Wednesday, February 1, 2006

We didn't plan on getting up until 6:00 a.m., but our neighbors had other ideas. They were up by 5:00, taking and giggling in Spanish. It sounded like they were right in the bed with us. Then the animals chimed in. Not just the requisite roosters, but a horse and some dogs, one of whom sounded like the hotel's giant scary German shepherd, Princessa.

So we got to the bus stop nice and early. The road to the border turned out to be the fork we'd almost taken on the way to El Mozote. For a reason unknown to us, we paused there for about twenty minutes. The old woman behind me, who had a prime viewing spot for my hair and took full advantage of it, actually spoke to me and told me it was beautiful. That was nice.

Honduran immigration was a small, lonely wooden room at the side of the road. For $3 each, we got our Honduran entry stamps and a big thumbs up from the migration guy. After everyone who needed it had been dealt with, the migration guy came outside and sat around with the driver and his assistants for a while.

When the fat had been thoroughly chewed, he came in and took a quick tour of inspection through the bus. He gave Michael and me each a bonecrushing handshake. This was remarkable because when Latin men actually bother to shake my hand as well as Michael's, they usually just give my hand a quick, squeamish pinch and drop it immediately. I don't even usually offer my hand since it seems not to be the done thing for women, but he just grabbed it and did his best to return it smaller than when he took it. He was great; we liked him a lot.

Except for a short distance which had been recently paved in stone, the road remained dirt all the way to Marcala, where we were to catch a bus to Tegucigalpa. The stone portion was probably good for preventing washouts, but it was much more painful of a ride than the dirt road.

In Marcala, Michael helped an old man unload his sacks of onions from the bus, and then we checked the LP and found we had just fifteen minutes to catch the Transportes Lila bus to the capital. We managed to find the place and bought two tickets, spending almost all the lempiras that we'd had left over when we left Honduras last time. (And it's lucky we had some lempiras, because we didn't see any other way of getting them, as at other borders.) But the bus! A lovely Gleaming Behemoth shimmering in the rutted dirt street like a new dime. And the seats! Like heaven after three and a half hours on a hard school-bus seat over a dirt road.

We sat in the very back and acquired three new buddies, friendly kids whose grownup was nowhere to be seen. The oldest looked to be about five and was looking after his little sister and brother, who was wearing a Pokemon t-shirt and a cloth diaper with pins.

They hung around and devoured us with their eyes, especially the baby. He held onto my armrest and looked at us with enormous eyes, ignoring my attempts to chat with him ("Te gusta Pikachu?") Michael introduced himself to the older boy and shook his hand. Then the little girl wanted her hand shaken as well. After long minutes of staring and thinking it over, the baby finally stuck out his tiny hand for us to shake. Finally the mom made an appearance and the kids settled down some.

When the assistant came around to check our tickets, he had a discussion with the mom. Eavesdropping, I picked out that he wanted her to pay a fare for each of her two older kids, even though they were sharing a seat. (The four of them were all in a set of two seats.) They seemed to reach a compromise, but I didn't know what it was until we made a stop and more people poured on. The compromise turned out that all four of them would share one seat.

The mother woke up her kids, and told the boy to stand in front of her knees, while she and the little girl squished into the window seat (and a teensy bit in the aisle seat) and she held the baby on her lap. I thought such a fancy bus would not make random stops and overfill the bus, but I was mistaken. For a while I had a young man sitting on the floor next to my seat and sharing my armrest.

We spent the very last of our lempiras buying food through the window - a small plate of chicken, rice, potato salad and tortillas, some tamales, and a couple of cans of juice. The tamales turned out to be sweet. They would have tasted great if I had not been expecting chicken. I was terribly disappointed because I've been dying for tamales lately and was thrilled to see them for sale. This is not as bad as when my great aunt thought she was biting into cake and it turned out to be sushi, but still a little jarring.

The bus let us off in Comayaguela, which is a part of Tegucigalpa across the river from the part we wanted. It was hot and crowded and we had our packs, so we decided to take a taxi and ask the driver to stop at an ATM on the way, which he did.

Tegucigalpa is a crowded city. Absolutely full to the brim with people. And hot. We were glad we'd taken a taxi, though the distance was not extreme. But we should have had the taxi take us directly to a hotel instead of asking him to let us off at the main square. This was followed by a long frustrating interval in which we checked into the Tobacco Road Inn and then left twenty minutes later (am I a princess if I need a lock on the shower door?) had an argument, wandered around in circles and finally checked into the Hotel Iberia.

HOURS ON THE BUS: 144.25

 

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Transportes Lila from Marcala to Tegucicalpa. View from the bus window.

More view from the bus.

More view from the bus.

More view from the bus.

Plaza Morazan, Tegucigalpa.

Plaza Morazan.

Plaza Morazan.