Home » Honduras » Great Sun Lord Quetzal Macaw denied passage on Honduran bus line

The first of our epic travel adventures across Central American borders began with our journey from Panajachel to Copan in Honduras. We rose earl for a 6 AM departure. If it was not so bloody early I am sure we would have appreciated the sight of the sun peeking over the vocanoes and bathing the lake in spectacular pastels of pink and orange. Instead we (well primarily me) grumbled and groaned as we piled into the bus bound for the second best Mayan ruins in Central America.

Great Sun Lord Quetzal Macaw denied passage on Honduran bus line

Patrick Gatland
2006-04-05 09:35:05

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is just plain greedy. My favourite part of the ruins were the ball court where the Mayans played a cool game where the best player was often sacrificed (now that’s what I call a man of the match prize) and the stupa of the dancing jaguar which is just plain FUNKY!

In a poignant reminder to all those reading this schlog who work for Rio Tinto or any investment bank, the Mayan civilisation was destroyed by their exploitation of their natural surroundings. The more they over-farmed, over-populated and over-extended their land their returns diminished and soon severe erosion and degradation forced them to abandon this once triumphant acropolis.

That afternoon we packed our bags unaware that we were destined for the ride of our lives. If the American Department of Homeland Security thinks that it has tight security then they should take a ride on the Primera Class bus company of Hedman Alas. Ridiculously overpriced and decked out with the best security money can buy this bus company also proudly displays photos in its terminals of Miss Honduras 1994 which they sponsored to crowning glory that year. Its passengers are locked away from the driver and getting on the bus required production of your ticket AND your passport to the armed guard. The buses were serviced by a hosty who checked and re-checked our tickets ad infinitum (as well as the bus for anyone who somehow subverted the strict security measures) and got very shirty when people couldn’t find their ticket stubs three quarters of the way through the trip. Getting your luggage off the bus was an even greater ordeal - one guard hissed at me when I dared to grab my bag of dirty, skanky clothes without showing my corresponding stub beforehand. For the next week in Honduras we were in constant fear that the armed Hedman Alas guard would tap us on the shoulder at any moment asking for our ticket. The strange irony is that when we came into Honduras we didn’t even have to present our passports to immigration - Carlos took them up for us and got them stamped while we sat in the car and gawked at the money changers with their 30 centimetre high stacks of Honduran Lempiras (well some of us gawked, Ben insisted on pretending he was an international spy and tried to take photos of them without attracting their ire). Osama bin Laden could have slipped through the Honduran border but there was no way in hell he was catching a bus from Copan to La Ceiba without proper ID and a valid ticket.

Arriving in the beautiful port town of La Ceiba we strapped our packs to the roof of the “loco taxi” with a 20 centimetre length of rope and found our digs for the night.

In our endless pursuit of finding money to spend in Honduras we went exploring late that night. In the deserted streets of La Ceiba we blithely stepped around men sitting idly in the street cradling machetes or rifles (and sometimes both). I guess they were guarding shops or each other but no matter what they were guarding I cant imagine how 5 nerdy westerners could scream “easy money, potential target” more loudly than us as we went from one ATM vestibule to another in a nervous huddle. However, it wasn’t the weaponry we had to fear. The beautiful, starry skies of this Honduran night belied what was to come next…

To be continued!

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