Ominous Path to Honduras

Over the mountains to Antigua, Guatemala

Ears pop, temperature drops, clouds block out the sun as our mini-van climbs out of the flatland of the western highlands into the volcanos surrounding Xela. Our destination is the Honduran border. This is the first leg of the trip that started at 7:30 AM and goes as far as Antigua. There we change to another vehicle. We continue to climb into the clouds as the shuttle struggles to maintain speed. The driver honks and pulls out into the other lane of a two lane highway to pass a floundering chicken bus. It is common practice for drivers to honk to alert other drivers, and pedestrians when on city streets, that their vehicle is passing. The chicken bus is fully loaded, but still stops to pickup some Mayans waving on the highway. These buses never pass up passengers. It’s about maximizing revenue. There are no set bus stops. One just waits on the side of the road or highway and waves as the chicken bus approaches. There are many accidents involving chicken buses due to overloading and sudden stops.

Starting the climb out of Xela and over the volcanos 

We're in the mountains and ears pop, temperature drops

A forest of dense trees and shrubs lined the highway. Periodically the view opened up to show terraced mountain sides with lush green fields of corn and panoramic scenes of the plain below. Before climbing into the mountains, I saw row crops of iceberg lettuce, cauliflower, and zucchini squash on the valley floor. A ditch had been dug along the perimeter of the crops and flooded with water. Farmworkers were manually irrigating with a bucket by throwing water from the ditch onto the row of crops. In some uneven areas workers were carrying two large buckets of water, one at each end of a pole across their backs. They were dumping the water into the rows to irrigate.

Dense forest of trees and shrubs line the highway

Row crops on the valley plain

The road is modern and in good condition. It rained last night and there are many mud and rock slides blocking one lane of the highway. With no advanced warning, the mini-van rounds a curve and there are boulders and debris obstructing the lane. The driver intuitively either pulls into the other lane of oncoming traffic to bypass, or suddenly slams the brakes to stop just before hitting the rubble. The sound of the screeching brakes alerts drivers behind to also punch their brakes. Workers wearing sandals and street clothes are removing rocks one at a time and shoveling dirt into a wheel barrel. There are no heavy equipment or front-end loaders working on the rock and mud slide. The blockage is massive and it’s going to take these workers days to remove all the debris.

I started a conversation with a Latina looking woman sitting next to me. She was born in Xela and visiting relatives. She now lives in Boston and is a nurse working with a volunteer group helping to provide medical care to impoverished children in Guatemala City. Her visit with her family is over and she’s on her way to meet up with the group in the capital. She tells me how she went to visit her grandmother in Boston after graduating from high school in Xela. She decided to stay in the US and continue her education. She enjoys living in Boston and convinces me that I need to visit this historic city. The road curves around the mountains in an endless series of switchbacks. She started feeling ill and tells me she’s going to get sick. I offer her an empty plastic bag I carry in my messenger bag to wrap around my camera in case it starts raining on me while outdoors. She takes it. I start feeling uncomfortable and don’t look forward to what might happen next.

She doesn’t get sick and ends up being silent and doses off and on. I can tell that she does not feel good and is trying to focus on not causing an unpleasant mess. I’m hungry and brought some crackers, trail mix and freshly baked cookies from my favorite Xela bakery for the trip. I decide to hold off eating until we stop to avoid adding to her discomfort and being the trigger for the “avalanche”. We stopped at Los Encuentros to download passengers heading to Lake Atitlan and pickup those going to Antigua. I get out and eat my snacks. She stays on the shuttle. When I re-board the vehicle, I sit two rows behind her, just in case.

We arrive in Antigua at 10:45 AM and there’s a two hour fifteen minute wait until the next shuttle leaves for Honduras. There’s time for a savory lunch. I’ve explored Antigua in the past and it’s one of my favorite cities in the world. It is the most visited city in Guatemala and on the “gringo trail”, so I prepared for a different experience than the one in Mayan highland villages. It was the colonial capital of Central America in the sixteenth century. Conquistador Pedro de Alvarado after defeating the Maya founded the city in 1543. It is encircled by volcanos and repeated earthquakes have damaged the city over the centuries. Its cobbled streets are lined with colonial buildings in pastel blue, ochre, pink and orange, with red tiled roofs. There are Spanish style open garden courtyards in the middle of the buildings. Every couple of blocks there are ancient churches and public water fountains. The biggest water foundation in the Americas is located here.

Cobblestone roadway going under the Santa Catalina Arch

Through the Arch leads to La Merced church visible in the background

Colonial buildings with red tiled roofs and volcano hiding behind clouds

The impressive water fountain at La Merced church is the biggest in the Americas

At the central plaza there is a concentration of Mayan women selling their wares. Of all the places I visited in Latin America, the vendors at this plaza were the most aggressive and pushy I've encountered. They would not respect a polite, “No, gracias” (No, thank you). I had to leave the plaza to be rid of them. This detracted from the colonial ambiance of this attractive city. Although it was among the cleanest, well maintained cities of all of Latin America. There are many excellent restaurants serving an international cuisine, with high prices comparable more to California than to the rest of inexpensive Guatemala.

Fountain in the central plaza, watch out for overly aggressive vendors

Antigua is colorful, clean, and well maintained

For lunch I visited an old favorite from my past travels -- restaurant Dona Luisa Xicotencatl. The restaurant has been remodeled and expanded. It still maintains it’s old world charm, with a lush garden courtyard in the middle. It had the cleanest bathrooms I’ve so far come across in my travels. The chairs were padded and comfortable, as well as a wrought iron second story balcony with a view of several volcanos surrounding Antigua. The meal was OK, but the restaurant earns its reputation by the excellent baked breads and pastries. I sampled a piece of apple pie, with some local grown organic coffee. The pie was baked perfectly with rich butter flavor, flaky crust, sweet and tart apple filling, with a strong cinnamon taste. The experience was exquisite and I soon forgot about the pesky vendors, hordes of tourists, and high prices. I’m on a budget, so I decide to make my escape to less expensive Honduras before my funds are all spent on gourmet food and connoisseur coffee.

Garden courtyard in the middle of Dona Luisa Xicotencatl restaurant

The huevos rancheros were delicious

The apple pie and gourmet coffee are among the world's best!

I caught a mini-van shuttle bound for the Honduran border. We went over lush pine forested mountains into Guatemala City. As beautiful as Antigua is, Guatemala City is its opposite in ugliness with its impoverished shanty towns in the outskirts, toxic air pollution, uncontrolled traffic, and general chaotic noise. The dirty air pollution was so bad from the unregulated black exhaust spewing from buses, trucks and cars that I could taste gasoline. My eyes watered, stung and turned red. Sadly, at street corners I saw mothers holding babies standing and waiting for buses, as black grimy air filled the area. Unfortunately, all roads go through the city, so there was no way around. It took almost one hour to negotiate our way through the capital. It was a very “distasteful” experience.

The presidential election is underway and there are candidate signs posted everywhere, on billboards, on highway dividers, in store windows, on private homes, and spray painted on rocky mountain sides. Every few miles we saw a professionally designed large billboard overlooking the freeway in bright blue letters that read, “All politics and politicians are shit (mierda). Seven candidates. Seven parties. They don’t help us”. It was hosted by “Movement for Integration” and listed a web site to contact for more information. I pointed out the signs to the shuttle driver and asked him about it. He said, “It’s true. They all promise the same things, and do nothing to help us. I’m not going to vote. It doesn’t matter who wins, things stay the same.” He didn’t want to talk anymore about politics or the presidential election.

There were a number of “auto hotels” with pink hearts on their signs along the highway advertising hourly rates. They looked like a series of car garages built next to each other, without the accompanying home. I asked the shuttle driver to explain them to me. He said they are for people who are having affairs, and don’t want to spend money to rent a hotel for the night. So they drive into one of the love hotel “garages”, have their liaison, clean up in the bathroom, and they’re on their way in an hour or two. I suppose there is a brisk market for this service, given how many of these hotels are in business. After almost eleven hours of travel, we finally arrive at the border. We’re dropped off at the immigration office on the Guatemalan side. We’ll have to walk the rest of the way into Honduras.

Mural in Antigua highlighting contributions of women 

in the development of Guatemala

Turbulent Entry into Honduras

A snafu at the Honduran border gave me a scare. I paid 10 quetzals (about $1.20) to exit Guatemala, received an exit stamp and walked into Honduras at the El Florido border crossing. After going through Honduran immigration and paying 24 quetzals ($3.00) to enter, I jumped on a local chicken bus and we started down the road. An immigration agent came running after the bus, yelling for it to stop, he wanted to speak with, "Senor Manuel Grijalva". That's me! . . . Oh no, given my experience with Mexican immigration, I was a little nervous. He took me back to the office. No, the bus didn't wait. It was getting dark, and everything I've read and heard was that you don't want to be in the border area after dark. Thieves and unscrupulous people hang around these zones preying on travelers unfamiliar with the area.

Evidently the immigration officer was a "trainee" and had forgotten to staple a copy of the entry visa into my passport. Potentially a major problem when trying to leave Honduras without proof of the visa. He stapled the copy and we were finished, except no more buses for the evening. What to do? Why can't I just go smoothly through immigration like everyone else? I pay my taxes. I vote. Who do I complain to? That’s right, we're in Honduras, they don't care if I'm stranded in an unsafe environment at night. I started walking towards the nearest town, thinking I may have to sleep in the jungle tonight, at least until first light.

Along came a local Honduran farmer who just crossed the border from Guatemala in his pick up truck loaded with bags of produce. He stopped to "take a leak" behind some trees. His wife and three kids were with him. I approached him and asked if he was going in the direction of Copan Ruinas -- my destination. He was. I asked for a ride, told him I would pay. He said, "O.K., jump in back." I threw my backpack in, climbed aboard, and we took off into the night. There’s nothing like standing in the back of a speeding truck, in the dark, hair in the wind, not exactly knowing where you're going, to get the heart pumping. Boy, I need to talk to my travel agent about this. That's me . . . complaint noted.

I made it safely to my destination. Paid the fellow, thanked him profusely, settled into a hotel, and immediately felt hungry . . . . On to more adventures in Honduras.