The cities of the coast Hondurena
The path to
Honduras, it was not proved easy. After leaving Tikal, with a direct bus to Copan Ruines, we are down to ruidosa, a town on the border between Guatemala and
Honduras (but still in Guatemala!) And from there we began to inquire about how it was possible to cross the border. Insistent voices saying that the easiest way was to turn a team (this is a vans which can carry about a dozen people, even if in fact they charge a lot more!) And then a taxi. So we did, we climbed into vans and we have entrusted to us to disassemble the driver in a place near the border. In this elusive place we sold the comfort of a taxi for a figure that after all honest, we did finally cross the border with
Honduras. The thing that struck us is the immense parecchio zone between Guatemala and
Honduras: a vast no man's land, long miles and covered everywhere by the cultivation of pineapple and bananas. The taxi left us in the first country beyond the border ... as often happens, even in this case the word "country" was a giant. Was rather a small group of houses, with no paved roads and surrounded by a sea of mud. Not even time to put your feet on the ground, or rather in the mud, and we were taken by assault "cambisti", often very young children that wander with bundles of banknotes in his hands and asked if we wanted to change a po 'money Local.
We soon would be informed when the next bus left for the coast and then we sat down to wait. After a waiting mezz'oretta, mud is checked by the silhouette of a bus, that more than one bus seemed almost half armored, wheeled and XXL-wide compliance with a decidedly robust body. After an initial moment of surprise, we understood the reasons for such a configuration: the road to reach the "civilization" was long, but above all not asphalted and bumpy, full of holes, bumps and fords streams.
Our goal was a seaside village called
Omoa, where we had planned to spend a day of beach and sea, given that according to our information,
Honduras has one of the largest coral reef in the world, second only to Australian. To achieve
Omoa we Sorbates the beauty of three hours of bumpy road to get destroyed at destination. At our arrival we knew already where to stay, and decreased by bus, we found a strange vehicle pedals which served as a free taxi, up to that we had chosen (in fact it was the only option). With great difficulty the conductor of the "rickshaw", has completed its work in a lake of sweat but in the end we managed to settle in a flash and we were ready to get to the beach! Expectations were many, perhaps too much as usual and are designed to be rejected ... it was so! The beach had nothing of the Caribbean, it was dark and poorly kept, faced with work works ... unworthy! Fortunately, the water seemed clean, but certainly not enough to satisfy our desires. After this hard contact with reality, we spent a half hour in the pier, accompanied by loud children who tried to catch some fish for dinner. We, too, for the dinner, we returned to us in a hostel shower. Our stay was an old wooden building, surrounded by a garden truly green and well cared for (perhaps more of the same!). may be due to the complicity of this beautiful garden, our dorm was literally infested by colonies of arrogance and mosquitoes affamatissime: devastating! Fortunately, our suffering was shared by three other companions of misfortune, un'olandese, a Swiss and un'inglese: we were all on the same boat and we were sinking. These precarious conditions have made us decide to raise the curtains on the following day. To console us, we went to eat a dinner with the flakes, totally made up of fish: juicy! Dinner was followed by the usual digestive stroll through the narrow streets of the country in an absolute calm.
The next morning preceded by our flatmate, we left the hostel and
Omoa with him, to seek better fortune in Canvas.
To reach the city of
Tela, the path was quite articulate. There was no direct bus and the only solution was to reach San Pedro de Sula (the second metropolis Honduran) and from there to turn a second bus to
Tela. Arrived in San Pedro de Sula, after spending two hours nell'ennesimo bus, we were anxious to find another bus that brings us to our final destination. Before leaving the city we spent over an hour to wander around the crowded streets of downtown in search of a cambista we obtain a po 'di grana. We obtained the loot returned to the station to board a bus to overflowing Canvas. The vehicle was certainly the most popular with an internal temperature of nearly forty degrees gladdened by giant speakers radiating music ball. With two hours of journey interrupted by a change of vehicle is not well identified, we were led to goal.
Tela also was not sure how a metropolis but as high as a peaceful village in the suburbs where life spent without much emotion. Removed from the bus we took a taxi to a hotel to spend the night in his pocket had two names: the first, converted from a colonial house, was very nice but it proved too expensive, the second, more spartan, was to our case. In fact the term "Spartan" was perhaps a euphemism: it was also this time of a room at the edge of living with a tin roof, the beds and a bathroom consumed derived from a divider posticcio placed in a corner of ' home. The garden was then in the muddy earth and inhabited by a cat and a duck very aggressive. Even here our first concern was to head to the beach to see if the situation had improved. Right time to deposit your luggage and we were already running towards the beach, in truth the way we divided the sea was short and once again we were deeply disappointed. Our expectations if they had gone up in smoke: the beach was narrow and dark the scene that surrounded us ... if possible even worse than
Omoa. With morale in pieces, we went to visit a little town, hoping to find something particularly interesting. In this regard, we came across an internet cafe run by an Italian who now more than ten years had moved to live in
Tela. Our fellow's name was Sergio and held her in his arms a beautiful girl of color, her daughter Valentina: adorable. Sergio us timely information sull'
Honduras, confirmed that the city was where I found a sort of "graveyard" where at night the only thing to do was sleep. He also confirmed what temavamo: the Mar del Caribe in
Honduras do not have never found if not in the Bay Islands. With this awareness in his pocket, after a short walk to the town (a funeral!) We went to dinner at a local restaurant swarming with pargoletti. From there, our destination obliged smelly bed.