Current Location: Trujillo, Honduras


Price of Beer in a Bar: continues to hold steady at about US$0.80. Some of the world’s best Rum is similarly priced.
Song currently stuck in my head: Take Ecstasy With Me (!!!, covering The Magnetic Fields, I believe) (God I hate The Magnetic Fields) predominately, though I keep thinking of the South Park episode where Butters sings the chorus of “Baby Please Don’t Go” too.

I know it’s an unusual night when the guy in the backseat says “Hey, take a look at this” and hands me a loaded .38. Indiana is the only other place that I’ve been where this isn’t that surprising of an occurrence (coincidentally, I’d like to thank my friend Paul for the initial cultivation of my habit of wiping my prints off of any gun that I hand to someone). There are a lot of guns in Honduras. Backpackers trade stories about the most ludicrous place they’ve seen armed guards protecting (current winner: children’s clothing store) with their pistol gripped and shortened shotguns.

So anyway, I took Spanish classes last week. They were great. US$185 bought me 4 hours of one-on-one teaching each day for 5 days, with 7 days of home-stay including meals. The difference is immediately noticeable. Navigating bus stations and breakfast joints is nowhere near as nerve racking as it used to be. For the first time thus far I had a lot of time on my hands alone, bored. A guy named Bill shared my home-stay; a retiring high school principle or something, a kiwi, then Fijian, then Londoner, then American who know intends to build a house on Roatan here in Honduras. He was insane, gesticulating wildly and speaking with sporadic increases in volume and inflection. I liked him immediately and will be following his construction progress closely.

Friday night, after a long week of class and putting up with the other Americans in the program (2 irritating girls and the loudest missionary I’ve ever met), I went out to sample the infamous La Ceiba nightlife with my teacher Trujilda. At our third bar (we kept pushing on because no one had the rum I wanted) we ran into a crowd of her friends, some of which I knew from the school. A lengthy night of boozing and trying to find places in which to booze ensued. Austin was the only other guy, and when he broke off to buy cigarettes later he took me along. It turns out this was just a cover to get away from his finance, he wanted to see what was going on in town and we ran into numerous friends of his right away. One was a guy with a heavily scarred face and a dead eye who kept leaning in an acting like he was going to whisper things to me, then abruptly shouting anything he knew that came from Chicago (“Al Capone!”) and some things that don’t (“Alcatraz!”). Another claimed to have the only Escalade in Honduras (it was parked right next to us). Odd times. We gave a couple of guys a lift home and that’s when they produced the aforementioned .38, just to show it off.

Now I’m in Trujillo, staying at a place called Casa Kiwi, where I’ll likely be killing the week. My room costs all of US$3 and is on the beach and quite comfortable. Other people tell me the sand flies (no-see-ums) are awful and the smell of baby oil fills the air at all times (a widely relied upon repellent), but those of us willing to risk the Parkinson’s that is near certain to result from the use of 92% pure DEET know no such itches. My friend Chris arrives Friday, when I’ll head back to Ceiba and on to Utila to take SCUBA classes.

Right now the crew consists of three employees (a local, a aussie, and a kiwi part-owner… you can barely tell they work here), a couple from London, and your’s truly. It’s likely to be a laid-back week. Hopefully next week I can touch on how William Gibson has forever changed how I view these denser cities like Ceiba, but right now I have to run.