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What a fantastic ride I had today, from the 1000 meter plateau down to the Pacific coastal plain. But first, I had to cross the border. I got up at six as usual. I find it almost impossible to sleep any longer now. I packed up, had a brief look for some-where to eat without much hope and no success, so I just ate the banana I had left over from yesterday, and left.
It was really cold, and for a while I contemplated putting on my windbreaker. But the sun shone brightly, and I thought it would warm up soon. The last five kilometers to the actual border (again on the watershed between the Caribbean and Pacific) was a steep climb for about 200 meters in elevation.
I had no problems, neither on the Nicaraguan nor the Honduran side, and was through both controls in less than two hours. I found out, that they did not take any cordobas back in Nicaragua, but neither did they check my baggage, to see that I was not illegally exporting Nica currency, nor did they check my other foreign currency stock, although when I entered I had had to fill out an elaborate form, to list what I had. Actually I had resigned myself already to perhaps losing the $ 50.00 worth of almost worthless currency as a donation to the Nicaraguan government, so to speak. Then on the other side almost the first contact I had, was with an ambulant money changer. He offered me one lempira for 1500 cordobas which equalled 4200 cordobas to the US$. I thought it was reasonable under the circumstances, handed over my wad of cordobas, and got enough lempiras to last me for two days. At the rate of inflation in Nicaragua these money changers must, even at a margin of 25%, have a fast turnover, not to lose too much money in this business.
The infamous Honduran baggage check was reasonably thorough, but after going through all pockets of my backpack, they lost interest, and the front bags went unchecked. In any case, they did not find the 'subversive socialist literature', I was smuggling in, and had taken great pains to put in places, where they were unlikely to look. They did not even get close.
The money changer followed me step by step pointing out where I had to go next, hoping I would also change some dollars with him. Little boys pestered me. I could not understand them, but presumed they wanted to guard my bike. Anyway, I kept it in sight, so nothing could be stolen. Maybe I was overly care- and distrustful, coming from a 'crimeless' socialist country to a 'crime-ridden' feudalist banana republic.
I was through the controls in almost no time, and then it was onto the road again. On the other side of the summit the country seemed to change drastically. The angular hills were replaced by many eroded mesas covered with pine forests. What had happened to the pines on the other side? Were they all cut down? The dwellings got even poorer, but then I noticed flower pots and hanging plants at every humble hut. Why did I not notice that in Nicaragua? Probably because there were none.
But the money was a lot easier to keep track of, after paying hundreds for a soft drink, I was back to paying fractions of lempiras. I had not handled any coins in Nicaragua, the smallest bill used being worth about half a cent. Here they had coins again.
As in Nicaragua people greeted you with 'adios' (be with god), but now often an English phrase, or little boys shouting 'Gringo'. Some sort of election is going on here soon. Many trucks and private vehicles with flags cruising around, flags which are not the national flag, but that of the candidate.
Some fifteen kilometers through this beautiful landscape it became apparent that I was nearing the final ridge before the big drop off into the Pacific coastal plain. And then suddenly, as I came over the crest, I was greeted wit a stupendous sight. Down there, 1000 meters below, were spread out the plain, the Gulf of Fonseca, and in the blue haze filled distance large volcanoes, Cosiguina in Nicaragua and San Miguel in El Salvador, the latter well over a hundred kilometers away. It was just a breathtaking sight, and I stood there gorging myself on the view.
The next fifty kilometers were just one fantastic ride. The road was
generally good, the traffic light, and I just zipped down there at an average
speed of 40 km/hr, stopping ever so often to take in the view. I had some
lunch at a rustic 'pulperia' (from 'pulpo', octopus, small store selling
many things): frijoles with eggs and two soft drinks. The wild ride did
not stop, when I reached the plain. By now the wind had strengthened and
was right from the back. Why do all good things come all at once? For the
last fifteen kilometers on the plain I was just flying along in highest
gear at an average of 35-40 km/hr, only slowing down to 30 on slight rises
in the road. Even a local cyclist on a heavy Chinese bike kept up with
me. Now I am in my first hotel in Honduras. For C$ 4.00/person it is spotlessly
clean, towel, soap and toilet paper provided, so I am not complaining.
5 December 1988, Pespire
Here I am at a cute little town on the shores of a river. My guide book did not mention this little nice motel, and I had origi-nally planned to tent today. But here I am in a nice room for C$ 6.00 with all the conveniences, except towel, and full with a meal of shrimps and rice and two beers, and pleasant local and Mariachi music as a backdrop.
This morning I got breakfast in the morning, probably because I slept in and got up only half an hour later. Why did I sleep in, maybe because I went to the movies last night. An American film about bounty hunters chasing their victim all across the United States, with plenty of car chases and wrecks and all kinds of other unreal situations. Actually it was a lot of fun and quite hilarious; but what the local audience made of it, I am not quite sure. Do they actually believe that these are everyday happenings in the States? Or are they more sophisticated than that? Or maybe it is, like the German resort owner in Costa Rica had told me, that only the average Americans themselves believe it, and the rest of the world takes it for what it is, pure fanta-sy.
First thing of course this morning, I had a huge glass of lovely fresh pressed orange juice for C$ 0.20. If you happen to be in a town, at every corner there are huge piles of oranges on the ground, and perhaps a little Indio girl has a hand operated press, where she churns out orange juice by the tens of liters. I shall not die of scurvy on this trip! As I remember it, it was strange that no oranges were to be seen in the Philippines. There was calamansi juice (a fruit similar to lemon) and lots of pineapple juice, but no oranges (except orange juice imported from the States).
The coastal plain here is dry, and hardly anything is grown on it. It was a hot ride, but I am so used to the heat now, that I do not even miss a fan in my room any more, and when I have it I do not use it.
In San Lorenzo, the only Pacific seaport of Honduras, I was unable to find a bank to change more money. There was nothing else there either, only dirt roads and hardly a store. So farther on to Jicaro Galan, where the highway to Tegucigalpa branches off from the Pan-American. Here, the guidebook said, was a thriving black market to change dollars, but I hardly could change $ 20.00 at a very unfavourable rate (2.5 lempiras to the dollar). Even so, in the restaurant I had an outstanding seafood soup, reminding me of the famed 'Po Taek' of Thailand. There at the restaurant I was told about this motel by some travellers of undeterminable nationality. The twenty kilometers up on the road to Tegucigalpa coincided neatly with the location of my intended camping site, so I set off in good spirits.
But the direction of the road now was north northeast and straight into a strong headwind. Now I was to pay for the exhilarat-ing ride I had yesterday. But I knew it was only twenty kilometers, and early in the day, so I slogged it out, ignoring the encouraging shouts of the various peasants lounging in the midday heat under almost every tree along the road.
Soon I came into the foothills again, which made me gain some elevation, but also brought me into the wind shadow of the hills. The beautiful river appeared on my side, and then this picturesque minuscule town of Pespire with its beautiful little baroque church and tiny Parque Central. Not far beyond was this nice motel, where I can stand on the verandah in front of my room, look over the river and hear the water rippling over the small rapids. A scenic and peaceful spot!
After a shower I fell into a sleep of exhaustion for the rest of the
afternoon. I do not know, why I should have been exhausted, because today's
ride was not that strenuous. But I can use the sleep, because tomorrow
is going to be one hard day: a little over 70 kilometers, and at least
1200 meters gain in elevation. Whether I shall make it all in one day,
I am not quite sure, but then I could hop onto a bus, or I could have my
night of camping after all.
6 December 1988, Tegucigalpa
Actually I am in the sister city across the river, Comayaguela. For most of the day I was not sure whether I would make it. It turned out to be the toughest day yet for me bicycling anywhere: 81 kilometers, and I gained all of 1400 meters in elevation. But that was not all. When I was not virtually clawing up the incline, I was clawing against the strongest headwind I have yet encountered. It was extremely blustery, and at times I was almost blown off the road. Anyway I made it, and I am not the worse for it, except that I am somewhat saddlesore for the first time on this trip. For a while I thought my left knee would be giving in, but it carried on alright.
I got away promptly at 7:00 with a good breakfast in my stomach, and at Kilometer 11 it started to get serious, the first long unbroken climb of 800 meters. That I had licked by 10:30. I was up in pine country now, beautiful to look at, and far below me the coastal plain, where I had come from.
At 13:00 I happened upon a local restaurant, where I had the 'comida corriente' with a soda and a beer. I really enjoyed that in this rustic setting. Then more of the same, and finally the next 600 meter climb up to the final ridge. Even the pines disap-peared, and the country became bare and cold looking. The wind just stormed in from the north, and I struggled against it.
Just before the summit ridge I happened upon a little hut, where a lady sold little clay souvenirs she had made herself, so I made a huge purchase for C$ 1.00 and took some footage on my video of her and her children.
At this point there were only 19 kilometers left, according to the road signs, but in fact it was more like 27. This did not matter though, since it was all downhill. As it was really cold, I put on my windbreaker for this last section.
The hotel I am in is not all that special, but it is reasonably cheap
for the capital city of a country at C$ 7.00, and while it is not very
quiet, it has a private shower, which is COLD.
7 December 1988, Tegucigalpa
Today during the day it got quite warm in the sun. But I think the wind is still blowing up there on the heights. Here in the city in the valley it finds it difficult to get in between the buildings.
My day was rather strenuous. It started with a disappointment, because at the bank they were only prepared to give me two lempiras for the American dollar. At that rate life here is not cheap at all. Apparently the higher rate is a black market rate, and it seems to vary between 2.50 and 3.00 lempiras to the dollar. At the border the money changer had wanted to give me 2.80, here so far the best I have been able to get is 2.60, and that for a traveller's cheque at the supermarket. How they get away with that I do not know, there must be a lot of corruption around, that they can get rid of traveller's cheques without going officially through the banking system. On the other hand, they never seem to check your passport here, when changing a traveller's cheque. How safe are they?
Had a lot of running around between getting some more traveller's cheques from American Express (had to go to three places for that), getting some of them changed at an acceptable rate, and getting my visa for Guatemala. Anyway, the visa did not cost anything, thank God for small blessings!
I did have a cheap enough lunch though, the normal 'comida corrida' for C$ 1.00 plus $ 0.60 for the beer to go with it, but then I also paid $ 0.45 for a simple ice cream and $ 4.50 for two short taxi rides, which I thought was overpriced. Here you see the expensive American apples and grapes again on the streets. What kind of people buy them? The prices at the super-market were also not cheap. Meat was perhaps very little cheaper than at home, but most items were much the same price. I suppose the poor people, which is most of them, do not shop in supermarkets. This is supposed to be the poorest country in Central America, but the prices for most everything are not any cheaper than in Costa Rica, which has a substantially higher living standard.
The two cities, Tegucigalpa and Comayaguela are squeezed in between the folds of the mountains, and there is hardly a flat piece of land around. There is a multitude of suburbs (colonias) sprawling out in all directions. While there is hardly any char-acter to the place, at least it has the advantage, that it has never suffered from earthquakes like practically every other capital city in the region, sometimes almost to the point of extinction like Managua or Antigua Guatemala.
Towards evening I dressed up, as much as I can with the few things I
carry in my backpack, and went to the Casino at the Hotel Maya, following
a suggestion of the clerk at the American Express office, to try to change
some more money at the black market rate there. I got three Lempiras to
the dollar (traveller's cheques) without any problems, the guy even asked,
did I have some more? But I had all that I needed now. Had I only known
about this earlier!
8 December 1988, Camayagua
This day certainly turned out differently than expected. I wanted to get an early start, but woke up one hour late at 7:00, when the local radio station, I had tuned into on my alarm clock/radio, signed on. Well, I was in no panic, had breakfast at leisure, and looked around for oil to lubricate the chain on my bicycle, also for a piece of rope, since one of the belts to tie down my backpack had frayed.
With all that done, I finally got going at 8:30 on that long climb out of the city. Either the grade was not all that steep, or I was more rested, I think it was the latter, I got almost all the way to the top without resting, except for necessities, like having a glass of freshly pressed orange juice, and to ask for directions. Finally at almost 600 meters above the city I was at the top of the ridge of mountains ringing the city from three directions. And now the country started to become quite nice. The wind of the other day was almost gone too, and the sun came out.
Next I had to cross a twenty kilometer wide valley, necessitating a 500 meter drop and a climb of the same amount at the other side. And here the countryside became exceedingly beautiful with sun speckled pine forests and beautiful views over the val-leys.
As I was leaving the city I had passed by the only sign indicating distances to the various points ahead, courtesy of Pepsi Cola, and deducted that it was a total of 95 kilometers to here, where, according to the guide book, was the first hotel. I figured with three climbs of about 500 meters each (as my map indicated), I would never be able to cover all that distance in one day.
There was also a place along the way (at forty kilometers), where I decided to inquire for accommodation, and if there was none I would camp somewhere. Well, when I came to this village I had a simple but good lunch, but, as expected, there was no obvious 'hospedaje'. The lady at the 'comedor' (eating place) though said there was, but another lady at the indicated place said, no. That did not worry me at all, because with a full stomach and two full bottles of water I was already looking forward to camp among these beautiful pine forests.
But at 13:30 it was much too early for that, I should get in at least another couple hours of riding. And so on I went, enjoying the pristine scenery, and imagining the site I would pick to camp. Then after about another 15 kilometers the road began to drop as I had expected it too, but the extent and length of the drop was larger than I had thought. And then I rounded a bend, and below me, still well more than 600 meters down in elevation, was the intramontane plain of Comayagua bordered on one side by the Montana de Comayagua, which I had crossed, and on the other side by the Cordillera de Montecillos both with peaks 2500 meters high. I could see the road going all the way down into the plain, not as my map had indicated climbing up again for several hundred meters before the final drop.
With only downhill riding and then zooming along the level ground on the plain I could come at least very close to, if not reach Comayagua before nightfall. So nothing with camping, and I decided to go for it. As it turned out, the expected distance was ten kilometers shorter, and I arrived here at 16:30. Instead of in a tent I am in a beautiful motel room with ALL the conveniences including hot water (C$ 8), and I am pigging out again.
On the way I passed a large air base of the Honduran Air Force. How a poor country with a population of the City of Toronto can afford this I do not know. But then I understand, most of the planes here are American, and they provide ideological, if not actual physical support for the Contras, so the US. are paying for the infrastructure. The guide book says, that as a tourist one should carry identification while in this town, in order not to be mistaken for an American soldier without leave, when challenged by the American military police on the street.
9 December 1988, Taulabe
Right now it is pouring rain. I have not seen that much rain since Costa Rica. It probably will not last all that long, but I am safe and dry, ensconced in a small very basic room in a 'hospedaje' in this tiny village at the foot of the mountains. Good thing I found this place when I did, otherwise I might have gotten wet trying to find a campsite etc. etc.
This morning I got away a little late trying to buy some necessities like toothpaste, postage stamps and detergent for washing clothes. Not far out of town I had to start climbing up into the mountains again, some 1000 meters over 35 kilometers to reach the town of Siguatepeque, which sits almost perched on top of the great drop into the lowlands of the Caribbean coast. This was a long climb through pine clad hills, although rather sparsely clad, probably greatly thinned by people cutting wood for cooking.
This road is a relatively new highway not shown on my map (1978), and the rock cuts were still quite fresh. This is where one can see the geologic history of the country as the various layers of rock and overburden are laid open to the observer. All this country here is composed of massive layers of volcanic detritus: ash, boulders etc. Where all these masses of material have come from is hard to imagine, as the range of present day volcanoes is well over 200 kilometers away to the south.
The valley bottoms are composed of rich soil; and one could see that in the Comaguaya valley I passed through yesterday. Again this morning, while still in the valley, I passed another army camp, this time an anti-aircraft defense unit. Who are they trying to defend themselves from? The Ticos of Costa Rica certainly do not think Nicaragua poses a threat. As one travels through the country one sees a lot of military presence. While there were a lot of soldiers around in Nicaragua too, the differ-ence here is that everything looks well equipped, while in Nicaragua there was just manpower with only hand weapons. I am sure that these people, who really are too poor for this luxury of an army, are led down the garden path by the American government, who has an obsession with military and economic power, and who is paranoid about the imagined communist threat. How much coercion is involved here? Perhaps it is just a natural outgrowth of the almost total economic domination that the banana companies and other American firms wield in this proverbial 'banana republic'.
Nominally this country is a democracy. The electioneering I noticed on the first day pertained to presidential primaries (after the US. model) which were held on that day, as I read in the paper the next day. But it appears that the military really wields the power, abetted by the American companies. And whenever the civilian government does not do as it is told, the generals take over, as has happened several times in the past twenty years. I would not vote for any of the candidates anyway. Judging from their faces on the posters none of them look honest. Those geologically revealing rock cuts on the highway also provide a handy surface for election slogans, which are liberally applied in lasting multi-coloured paint. If there was a law here that all election propaganda must be removed by the second day after the election (like in Canada), the candidates' staff would find it an impossible task to carry out. Meanwhile the paint companies have made a big business (American probably), and the losing and winning candidates' names are emblazoned on these public surfaces for generations and several elections, if any, to come.
From Siguatepeque the last piece was easy, downhill most of the way. As gray clouds were coming over from the northeast, the scenery, while impressive, did not look all that inviting without the sunshine which makes everything so much more presentable. Somewhere on the downhill section there were fruit stands absolutely laden with pineapple, oranges, tangerines, bananas, some other fruit I did not know, as well as all kinds of vegetables. Of course, I had to stop and sample some of the fruit. I had a pineapple cut up for me and also bought some tangerines. All of these fruit here are so juicy and taste absolutely delicious. One has to watch though, not to eat too much citrus fruit, as it makes for soft stool, and that is not the best for bicycling.
A kilometer before this village I stopped at some caves which were mentioned in my guide book, but did not really feel like exploring them thoroughly. While there were wires going into them for lighting, they were all tangled up, and it did not look as if the system was working.
Here in Taulabe the road starts which branches off the main highway
to the coast and leads to Santa Barbara, and which I plan to take tomorrow
morning. My guide book says it is not paved, but it looks paved as far
as I could see from the intersection. Anyway, it is supposed to be mainly
downhill following a river valley. The man at the filling station could
not tell me how far it was, nor has Pepsi Cola been obliging with a sign,
but from my map I estimate it at some 50-60 kilometers.
10 December 1988, Santa Barbara
My distance estimate had not been too bad. It turned out to be 60 kilometers. A guy, I had asked before leaving, told me it was 63 kilometers, so he was very close. At first I was not sure whether I should come this way. All night long I had heard the rain patter onto the corrugated iron roof over my bed, and I thought if this was a dirt road it would be in pretty bad shape after this night. Nevertheless, I decided to have a look, before I turned around and made for San Pedro Sula on the main highway.
I got away at 8:00 and the road turned out to be unpaved alright, but with a hard gravel surface and not muddy at all. So I committed myself and carried on. I was glad later that I did, because it turned out to be a beautiful trip, passing through little villages that hardly ever, if at all, had seen a tourist, and beautiful pine forests.
It was the day, though, where for the first time I had to get off the bike on the many uphill stretches and push. About ten kilometers into the trip I stopped at a little village at a hilltop for a drink. The man I talked to indicated there were lots of hills ahead and much winding road, and that I probably would have to carry my bike. Well, he was not too far off, because pushing the bike on some of these steep uphill sections almost amounted to carrying it.
But it was beautiful! At lunchtime I had covered thirty kilometers in 4.5 hours which was my lowest average yet by far, and was a measure of all the walking involved. Even on the steep downhill sections the fastest I could go was 10-12 km/hr because of the rough surface, good practice for the hand muscles having to be on the brakes all the time.
I had a very simple lunch with a lady that made me some eggs, frijoles and tortillas. Her wall was covered with the various certificates her children had brought from school. They all looked very impressive but only amounted to certify their gradua-tion from kindergarten and public school. Education, however little it is, amounts to a lot with these simple people, and they are very proud of their, in our eyes modest, achievements. One would wish that some of our school dropouts in the West would put more value on what they are being offered for free.
In the afternoon the road improved drastically, being re-constructed, and finally it actually became paved. Earlier I had had to ford three streams swollen by the rains of the night, wading through the last one. Now at one section of the road under con-struction a section of the embankment had caved in, trapping water on the road. Trucks passing through had made a fine mud bath, and there was no way for me around it but to take off my sandals and wade through the ankle-deep mess. The bike got rather dirty, but now it does not look too bad, after I had washed off the worst in the next stream.
After eight hours (average 7.5 km/hr) I arrived here, and seeing an ice cream parlour, wolfed down a banana split and an orange juice. The 'hospedaje' I am staying in is awfully cheap and very comfortable. At C$ 1.80 it is cheaper than yesterday's accommodation and much better value as it is very clean and neat.
Later in the evening I went for supper and made the rounds (so to speak) of this little town. Supper, shrimp soup with bread, was delicious, but the service lousy and the beer not cold enough.
Around the town square a lively crowd had gathered (Saturday night)
and entertained itself and was being entertained in var-ious ways. There
were brightly lit stalls selling Christmas items, the usual orange sellers
with their ingenious hand operated pealing machines. On a sort of podium
somebody was making speeches, and there were musicians, solo and groups.
One could wander into the church and participate in the evening service,
or one could go over to the other side of the square, where there were
stalls with games of chance. I do not pretend to know the names of the
games being played in the casinos the world over nor how they are being
played, but here there were crudely made replicas of most of them, and
the local townspeople, includ-ing children, played with ten centavo (4
cents) stakes. The scene had a sort of magical quality about it, and I
was thankful being able to experience it.
11 December 1988, Chimistan
I am within shooting distance of the Copan ruins now, only another two days to go. And finally I am out of the mountains proper, having reached the broad valley of the Rio Chameleon flowing towards the Caribbean Sea. The map I am using does not show the new highways in this area at all, so I am just guessing where I am by comparing the topography and the few place names which are correct.
Coming down from Santa Barbara to about 200 meter elevation I had to cross another ridge 700 meters high, and now I am down again at 200 meters in warm tropical climes with coconut palms and the like. The road was smooth but the grades a little steeper, or did they only seem so? I called them 200 meter grades, because going uphill I had to stop every 200 meters to catch my breath.
At sixty kilometers I finally reached the Western Highway leading from San Pedro Sula to the western part of the country. La Entrada, the next town of consequence, was then still 73 kilometers away, which I felt I could never make, so I set my hopes on a little place shown on my Bartholomew's map called Chimistan. The guide book did not mention it, but a person I met at the road junction said there was a hospedaje here. Well I arrived here at 16:00, rode the kilometer or so into the village, and lo and behold, there was something with numbers over a series of rooms, and the sign over the store did say 'pulperia y hospe-daje'. It is very simple, there is no running water, but plenty of water sits in pails in front of the room. The lady made me see the room first, whether it was acceptable. It was, and in any case I was NOT going to ride another 53 kilometers for some-thing better.
This really is a tiny village, but there IS a restaurant which I shall patronize now without delay. I am sure tonight I shall not be disturbed by trucks or any other noise in my sleep.
12 December 1988, La Entrada
It was not all that quiet last night after all. Shortly after 18:00 the movie house next door started playing music, and at 19:00 when the film started, a Hongkong Kung Fu epic, one could follow the action from the sound, which was liberally broadcast for all in the vicinity at maximum volume. But then, there was only one feature and by 20:30, at least that source of noise shut down.
Later during the night it was really quiet, not a single sound to be heard. But I do not know, when the cocks decided that it was time for everybody to wake up. There were virtually throngs of them starting to make a racket in various directions, and being answered by others elsewhere. Not since the Philippines, over six months ago, can I remember cocks being so promi-nent in the sounds of early morning.
Since I had only 53 kilometers on my agenda today, I made no hurry to get up and was ready to get rolling only at about 08:00. Conveniently there was a stall on the plaza right in front of the hospedaje, where they sold coffee. I bought some baked goods and really enjoyed the wonderful strong black coffee with it. I had three brimming cups of it for a total cost of C$ 0.30.
Then onto the road. During the night a thick fog had developed, and the sun had problems cutting through it. My shirts had not dried overnight, even my riding shorts, which I had also washed, and which always dry overnight. But I did put on a dry shirt from my backpack, not like the last two days, when my shirts did not get a chance to dry before being soaked again with sweat.
Soon it became very hot, and about midway I had to climb another hill. Perhaps only 200-300 meters or so, but the grade was steep, the sun was hot, and I was reduced to walking and pushing the last piece. I was sweating like a pig and pretty near exhaustion.
Nevertheless, I arrived here at 13:00, got myself a real nice room, hung out my wet shirts to dry in the hot sun, had a shower and flopped down for a well deserved midday rest. I had not lain down for very long, when a presentable young woman walked into the room (I had left the door unlocked) sat herself down in front of the mirror, and started combing her hair. Of course, she was aware, that I was lying on my bed. I suppose, she felt, that the lone foreign traveller probably had some cash to spare, and was willing to share his bed with her for a fee. But I was not in the market, rather from utter surprise than out of total unwillingness, and after a while she left.
Now I am ready to look for a fereteria (hardware store) to buy some oil for the bike as well as a screw for my back carrier, which for some unexplained reason was loose when I got here.
I think, I am finally coming down with an upset stomach. Must have been something I ate last night. All morning I had noticed some foul smelling breath on myself. I guess this is mostly to be blamed for my relative weakness. I should be able though to make it to Copan tomorrow, it is only 64 kilometers with very little climbing (I think). There I have scheduled a day of rest anyway, and if necessary I shall stay longer. At least it will be a better place to rest, where there is a wider choice of suitable food, the place being geared to the tourist trade, because of the nearby Mayan ruins.
13 December 1988, Copan Ruinas
This was a novel experience today to bicycle in the rain. There was no need to get up early, but even at 08:00 it was coming down pretty good. So I made slow in packing up and having breakfast. The little 'pastelleria' next door was open, and I had a couple of doughnuts with three cups of good strong coffee.
I killed some more time by visiting the local museum, which showed artifacts found in the vicinity, all related to the Copan Maya civilization. They also had a small section showing Japanese artifacts of preceding centuries to prove, by the similarity of design, that the Mayas had indeed come from that part of Asia before settling here. The visitor's book showed that many Japanese are aware of this fact, and had been visiting this place in much greater numbers than other nationalities.
It had stopped raining by then, but there were a lot of low clouds scudding by overhead. Anyway, I decided it was time to go, and 10:00 hours saw me on the road. I discovered then that my speedometer was not working, and after fiddling around with the mended wire, decided it must be the moisture that is shortening out the unit which provides the impulse for measuring the speed. One of the English fellows I had met in Esteli had had the same speedometer, and had told me that it went crazy in the rain. Since I knew exactly how many kilometers I had to go, and it was a straight simple road, I decided to forget about it and keep some sort of account of where I was with my watch.
Again there was a climb of about 300-400 meters, to get me over the watershed between where the water drains into the Caribbean through Honduras or through Guatemala. And then it started to rain, good and hard actually. First I took some shelter under a rock overhang, then after carrying on in a temporary lull, at a bus shelter. Later I decided that I just had to go on in the rain, otherwise I would be stuck halfway without a place for the night, because certainly I was not going to put up the tent on the soggy ground.
It rained on and off for the rest of the day, but then it was downhill and it really did not matter. I am rather well protected against the rain. All my things are wrapped in plastic, so even if all my bags get soaked, on the inside everything is still dry. On my upper body I keep warm with a short plastic rain coat, which keeps me dry to below my waist, but gives me plenty of freedom for cycling. The legs are unimportant.
Dogs really had not been a problem on this trip. I can count the number
of times, that I was chased and barked at, on the fingers of one hand.
But today they had it in for me. On a nice downhill run I saw two of them
coming at me from both sides. Normally I try to steer towards the dog,
hoping to scare it away, and by this gaining time to escape. Here they
were on both sides of me, having overtaken me and yapping at my bare ankles.
I did what I normally try to do, stear for one of them. But the stupid
thing just did not move away, got caught under my wheels, and I rode right
over it. As the dog gave a fearful yelp I almost lost my balance, had to
leave the pavement onto the rutted shoulder and only slowly, with the other
dog still yapping at me, regained the pavement and, gaining speed, escaped.
I did not dare stop nor look back for fear of being bitten by the other
dog or being challenged by its owner.
14 December 1988, Copan Ruinas
I am noticing that I am getting thin. The mountains of Honduras have taken their toll, a little bit of a bad stomach for the last couple of days did not help either. Now I have to try to increase my food intake. So today I went for good American junkfood, hamburgers and french fries, twice as a matter of fact.
The Mayan ruins here, just one kilometer out of town, are very impressive. They are neatly kept. At least it had stopped rain-ing, and the sun even peaked out from the clouds when I went to see them. There are some very beautiful stelae here. Unlike what I have seen in Mexico or Guatemala, the faces depicted are very humanlike. At the entrance were four colourful Quetzal birds. Copan appears to be at the extreme eastern extent of the reach of Mayan civilization, and like all of these ancient cities it had to be abandoned, because their 'slash and burn' agriculture eventually impoverished the soil in the vicinity, and they were unable to sustain themselves. All around the temple complex there are many other minor sites. It is believed they are dwellings, and some have been reconstructed: Thatch roofs over buildings with stone foundations and waist high walls. They basically consist of two or three rooms with sleeping platforms and a fireplace.
Their hieroglyphs are largely deciphered, and on the stelas at least, give the name of the personage depicted and the year it was erected. Their datum origin is about 3118 years before Christ's birth. One wonders what event that signified in their histo-ry, their arrival on this continent, or some historic event of their race in Asia?
The faces depicted look very similar to the Mayas one meets today. And while they are the same people racially, their heritage has virtually been inundated and wiped out by the European influence. Is it that because only a very thin stratum of the people were educated, and that with the loss of that group their culture went into oblivion? How much differently the great Asian cultures, in India, in China and in other countries in that area, have survived and today are strong and vibrant, and actually on the threshold of challenging the West? Only Egypt perhaps and Babylon provide a parallel to this almost complete disappear-ance of a culture.