Inland Honduras

We tore ourselves away from Utila and its crystal waters after a quite conservative three days – it could easily have turned into three weeks instead – and had another horrendous ride back to La Ceiba on the Utila Princess II (a.k.a. The Worst Ferry Ever).  This time, instead of just the single "Puke Guy" whose job it was to patrol the boat armed with plastic bags, paper towels, and lemon-scented spray, there were four such individuals.

We drove to Tela, formerly of banana fame, arriving rather late and getting turned away from the first two hotel parking lots we approached. (This almost never happens, because people love hobos.)  Time running out, we ended up in a construction zone next to a nice hotel located on a hill overlooking the ocean.  Between admiring the van’s new Honduras flag sticker and ranting animatedly about what a jerk America is, the 24-hour security guard promised to watch over us.  In retrospect, we think he might have been drunk.

In the morning, we set out for Lago Yojoa. We stopped for breakfast but passed on the drive-through liquor store. When people say the North Coast of Honduras likes to party, they ain’t kidding.

Mid-morning, we stopped to eat a pineapple at the lake, a beautiful, reed-lined bird paradise.

Here, I must stop and tell you about the pineapple, although I’m actually not sure it’s fair to do so. See, the thing is, unless you’ve been to Honduras, you haven’t tasted a pineapple like this. These pineapples are so sweet that they can’t withstand transport of any duration, no matter how hard the pineapple companies try to develop a system. So in the States -- and even other places in Central America -- we get subpar but hardy pineapples; cheap, sour, ridiculous imitations of the Honduran pineapple. I’m not going to say much more except that we snarfed that entire pineapple down while standing up and then bought two more the very next day.

Our destination for the day was the Parque Nacional Cerro Azul/Meambar, a jungle/cloud forest with well-marked trails and a really nice spot for camping. We got settled and then headed out, and up. 

Who can find the rattlevan in this photo?

Starting out, we knew that there were 28 varieties of snake in the park.

[WARNING: Readers with extreme snake phobias may 

want to skip down until I say it’s safe.  Hi, Moz!] 

But even forwarned, the first snake we saw was pretty disturbing. It was only about as thick as a thumb, but it was more than seven feet long. It was also climbing a tree. 

 

Now, I don’t usually hate snakes, but I didn't like this one at all.  Hence, the frequent appearance throughout the rest of the hike of my “Eew, Is That A Snake?” face, which Chuck thoughtfully captured on film: 

Can't stage an expression like this.

[OKAY, MOZ, ALL SAFE! 

 No more snake pictures from here on out, I promise.]

The hike was great, though – tough and beautiful with awesome payoffs.

We stayed the night surrounded by the sound of the jungle, and in the morning we headed for the little colonial town of Gracias.

Gracias was a sleepy, pretty little place surrounded by dry mountains and rocky, flat-bottomed rivers. One minute we were in the jungle, and almost the next we were in a hot, dry climate. The town was as cute as they come, but our impatience to get back to Mexico got the best of us and we cut our visit short.

Now we’re back in Copan Ruinas, en route to Guatemala and then Mexico. Next up, maybe: Why Sandflies Are the Scourge of the Earth, or something about the social life of street dogs (and Lena).