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Posts Tagged ‘family travel’

…and then in the air. Four hour drive to the airport from here (they say) and then a couple flights and then boom! Home!

Which will be great, although this was nice, too:

 

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Gracias, Honduras, 6:30 am, 11/21. Hotel Guancascos.

I’ll be back tomorrow – maybe even late tonight – with Friday takes, and then spend the weekend pulling together my traditional post-trip set of posts summarizing things.

In the meantime, don’t forget Advent is coming – and in particular today, I’ll call your attention to this daily devotional, which begins on the first Sunday of Advent this year, and continues to December 31, 2020:

 

 

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…we climbed a smaller hill, did Spanish homework, and rested.

Perhaps we should have gone back today, but I had no idea how much time we’d actually want here, not knowing much about the area. We were essentially “done” last night, and not just because the 10k hike did us in…there wasn’t much left to see that was within walking distance. But that’s okay…it would have been insane and painful to go from yesterday to a 4-hour drive to the airport and the flights back home.

So it was good to have a day to not do much.

That smaller hill is right behind our hotel, atop of which stands the Fuerte San Cristobal. Nothing much happened there, and there’s not much to see but the views, but it ate up about twenty minutes, so there’s that:

Below is a good view of the Celaque National Park mountain range. The highest peak is, well, the highest peak in Honduras. I believe our Death March took us to the high peak on the left.

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We wandered into the town for some food. Lunch happened at this small cafeteria right across from the square and the church. It was homey, excellent and cheap (of course) – about $4/plate.

(Exterior, chicken, cerdo (pork), interior garden)

Here’s the San Marco church in the daytime. If you look at photos of it from the past, the trim is painted gold.

Then it was back to the hotel for much of the afternoon, where he worked on Spanish homework, I wrote a bit, and we watched the utility workers doing repairs and replacements on a series of poles down the street in front of us – the reason, we can safely assume, the power was out most of the afternoon.

Eventually, we made it back downtown, where we got our final Honduran meal from here, in the square. Roger helped us order – he’s a native Honduran who moved to the US, lived there for over two decades, became a citizen, and has recently returned here to help his mother.

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Then dessert in a cafe kiosk in the square which features and upstairs looking down on the park. I couldn’t get any panoramic shots, but I did get this weird looking tree:

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And that’s it from Honduras – probably – unless we get stuck here tomorrow, then who knows what I”d have to say?

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Well, good evening from Gracias, Honduras!

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Same country, new hammock.

For the first time in over a week, some of us were able to sleep past 7 am – I knew there would be evening Mass in Gracias, so we made that our plan, and a bit more sleeping was therefore in order. For some of us. I was still awake at six, but no Facetiming French people were at fault this time.

A lovely breakfast – as per usual at our stay – La Casa de Cafe, about which I’ll write more in my traditional summary post of “Why We Went/How we got there/Where we stayed.” Short version: If you go to Copan (and you should consider it) – stay there!

One of the great aspects of traveling is the people you meet, and this morning was no exception.

Are you afraid to get out? Hesitant to go beyond theme parks and all-inclusives? Afraid to go to places designated as “dangerous” by First World governments?

Well, meet Pamela.

Pamela is in her mid-70’s if she’s a day, lives between Cambridge and London, travels for two months every year, and this year her two months have been in Central America, getting around solely by bus, staying  only in hostels.

By herself, loving it, and fearless.

As she said, “If I listened to our Foreign Office’s warnings, I’d be afraid to go to Wales. ” 

And so we left her, there in the sun she’d been seeking when she came and sat near us, Pamela from somewhere between Cambridge and London, drinking her tea and reading her book there in a Honduran garden.

It was a fifteen-minute conversation, but it gave me enough inspiration, I think, for the next ten years.

And, I hope, adding to my son’s treasury of wisdom about life, journeys, openness and courage for the rest of his life.

After breakfast, we dashed out to do a few more purchases – I was actually surprised at how busy Copan was on a Sunday morning – it’s not like Italy – everything is open, including the place where son wanted to buy a couple more shirts and this spot, featuring the weaving of an indigenous community up near Hacienda San Lucas, where we walked on Thursday. 

Well then, ahem…to meet our, yeah…driver to go to Gracias. From which Pamela had just come on the buses. Hey guys, I explained this to you before…schedule…connections…etc. Okay. That’s my excuse. Next time. Bus. 

Anyway, yeah, the driver. A very nice guy, no English, arranged by our hotel. About a three hour drive through increasingly gorgeous country. I mean, the entire country of Honduras is beautiful, but the drive between La Entrada and Gracias was stunning. Mountainous and pristine. A photograph from a rapidly moving van can’t capture it.

Then to our present stay, an orientation, a walk around and a lunch at what seems to be a local fast food place called Buggy’s Burgers – it being Sunday afternoon, there wasn’t a lot open, so we went with the somewhat safe, although local fast food is always an adventure. I wouldn’t say it was “fast” – more like what we’d call in the US “fast casual.”  Served, by the way, on china plates with real silver, etc. It was big enough so that there’s going to be no more eating for the rest of the day….

Then back to the room for a couple of hours until Mass. Here:

Totally full, overflowing church. I was wondering why the presiding priest wasn’t wearing green vestments, but the introductory words by another concelebrating priest indicated that it was this priest’s fiftieth anniversary of ordination – so the Mass was a celebration of that, I’m guessing. Notes on the Mass:

  • Music was one guitar and some vocals in this large packed church. I really liked the setting of the Gloria and the Sanctus – I might try to find it online, although it will probably be impossible. The trouble was that the guitar was so terrible. Not in the playing, but in the quality of the instrument. Unless it was some native Honduran instrument. I felt like going up and making a personal donation so they could buy a better guitar.
  • As I said, church was packed. And not, as the mythology dictates, old women. It was everyone, from all walks of life. It was just Catholic.
  • They did this in Copan too – perhaps it is some Honduran thing – they did little introductions to each of the Scripture readings – you know, how we used to do it in the US in 1985?
  • They did this in Copan as well  – after the consecration of each element, there is some congregational response. In Copan, it was a general murmuring – probably of a prayer I just didn’t understand. Here it was an antiphon of sorts – the first phrase was “Dios es aqui” – God is here. Followed by something else I didn’t catch. And then with the memorial acclamation in the usual place.
  • As was the case in Copan, the entire congregation recites the Eucharist Prayer Doxology.
  • The Lord’s Prayer was sung, and the version was…not literal. I mean, it had the whole Lord’s Prayer in it, but each phrase was interspersed with “Gloria a Dios”
  • At the Sign of Peace – La Paz – there was a general rush up to the front which was very confusing, until I realized what was going on was that a lot of people were going up to give the pastor celebrating his anniversary their greetings.
  • It did seem to me – untutored, narrow, minimal experience – from the music and the priest’s (not the one celebrating his anniversary – a younger, concelebrating priest) very energetic, dramatic style of preaching, as well as the greater level of congregational interaction – that there might be a deliberate attempt to bring some Evangelical stylings into the Mass down here…just guessing.

And then, right after the Agnus Dei…

BOOM!

Out! Went the power. Pitch black, except for a few candles and an increasing number of phone flashlights. As the Communion Rite progressed, more candles were brought in, and at Communion, the altar servers holding patens were further assisted by another person standing over them with a phone light.

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We would have hung around after Mass or wandered a bit, except, you know…there was no power. Anywhere in town. You could see a store light here or there, but it was from places with generators. So might as well go home – we weren’t hungry, and it was 8:30, so what else should we do? Led by phone flashlights, then, we made our way through a pitch-black Honduran town on a Sunday night.

A few minutes after we returned, the power came back on, but still – we weren’t feeling any need for food, so might as well settle into our new home for the next few days. Except for those hours we’re out climbing mountains or some such nonsense.

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(And for the record, there is not a McDonald’s in Gracias, Honduras. One popped up on the map, and we walked over to see if it was so…but no. Someone must be playing games with Google Maps…)

 

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Tried to pop off this post this morning before we left, but the power went out, internet left my life, and so here we are.

(The power was out in Copan all day – it was a scheduled outage. So just as well that we were out and about!)

First Friday:

Well, not the First Friday, but you know what I mean.

A fairly quiet day: Son had his last Spanish class, which ended with decisions to continue the instruction once a week via Skype. For lunch we went a little more American – doing chicken nachos at a place called Twisted, a rooftop place looking over the town square. It actually hit the spot very well.

We’d checked off most of the items on the “Copan Day Trip” list – with one major one remaining for all day Saturday – so we knew it would be a slow afternoon. There was one remaining museum we wanted to see – this one, which is described as a “children’s museum,” but which all accounts attest is interesting for anyone. So we made the short hike up the hill to the north of town and found…it closed for the week, for some reason. Ah well. We saw things, were given access to the small tower on the property so we could take in the views of the town from that side, did some shopping, returned for rest, then went out to dinner at a Uruguayan steak place – it was quite good. My son had a hamburger, I had (shared)  a 12-ounce filet, thin, served with a steamed potato and salad, with an excellent chimchurri sauce. A little more shopping, sitting in the square watching soccer balls being bandied about – in how many places around the world was that same scene being played out in the evening hours?  – and then back to the room, meeting, on the way, an interesting friend.

 

 

Saturday:

I am at a point in my advanced life in which I require only about six hours of sleep a night. At home, I usually go to bed around midnight or one and wake up at 6 or 7. But here, we’ve been tired and going to bed earlier, which means…an earlier rising for some of us. So this morning, yeah, I woke up at 4. AM. Tried to go back to sleep, was halfway successful until I was fully awakened by the voice of a Frenchwoman in the garden speaking very loudly to someone on the other end of her phone – she was Facetiming or had someone on speaker – because the Wi-Fi is strongest outside – I guess she was making her connection to someone in Europe, because it was 6 am, things were urgent and she was loud. 

Ah well. Soon enough, it was time to get up anyway for  an all day trip up and out to Finca el Cisne – a coffee and cacao farm northeast of Copan, and not far from the Guatemalen border. It was absolutely marvelous – although if you’re prone to carsickness, don’t do it. You have to ride (in a truck) for about an hour over twisty, severely rutted roads. I don’t get carsick, thank goodness, but I can see how it could easily cause someone some trouble

Anyway, we arranged the tour through another local hotel/bar – we went down, I think, on Wednesday night, found someone in charge, they called the farm, made sure they had room on Saturday, we paid, and were told to come back to that hotel 8 am Saturday morning to be picked up  – and to bring bathing suits and towels, since hot springs would be part of the program.

The tour was led by an employee – a man who, has it happened had, a few years ago, done an intensive three-month English program at Georgia Tech – and had lived around Piedmont Park, so we had that to talk about besides all things Guatemalen (his nationality) and Honduran. There were two others on the tour – two young women from Roatan, one native (runs a nursery and does landscaping) and the other, an American who owns a B & B there. (Part of our conversation with our fellow tour attendees involved the pressing question…what the heck is it with all these French people here right now????) 

After we were picked up, the bumpy journey up and down began, past small settlements, folks walking by the side of the road (as per usual), dogs (as per usual), chickens and other livestock. The first part of the tour involved an explanation of the processing of both the coffee and the cacao – they don’t roast coffee there except in small specialized batches, but they do, of course, dry it.

 

In the box are cacao beans being fermented – the mix is called what would be translated into English as “drool.”

Then, to the horses! These are small mixed breeds, very docile. And cooperative. I’m not a rider, but I’m telling you, the experience of riding those mules down, down, down the switchbacks at Bryce Canyon that were about half as wide as the mules, their hooves loosening gravel as we went – took any fear I might have had of riding right out of me.

It was a lovely ride. Up into the hills, seeing the mountains in the not-far distance – right over those mountains is Guatemala. We paused several times to look at plants – my camera glitched out at the coffee plants, so sorry about that, but here’s some cardamon instead.

 

Then to lunch – prepared by a local woman in a spot that used to be a guest house of sorts but now is used as a much-needed secondary school. I didn’t get photos, because it didn’t seem to be the time or place, but know that it was delicious. Yucca – boiled and then fried, which was the best-prepared yucca I’ve ever had – topped with a mix of radishes, onion..and some other things I can’t remember. Rice with chicken, a type of squash (that my son took seconds of…something that never happens at home), tortillas of course, and then a lovely, simple little dessert of a banana (one of the small bananas they grow here) in a delicate sauce of milk dotted with chocolate, cinnamon and cardamon. And coffee, of course, for those who partake of such things.

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Then – here! To the Luna Jaguar Spa Resort – between the farm and Copan. A very, very popular and well-done hot springs. Kind of amazing, actually. It was beautifully done, with various pools of different sizes and levels. The water coming out of the hill was….ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY DEGREES. I mean, I’ve never been to a hot spring before and maybe that’s normal, but it’s also ALMOST BOILING GUYS.  Our guide said that it’s very popular at night – which I can understand and think it would be amazing to experience, but I also don’t think you could pay me to drive (or even ride) back to town from there on those roads, in the dark along with all the people who’ve been drinking at the hot springs all evening….

 

And yah, we’re pretty tired. Returned to no power, still – but it was restored about thirty minutes after our return. We headed to town, had tacos, skewers and gringas at our favorite street place, bought a few necessities…and now it’s time to pack!

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Tuesday began as every weekday here will – with four hours of Spanish for someone (not me). After that, we gave into someone’s  (not mine) pizza craving and had lunch at a place recommended by our tour guide on Sunday – a spot that seems to be owned by an aged American fellow with Honduran family members. And yes, the pizza was good.

We then caught a mototaxi back to the ruins – son wanted to take a more leisurely look, as well as see some features we’d missed on Sunday.

 

What you might be able to see from some of these photos is the impact of the vegetation on these structures. If you can dig up a map somewhere of all of the Mayan structures in Honduras up through the Yucatan, you will see thousands …most in overgrown, dense forest. Stephens says that they had to cut down trees around the stelas in order for Catherwood to get enough light to be able to see to sketch. Basically, everywhere you see a mound scattered with stones and trees growing out of it – you’ve got a Mayan structure.

 

Macaws have been released in the park, and they make a real racket – they also swoop and caw in great numbers, which I couldn’t capture on video, but believe me, is quite a sight. Macaws are so strange – they are not sexually dimorophous, so male and female bear that same stunning coloring – so vividly patterned that it seems as if they are pieces of art, not from nature – as beautiful as nature is!

 

We ended up walking back to town – it’s only a bit over a mile, although we would have taken a mototaxi if we’d have seen one. A bit of a rest, then out to eat. So here’s where we went, and boy am I dumb. I had seen this place twice before on our evening walks, and was determined to eat there. But then I could never find it again. I knew it was on one of the three or four cross streets on the way to the square, and every time I traveled those paths, I looked, but couldn’t find it. After we returned from the ruins, I left my son in the room and set out again, determined.  I was going to find this place – and came back, dispirited. Maybe, I told myself, they just set up on certain days.

And then out we went for dinner – just deciding we’d do whatever struck us on the way – we turned a corner – and there it was. And once I finally registered the location, I finally understood – it’s right across the way from the main market, in a space that, during the day, functions as another wing of the market. So no, it’s not there during the day, only in the evenings. And now I know exactly where it is.

 

Because we’ll probably return. I had a skewer of cerdo (pork) with various accompaniments, son had a torta (sandwich). They cook on a fire and a flattop grill close to the street, a long table is set up behind in the market space, and beside the folks coming and going are, of course, the ever present dogs – three sat mournfully around us, waiting…

IMG_20191113_073925Afterwards, it was over to Cafe Welchez, for a piece of cheesecake for someone (not me) and a glass of wine. All together – the meal, dessert and wine – I paid about $13 USD.

Something I read indicated that about 100,000 tourists a year visit Copan – not bad for a place that is not super easy to get to. To illustrate the extent of the tourism, here are my breakfast companions this morning – both Guatemalan tour guides, one leading a group from France, the other from Italy. So…be not afraid! Come on down!

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Coming to you from this morning’s office:

Sorry, not a coffee drinker, and a helpful young man in the convenience store dug behind all the regular bottles to find me a couple of Sabor Ligero – Coca-Cola Light, which is what you find outside the US instead of Diet Coke. You can also find Coke Zero, but I prefer the non-sweetness of this – which is not as perversely satisfying as the metallic mouth feel of Diet Coke, but hey. #GratitudeNovember or whatever.

Today’s the second day of Spanish school. I stayed at the school all morning yesterday, but there’s no need – so here I am back at our B & B, watching French tourists come and go.

All right – let’s do Monday:

Refresher: Kid #5, about to turn 15 next week has a long-standing interest in MesoAmerican civilizations, especially the Maya. It inspired past trips to the Yucatan and Guatemala. He is homeschooled, studied Spanish in 8th grade in school, has been doing his best on his own at home (mostly via this Great Courses and other random videos and reading, at the moment, El Hobbit.) But of course he needs more, and it seemed to be a good idea to combine the two interests – see a set of ruins he’s long wanted to visit and take a week of intensive Spanish study.

I had originally looked into Antigua, Guatemala, simply because I wanted to go there, but after thinking about it and considering options, it seemed as if the setting of Copan would give us more opportunities for after-school activities in the afternoons. There is a IMG_20191111_084415.jpglot to do around Antigua (not so much archaeological sites, but natural and cultural), but most of them seem to call for more than an afternoon. So, I was thinking, “We can do a week in Antigua, and then go to Copan”…I thought…why not just go to Copan for the week? As it turns out, there are a couple of well-regarded and reviewed Spanish language schools here, and so far – on day 2 – it seems to be working out well.

Monday morning, we rose, ate the typically well-prepared breakfast here at the B & B, then walked the six blocks or so to the school, located off the central square. It’s on the rooftop of a building housing a restaurant, a dental practice and some other businesses. He was introduced to a teacher, took a placement test, and then spent the next few hours learning how much he had to learn!

Humbling…

We then dropped our stuff off at the B & B, and ate lunch at a place recommended to us by our Copan guide – Cafe San Rafael – a lovely space centered on locally-made cheeses, as well as coffees (of course). It was more expensive than the typical local fare (full meal, for example, the previous night, for  both of us for 135 Lempira – about $5.50 USD), but worth it.

Then we took a mototaxi – what you’d know, more generally, as a “tuk-tuk” – they don’t Screenshot 2019-11-12 at 10.36.09 AMcall them that here – the prevalent mode of transportation in these parts – up  about 2 km to Macaw Mountain, a nature reserve originally started for birds that had served their usefulness to their owners as pets. You can read about it here. It was a good break from the hustle and bustle of town – we’d seen the flock of Macaws that fly freely at the ruins (and will see them again today) – and these guys are mostly in cages because they are being bred and trained to fly (those hatched in captivity), but still, it was a pleasant afternoon.

Back to town in a mototaxi, a rest, then out to get tickets for a Saturday excursion (we were originally going to leave Saturday, but decided this day-long excursion would be worth it), then dinner here – it was good – I had chicken, son had beef, with typical accompaniments. Monday Night Football en espanol on television, a cat wandering about. I prefer the more street-food stuff – the dishes cooked under tents in nooks and crannies  throughout town – and we have and will have plenty of that – but it’s nice to have a break from that to eat an actual enclosed space, as well!

Then a stroll into the center where we saw the pernicious influence of the USA in…Christmas decorations! On November 11! Ah, well…then to this small archaeological museum to fill out our Copan knowledge. Across the way, the church doors were open, so we went over to peek in and saw a man speaking to a fairly large group of folks – some sort of educational or mission activity I suppose. Children were racing around outside and since we obviously do not look native to these parts, were shouting, “Hello!” to us – one little boy (and I mean little – he was probably no more than 6 or 7) – was especially determined, so we took a few minutes for him to practice his English  – of which he was very proud – with us –  he could count to twelve, he knew all the greetings, and could tell me, when I asked him – gato? CAT! perro? DOG!

Back to the room…homework time for one of us, and me, reading John Lloyd Stephens on Copan. I have at home, for some reason, just the second volume of his great work – I think I got it when we first started on this path, and it’s the second volume that deals with the Yucatan. What I hadn’t realized was that Copan was actually the first ruins he encountered, the first place that revealed to him that maybe everything we thought we knew about this part of the world is wrong….It’s absolutely fascinating reading. 

Off-topic – Older Son is working his way through Billy Wilder’s oeuvre. Check it out here. 

Later!

(Don’t forget Instagram!) 

 

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Well, hello from Honduras!
I would say, “Hola,” except this meme, pointedly and regularly shared with me before, during and after our trip to Spain earlier this year, stills weighs heavily:

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So, no Spanish will be attempted.

Expect to see extensive blogging this week. I have four hours every morning, while this is happening:

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I’m hanging out this morning, but if it’s okay with everyone, during the rest of the week, I might make my way back to the B & B or wander. There’s not much to see, though, and we have every afternoon to do more wandering, so I’m thinking my best use of time will be to work either here or there, including sharing with you in this space.

After a typically rocky beginning to the trip, things have smoothed out nicely. When I say “typically” rocky, I don’t mean typically for me, I mean typically for leaving from the Birmingham airport. With all due respect, I think I’ve had more absurd delays from that airport than not. Delays that have necessitated totally scrapping a scheduled departure and leaving the next morning instead. Delays that have led to missing a connecting flight to Japan by maybe ten minutes, necessitating an overnight stay in Dallas and a lost day in Japan.

Things like that.

Luckily, we didn’t have a connecting flight to catch and even more fortunately this time, the airline – in the person of the pilot, specifically, was very good about keeping us informed – in complete violation of what I have long been under the impression was was Airline Rule #1: Obfuscate, deflect, and when that fails, just lie. No, this fellow, clearly wanting to get to Houston as badly as the rest of us, kept us as informed as possible on this very bizarre problem: the geniuses on duty couldn’t move the jetbridge. There was a problem, and evidently, for a solid hour, there was no one associate with the BHM airport staff that could be reached to give advice. The updates we got were things like: “Well, they’re going to gather every spare employee in the airport and try to push it.” That didn’t work. “Now they’re going to try the airplane tug.” Finally the pilot said, basically, “Screw it. We’re going to back out verrrrry slowly and if we break something, well, we break something.”
Nothing broke! We got to Houston about an hour late, and traveling mercies in restrospect on those rushing to make connections, but our only task was grabbing a hotel shuttle and getting some sleep.
Saturday morning:
Up early, hotel breakfast, then shuttle back to the airport for the a bit-less-than three hour flight to San Pedro Sula. Passengers were probably about half Honduran, half..not. I’m assuming most of those who weren’t, were were either going to Roatan to fish and/or dive or on mission trips. You could kind of tell the difference between the groups – I’m assuming the bros with the sunglasses latched on the back of their head  and the t-shirts barely covering their guts were in the former category, but hey, these days, who knows! And who am I to judge?

Immigration was bizarrely lengthy because of a strange situation. There were about thirty quite elderly people – who looked to be Honduran – all in wheelchairs, in the “special cases” line. Not long after we arrived, it seems as if an executive decision was made to prioritize these people – no argument from me there – and so the rest of us ended up waiting probably thirty minutes later than we would have otherwise. I really, really wondered what these group of wheel-chair bound elderly had been up to – they were all in Delta chairs (who knew they had so many) but I didn’t catch their flight origin. My main theories: They were native Hondurans living in the US who were being brought home for a visit in a group. They were Hondurans who were given the chance to go up to visit relations in the US in a group. Or three – they had been on a pilgrimage somewhere.
Anyway, we finally got through – without demands for papers from this child’s father allowing his travel – which happened to us in Belize and will explain to anyone who searches my purse and wonders why I am carrying a death certificate and a birth certificate with me on this trip…
…and met our driver, arranged by our hotel here in Copan.
Yes, there were other choices. We could have taken a bus. We could have rented a car. Let’s just say, I’m glad I did neither. We will probably end up on a bus for some parts of this trip, but for my initial entrance into the country, not knowing what the heck I’m doing and even being – I realized with a start on the flight over – totally clueless on the currency – I went for the driver and private car.
As I said – good choice. By car, it was a solid four-hour drive, which means, on a bus, it would have been longer, and, to boot, we would have had to leave the airport and go into the city to even catch the bus. We probably wouldn’t have arrived until 8 or so.
And driving? No thanks.

Let’s put it this way – if I were in the country for even just a week, being driven around, gaining understanding of the “rules” of the road, I could do it at that point. Avoid the (many) potholes, slow waaaay down for the (many) speed bumps, don’t freak out about the armed police stops (three, I think on the journey), and watch out for the people, dogs and chickens right on the edge of the road.
But again – right off a plane, new to the country? Probably jumping in a car and driving four hours would not be the best idea.
We arrived at our lovely B & B, freshened up, and headed out for food.
Copan Ruinas is a small town, central square, much poverty, but also set up for tourists who come mostly to visit the Mayan ruins. Lots of restaurants, a smattering of English spoken.

Our first food stop was in a courtyard where three women were set up – a food court, really. We just picked one and had a simple, lovely serving of pinchos.
That did not satisfy the young man who hadn’t eaten since the hotel breakfast, so we wandered out to find more. We settled for a touch more “formal” sit-down restaurant that’s centered on grilled meat. Not wanting a full meal, we just went for an appetizer of beans, cheese and chorizo kept warm over a cunning little charcoal brazier. At one point, seven heavily armed law/military guys came and sat at the table behind us – I mean, with their handguns on their hips and their rifles across their chests, even as they ate…I mean, yeah, you’re not going to hang your big gun (whatever they were) on the back of your chair, sure. I wasn’t going to stand up and get a photo (although they did gather and take a selfie at the table), but you can see one fellow behind my son in one of the photos.
Does a heavily armed culture make you feel more or less safe? Hard to say…
Anyway, we wandered, went into a few shops, and then back to sleep…

 

Blog post on Sunday Mass is already published here. 

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