Thanksgiving in Gracias

Turkey Day in Honduras

Its only a bit ironic that for the Thanksgiving weekend we spent in the Western Honduras village of Gracias (for those of you who don't speaka the Spanish, 'gracias' means 'thank you.'). After having hit most of the so-called "touristy" places of Honduras it was time for Anah and I to travel a bit off the beaten path.

Thanksgiving is not a holiday in Honduras, but since we are at an international school with many American teachers it becomes a holiday in our small part of the world. A lot of the Hondurans that go to the school readily and excitedly adopt American things (fashions, ruthless capitalism, etc) so Thanksgiving should not be a surprise.

Thursday was a half day of school. At the middle school it was "traditional sports day" where I learned games from my childhood actually have their origins in Honduras (another adopted thing for the US?).

Anah, however, was treated to a "real" Thanksgiving dinner at 10am in her classroom. Moms brought in turkey, mashed potatoes, and other fixings. The bird weighed in at a staggering 8 pounds, which in Thanksgiving lore make it one of the tiniest gobblers ever. But for Hondurans turkey is not usually on the menu let alone one that comes in double digit poundage. The taste of the Turkey got mixed reviews from the first graders I'm told, so it's small size was not a concern. The mashed potatoes were excellent as was the corn on the cob and mini-cupcakes (a Pilgrim specialty).

Santa Rosa de Copan

After school we were off on our adventure. We hopped aboard what could not necessarily be called a chicken bus, but perhaps maybe a "duck" bus as it was slightly fancier than a school bus but still no Hedman Alas. There was puke all over the place, which no one had bothered to clean up, which made us a little nervous as to what lay in store for us.

However, we made the journey without incident and witnessed many beautiful views in our 3 hour ride. Our first stop was the city of Santa Rosa de Copan. Even though it shares a similar name with the other Copan we took PJ and Nancy to, this one is in another part of the country and hold little of the same charm that the other does. Santa Rosa was a bit of a disappointment.

Our Lonely Planet guide encouraged us to check out the "wonder brick oven fired pizzas" of Pizza Pizza owned by an American in SR. I think Lonely Planet just likes throwing bones to American-owned restaurants because their few and far in between in Central America. Or bonus points because the writers are surprise at pizza in a far away place. The pizza was alright, but nothing to garner a top spot in a guide book or our opinions. Its hard to be blown away by pizza (or its availability) when you've got a classy Pizza Hut down the street from your house.

We did meet a nice British gentleman, whom I'm traded barbs with about soccer (he an Arsenal fan, I Liverpool), and shared dinner and a drink with before parting ways.

Anah and I hunkered down in an out-of-place cute bed and breakfast in SR before waking up to a delightful breakfast of Honduran tipico (corn tortillas, scrambled eggs, plantains, beans and fresh bananas). We enjoyed one cup of coffee with our breakfast and went out in search of more before heading to the cigar factory.

Cigars

Before moving on from Santa Rosa, there was one redeeming stop to make. While Santa Rosa lacks colonial charms and other niceties (its not terrible, just relatively uninteresting) it DOES have the Flor de Copan Cigar Factory. Flor is one of the top cigar manufactures in the world making dozens and dozens of brands of cigars for local consumption and the rest of the world. For 2 bucks you can get a tour of the factory.

Unfortunately, we weren 't allowed to take pictures on our tour so you'll have to stick with my word-smithing skills (already worried, huh?). I did manage to find some photos on the Interweb, though).

The amazing thing about the factory is that while this world becomes more an more technologically advanced there are just some things that computers and machines cannot replicate. Cigar manufacturing is one of those wonders.

The first room we passed through was the tobacco rooms where dozens of different tobacco leaves were sorted into the cigars that they would later become. They are sprayed with water and there they sit for four months as the piles of leaves cook themselves through the chemicals that are in the leaves. The smell of all the tobacco leaves gave your nose a combination burning/tickling feeling that shot straight to the brain.

From there we passed through a room where mostly women tore out the petiole (or main vein) of the tobacco leaf. Very important as this does not smoke (or roll) well. Then on to the leaf flattening room. More women, using machines that looked at least 100 years old (and sorta like an ancient typewriter) put leaf after leaf after leaf through a press to smooth out each leaf.

Both of those rooms were not huge, but the next part was this massive room full of hundreds of people sitting at desks hand-rolling the cigars. Taking the perfectly smooth and pressed leaves from the previous room and pack them together into tight packs of tobacco.

It was quite the sight and Anah was loving every minute, the whole experience having appealed to her love of seeing multiple of things. It seemed like a large portion of this room was staring at Anah and I as our "tour guide" wandered through the rows of rolling employees (did I mention we were the only people on the tour and probably the only ones in a quite awhile).

I guess each roller can produce hundred of nearly identical cigars each day. From there it was onto packaging where the different types of cigars get their plastic wraps, rings, and boxes to be shipped around the world.

Despite the fact that we were literally surrounded by thousands upon thousands of cigars (and obviously made with little labor cost) we were not offered one for the road or the opportunity to purchase any (no gift shop! ha!). It was still a pretty cool experience to be able to see something like that produced from start to finish.

Gracias

After the fun with mass quantities, we walked down to the bus station and found a chicken bus to take us to Gracias. Again, the ride was gorgeous as we passed through the mountains, getting a glimpse into the real Honduran countryside.

Gracias holds a bit more colonial charm that Santa Rosa and alongside some serious financial support from the Spanish government the area is trying to push hard to become a center for tourism for those who like old Spanish churches and local pottery. They are also playing a large role in developing the infrastructure of the nearby national park. The organization is called "Colusuca" and seems to be making good and hopefully sustainable progress. It's kinda funny that the Spanish are putting more money into this effort than the Honduran government is. Perhaps some left over guilt?

One of the many colonial churches in Gracias

The city was undergoing a face lift with the central park being totally reconstructed. Our hotel was at the foot of a big hill that held a Spanish fort overlooking the city. The hotel, Guancascos, is owned by a nice Dutch lady, Froni, and is a place where Anah visited during her first trip to Gracias when she was in Honduras the first time in 2003. Since it was her memories of the place that led to our trip, I'll have her tell the story from here on. (You'd all prefer that anyway, I'm sure.)

Part of the restored fort

A Trip Back

Yes, yes, I planned our little jaunt to Gracias. During my summer in Honduras in 2003 midway through my little adventure in Honduran countryside we were treated to a break where we were allowed to spend a weekend in Gracias. Compared to where we were spending most of our time that summer, Gracias seemed like a cosmopolitan mecca. I remember being charmed by its dusty streets and moreso by the lovely little hotel in which we stayed, Guancascos.

Like Dan said, it's set up at the foot of the mountains and has several charming rooms that look out onto the town. It has a very tranquil atmosphere, and plays host to all types of travelers, Peace Corps workers on break, local election officials...all types. When I stayed there the first time I remember thinking that I'd like to come back and stay there again, never thinking it would be a real possibility. Little did I know!

Returning to Gracias was nearly as wonderful as I'd imagined. It provided a much calmer atmosphere than San Pedro and allowed us a nice, if not traditional, time to reflect on what we're thankful for.

The first afternoon we roamed around town, exploring its nooks and crannies and hiked up to the fort to get some nice views of town. The fort is well-maintained and very picturesque. That night we found a decent meal in town and played witness to several 6th grade graduation celebrations as public school was coming to it's school-year end.

A Trip UP

Before ending the day, we reviewed several 'tour' options at Guancascos for the next day at the neighboring National Park, Celaque. They had a nice little brochure featuring several different hiking options, starting a two-hour "novice" hike ranging up to a 3-day overnight hike for those looking for a "challenge". Given our limited time, and assessing our hiking abilities as fair to middling, we chose an eight-hour "tour" (Dan will likely contest that he was less involved in the choice, and that I should take full responsibility but since I am writing I will leave you to make your own judgements). The word "tour" led us to believe it would be a leisurely 8 hours, so we packed adequate water and snacks and went to bed dreaming of the pleasant day that awaited us.

The day began with a lovely breakfast of fruit, granola and yogurt and we hopped in the hotel's truck to get a ride to meet our tour-guide. The ride was bumpy to say the least and came to a halt in front of a adobe shack where we were introduced to Luis, our guide. Dressed in typical campesino-style with a long-sleeve button down, jeans, cowboy hat and machete, Luis looked more than able.

We began our hike, and I began the difficult task of understanding Luis' rambling Spanish. My Spanish skills have proved adequate in San Pedro, allowing me to converse decently with my students' parents and exchange pleasantries with our taxi-drivers, etc. However, they came up woefully short as I tried to understand, and then translate for Dan, our new friend. Although still speaking Spanish, Luis spoke with a very different accent that made it tricky for me to understand- Imagine you've learned the Queen's English and then are sent to the South.

This tree can cure cancer, or something like that.

Regardless of the language difficulties, our hike began pleasantly and from what I gathered Luis told us many things about the local flora, including a lot about the medicinal nature of many of the plants. He showed us several that were edible, including a tasty little citrus fruit that we enjoyed throughout the day. We hiked on, remarking on the similarities of the Honduran countryside with Wisconsin's. The area is full of pine trees and ferns, but then the occasional palm tree or citrus fruit would remind us that there were indeed differences.

For about two hours we felt great. "What a great idea, Anah! This is perfect!", remarked my thankful husband. "Oh, yes, " I thought, marveling at my own travel-planning skills, "What a great idea." Then, during the third hour, as we continued to hike upwards it became clear that perhaps leisure wasn't going to play a large role in the day. Luis showed no signs of slowing down and our mini-lessons on medicinal plants stopped entirely as we struggled to keep up. Although, I'm pretty sure Dan was wondering if there would be any medicinal plants that could help with a sudden heart attack.


Finally, after four hours we breathlessly asked Luis if we could stop for a bite to eat. He tried to tell us that we could stop further up the way, but I insisted that a break was necessary NOW. So, we stopped and munched for awhile on our Nutella and bread sandwiches and washed it down with several gulps of water. Luis regaled us with tales of other hikers, primarily Spanish visitors and how he was glad we weren't "fat" like them because, "they want to rest every 10 minutes! They shouldn't eat so much fried chicken and smoke so much!". Feeling encouraged that at least we were not as out-of-shape as some Spaniards we packed up our foodstuffs and soldiered on. Despite the tough conditions and our burning leg muscles we were enjoying the beautiful hike and saw many amazing views. Also, the weather was nearly perfect as it was about 70 degrees and the dense forest provided lots of cool spots. We criss-crossed several streams and saw many beautiful little waterfalls.

Oh, it's so pretty!

We continued up for at least another hour where we ran into some French hikers who seemed somewhat disorientated and begged us for cigarettes. We of course had nothing to offer, they didn't seem interested in our raisins nor Nutella, but being concerned that they were perhaps lost we asked them if they wanted to join us for the remainder of our hike. When they learned that we were still on our way upwards, they declined which made Luis very happy as he had no interest in taking on the wayward smokers. We did however convince Luis to again let us rest a bit at their camp and we managed to snarf down another sandwich before again hitting the trail.

One of the wider, more well-defined parts of the 'trail'

Given that it had been about 5 hours I was beginning to get a little nervous so I asked Luis about how much longer the uphill climb would continue and he gave the vague reassurance that we were "cerca". We finally reached the pinnacle, and it was truly worth it. The
view was amazing and the different plants we saw around the top were also stunning. The top was full of interesting wild begonias and loads of flowering bromeliads.

This is a bromeliad. No es medicina.

This photo was taken by Luis. Apparently he thought by 'vista'
we meant 'make our faces huge'.

Here's the picture without our faces.

Relieved that the worst was over we happily began our descent. We patted ourselves on the back and started trekking down. It was easier on our lungs, but soon we learned (and in hindsight it shouldn't have been a surprise) that going down was going to be nearly as challenging as going up for our legs. The path was narrow, steep and slippery. Fearful of falling, I was taking my sweet time and getting a little frustrated as it seemed like the end was again painfully far away. Luis, I think, sensing my frustration offered a new strategy, "It is easier if you run". Oh really, Luis? Are you serious? But, giving no time for us to ponder the new strategy- Luis begins a steady jog and starts gingerly leaping over roots and rocks and therefore leaving us no choice but to follow suit. We were afraid our little guide would leave us deep in the Honduran wilderness so we did our best to trot after him, although we were no where near as nimble and certainly looked ridiculous- fortunately there were no onlookers.

But, finally we made it back and now, being a week later and the memory of the leg pain, breathlessness and fear of dying in the wild having faded significantly, I can say it was a wonderful hike and a fabulous idea.

Luckily, this is all I remember.

Our hotel host picked us up around 4 p.m. and we found our way back to Guancascos and enjoyed a few frosty beverages and a feast of food before retreating to our room and crashing. The next day we found a chicken bus back to Santa Rosa, and our friend the Duck awaited us to take us back to SPS.

All in all, another successful trip. Dan learned the valuable lesson of overseeing any decisions regarding added excursions and I found a real use for all those lunges and squats at the gym.

Home of the Pirates

This past weekend we had an extra day off, so we hit up Utila, another island off the coast of Honduras. It's a much smaller island than Roatan, but we'd heard many good things and our friends Jesse and Jenna were going so we figured we could check it out. We were glad we did.
In addition to being smaller, it is much less developed than Roatan, and also much less tourist-y. It's main business is diving, so the majority of the hotels there also offer diving. We saw very few people we'd call "locals" and I think that's because of two reasons. The biggest reason being that most of the people living on Utila are kids our age who came to Utila for a weekend to dive and then never left. Because there are so many diving businesses these kids can work as instructors at there pick of places and basically work for their room and board, plus maybe a little drinking money. Not bad work if you can get it, I suppose! The second reason we saw no "locals" is because an Utila local doesn't look like a typical Honduran. Many of them are blonde with blue eyes because they are actually descendants of pirates that long ago landed on the island! This information has not been fact-checked, and is only from our favorite source, Jesse who has proved to be generally reliable. We will of course look into this and let you know if we can verify this information.

We enjoyed the less-developed nature of Utila which made the hotels much cheaper but still we were able to find great food and plenty of ways to entertain ourselves. Because of the large number of young ex-pats in the town, there were many restaurants with VEGETARIAN options and that was unbelievably exciting. Our favorite restaurant find was "Bundu"- we ate there 3 times! We enjoyed 2 great breakfasts there- featuring homemade yogurt with fruit salad and plenty of eggs and bacon for Dan.

The highlight of the trip had to be on Sunday when we rented kayaks and explored the mangrove canal on the island. We had read about the canal in our trusty Lonely Planet guidebook but it gave limited details so we were a little nervous about finding the entrance to it on our own. But, we've been getting used to trying new things since being down here, so we figured we'd be able to handle it. We rented the kayaks and started out.
The trip began with some early excitement when we passed a fisherman who was speaking the bizarre island mix of English, Spanish and what sounds like Jamaican but essentially he flagged us down to check out a giant fish he caught. Turns out the giant "fish" was a shark! We paddled up to his boat and spanning nearly half the boat is a giant shark, complete with the giant Jaws fin. Yikes! He assured us he caught it way out in the ocean, and that we had nothing to worry about where we were. Sure.



Undeterred, we continued on and managed to make our way to the canal. We were a little timid to start down the skinny path of water, okay I was a little timid but Dan convinced me it was fine so into the mangroves we went. It was awesome. I honestly felt like we were on a National Geographic special- loads of birds, creepy crawlies and the classic mangrove stink. We paddled very quickly, mainly because I figured if we were going quickly enough a snake couldn't crawl into my boat or fall into it from the trees above.

At the end of the canal, we were greeted by the desolate north side of Utila and the open water. There were absolutely no people, buildings or any signs of life on the north side but there was a gorgeous beach as well as water full of funky coral and fish so we sat on the beach and enjoyed a snack and paddled around to check out the coral.

Since we were more sure of where we were going on the way back, the paddle back seemed much shorter and a little less nerve-racking. We made it back in good time, about the same time Jesse and Jenna finished up diving so we headed back to the hotel to shower up and then back out for a few relaxing drinks and a lovely wood-fired pizza dinner.
Tuesday was back to work for another 4 days and this weekend is another 3-dayer so we're off to Guatemala. Hmm...some might say great work if you can get it, right?


You can see all of our photos from Utila HERE.

Don't Go Chasin' Waterfalls

Or in our case.. do. Anah and I ignored the advice of the immortal 1995 TLC song and headed to the Pullapanzak Waterfalls about one hour southwest of San Pedro Sula. Joined by our perpetual chauffeur Jesse, Margaret, and Jesse's roomie Luke we were in search of grand adventures.

We found them. The drive from San Pedro to Pullapanzak is very scenic, passing several small towns and more fruit stands than I can remember (everyone has bananas, watermelons, and pineapples for sale) we made our way to the park which contains the falls. For 40 Lempieras (2 smackers) we were allowed entrance to the park and after gazing in amazement at the view of the falls for another 100 Lemps (five bucks) we got to get up close and person via a guided tour.

Now I'm not talking a nice tour with information and a slide show, but one where this guy makes us scale slippery rocks swing across small ponds, walk under the crash of the falls, climb into a cave behind the falls, and grope for each other because we can't see, hear, or basically make contact with each other through any of the five senses because the falls are so intense.

I can't even begin to tell you how intense the whole experience is except to say that I felt like I was got more soaked next to the waterfalls then actually submerging myself in the river it poured into. When you are making your way around the falls water is everywhere... you try to breathe and its in your mouth, nose, ears, eyes... its suffocating, but at the same time exhilarating. Needless to say.. Anah and I were scared shitless.

Which is nothing compared to the fear that washed over me after we got out of the falls. Just a few meters from our falls adventure is a point where one can jump into the deep river below... for fun. Its about a 25 foot plus jump and needless to say I was less-than excited to take the plung.

Readers may not know this about me, but I'm a tad bit concerned with it comes to heights. I'm the guy that has passed on several once-in-a-lifetime-opportunities because of the height-factor. Washington Monument... too high, roller coasters... only if I'm on a date in ninth grade, Eiffel Tower... how about halfway, Holy Hill... nope.

But here I've just watched four other people jump from a cliff and so far we're four-for-four on not dying. Those are the kind of odd that get me thinking about being one-for-one on death. For about a minute or longer I just sorted stared at the water below contemplating my morality (boy those rocks look awfully rocky) before deciding that it was time to shit or get off the pot.

I shat. All the way down. Not really, but jumping and essentially not landing for quite awhile is a very scary feeling. Eventually the water meets you, but in between I'm not really sure whether I'll make it there or not.

Once you get the first jump out of the way the second one was just a bit easier. Just a bit, though. I still took a shorter moment to contemplate my life.

Here's a bit of video of the falls. Just put Anah, I and, company underneath that.



After the falls we hit up the same place that Anah stayed at last weekend, D & D Brewery, Honduras' only microbrewery if you believe the travel guides. Getting any other beer other than the Miller Lite rip-offs (not that they aren't good... cool beer in 100 degree weather is always welcome) that are the national brewers was a welcome addition to my beer palate. Having a pale ale or a porter is a nice change of pace. Granted these aren't going to win any tastings, but they're still decent.



Margaret, Jesse, Anah, Luke, and Dan (l to r)

On the way home Jesse got pulled over (or since they don't use their vehicles that much it was more like flagged down to pull over) by the Honduran National Police. Normally this is a cause for concern because the corrupt police see a gringo and see big bucks in bribes (aka made-up fines), but for whatever reason (maybe because Jesse was twice as tall as the officer or he had his Honduran DL and registration all in order so he couldn't do anything) there was no drama. Papers checked and we were on out way.