Going deeper - Dan Rodgerson

Hollowed out wooden canoes.

The road to Mocoron

Plane landed safely. The mountains and jungles were beautiful but it was hard to enjoy them being terrified.

Got into Puerto Lempira and I am always suspicious of new friends but these guys were legit. They were from Mocoron and wanted to make sure I made it safely.

Got a bite to eat and the parrot in the photo was just wandering the floor of the cafe.

I figured that I would be there for a few hours and drank nearly a half gallon of water. The truck pulled up ready to take me 80 miles deep into the jungle. There were 11 people in the truck. They built three rows of benches in the back of a truck. The road was very rough and washed out in several places.

Many of you will not believe this next part but every word is true.

About an hour into the trip I had to pee so bad! That half gallon of water coupled with the bumpy roads was literally painful. I could not ask he driver to stop the truck.

I thought....I have a water bottle in my bag. I lasted another half hour in pain and cramped up then discreetly pulled the water bottle from my bag. I placed my thermal shirt on my lap and went the southern way out of my pants. I looked around one last time, scratched my head with one hand as a diversion and Nealy filled the entire water bottle. Then I was left with another problem. What to do with a bottle of urine? I put on the cap and slid it between the seats. Would they think it was lemonade? Gatorade?

The truck finally got stuck in the mud. We needed to get out and push. I slid the bottle under the truck and we rolled away. So I have a bottle of my urine in a bottle on a back road of the jungle in an altitude cycle bottle. Sorry troy.

After about 4 hours I was told we were half way there.

Look close, you may see the bottle

This is another shot of the airport. I will look for a cargo ship on my way back

This is the truck we rode in the back of...in the rain...at 5 miles per hour....for 60 miles.

The bird from the cafe

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Going deep.... - Dan Rodgerson

Here is the airport. Dirt runway

Here is the plane :(

Every time I grab a cab, I negotiate feverously for a lower price. Usually after I get it, I end up tipping close to the amount the driver originally game me. What is wrong with me? I guess I just don’t want to be taken advantage of. I think I got that trait from my father. Incredibly generous until he feels someone is taking advantage of him.

Sitting in the airport for a few hours so I have a few minutes to write. A few things I forgot. Martin, my buddy from Denmark was on the island when the tsunami hit. He was fortunate enough to be on high ground but spent the following few days of his vacation pulling bodies out of the mess. Across his stomach he memorialized the experience in a tattoo. When he told the story on the snorkeling boat, everyone was riveted. When he was asked what the tattoo on him back meant, he replied that he could not remember, he was too “pissed drunk.”

Got up at 4:30 to catch the flight and did not know until I arrived it was first come first served. They put me on the following flight at 9:30. Gad I woke at 4:30. Eight seats on the plane. I wonder if a meal with be good. I hear the fish is wonderful.

Got a hotel with hot water. At the desk they always say not to leave valuables in the room. Local thieves check into rooms of the hotels, make copies of the keys and simply return to lift what they can.

One of my first days I came into contact with the American hippies. Now that I have gotten into some of the more poor areas I have found even worse. The Christian evangelists. They are easy to spot. Mostly pale white with funny clothes like crocs, visors, fanny packs, Velcro shoes and wear their nicely pressed pants too high. They take more pictures than oriental tourists and often found in souvenir shops. Very pretentious and seem to finish each sentence with an inflection at the end. I would rather be an American hippie than an American Christian evangelist. If you are sensitive please don't read on.

Now my tirade. The latin people are not more receptive to Christianity or the gospel. They are receptive to anything that can help them. Here they do not have social security, savings, welfare, retirement programs, health insurance. If barney the dinosaur came walking through town giving out loafs of bread, the people would believe and follow whatever ideology he was selling. Barney actually peddles some good stuff. Love, patience and I remember that song about turning off the water when you brush your teeth. I believe in Barney.

I don’t intend to be cynical but it is true. It is not a belief, it is basic survival. If these pasty white Americans can help me and my family, sure I will listen. So they swarm into poverty stricken areas from their upper middle class neighborhoods in the states with their satchels full of books, never realizing that most of these people cannot read. So the hope for dozens of “converts” so their status on the right hand of their maker is elevated. In reality the people are simply trying to create a social network or social safety net.

On the flip side, I do believe that if people put into practice basic Christian principles they will live happier and healthier lives. The problem is that basic Christian principles get saddled with so much rhetoric and “teachings of men” that they become polluted. I suppose they are doing more good than harm. God bless them. God help them. They need it.

A cab driver told me this morning that 50% of the girls between the age of 13 and 16 have babies. That is amazing.

So I hate to fly. Sitting here at a shack of an airport watching my plane pull up. It only holds eight passengers. Propellers. No jet. We need to fly nearly straight up to avoid the surrounding mountains. No co-pilot. What will happen if this guys empanada he ate this morning is tainted? No more zanax. I was popping them like tic-tacks on my last flight. Too early to get a drink. I may cross my fingers and re-acquaint myself with god. Maybe I don’t want to remind him who I am. I figure there will a few bible toting evangelists on the plane. Hopefully their righteousness will carry us safely there.

I asked the pilot if he had parachutes on the plane. He laughed. I did not reciprocate, I was serious. If this plane is going down, I would put more trust in a fabric parachute than Pablo the pilot. Hopefully we arrive in one piece.

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A day wandering the streets - Dan Rodgerson

This is the old pier. Watch were you step for a few different reasons. There are four family living under this on the shore side.

This is the old train from Dole bannana company

After my near death experience from costa rica I have no interest in getting on a plane. Since the flight does not leave until tomorrow, I decided to head toward the port to look for passage to Puerto Lempira. While looking for passage you are looking at two things simultaneously. The seaworthiness of the vessel and the trustworthiness of the crew. It is illegal here to book passengers on a cargo ship, so you are already operating in a grey area. There are horror stores that get told around hostels after a few beers about tourists being asked to walk the plank. Of course without their gear money or passports.

I was pleasantly surprised to find a dozen boats in the harbor and three heading in my direction. The boats had been in port for over a week. Apparently they were waiting for two things. A break in the weather and high tide. I found passage on two boats, one for free and the other for about $60. The vessel which was free gave rides to the area to missionaries for Karma points. I became a missionary. Take about Karma. The only problem was that they did not know when they would leave. Maybe sat, maybe Sunday. “Solo dios sabe” only god knows. Figured since I lied about being a missionary, it would be inappropriate to ask him.

I would have rather spent 36 hours on a cargo ship than one hour in a plane but since my time is limited here, I will stick to my flight plan. From there it is a combination of trucks, boats and hollowed out wooden canoes to get to the village.

Spend the day wandering the streets, fishing with a few kids on the pier and taking a bus back and forth to the pier to see if god let the boats go. The old dock was constructed back in the twenties by the dole banana company to transport bananas stateside. It had seen better days. While walking back I saw a guy squatting on the lower level of the bride. I was curious and stopped. Not to self, it is a good rule to never stop and look when someone is squatting. Yes, dropping bombs 15 feet down into the ocean. No sign of paper anywhere. Now that we are on the bathroom subject…. In bus stations they charge to use the bathroom. I asked the attendant if there was a different price for number one or number two because I believe there are significant differences in the impact. He tried to answer but did not realize I was just giving him crap. In more ways that one. It was two and a half cents. No real reason to bargain. Also, they do not throw the paper in the toilet. It goes in the trash can. So yes, you guessed it, you are sitting there inches away from feces from a dozen dudes from a third world country.

I recieved a call from a municipality regarding a potential job. Although I have three interviews set up, this is the one I am really interested in. At first, I thought they would feel strange about getting a call from Honduras but the secretary found it amusing. Hell, anything to stand apart from the pack. Hope it works. The interview is next Friday so I will only be able to spend about 6 days with the tribe. Maybe by that time I will be ready to leave. I have about a 4 day threshold of bathing without hot water. Before I go, I do want to climb a volcano, see some mayan ruins and damn it, I want to see a monkey.

I have to wake up around 4:30 to catch my flight in the morning. Will be another boring night

This is a park in the center of town

This is a dead dog

From a small cafe overlooking the water

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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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On the road again.... - Dan Rodgerson

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 came here to do and I wanted to go back. “well alright” The emphasis was on the last syllable and only my brothers would understand the 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. 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 grabbed a friends 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 packed a bit differently. Already left my new sunglasses at my brothers house.

Went back to the states, scheduled a few interviews, had to deal with a dead beat renter, moved some money around and headed back. Rough flight. Red eye and I think the pilot was looking for rough air to stay awake and the lady behind me was practicing her kick boxing on the back of my seat.

I hate to fly and I can't imagine that the plane from Costa Rica to San Pedro Sula will be very big. Might be a rough afternoon.










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The night in Tela - Dan Rodgerson

The hotel on the hill was $25 American a night. It was expensive but had an amazing view, hammocks on the balcony, and hot water. I had not taken a shower in three days.
Still disappointed and confused, I dropped off my laundry and walked down by the beach. It was a bit dark and rainy. I noticed there were three little kids following me; I was not sure why. I turned a corner, and they were still behind me. I finally realized why. I was drinking a Fanta soda in a glass bottle, and they were waiting for me to throw it away so they could dig the bottle out of the trash to recycle it.

I went to have dinner and bumped into a six pack of gringos. The cafe was crowded so I invited them to join me. Three men from Ireland came to help build houses. Two men from England were teaching English to the locals. And the sixth person was a tattooed girl with several facial piercings from the States. Of course, the one that looked like a clown was American.
Conversation was lively but hard to understand with such thick accents. The single guy from Ireland told a story of a woman who came up to him in a club the previous night. She was anxious to introduce him to her daughter. After a few dances, they parted and the mother approached him looking for payment. She was pimping her own daughter.

I enjoyed my time with them but was preoccupied with the thought of whether this would be my last night abroad or not. I walked home and was approached by a woman who asked for about $10 American for "services". I immediately left.

Early the next morning, I took a bus to San Pedro to see if I could catch a flight. I received a call from a municipality who wanted to schedule an interview. The bus driver left me on the side of the road and pointed toward the airport. I put out my thumb and was picked up by the first truck. I booked a ticket to Miami.

I planned to crash at my buddies’ place in Fort Lauderdale, but he was not returning from Miami until the following night. So, I found a cheap hotel in Fort Lauderdale. I was tempted to ask if they had hot water. I was without a car in South Florida and figured if I could navigate my way through four third world countries I could get around on the Broward County bus system. I was wrong. I found my way to a mall to buy a charger for my phone. When she said it would cost $20 I literally asked, "Is that the best you can do?" I was conditioned to Central/South American haggling!

I had made it back to the States and was still disappointed and depressed. I nearly had a meltdown the following day in Deerfield Beach and navigated my way back to the airport to meet my buddy.

The goal of the trip was to spend time with the Moskito Indians and hopefully forget about my life's dramas. I did not meet that goal. I did, however, meet some amazing people. I swam with rays off the coast of Belize, traveled through jungles and mountain villages, and most importantly really connected with many of the locals in regard to their lives, values, cultures, and traditions.

I really feel that when we meet our Maker, (however you define that) He/She/It will ask a series of questions. Did you visit foreign lands? Walk on the Great Wall of China? Learn about other people’s values and culture? Did you try to walk in the shoes of the less fortunate? Did you surf on the coast of Costa Rica? Hopefully Maker does not ask if you maintained employment.
Being there felt good, natural, and warm—until the realities of my life crept back in.
I feel that my purpose or mission is not done here. I will be going back. There are several chapters of my guide book that have not been opened, and several unstamped pages of my passport.

I think I am addicted to this type of travel. I caught the travel bug, and hopefully that was the only thing I caught while I was there.

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10/19/2100

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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