A Night In Honduras

On the road Saturday afternoon in Honduras we slotted ourselves into the flow of traffic on the Panamericana the Pan American Highway where “pan” from the Greek means “all” as in all the 17,000 miles of highway from the US through the Americas, the Andes to the fjords of Chile and the Argentine Patagonia…Around here it’s labeled CA1 - Central America 1. 

Google Maps told us we had about three to four hours of driving to get from El Salvador to Nicaragua across a hundred mile neck of Honduras which gives this country modest access to the Pacific Ocean through the muddy brown waters of the Gulf of Fonseca, a body of water where El Salvador Honduras and Nicaragua meet.

Our plan was to honk through Honduras pausing to sleep one night and then warily approach the Nicaraguan border at El Espino mid morning on Sunday well rested well nourished and ready to wait out the minutiae of a border crossing known for its bloody minded persnicketyness. My hope was that Sunday might catch them relaxed with less commercial traffic and if we aren't impatient we may disarm their wariness. On the other hand they might be direct and charming if we have prosperity ducks all in a row! Exciting! We are ready having done our part: 

So our visit to Honduras was planned to be necessarily brief so we filled up with fuel and water in El Salvador with gas at $3:99 a gallon and we found regular in Honduras to be about $3:80 a gallon not enough of a difference to worry about. We changed ten dollars at 25 Lempira to the dollar at the border so we could buy snacks on the road like grilled corn. 

As we drove we checked possibilities for stopping for the night. iOverlander had a few sketchy options, street parking and gas stations which are okay but we like to stop at gas stations closer to dark and not spend hours parked in day light near the pumps. 

One issue for travelers in these modern times is figuring out how to get phone coverage as you go. Typically overlanders stop to buy local SIM cards for their phones when they enter each new country. It’s a clunky system because you have to find an office (without a phone map!) by remembering to set up your route before you cross the border and lose your coverage. Also local phone companies won’t sell you contracts and in most countries you need a local credit card to add time to your local SIM card. And then we discovered Verizon’s monthly international plan.  

At $80 a month it’s more expensive than buying time locally at 5 gigabytes at a time but boy is it convenient! With unlimited data just like at home when we cross a border we get a cheerful “Welcome to Honduras!” message and our phone doesn’t miss a beat. We just keep driving. I’m certain AT&T and T-Mobile must have similar plans for people on the road. We are lucky we can afford them and can kiss Claro and local phone offices goodbye. Between that and Starlink we are connected. 

Sometimes friends tell us when they go on vacation they like to unplug which is fair enough. We are at home not on vacation. 

We travel with Google, air conditioning, refrigeration and clean pure water without a care in the world. And we pass pedestrians bumping loads of firewood home to their shacks. I can’t get over the contrast. 

Since independence in 1810 the countries of the Central American federation have signally failed to get their lives together. They tried to form a federation with San Salvador as their capital but that fell apart. Mostly these days they argue on the football field and soccer determines the winners. The Pool not heated but  wonderful: 

I knew we’d figure something out before dark and sure enough we located Las Tekas, a public bath and gathering space alongside the PanAmerican. For $20 US ( no Lempira needed!) we got a safe place to park for the night. Mitchell is 76 years old and retired to life on his farm. His wife rules the roost in their town house in Choluteca but out here he strides around like a Honduran peasant carrying his machete. 

Rusty figured this was a bit of all right and next to exploring a place with no visible local dogs. 

The restaurant was closed to accommodate a religious revival “My wife’s thing,” Mitchell shrugged. “There will be some singing but they should shut up soon,” he added and they did in point of fact. We had plenty of food inside our well insulated van. 

There was that pool and no point in wasting the refreshingly cold water. Followed by a sparkling cool shower, followed by a dinner of salad and roast chicken bought roadside. 

We had the whole place to ourselves except for the music which shut down miraculously at eleven when god sent rain to send them all home. But they had their revenge.

Gunshots at five am rang out sitting us up straight in our beds wondering what the hell was going on. Then more loud music. It turns out the thunderclaps and music were a wake up call to get the religious camp moving. At 5am. And us. 

Culture clash? You bet! Life on the road. Up next Nicaragua. 

And those trucks made the road to the border a wreck. Here’s a sample of the worst bits of Honduras highways:

Eventually Honduras

I have been to La Union twice before in my life and this Saturday morning marked my third visit to this unprepossessing port town on the Gulf of Fonseca. It has not improved much with age though it is now thoroughly modern compared  to past visits. 

In 1986 as a reporter I looked into the state of fishing in the middle of a civil war and found things to be not scintillating. 
In 1999 Layne and I and our two dogs stopped here on a passage from Mexico to Nicaragua.The pharmacists were fascinated by my huge patient Labrador Emma adopted by us from the Santa Cruz SPCA and they wanted to pet her. 
I didn’t try to pull the same trick with Rusty in the same pharmacy a full generation of employees later...
We bought pupusas from a stand that got five star reviews on Google Msps and they were just fine. Lunch for two for $2:60. 

There was a line when I pulled up across the street. That looked promising. We got four to go, one cheese and one bean pupusa each.

Rusty and I walked the streets a bit while Layne went poking around in the shops. 
















It was hot and busy on the sidewalks  of La Union and soon enough Rusty knew when he had had enough, time for his air conditioned bed and a bowl of water. 

A half hour on the worst, most potholed road in El Salvador would get us to the iconic El Amatillo border crossing into Honduras. 




There is a certain sadness leaving a country you have enjoyed, a place whose customs you have had at least a chance to get used to, a country where you know the currency, the stores, the food and that feels at least slightly familiar. Oh and the paperwork in El Salvador is simple. 

Five minutes at customs and I was clear to leave.

Another five minutes at passport control and off we went…

…across the bridge separating El Salvador from Honduras. No eighteen wheelers - lovely! 

Among Latin American travelers the  Honduran border control building at El Amatillo is famous, a monument. I had longed to cross here and at last my wish was fulfilled. 

Except nowadays you don’t drive through, more’s the pity but you find somewhere to park and dodge the touts and money changers who want to “guide” you through a simple process of seeing immigration first. The clerk had lived in Iowa and was delighted by my wife’s birthplace so they chatted and he typed out details and took $3 each. 

Across the famous hall was a young lady finishing lunch. She took out papers and typed out our Temporary Import Permit for the GANNET2 -$35. All done in less than an hour. 

And lest you think our van journey is remarkable of pioneering check out these stickers, only a few among the travelers who mark their passing here. 

We could have easily skipped the quarantine office which we eventually located in a green container among the 18 wheelers jockeying for exit permits for their loads bound for El Salvador. Speaking Spanish saved us and I am not surprised many travelers think there is no pet paperwork requirement at this border. We could have saved $12 and twenty minutes but making Rusty legal saves us worry so we try to do the right thing even when that involves not having a clue where the office might be, we just kept asking and there it was tucked away. 

He came out to take Rusty’s official portrait and shocked he was the little bugger didn’t run away. 

But as usual he refused to pose for the camera. Layne watched from the passenger seat and laughed. 

Even going out of our way slightly to do the right thing cost us twenty minutes and the entire birder crossing from exiting El Salvador to finishing our entry into Honduras took less than ninety minutes. 

The open road! Smooth, straight just a few potholes and no speed bumps. Lovely Honduras! I mean there’s more to this country than the roads and we did notice right away  some differences, older buses and cars, more trash and magnificent views of mountain ridges volcanoes and huge threatening rain clouds. 

And beggars and thin dogs and occasional lunatics strolling up and speaking gibberish. Honduras has been the United States’ staunchest ally through the 20th century and is about the poorest country in Central America. I’m not sure the two are directly related but it makes you think. 

It’s a mere  100 miles from El Amatillo to the Nicaraguan border but we planned to fiend one night along the way and appear fresh and ready for the customs bureaucracy early on Sunday. 

What could be more innocent than two elderly retirees in a van traveling around Central America? 

Up next how to locate a safe sleeping spot in a strange land not equipped with campgrounds or even a rudimentary understanding of RV travel! Are we having fun yet? You bet.