taco's & toucan's travels ~ 2019

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DAY 54

Week 8

COPÁN RUINAS (Copán, HND) to ROATÁN (Islas de la Bahía, HND)

Tuesday May 7^th, 2019

TODAYS MILEAGE – 303 miles / 488 kilometres

TRIP MILEAGE – 20,650 miles / 33,233 kilometres

Over the years I've come to view long travel days as a necessary evil and whether it is a control “thing” or what, but they seem to be whole lot more enjoyable when I’m behind the wheel of my own equipment.

There’s three elements to this mindset, one being that as a 15 year old apprentice Diesel Mechanic with Dussin Constructions & Civil Engineering, the workshop manager drilled in to me that you can tell a lot about a person by just looking at their vehicle, workspace or toolbox – if they respect and look after the equipment/tools, work to a plan or simply wing it, or clean up as they go along as opposed to simply working in a pig sty.

The second element is that I service and maintain my vehicles fastidiously and know intimately to the point of knowing them inside out and operating them accordingly.

The final element would be as I’ve become more “experienced” on this earth with three letter statements like AGE or OLD, a certain realization of one’s own mortality comes into play. This often takes the form of ensuring one’s personal safety, all the while enjoying such so called “high risk” activities like skydiving, motorcycle riding, rock climbing and the like.

So having said that ..... we were scheduled to take a 15 hour public bus ride to the port town of La Ceiba to catch a ferry to the island of Roatán. After an “Avocado” group discussion, we all agreed to chip in the $25 USD each to upgrade to as advertised “near new, 2019 mini-coach with individual reclining chairs and air-conditioning throughout”. What turned up was a battle scarred 4 year old Toyota Hi-Ace Coaster bus with two rear bald tires with large chunks of tread missing, in which you could see clear down to the wires of the carcass.

I spoke with our CEO – Sonia, who clearly was not impressed with the defective equipment, which saw the driver usher her over to the offices of the transport company - Berakah, who dispatched a female employee to inform me that “as to the safety of tires in such condition - you don't understand anything about Honduran tires and roads and as we are a poor country, we can't just replace stuff for any little reason."

I responded that "tyres being as bald as a monkeys’ arse, with chunks of tread missing and the rags of the carcass showing is anything but minor FFS!".

I had to walk away before I blew a gasket and came back 5 minutes to be told that the transport company was not going to replace the vehicle or the tyres, the public bus had left and we still had a ferry to catch. The silence was deafening from the rest of the group and it appeared that the group consensus was that they just wanted to get on the road. So against my better judgement, we loaded the vehicle up and hit the road ½ an hour after our scheduled departure.

2½ hours into the trip, the driver decided to pull into Café de Palo on the outskirts of Quimistán so that he could have breakfast - while the rest of us stood around looking for the Meaning of Life. To describe the place as a travellers’ rest stop would be a stretch, as it appeared the clientele were sales people on service calls, but hey – whatever floats your boat.

Lunch was “truck stop” buffet or bakery goods at the Tio Dolmo in Guaymón about 150 kilometres (93 miles) from the ferry terminal.

We made the Galaxy Wave 4:30 PM ferry service to Dixon Cove on the Roatán island, about 65 kilometres (40 miles) off the northern coast of Honduras. My first inkling that trip wouldn’t be all plain sailing, was when the ferry ticket came with a Dramamine tablet. Basically as soon as we left the harbour, the vessel started pitching and rolling for the entire two-hour crossing, through 10-12 foot swells, huge white caps and head winds that would've blown a dog of a chain.

The crew were handing out plastic barf bags as fast as they could tear them off the roll and looked to have went through twenty or so paper towel rolls in the process. Most of our group was affected to some degree, but surprisingly this “desert rat” was just fine.

I genuinely felt sorry for a lot of the passengers who were obviously excited about this trip, to the point of dressing up in their finest for the occasion, only to be left driving the porcelain bus or laughing at the grass.

We docked just after sunset at the Carl O McNab Sr. Maritime Terminal in Dixon Cove, on the island of Roatán, where we were met by a local driver - Neve, who fair dinkum could talk the leg off an iron pot.

On a positive note, he did also provide an impromptu town tour of West End, where our hotel - the Seagrape Plantation Resort is located.

At this time, I couldn't have given two knobs of goat shit for any more “Tommy Tourist” talk. I hadn't eaten all day and could eat the horse and chase the rider - add to this that I was as dry as a bastard calf.

In remedying this, and within 5 minutes of receiving my room key, I squared away all my gear and I'm off like an Ethiopian after a chicken, grabbing a ½ carton of Cerveza Port Royal Export coldies on the way past a local bodega before parking up at the local cholera cart for an absolutely awesome feed of tacos and Gringas.

I suppose that even with the day starting on an off note or two, it ended with the whole orchestra in tune with me parked up on the main street taking it all in.