deja vu - Dan Rodgerson

I went back to the States, scheduled a few interviews, dealt with a dead-beat renter, and moved some money around before heading back.

My mother called and asked, “What is going on?” I told her that I was doing well, going to have dinner with my girls, and heading back to Honduras on a red eye flight. Silence. Then my mother could not contain herself, "What in the hell are you going back for?" I told her that I did not do what I went there to do, and I wanted to go back. “Well, all right.” The emphasis was on the last syllable, and only my brothers would understand that affirmative response riddled with the disapproval.
Although my last trip was amazing, I feel it was not complete. My goal has been to try to turn a crummy situation into something positive. I am excited about going to a place where not many white men have gone, and I am not talking about West Valley or downtown Bridgeport.

I packed a bit differently. I already left my new sunglasses at my brother’s house. I grabbed Joy’s laptop, because hers was a bit smaller and lighter. I feel I will regret that promise….if I break it, I will replace it.

I hate to fly, and I can't imagine that the plane from Costa Rica to San Pedro Sula will be very big. It might be a rough afternoon.
It was a rough flight, as anticipated. Red eye and I think the pilot was looking for rough air to stay awake. The lady seated behind me kept practicing her kick boxing on the back of my seat.












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The point of no return... Dan Rodgerson

Up to this point in the trip, things were very clear and easy to find. You could turn to a page of a guide book and pretty much find your way. La Cieba was the jumping off point to head deep into the jungle without organized transportation or roads.
Got up early and walked the streets just as the shop owners began to open up and put things on the curbs. The city did not seem as scary as it did the previous night, but it still had guards with machine guns in front of the banks.

I had a rough night sleeping. South America is one of the few places I have heard city sounds as well as a rooster crowing.
A woman in the restaurant the previous night told me that passage to Puerto Lempira would be three days on the deck of a cargo ship, three days!

Kerrie was heading to the Bay islands and was on her way to the port. She suggested that I go with her and check the boats at the dock myself.

At the port we got bread and some coffee and made our way to the bus stop. A taxi driver stopped to offer us a ride because he said there were no buses heading in that direction on Saturday. We did not fall for it, and the bus arrived in two minutes.

After I got Kerrie situated, I gave her a big hug and headed back to the docks. No boats were leaving for the next four days. Discouraged but determined, I checked with another 10 smaller boats with no luck. That meant I would be waiting four days to travel for three days on a cargo ship, then back again.

I was not ready to give up. The guide book said that it was possible to fly there for about $100. I grabbed a cab to the airport and missed the flight by 15 minutes. No other flights until Monday, two days later.

As I sat on the steps of the airport, I cursed and wondered I came all this way! I felt kind of like a member of the Griswald family in “Vacation”. Should I wait two days to fly or wait four days for the ship? There I sat in the middle of remote Honduras: confused, frustrated and discouraged. I had thoughts that things were not really settled in the states. I just had a sickening, hollow feeling. Do I turn back? Push on? The drama and reality of being unemployed settled in. But I had come so far!

Once more, I put out my thumb at the airport with my head hung low and hitched a ride to the bus stop. I landed in a small town outside a city called Tela. I sent an e-mail to a friend to ask her if she could check flights back to the States from a few surrounding cities. It would take me at least 5 days to get back to Cancun.

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