I just got home. Again. This time I went to Honduras. Again. I had some vacation days and some miles that I felt compelled to burn so I flew down. By myself. Strangely enough, I am finding traveling companions more and more difficult to come by. Maybe it’s the lack of definitive plans. Like what I am intending to do when the plane lands. So I went. I got off the plane in San Pedro Sula, slung on my backpack, stared into the warm sunlight for a sec and then ventured off to find the bus stop. And a lift South. To Tegucigalpa. So for the next 8 days I roamed across the country like a gypsy living out of a bag and relying on the hospitality and help of old friends and new acquaintances. And they took care of me. All along the way.
So in numerous buses, in the back of several pick-up trucks and on the hoof I went. Never hungry, never thirsty and never overly tired. I visited mi amigos in Moramulca for a few days and enjoyed the generosity of the Avila family as well as others. I played futbol, swam with the boys and jumped off high rocks into a much too shallow pool of water at the bottom of the river. And I generally hung out. Latino style. The kind of hanging out where you can sit for very, very long periods of time doing nothing and not saying much. Muy tranquilo. I went with Honduran lawyers doing pro-bono work into Choloteca and San Lorenzo. I rode a bus back into Tegus and helped the Mayta family work on their Christmas pagent sets and costumes for a few days while I was bathed in unbelievable love and kindness. I again was never hungry. I listened to Santana on my ipod as I strolled the streets and soaked in the sights, sounds and smells of Latin America. I spent a day with the Barahona’s at their day-care and listened as the showed me their plans for future growth and took me to the mountaintop to see their dream property. I rode to Tatumbla with my two favorite Marlene’s and laughed like one of the girls. My limited and stammering Espanol never failed me and navigated me across the country and allowed me to purchase ice cream on several occasions flawlessly. It was wonderful.
People ask me all the time if I am ever nervous or afraid of something dangerous and/or harmful happening to me when I travel. My first reaction is “If something were to happen to me, I would rather die with a sunburn on my head and strange currency in my pocket as opposed to choking on a carrot stick in the security of my own home.” So far I have never had an incident that I truly feared for my life. Including all the plane flights and harrowing off-road excursions in strange lands. I figured the other day that I had been on at least 40 flights in 2006. Never once did I pay any attention to the safety instructions or look for an exit aisle. I have had a couple of uncomfortable situations while traveling but nothing dangerous.
In Africa my companions and I had a minor run in with some kind of military patrol/checkpoint. Seems they had it in their mind that we were some sort of spy types and were doing recon on their bridges to see how best to over-run their cesspool of a country. They claimed we were taking photos of the bridge structures. When we pointed out that all of our camera’s were in the bags they reminded us that they knew we had technology that allowed us to take pictures through cloth, and leather and steel cases and apparently lead sheathing and titanium too. We laughed quietly that apparently they had never seen CNN and the satellite photos of every nut and bolt on their rickety, tired spans. Armed with ancient, decrepit surplus AK-47 rifles they sort of had the drop on us. I was concerned for their safety because if they ever tried firing those weapons the duct tape and bailing wire might work loose and self-inflict damage on the operator of said crappola relics. Our imminent, impending capture and potential death was averted by the discovery of a $2 keychain flashlight in our possession. Upon further inspection several more of these units were uncovered and given as gifts (commandeered) to the crack militia personal and a diplomatic crisis was avoided. I hope the little blue lights drew the tsetse flies at night.
I had a run in with a cabbie in Beijing in October that ended up being more funny than scary. We discussed a fee for a trip to the airport prior to leaving the hotel and then on the way he decided to raise the cost on us. Using my impressive 13 word Mandarin Chinese vocabulary I explained that I knew what it was supposed to cost and I was not going to pay a Yuan more. He became angry and then irate while effectively calling me a Capitalist Pig while I stoked his fire by laughing at him. His English got better as did my Chinese while a less than diplomatic exchange took place. He finally loudly exclaimed that I was “Bu Hao” (bad) and that I should not return to his city or even his homeland. I think he even said I had to steer clear of the Eastern Hemisphere. I got this pretty clearly as he screamed (while spitting and getting as red in the face as the Chinese Flag) “YOU NO BEJING! YOU NO BEJING! YOU NO CHINA! NO CHINA!!!” All the while this made me laugh harder which further tossed fuel on his already growing flames of anger. Then he glared at me in the rear view mirror while I smiled a big, cheesy Apple Pie grin back at him. Finally I broke the ice by showing him the brochure put out by the Beijing Bureau of Tourism which clearly stated maximum rates allowed by taxi’s and then asked for his name and license number while pointing at the phone number on the pamphlet while holding my cell phone to my ear. He was busted trying to fleece the helpless tourist. This seemed to relax the veins on his forehead and neck some and he actually smiled and took a much different demeanor with me. At our arrival at the airport he jumped out, opened the trunk and proceeded to get our bags out in ricky-tick manner. As he stood there with a huge “Hey Buddy” smile, I got out my money. He originally asked for $80 then changed it to $200 on the way. I held out a Benjamin (well, a Mao) and as he reached for the $100 I faked a punch to his gut which doubled him over. Then I gave him the $100 and told him to keep the change. Maybe I said that. Maybe I said to stick it. I’m not positive.
My recent travel snafu came in the way of an Immigration Official in San Pedro Sula. He decided that I had not obtained the proper documentation upon my arrival into his country (or I had lost it) and I was going to have some ‘splaining to do. Whisked away to the special interrogation/smoking room I was grilled on my arrival and subsequent whereabouts during my stay in their country. By not having the stamped document, he seemed to imply that I had illegally entered his country. Right. I paid some Mexican guy $2500 to load me in the back of a U-Haul truck along with 87 other Americans where we rode in stifling 123 degree conditions at night over the Honduran border in search of a better life if I could obtain one of those good manual labor jobs in a country that has a yearly per capita of $649. You got me. He continued to look at my passport with great concern like it was a hologram or something. I told him that I had been in his country 10 times since 1999 doing humanitarian work for his poor sad-sack relatives and I thought I deserved a break for that. I expressed my love for the National Futbol team (Los Catrachos La Bicolor Garra) and how I thought that his family must be very proud of his high government position and such. Finally I just said in Espanol, “Look at my passport Armondo, I have stamps from all over the world. This is not my first goat ropin’ here…..” That statement did not get the desired effect as hoped. Seems that the phrase did not translate as well as I had intended and now I was in for more serious trouble. He had my passport and all I had was my razor sharp wit and my American money of which I was soon parted. I even tried the “I have friends in the embassy” technique which had about as much result as the ill-fated goat statement. When it all washed out I ascertained that I was being fined a penalty for my gross negligence and insubordination. $62 peso’s. American. Payable directly to him. Heck, I could even place it directly in his pocket if I wanted to. So I paid him. Not before giving him the stink-eye and writing down his name from his badge. He thanked me and said “Good day Mr. Kevin. Recorrido seguro.”
Yeah, Safe Travel. Now that I don’t have that extra $62 to tempt other bandits with. So am I dismayed by my few mishaps and travel hiccups? Of course not. I would fly into any airport in the world. By myself. With nothing more than a backpack, my ipod, a change of clothes and my Peptol Bismol. Because if I am going to be robbed, stabbed or hassled…I want it to be in a language I marginally understand.
Peace.
So in numerous buses, in the back of several pick-up trucks and on the hoof I went. Never hungry, never thirsty and never overly tired. I visited mi amigos in Moramulca for a few days and enjoyed the generosity of the Avila family as well as others. I played futbol, swam with the boys and jumped off high rocks into a much too shallow pool of water at the bottom of the river. And I generally hung out. Latino style. The kind of hanging out where you can sit for very, very long periods of time doing nothing and not saying much. Muy tranquilo. I went with Honduran lawyers doing pro-bono work into Choloteca and San Lorenzo. I rode a bus back into Tegus and helped the Mayta family work on their Christmas pagent sets and costumes for a few days while I was bathed in unbelievable love and kindness. I again was never hungry. I listened to Santana on my ipod as I strolled the streets and soaked in the sights, sounds and smells of Latin America. I spent a day with the Barahona’s at their day-care and listened as the showed me their plans for future growth and took me to the mountaintop to see their dream property. I rode to Tatumbla with my two favorite Marlene’s and laughed like one of the girls. My limited and stammering Espanol never failed me and navigated me across the country and allowed me to purchase ice cream on several occasions flawlessly. It was wonderful.
People ask me all the time if I am ever nervous or afraid of something dangerous and/or harmful happening to me when I travel. My first reaction is “If something were to happen to me, I would rather die with a sunburn on my head and strange currency in my pocket as opposed to choking on a carrot stick in the security of my own home.” So far I have never had an incident that I truly feared for my life. Including all the plane flights and harrowing off-road excursions in strange lands. I figured the other day that I had been on at least 40 flights in 2006. Never once did I pay any attention to the safety instructions or look for an exit aisle. I have had a couple of uncomfortable situations while traveling but nothing dangerous.
In Africa my companions and I had a minor run in with some kind of military patrol/checkpoint. Seems they had it in their mind that we were some sort of spy types and were doing recon on their bridges to see how best to over-run their cesspool of a country. They claimed we were taking photos of the bridge structures. When we pointed out that all of our camera’s were in the bags they reminded us that they knew we had technology that allowed us to take pictures through cloth, and leather and steel cases and apparently lead sheathing and titanium too. We laughed quietly that apparently they had never seen CNN and the satellite photos of every nut and bolt on their rickety, tired spans. Armed with ancient, decrepit surplus AK-47 rifles they sort of had the drop on us. I was concerned for their safety because if they ever tried firing those weapons the duct tape and bailing wire might work loose and self-inflict damage on the operator of said crappola relics. Our imminent, impending capture and potential death was averted by the discovery of a $2 keychain flashlight in our possession. Upon further inspection several more of these units were uncovered and given as gifts (commandeered) to the crack militia personal and a diplomatic crisis was avoided. I hope the little blue lights drew the tsetse flies at night.
I had a run in with a cabbie in Beijing in October that ended up being more funny than scary. We discussed a fee for a trip to the airport prior to leaving the hotel and then on the way he decided to raise the cost on us. Using my impressive 13 word Mandarin Chinese vocabulary I explained that I knew what it was supposed to cost and I was not going to pay a Yuan more. He became angry and then irate while effectively calling me a Capitalist Pig while I stoked his fire by laughing at him. His English got better as did my Chinese while a less than diplomatic exchange took place. He finally loudly exclaimed that I was “Bu Hao” (bad) and that I should not return to his city or even his homeland. I think he even said I had to steer clear of the Eastern Hemisphere. I got this pretty clearly as he screamed (while spitting and getting as red in the face as the Chinese Flag) “YOU NO BEJING! YOU NO BEJING! YOU NO CHINA! NO CHINA!!!” All the while this made me laugh harder which further tossed fuel on his already growing flames of anger. Then he glared at me in the rear view mirror while I smiled a big, cheesy Apple Pie grin back at him. Finally I broke the ice by showing him the brochure put out by the Beijing Bureau of Tourism which clearly stated maximum rates allowed by taxi’s and then asked for his name and license number while pointing at the phone number on the pamphlet while holding my cell phone to my ear. He was busted trying to fleece the helpless tourist. This seemed to relax the veins on his forehead and neck some and he actually smiled and took a much different demeanor with me. At our arrival at the airport he jumped out, opened the trunk and proceeded to get our bags out in ricky-tick manner. As he stood there with a huge “Hey Buddy” smile, I got out my money. He originally asked for $80 then changed it to $200 on the way. I held out a Benjamin (well, a Mao) and as he reached for the $100 I faked a punch to his gut which doubled him over. Then I gave him the $100 and told him to keep the change. Maybe I said that. Maybe I said to stick it. I’m not positive.
My recent travel snafu came in the way of an Immigration Official in San Pedro Sula. He decided that I had not obtained the proper documentation upon my arrival into his country (or I had lost it) and I was going to have some ‘splaining to do. Whisked away to the special interrogation/smoking room I was grilled on my arrival and subsequent whereabouts during my stay in their country. By not having the stamped document, he seemed to imply that I had illegally entered his country. Right. I paid some Mexican guy $2500 to load me in the back of a U-Haul truck along with 87 other Americans where we rode in stifling 123 degree conditions at night over the Honduran border in search of a better life if I could obtain one of those good manual labor jobs in a country that has a yearly per capita of $649. You got me. He continued to look at my passport with great concern like it was a hologram or something. I told him that I had been in his country 10 times since 1999 doing humanitarian work for his poor sad-sack relatives and I thought I deserved a break for that. I expressed my love for the National Futbol team (Los Catrachos La Bicolor Garra) and how I thought that his family must be very proud of his high government position and such. Finally I just said in Espanol, “Look at my passport Armondo, I have stamps from all over the world. This is not my first goat ropin’ here…..” That statement did not get the desired effect as hoped. Seems that the phrase did not translate as well as I had intended and now I was in for more serious trouble. He had my passport and all I had was my razor sharp wit and my American money of which I was soon parted. I even tried the “I have friends in the embassy” technique which had about as much result as the ill-fated goat statement. When it all washed out I ascertained that I was being fined a penalty for my gross negligence and insubordination. $62 peso’s. American. Payable directly to him. Heck, I could even place it directly in his pocket if I wanted to. So I paid him. Not before giving him the stink-eye and writing down his name from his badge. He thanked me and said “Good day Mr. Kevin. Recorrido seguro.”
Yeah, Safe Travel. Now that I don’t have that extra $62 to tempt other bandits with. So am I dismayed by my few mishaps and travel hiccups? Of course not. I would fly into any airport in the world. By myself. With nothing more than a backpack, my ipod, a change of clothes and my Peptol Bismol. Because if I am going to be robbed, stabbed or hassled…I want it to be in a language I marginally understand.
Peace.
posted by Kevonia at 9:06 PM
3 comments
