Honduras 08: Archives

MEGAN FERRINGER writes:
Nothing can compete with living in a town for 20 years that has a larger population of dairy cows than humans.

Actually, that's a lie. Perhaps the greatest perk of living in a small town in Ohio is getting stuck behind an Amish buggy drawn by horses while driving across town just to get a single cup of coffee.

Maybe this is being said with sarcasm, but it's certainly no exaggeration.

Looking forward to nearly a week from now, it's absolutely mind blowing to think that soon corn fields will be replaced with jungles, and cows with more exotic wildlife as I make my way to Honduras for an undoubtedly life-altering experience.

Such a culture shock sends chills down my spine as I anticipate exploring beautiful places rich with history and intriguing people. But, mostly, it's the idea of completely pushing aside any sense of a comfort zone that becomes so enthralling. Here I'll be placed in a culture I've had no experience with, as I'm left with nothing but an intense curiosity to carry me from town to town.

I have no idea what I'm going to experience during my stay in Honduras, and that single notion excites me the most.

As I leave behind a suitcase of dresses and leopard-print flats in exchange for hiking boots and bug spray, I'm filled with an appropriate sense of anxiousness, eagerness, and a mental readiness to begin this new adventure to Honduras.

And to think: Visiting an Amish village to watch butter be churned used to be the greatest culture shock. There's no question this trip is going to completely redefine that term for me.

MEGAN FERRINGER writes:
The thought of tourists attacking a city with their relentless flashing of cameras brings no room for doubt as to why most cities despise hordes of fanny-pack-wearing people. Strangely enough, however, the attitude Hondurans have toward tourists emerges as being refreshingly the opposite. Not only do they convey a genuine appreciation and respect for those travelers exploring their native soil, but an intense sense of curiosity beams back to us as we travel the cobblestone streets of Copan.

The usual expectations of judgmental sneers and disapproval I’ve developed during previous travels have been defied through the showering of greetings as we make our way through the morning mountain haze covering the narrow roads.

A lesson can certainly be learned from the Hondurans’ welcoming attitude. It seems this general mindset stems from their obviously easy-going lifestyle. Men and women sit along the stone walls in Copan’s center as their children find absolute joy in chasing each other up and down a sidewalk. And on each store corner, older men decked in old cowboy hats gather together to share an afternoon conversation as they seem to have no other obligations in the world. Granted, much of this leisurely lifestyle comes from high unemployment rates, but their simple love for family, their country, and life is obvious.

Copan is a city that seems grounded in simplicity. It appears to newcomers that the town has a certain laid-back vacationer feel, where the bars never close and the festive music continues on through all hours of the night. It’s the perfect getaway from busy Chicago life as the outdoor restaurants encourage you with their scents and open view of the starry sky above.

It’s no wonder I have come across such a diverse group of people, both young and old, in Copan. From an Irish man sitting at the Red Frog bar on a Monday night, to a younger bar owner who moved from the States after buying his Honduran restaurant for $4,000 online, the attraction is obvious. Copan provides simplicity to those desperately needing to slow things down and essentially seeking to return to the basics of living.

Considering our standards for living a successful life, most would consider the Hondurans to be underprivileged. And while the abundance of shanty houses may suggest this to be true, this different lifestyle brings privilege in a way that we outsiders would not be used to. With nothing but green bordering their town, the Hondurans have the beauty of sharing a closer connection to the natural environment around them. From being able to experience a breathtaking sunrise over the mountains to simply having a view of every single star above, Hondurans are extremely privileged, but certainly not in a manner that we are used to.

MEGAN FERRINGER writes:
You haven’t truly seen Honduras unless some form of motion sickness has been developed along the way. True enough, only the greatest destinations can be reached by pothole-ridden dirt roads that forever wind and turn, or nauseating ferry rides across the turbulent sea.

Beginning my own six-hour voyage from Copan Ruinas to La Ceiba, I took on such a trek optimistically. Focusing on the pristine scenery of green mountainsides rushing past my window, I’m abruptly forced to the left side of the van as the driver maniacally takes on the curving mountain roads with no fear of the 100-foot drop dangerously awaiting the slightest of errors. Suddenly, the next five hours and 45 minutes to La Ceiba became more of a glass-half-empty sort of deal, as I realized the driver had some sort of inferiority complex that was expressed in miles-per-hour.

About three hundred swerved potholes and two pills of Dramamine later, the green sign welcoming me to La Ceiba shone like a beacon of hope, signaling the end of my excruciating journey. But as the van neared the mountains outlining the city, breathtaking scenery of palm trees and pineapple fields made me realize just why I had taken on this six-hour journey in the first place. Motion sickness is never enjoyable, but in the case of exploring the jungles up the mountainside, the occasional episodes of vomit just may be worth it.

Megan Ferringer is an undergraduate journalism student.