Border crossings

Sooo this was my adventure crossing the Nicaragua/Honduras border…I got to the Nicaraguan border at 9 pm. 1 minute before it closed. I ran through, in the pouring rain. It`s totally dark. Only locals around me. Sketchyyyy.

I have my passport stamped by a man who spoke no English and was in plain civilian clothes. He simply pulled the stamp out of his pocket and demanded some cash.

I make it through and figured there would be a taxi or something on the other side.  At least a motel. No such luck! But I had to make it the 10km to the nearest town, so I could get a bus in the morning. I had 4 options. Option A) Run to El Pasio(nearest town 10 km away). Option B) Sleep under one of the million semi trucks parked on the side of the road. Option C) Venture into the jungle and set up my hammock (MALARIA). Or Option D) Be shameless and try to sleep in a locals house.

The locals house I slept in
My safe haven aka Locals house.

Now I have been running for around 2 hours. I’m super scared, because of the crazy packs dogs and being chased by a drunk local with a machete. I’ve finally had enough. I’m soaking wet from the rain and sweating like an animal from being so worked up. Its 11pm at night, I decide option D seems like my best chance. I walk over to a locals house and pound on the door. A boy opens it and doesn’t speak a word of English. We try to converse, and he finally understands I’m looking for somewhere to sleep. He walks me hand in hand down the road to another locals house, where they have an extra room. I give them $20 American and they give me some amount of Monopoly or Honduran money in return. No idea what the conversion rate is. I give some to the boy and thank him repeatedly. I tell the drunk man, I want to go to Tegucigalpa early in the morning. He mumbles about a bus leaving in the morning at 630. We shake hands and he leaves me alone. 5 minutes later I hear a pounding at my door. I think “Great, this is how I die. The boy left and now I am going to wake up in an ice bath without kidneys.” I reluctantly open the door to find the man holding a beer and grinning. He asks “You like local beer?” He then cracks a beer and we try to speak to one another, unsuccessfully.

Selfie in the bathroom of the locals house
Selfie in the bathroom of the locals house

540 am rolls around and I am woken to the sound of pounding at my door. He just needed to tell me, “You smell” and that there was a shower in the back. I shower and head to the bus stop.

Bus pulls up and guess who is the bus driver? HE IS!! The man who let a strange smelly white boy sleep in his house. He takes me to the town I was originally trying to run to. I finally get there around 7 and I know it’s another 2.5 hours to Tegucigalpa, at least. My flight is at 10. I’m tripping balls. I know I wont make it. The wrath of my friend, who is waiting in Honduras for me is too severe to risk missing my flight. I make the game time decision to try a Taxi. I run to the taxi stand and offer $100 American, if he can get me to airport by 9. He starts sweating and forces me into the car. 5 minutes into the ride he tells me his taxi is illegal, police problems, and that we need to take his truck. We bomb into his yard and he begins yelling at his wife for the truck keys. We throw all my stuff in and peel off.

My reason for going to Honduras
The dame. The reason I experienced this hell of an adventure.

Most of the next 2.5 hours is spent in the wrong lane and at double the speed limit. We force other vehicles off the road. Swerve manically in and out of traffic. But somehow, by the grace of God, arrive at the airport 25 minutes before my flight. I toss the money on the dash. Without him stopping I bail out, tuck, roll, and hightail it into the airport. I am now in a full run through the airport. Literally everyone is staring at me and like the bible story “Moses and the Red Sea” everyone parts and lets the Gringo run without at obstacles. I get told ill miss my flight unless I pay off the airport official to help me safely make it.

Reason #2 for going to Utila
Reason #2 for going to Utila

We skip airport taxes, run through security, and toss my bag through the x ray machine. It comes bouncing out the other side. I catch it and I run through some back doors. Down the Tarmac to the plane patiently waiting for its only white passenger. I climb the stairs. Wave goodbye to my new official friend and take my seat.

Here I sit in a plane with 2 others. Terrified, relieved, and not believing that I actually made it. The drinks stewardess comes, sits beside me, smiles, and without hesitation pours me a nice stiff Rum and Coke.

What happens after too many shots on Utila Island
What happens after too many shots on Utila Island

Utila better be worth the trouble I tell her…. Turns out it was worth every damn second.

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Never Stop Exploring – Blog

This is the primary community blog for the Backpackers Union Network.  Any member can post, edit, delete their own stories on this blog.  The stories you contribute will show up on your profile, and on the main website feed (Thumbnail and excerpt).

Helena-Christensen-by-Guy-Aroch-Nudity

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Eat. Sleep. Love… Explore.

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