Well, we’ve had a logistical nightmare of a couple of days but can confirm that we are in Honduras and still alive. Our sunrise hike to the highest point in Parc Nationale Impossible was amazing (although we both nearly died – we were gutted we didn’t have time for the full day hike but are now glad we didn’t do it as it would have taken twice as long due to us having to stop every 10 minutes to have our hearts restarted), saw the sun come up over the volcanoes and the view was incredible – you could see as far as Antigua in one direction, Honduras in another and the Pacific in the other. Irene (the legendary Manolo’s lovely little Swiss missus) made us coffee on the fire in their little mountain cabin and set us up some hammocks and blankets to get cosy and enjoy the view. After the company we we’re hoping to book a shuttle from Santa Ana to Copan with refused to answer the phone or emails (until THIS MORNING!) we decided to head back onto the chicken buses to take a ‘slightly’ less direct route. The duck was especially sad to see us leave, and kept trying to grab us by the shorts on the way out.
The chicken buses weren’t too bad now that we were pros at catching them (basically just standing on the street and yelling at passing buses where you want to go and jumping on if they say they’re going there) and had accepted the total no chance of personal space without being squeezed in with dozens of people and sacks of produce. It was a right old clart on though, going back to the Guatemalan border (we now have pages full of Guatemala entry and exit stamps!) then to the Honduran border, and finally got to Copan Ruinas at about 10pm. On arrival at our hostel we were greeted by our soon to be new comrades Andres (a class stoner, aka ‘The Drunk Swiss’) and Dylan (only 19, aka ‘That America’) who were sitting on the porch and kindly shared their bag of beers with us. Ended up having a great night, ending up at a bar which was basically a gazebo with a couple of beer fridges in it, a big projector screen showing cock rock classics, a table full of local lads and NO TOILET. The barman himself kept relieving himself behind the fridges and we had to resort to weeing behind a pile of rubble in the corner (Susan transforming into Mandible to conceal her true identity). That America was very drunk and insisted he didn’t want to be included in the rounds but we made him drink anyway with encouraging shouts of ‘Haway man That America! SPRING BREAK WOOOOOO!’.
Despite our boozy night, we were still up and on time for our posh luxury bus to San Pedro Sula (following a delicious breakfast with The Drunk Swiss who we dragged out of bed for a mender) which unfortunately, cannot be said for the bus. It left about an hour late and took an hour longer than expected to get us there, so WE MISSED THE FLIPPING FLIGHT TO UTILA!!! Muchos grimness. Fortunately though, we’d formulated a contingency plan while getting panicked on the bus and are staying the night in La Ceiba (thus avoiding a night in San Pedro Sula which is, according to our Australian friend Christine in Tacuba, ‘the most dangerous town in the most dangerous country in the world’) and getting the ferry across to Utila in the morning. Le sigh. Not the end of the world but we’re hoping to do some itinerary rejig in order to stay the planned 2 days there since it’s been such a clart on to get there. Who’da thunk that the death of the two cups would be the least of our worries today?