week here. I think I have kept an open mind and open heart coming here and I have nothing bad to say about the people or anything else that I have experienced. However I feel it has been the place with the least good energy that I have visited in Central America. Not dangerous, but not happy. The landscape is particularly damaged in my opinion based on my natural resource management training. All through the areas I travelled I saw land that was long cleared of tropical forest, overstocking of cattle, lots of species of weeds and weedy trees and lots of dumped rubbish. In the north there are extensive palm oil plantations, sort of a necessary evil in these parts and hopefully replacing already denuded areas rather than clearing fresh forest for this monocrop. To me the soil is sad and screaming out but is being thrashed in response. As mentioned, with no apparent volcanoes that I saw here, it may be that the soil is actually a lot older than other volcanic countries.

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.

 So on the eve of my exit from Honduras I am happy I have come here for a look and once again I have met some wonderful people. I particularly liked the Caribbean coast and towns with the Garufina people adding an interesting cultural mix to the country. With my new amigos I rode towards the border with Nicaragua at Los Manos to test out my next border crossing.