Wednesday, January 11, 2006

The same things that might be annoying in some situations are usefull and welcome in others. Once off the bus in Chiquimula, we didn’t know where we were going or what we were looking for. So when some guy spotted us and our packs and yelled, “Copan?” at us, we were grateful. He led us to where his minibus (yes, another one) was boarding. But we were not to be rushed. We went into the bus station to use the bathroom (where Michael walked in on some poor half-naked bus employee... but it's not his fault, I mean, that's what the lock is for, right?) and gather our thoughts.

When we were finished, the minibus was still there, so we let them put our bags on the roof and we climbed in. This was a fifteen-person van, but we ended up with about twenty-five passengers. At least this time we were sitting. The fare was Q5 each and the minibus took us to… somewhere… where we had to get on another minibus to the border.

The minibus they showed us was full. Even by Guatemalan standards, surely it was full. After a glimpse at the pained looking faces inside we said we’d wait for the next one. This gave us time to buy a snack, which was good, since we hadn’t eaten yet. Michael watched the bags while I found a small panederia down the street.

“Buenos tardes,” I said to the girl behind the counter. She just stared at me. I pointed to some sweet looking rolls under the glass-topped counter and asked how much.

“Four for one Quetzal,” she said, in Spanish.

“Four, please,” I said.

“Four for one Quetzal,” she enunciated carefully.

“Yes… and I would like four, please,” I responded.

She eyed me in confusion and finally put four of the rolls in a plastic bag. I paid for them and an orange soda and she stared at me the whole time.

The rolls turned out to be awesome, plus we were starving. I wanted to get more, but the next minibus was here. Why had they expected us to squeeze onto the last one when it was literally less than five minutes until the next one? It turned out we had enough time for me to dash back to the panederia for more rolls.

“Hi,” I said to the girl. “They were good. Four more, please?”

She stared at me in complete and utter disbelief and after some hesitation, she put four more rolls in a bag and collected her Quetzal, watching me the whole time. I have no idea what her problem was, but the whole thing was really weird.

The van filled up by our standards and then filled up by Guatemalan standards and we were off. The other van had been nice, but this one was old and grubby. The ayudante wore a Beverly-Hills-90210-circa-1991 style sleeveless light blue chambray shirt and rode standing in the open doorway, holding on to the roof-rack, his armpit hair blowing in the breeze.

He looked very dashing pulling sacks of onions off the roof for a pretty girl who got off the van with three flats of eggs. Someone climbed out the back window and the ayudante picked up a kid and boosted him through the window to the newly vacated space, yelled to the driver, and we were off again.

After a short delay while we were stuck behind a herd of cattle and some genuine hat wearing, lasso waving, horse riding cowboys, we made it to the border. We had Q20 left, total. So we had cut it close, but the gamble had paid off; we hadn’t wasted any money.

Immediately upon leaving the van we were surrounded by moneychangers, each with a multicolored brick of assorted currencies and one guy who wanted us to take a van going to Copan Ruinas. We decided to take care of the immigration formalities first.

It looked like a madhouse, but we were relieved to find that the longest lines were for things we didn’t want. Leaving Guatemala was no problem. We stood in a short line in front of a barred window for just a few minutes. The officer’s name was Miguel, so he liked Michael right away. Then he asked me, “novio?” pointing to Michael, and when I said yes, he gave Michael the thumbs up and stamped us out of Guatemala.

The “Entrar Honduras” window was also only a short wait. We filled out a brief form, paid $3 USD each, and got our 30-day stamps from a young woman with cornrowed hair. Then the moneychangers were back. We had found out from the guy that the van cost 30 lempira, and from the moneychangers that they were offering 18 lempira to the dollar. We changed $20 each.

The minivan, unsurprisingly, was crowded again, enough so people’s kids had to sit on other people’s laps. We sat in the back row with a great big guy who joked that no more people could fit into our row because he was so big. Michael smiled at him and pointing to the two of them said, “grande!” and the guy laughed and pointed to himself and said, “gordo” and they gave each other a pound. Everyone laughed.

The view was fabulous, the hills bright green despite the gray skies. Our buddy who had led us to the van wanted to know if we needed a room. We told him we didn’t think so, but when we were all let off the van, he was still asking. We told him no, this time more directly. He asked again. No.

Then, like a shade had been pulled down, his face changed from smiling and helpful to murderously hateful and he walked away from us mumbling wrathfully. Not satisfied with that, he complained about us to everyone he passed on the way. We saw him later as we cut through the square, and he was still giving us dirty looks.

Other than that, Copan Ruinas seems nice. It’s definitely a nice-looking little town, cobblestoned and bougainvillea-draped, with a nice little square. It reminds me a lot of Antigua, but not as full of tourists. A nice place to end up after twelve straight hours of traveling. We are extremely excited to be in Honduras.

HOURS ON A MINIBUS: 6

 

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Bougainvillea.

Copan Ruinas, main square.

Passport stamps.