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Patrick’s Escapades

Dreaming in Color in Copan

A “ruined” man should try to pay tribute to some ruins during his travels. So I hopped on a bus called the Casasola Express, and a couple hours later, we bounced over the cobblestone streets of a picturesque town, Copan Ruinas, set within the lush hills of the Rio Copan Valley, before coming to a stop near the “Parque Central

I had a lunch date with Jessica and Barry Jenson, two former Peace Corps volunteers who fell in love with each and with the region during their service some two decades ago. They had worked for the State Department in Tegulcigalpa where they got married after their Peace Corps duty, before deciding to retire in Copan, a place that had enchanted this couple with its magical and idyllic landscape during their first visit.

We had lunch at a neat little restaurant called Café Via Via, which was run by a Belgian family. We gorged on Thai curry and spicy hamburgers. A few expats and tourists downed beers and studied their maps, while the Jensons filled me in on their lifestyle and the local scene.

“We love it here,” said Jessica. “There’s an adjustment period, but once you settle in, and make friends with the locals, everything starts to work out nicely.”

Jessica volunteers teaching English at schools and community centers, and Barry accompanies guides to the Mayan ruins where he works as a volunteer translator. The Jensens lives in a spacious two story cottage with a finely manicured garden and a veranda that overlooks the mountainous landscape.

Life is cheap in the village, according to Barry. They live on less than $1000 per month, which includes their food, utilities, telephone, gardeners and maids, weekend getaways and dining excursions. They travel to San Pedro Sula, three hours away, for serious medical procedures, like the time Barry broke a leg while climbing a mountain. The X-Ray set him back $10, but the ambulance service was an exorbitant $75. For common doctor and dental visits like checkups, examinations and teeth cleanings, including whitening, the costs are less than $30. I started crunching numbers and figured a ”ruined” man like me could save thousands of dollars in medical and dental costs just by living in Copan.

Before I made the decision to set up permanent shop in Copan, Jessica and Barry gave me a ride and tour of the Mayan Ruins. Located just outside Copan Ruinas on the road to San Pedro Sula, the sacred site is situated on a 15-acre wooded park next to the Rio Copan. Many of the original sculptures and stelae have been removed and replaced by duplicates to preserve the art of the lost empire. Next to the Ball Court, I paid tribute to a ruin, a stela, by kneeling next to it and saying a prayer. My only witness was a sleeping iguana, or at least I think he was sleeping, and perhaps, the spirits of the Mayans.

That night we dined at Twisted Tanya’s, a popular hangout with locals, expats, and tourists. Owned by a British expat named Tanya, the restaurant and bar served up savory grub that included curry shrimp, conch soup, and Chinese dumplings. All for about $10 per person, not including libations.

I retired in the delightful home of the Jensons, and had a vista of the green mountains. Mayan artwork lined the walls and colorful hand-woven rugs lay on antique wooden floors. Jessica told me if you visit a sacred Mayan spot, you often dream in color. So, after a long day, I lay on my pillow and welcomed these colorful dreams.

Early the next day, I would return to San Pedro Sula where I would catch a plane for Managua. So, Nicaragua, get prepared for Logan’s Landing!

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Pico Bonito, Honduras

Traveler’s warning: if you are nursing a hangover, are hydrophobic, or have an aversion to fresh air and the sun, please stay at home. Otherwise, get ready for the trip of a life-time. To go from the Bay Islands and La Ceiba on the mainland of Honduras, you can get on one of the Galaxy and Tropical Ferries owned by Safe Way Maritime Transportation Company (in Roatan 445-1795 or 445-1250 and in La Ceiba 442-4633). The Galaxy has seats for 360 passengers and cruises at about 25 knots. The trip takes about an hour and a half and costs about $20 or Lempiras one way.

If you’re headed deeper inland or if you’re in a hurry, you can do what I did, take a SOSA (Roatan 445-1154) Flight, which leave daily at 7AM. Before I could finish my café con leche, we landed at Goloson Airport (La Ceiba). Looking for a ride to Pico Bonito National Park, I got on a bus driven by a local, Marco, who casually mentioned he once witnessed a UFO sighting somewhere within the Cloud Forest of Pico Bonito. “This was an amazing experience”, remarked Marco, “and it changed profoundly my whole life.”

I wondered if Marco’s UFO experience had inspired him to his current position of transporting “aliens” like us towards cloud-shrouded peaks. On the bus was a young Canadian couple, Tim and Ashley from Toronto, who were midway through what they called an “eco-honeymoon”. Also aboard was no-nonsense middle-aged Dutch couple who’d made the long trek from Europe to Pico National Forest with the singular goal of spotting the famous blue morph butterfly, which is about 5 inches long and 4 inches wide. Edmond, the husband and amateur lepidopterist, informed me he preferred Honduras to Holland because “most of the Dutch citizens these days are money-obsessed and sex-craved imbeciles.” Ashley, having overheard our conversation about the morph butterfly, lifted her denim shirt, revealing a colorful ring of tattoos swirling along her belly. She already sported one butterfly tat, but I believe this specimen was a monarch.

Ashley vowed to have a blue morph tattoo inked on her thigh, back, or bottom if the eco-newlyweds managed to get a glimpse of a blue morph butterfly during their trip. “A cool sign for a new beginning,” Ashley asked Edmond, “don’t you think?” Edmond shrugged his shoulders, cleared his throat and gazed outside the window with a look of disgust. He turned and muttered something in rapid-fire Dutch to his wife Marta who seemed rattled by her husband’s sour demeanor. Marco stopped off at the Butterfly and Insect Museum (Col. El Sauce, Segunda Etapa Casa, G-12, 442-2874) so Ashley would be sure to see the blue morph. Edmond and Marta remained outside sitting on a bench, with their noses in field guide books.

Edmond declared it would be “imbecilic” to view a rare specimen like the blue morph in captivity. “Like going to a zoo in the middle of the Serengeti”, he snorted between clenched teeth. Ashley strolled out of the museum, wearing a hand-painted blue morph butterfly. Tim held out his digital camera for all to see the captured image of a blue morph. “Since we’ve got a six hour layover in Miami on the way back home,” remarked Tim, “Ash and I’ve decided to stop into Miami Ink so she can get her butterfly tat.” “Yeah, pretty cool,” Ashley whispered, “Tim wants me to get it on my bottom.” “Of course,” scowled Edmond.

We were all headed to the same destination – Pico Bonito National Forest. From there we would pursue our own destinations I’d have to meet with my guide Benny at the Noa Noa lodge where we’d meet a couple to begin a nature trek and rafting trip. Marco navigated the bus over some rough terrain before depositing the two couples at the entrance to Pico National Forest Tim and Ashley hugged me and said they would later head to an alternative healing centre outside Jutiapa. They planned a trip to the centre for some “heavy cleansing, intense detoxing, and deep café colonics.” Marta and Edmond threw their day packs over their shoulders, and headed off in pursuit of rare butterflies.

Marco exchanged his bus for a four-wheel drive sports utility vehicle and drove down a rugged dirt road, rambling over creeks and rivulets until we reached a native village named Armenia Bonito. From there we motored down a backcountry road before coming to the Noa Noa Lodge, (Pico Bonito National Park, fax 443-0700; reservations must be made a week in advance by fax) a small family--run nature colonial-style resort, nestled beneath the majestic Pico Bonito

At the lodge I met my guide Benny, who claimed to be part Garifuna and Welsh. Benny spoke, or rather chanted, a melodic Spanglish in a smoky baritone timbre, and peppered his speech with phrases like, “God willing, mon”, and “con el Amor del Dios, mon.” Benny kept a machete sheaved on his belt and wore a green and red bandana pulled back over long-braided hair that cascaded past diamond-pierced ears. I asked him if there would be other hikers and rafters. “God willing, mon,” Benny replied. It turned out a couple staying at the lodge would be accompanying us. Karen and Chris, in their late 20s and hailing from New England, had extensive trekking and rafting experience. They recently had completed a river expedition in the jungles of Nicaragua and had survived that experience unscathed and were eager for more adventures. Benny offered us coconut bread and mango juice before our trek.

Benny, humming a Garifuna song, guided us through the dense rainforest; we ascended a slippery and steep trail along the Zacate River Gorge. The jungle has remained primitive for centuries with no tree cutting or burning allowed. Hunting is also forbidden, so the hardwood forests shelter exotic fauna, including jaguars and three species of monkeys, including the howler. While crawling along a ridge, Benny held up his arms and motioned us to be silent. He scooped up a coiled snake with his machete, and flicked his wrist, exiling the slithery reptile into the foothills. “No good snake, the fer-de-lance,” chuckled Benny. “He bites and you pray for rapido death, mon.”

We reached a clearing and viewed an amazing 170 ft-waterfall that sprayed the boulders and flora with mist. Water nutria, resembling otters, jutted their heads out of the water. One shook his head, with a fish clenched in his jaws, before he disappeared into the water, with his prize catch. We crossed over the waterfall and continued our ascent into the cloud forest. Enormous ferns shrouded the plateau. Karen pointed to some green fruit that grew in pairs. “Colito mono,” Benny informed us. “Look like balls of monkey, no?” As we neared the peak, we clutched tree roots to keep our balance and to prevent sliding off into the nether forest. A flock of green-billed toucans shot through the mist, filling the air with a whistling sound.

After we hiked some winding trails and descended through the cloud forest, we crossed the Saopin Bridge over the Rio Cangrejal. Benny pointed towards some rafts on a ridge. “Rio Cangrejal,” Benny said. “What about some lunch first?” I asked. But Benny shook his head. “Better to eat after river ride, mon,” Benny stated. “River is high, so Class IV rapids today will be like Class V.” Karen and Chris seemed overjoyed with this bit of news. Of course, they were much younger, in much better shape.

“I promise to prepare a rich lunch after the river ride, mon,” Benny assured me. “Are you sure we will survive?” I conjectured. “God willing, mon,” Benny chuckled. “We are in los manos del Dios.” “And also the water,” I pointed out. “Oh, yes, mon,” Benny replied, “also the water, mucho water.”

I closed my eyes as we rammed against some rocks in the rapids. Chris grabbed Benny who almost toppled into the white water. We did survive. And I proved even old bones can do a river run, maybe knowing my reward would be many cervezas and a nice hammock after a long day’s journey through Pico Bonito National Park. The next morning (6AM), Benny picked me up in his van and drove to a Garifuna village called Sambo Creek. We hopped in a small motor boat and Benny navigated around inlets and gave a tour of the small islands. Benny said we would snorkel, drink beer, and eat whole fried fish and rice for lunch. There were blue skies, palm trees, and transparent water as far as the eyes could see.

“It’s like Paradise here, mon, no?” asked Benny. I cracked open a beer, smiled and replied, “It’s like Paradise here, mon, yes!”