Honduras
1137 Kilometres – 26 Days
9 July – 3 August 2012
9-10 July – Ocotal, Nicaragua – Danli,
Honduras - 57 kilometres
A slow slog led to Las Manos and the
Nicaragua-Honduras border where we waved goodbye to Nicaragua with its volcanic
landscape and colonial architecture.
Once across the border came a good descent into
Danli, the first town in Honduras, a small but lively city with numerous cigar
factories.
I didn’t feel well due to a chest infection and
stayed another day. It was rather boring lying around doing nothing. Still, I considered
it a good idea to stay put. I didn’t expect smooth riding in Honduras as the
map indicated a mountainous country and little flat ground.
11 July - Danli – Zamporano - 65 kilometres
As predicted, our road slowly crept up the
mountain for roughly 20 kilometres before descending into a valley of sorts. Upon
clearing the valley, the road again took us up another mountain pass, and upon reaching
Zamporano I had enough of hill riding for the day and called it quits. Our
accommodation offered hot water, a sure sign we were at altitude. Good use of
this luxury was made.
12-13 July - Zamporano – Tegucigalpa - 37
kilometres
From Zamorano we followed a hilly 37-kilometre
ride over mountains to Tegucigalpa (teh-goos-ee-gal-pa) located in a valley at
an altitude of 975m. Once over the mountain, it was a mostly downhill run into
the city centre.
As is the case with the majority of Central
American cities, Tegucigalpa’s centre consisted of a central plaza and church. The
capital of Honduras wasn’t touristy and one felt a tad out of place. With no idea
where to go, we hauled out the old Lonely Planet for recommendations.
The square was rather busy and interesting
with loads of down-and-outs, street performers and “human statues”. I could
watch them for hours, imagining it quite impossible to be that motionless for so
long.
In addition to the main Cathedral was the
fascinating Iglesia Los Dolores. One of its most remarkable features was its main
facade. Built in Baroque style, with a central and two lateral towers, it was
decorated by glazed terracotta sculptures and figures representing the Passion
of Christ.
The city wasn’t known for its safety and many
traders preferred to trade behind bars, not something which inspired confidence.
Not only was the city dangerous, safety-wise, but the capital’s international
airport, Toncontín, was notorious worldwide for its extremely short runway and
the unusual manoeuvres pilots must undertake upon landing or taking off.
The following day was spent doing the usual
rest day laundry, shopping and internet chores.
14 July - Tegucigalpa – Valle De Angles - 33
kilometres
Following a two-day stay in the city, a clean-shaven
Ernest and I followed the road up the mountain. As foreseen, a steady and relatively
steep climb led out of the valley. Then, following a 33-kilometre uphill ride and
numerous stops to fill up with water, a small but interesting village named
Valle De Angles signalled the end of the day’s ride.
The village was a former colonial mining town
and offered an ensemble of old, restored buildings. The town was lively and
where city folk came to spend weekends. Staying the night came easy as Ernest
rightly remarked it’s probably called Valle De Angles as one likely needed
wings to get out of there.
15 July - Valle De Angles – Gauimaca - 73
kilometres
Waking to the sound of macaws and green
parrots is never a bad way to start one’s day and we resumed our ride over the
mountains once more. Our route climbed sharply over the hills, and I sometimes
doubted whether it was a good idea to have come this way. Again, the path
descended into a valley and climbed over the next set of mountains.
Our chosen route was way off the beaten
track, as we barely encountered any traffic, only the odd horse cart or ancient
bus. Unsurprisingly, the paved road came to an abrupt halt, causing us to
battle along a dusty and rutted path until eventually crawling into the
junction town of Talanga.
You can imagine our surprise when we realised
the approach road into the village was used as a drag racing circuit (police appeared
as the timekeepers). Cars raced towards us like bats out of hell. Talanga seemed
somewhat of a Wild West town with an ancient central plaza and dirt roads.
We continued up and over another set of
mountains until Gauimaca came into view, a place that sported a simple lodge.
16 July - Gauimaca – Juticalpa - 86
kilometres
We awoke to a drizzle but it cleared and,
although overcast, the rain stayed away. Shortly outside town, the paved road
once again ended. Still, as inexplicably as it disappeared, it also reappeared,
which set the day’s trend. Fortunately, the pine-forested hills weren’t as
steep as the previous days.
In Juticalpa, I searched for an ATM but no machine
wanted to dispense cash, and I was worried the card might be damaged. Ultimately,
I settled for a rather expensive hotel where one could pay by card.
Villagers informed me the road to the coast
was a dirt road and near-vertical in places. It wasn’t reassuring that they
also indicated it was dangerous by pulling an imaginary gun and pointing two
fingers to their temples. The area was well known as a drug trafficking route,
but I didn’t think drug traffickers would bother us.
After all this happy news, a saunter to the
supermarket revealed an ATM prepared to spit out a few Honduran lempiras. We
stocked up with food as there appeared little along the lonely and sparsely
populated 300-kilometre stretch to the coast.
17 July - Juticalpa – Wild camp - 43
kilometres
Shortly after departing Juticalpa, our route veered
left at a heavily guarded turn-off. The road immediately started climbing up
the mountain. After 20 kilometres, a settlement appeared where one could fill the
water bottles. From there on, the road deteriorated and we struggled along a
narrow dirt track, higher and higher. Still, the route climbed and we slipped
and slid along a muddy, potholed road.
The going was dreadfully slow, and spotting a
half-built structure we sought permission to set up the tents. The owner lived lower
down the valley and was busy building a house closer to the road. This
structure suited us as it provided camping out of sight of passing vehicles and
offered running water. However, no sooner were the tents pitched than curious villagers
came to witness this unusual event. Some peeped shyly around corners and others
stared expressionlessly. Mothers brought their babies to point out these strange-looking
foreigners. Eventually, it became dark and all headed home, leaving us to do
our cooking.
18 July - Wild camp – San Esteban - 64
kilometres
Our crawl over the hills was no faster than
walking pace. Around midday, the mud we encountered until then turned into clay
and soon the bikes became utterly bogged down, eventually coming to a complete
standstill. It became almost impossible to drag the bikes further as the wheels
were jammed in the frame. I tried pulling it along but kept sliding down the
hill and, in the process, broke my sole set of footwear. Eish!
Thankfully, nothing lasts forever and,
shortly afterwards, the clay gave way to more manageable mud. At last, and after
rounding a corner, one could see a vast valley below.
From there the road predominantly descended into
the valley and into San Esteban, which offered accommodation. Luckily, the
place had an outside tap, allowing for washing off most of the day’s mud and
clay.
19 July - San Esteban – Village - 72
kilometres
A further uphill schlep of about 20
kilometres signalled the end of the climb, as from that point onwards the path steadily
descended. Still, the going was incredibly slow as the path resembled a dry
riverbed instead of a road. Stones, sand and deep ruts slowed the pace
considerably and the traffic we encountered made no faster headway than us.
The area was rarely visited, and passing small
indigenous communities and taking a camera out made kids run for their lives. You
didn’t even have to take out a camera, as spotting us made them run for cover.
We continued at a snail’s pace and wild camped by the side of the road shortly
before sunset.
20 July - Unknown village – Saba - 80
kilometres
After a short cycle, the road spat us out at
coastal lowlands amidst oil palm and banana plantations. Happy dance! We found
ourselves back in the heat and humidity of tropical Honduras. Finally, we found
the road not only paved but also flat, which made rolling into Saba early.
21 July - Saba – La Ceiba - 83 kilometres
Early morning, we tackled the last 80
kilometres to La Ceiba, located along the Caribbean coast and surrounded by
lush jungles, mountains, broad rivers, and sandy beaches. Therefore, it wasn’t surprising
that we had to climb yet another hill before finally arriving at the coast. Being
a Saturday afternoon, the streets were jam-packed with cars and buses. It thus took
weaving our way through hectic traffic to the city centre, where we found a
place to stay. What a pleasure to flop down upon a bed!
22 July - La Ceiba
The following day was Sunday and the city
centre dead quiet. A short stroll led to the beach for lunch and the rest of
the day was spent chilling, doing truly little except laundry.
As La Ceiba was the gateway to the Bay
Islands of Roatan, Utila and Guanaja, the plan was to take a ferry there the next
morning. The island of Roatan was a well-known diving destination, whether
snorkelling or scuba diving.
23 July - La Ceiba – Roatan - 27 kilometres
We loaded our mobile homes and cycled the
short seven kilometres to the harbour, where a ferry waited to take us to the
islands. The islands were located about 50 kilometres off the coast.
About an hour and a half later, the ferry dropped
us at Dickson’s Cove. From Dickson’s, a 20-kilometre cycle ride brought us to
West End, which had plenty of places to overnight, a few small shops, a lovely
bay, and crystal-clear water.
Lodging was expensive, but Ernest set off on foot
in search of something more reasonable. He returned with good news as he located
digs offering a shared kitchen, veranda and hammock. The setup resembled a
house as the kitchen was well equipped, providing a microwave, stove, toaster, coffee
maker, pots and pans. Three rooms led off from the kitchen and we met Miriam
and Doris (from Austria), two pleasant people with whom we shared the house.
Roatán is the largest of Honduras’ Bay
Islands. It’s approximately 50 kilometres long and less than eight across at
its widest point. The Mesoamerican Barrier Reef surrounds the islands, the most
substantial barrier reef in the Caribbean Sea (second largest worldwide after
Australia’s Great Barrier Reef).
The islands have a fascinating history as the
English occupied the Bay Islands on and off between 1550 and 1700. Pirates used
the islands as a safe harbour and English, French and Dutch pirates established
settlements on these islands during that time. These pirates frequently raided
Spanish cargo vessels carrying gold and other treasures, which the Spanish, in
turn, stole from the locals. At one time, it was estimated over 5,000 pirates
lived on Roatán. Imagine that!
24-25 July - Roatan
I searched for the dive shop, determined to
do at least one scuba dive. Unfortunately, the dive could only be done the next
day and instead I rented snorkelling gear. I snorkelled until my hands and feet
were wrinkled. The water wasn’t simply warm but crystal clear and the reef was close
enough to snorkel from the beach. I don’t think I had ever seen that amount of life
and colour underwater.
Ernest and I hiked to West Bay in the morning,
a half-hour walk along the beach. If possible, the beach at West Bay was whiter
and the ocean bluer. The day was spent snorkelling and chilling.
26 July - Roatan – Dickson’s Cove – La Ceiba
- 33 kilometres
We backtracked to Dickson’s Cove to catch the
14h00 ferry for the return trip to La Ceiba on the mainland. Once in La Ceiba, it
made sense to return to our previous digs as it was centrally located in the town
centre.
27-28 July - La Ceiba – Tela - 103 kilometres
The ride to Tela was effortless, and although
extremely hot, it was relatively flat. We ambled on to Tela, where a
comfortable bed was unearthed at Bertha’s. Ernest visited the supermarket for ingredients
to concoct a salad. The salad turned out quite substantial and was loaded with
olives, boiled eggs and avocadoes, all on a bed of lettuce.
Tela was a small, busy Honduran town featuring
a lovely beach stretching several kilometres east and west. The town centre was
a hive of activity with narrow, busy streets, a lively market and hectic
traffic. However, I, strangely, felt quite at home.
A short meander along the beach brought us to
La Ensenada. In this small indigenous settlement, carefree kids played in
puddles and rustic restaurants served fresh seafood at the shore. Colourful fishing
boats along the beach completed the picture.
29-30 July - Tela – San Pedro - 98 kilometres
After a relaxing two days, the ninety-odd
kilometres to San Pedro was easy biking on a good road. San Pedro turned out a
rather substantial city. Luckily, it was Sunday and the streets quiet.
31 July - San Pedro – Quimistan - 63
kilometres
After our morning cuppa, provided free at our
guesthouse, we proceeded up the western mountains of Honduras. It seemed the
road to Guatemala would again be through a mountainous region. We slowly headed
up the valley which looked fertile, judging by the number of fruit vendors. Further
up the mountain, a bamboo pipe squirted cool, crystal-clear water—perfect on a
blistering hot day. Rolling into the small village of Quimistan around midday,
we discovered accommodation offering a TV allowing us to watch the Olympics.
1 August - Quimistan – La Entrada - 55
kilometres
The ride to La Entrada was a short but boiling
and hilly one and we opted for a hotel and again watched the Olympics for the remainder
of the day. Not that there was a great deal more to do in La Entrada, as it was
a hot and dusty crossroads town with hectic traffic zooming off in all
directions.
2-3 August – La Entrada – Copan Ruinas - 65
kilometres
The stretch between La Entrada and Copa was well
known for its coffee plantations and thus scenic albeit mountainous. Upon
spotting one of these famous Copan coffee farms, we felt obliged to sample a
cup of their famous high-grown coffee.
Ten kilometres from the Guatemalan border was
the charming and tranquil village of Copan Ruinas, famous for nearby Mayan
ruins. Finding accommodation was easy as just about every second building was a
hotel or hostel.
I was up early as the gates to the archaeological
site opened at 8h00 and it was my first visit to Mayan ruins. Although not the
most impressive of Mayan ruins, it’s said to be one of great importance, dating
to AD250–900. Archaeologists are still hard at work, discovering more and more
structures. I liked the names of the early kings, Great Sun Lord, Waterlily
Jaguar, Moon Jaguar, Smoke Jaguar, etc. Archaeologists are still unravelling
what happened to the Maya at the end of the classic period and what caused the
collapse and abandonment of these cities. The best evidence currently points to
droughts around the 8th century.
