Honduras, Let Me Go!

July 28th, 2010 | View Comments
San Pedro Sula Airport

Flickr image by mogdig

I thought that being held at the La Guama police station the night before my flight would be the last hurdle I had to over come before landing on American soil. I was wrong. I woke up bright and early the following morning to catch the chicken bus into San Pedro Sula. It was cramped, crowded and fly infested. It was extremely hard to keep my mouth shut while the bus bounced and swerved on the highway. I’m pretty sure I had a few flies for breakfast.

When my friend and I arrived at the San Pedro Sula bus depot one and a half hour later, my behind was still vibrating. We took a cab to the airport and I was so glad that we arrived ahead of schedule. Wanting to get rid of some lempiras and to pass the time, I browsed through the only gift shop and magazine stand in the airport about eight times but came out empty handed.

It had been a long and eventful week in Honduras and I was exhausted. I was anxious to get back to NYC. But you know the more you eager you wait for something to come; the longer it takes to get there. As it turned out, our 2PM flight was delayed for two hours. During that time, the airport had about four blackouts, which left me a little uneasy. I wondered what would happen if the control tower blacked out during take off. I’d have a conniption.

When my plane arrived at 4PM, I was so relieved to be on board. By the time we landed in Miami, it was 8:30PM. Even after we left Honduras, there was another hurdle keeping us from home. Our connecting flight to JFK was at 9PM. My friend and I were contemplating the worse case scenario. If we missed our flight to NYC, we’d have to crash at the airport for the night. Thought it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, I longed for my own bed and a clean shower.

As soon as we stepped off the plane, we jetted through customs, which was conveniently located a mile away from our gate. I went from a full speed spring to jogging to speed walking to limping. I felt the same burning sensation I had when I was running down Taishan Mountain in China trying to catch the very last bus into town. After my Charlie horse subsided, I picked up speed and zoomed past eager family and friends who were waiting by the arrival gate to greet their loved ones. In the corner of my eyes, I saw the look of bewilderment on their faces. Can you image seeing two little Asian girls carry backpacks twice as big as they were running by like chickens with their heads cut off?

We managed to avoid the long line at customs as the people ahead of us saw that we were out of breath and in dire need of catching our connecting flight. They let us skip them and as we threw our backpacks through the screener we waved and said thank you. I wonder if they even heard us. By that time, we were half way down the hall. Luckily, our gate was the first one at the end of the hall and we boarded the plane with 5 minutes to spare. All eyes were on us as we arrived breathless, disheveled and grinning from ear to ear. Success!




  • StumbleUpon
  • LinkedIn
  • Delicious
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Google Reader
  • Technorati Favorites
  • Facebook
  • Digg
  • Mixx
  • Yahoo Bookmarks
  • Reddit
  • Share/Bookmark



A Southern Boy In The Big Apple

July 26th, 2010 | View Comments

Guest post by @SpencerSpellman

Photo by Smoovey via Flickr

I recently made my long-awaited return to the Big Apple. In many ways I feel like it’s become a second home as it’s the city I’ve visited more than anywhere else in the world. As soon as the wheels hit the ground, I announced my arrival to the world (via Twitter), expecting that  when I stepped off the plane, someone in a black suit and top hat would be holding a sign that said: “Spellman”. Much to my dismay, no limo driver was holding a sign with my name and what awaited me was a 45-minute delay at baggage claim. All that didn’t matter anymore, because I had finally arrived.

A few weeks ago, leading up to my trip to NYC, I wrote a post about the things from the Carolinas that I wasn’t likely to find in New York City. This included Cheerwine, mullets and
jorts (the term that affectionately known as a hybrid between jeans and shorts) and gem mines. As many southern things I can think of that I wouldn’t typically find in New York City, I came to realize that there are also many things about NYC that can’t be found in the Carolinas.

Although you’ll find street food in a rare number of metros in the south, it’s got nothing on New York City. I actually planned my first day around being able to have street food for lunch (well that, and watching the World Cup). People complain about the high prices in New York, but where else can you have a hot, fresh lunch for a couple of bucks?! Not only that, but if you find that the kebob just didn’t quite fill you, then you’re likely to walk past any number of various street carts that will do the trick.

Of course surprisingly, New York City and the south share many things in common. I fit right in at the Mason Dixon, a southern style bar that is known for its mechanical bull, which you’ll find in some southern metros. Other notable commonalities include BBQ (though not North Carolina BBQ), no shortage of Starbucks, fanny pack wearers (probably who are from the south) and thick accents.

It should be noted that although there are many things that I experienced in New York City that I don’t typically experience in the south, the street food took the cake. Honorable mentions that I experienced first-hand include: men walking down the middle of the street in nothing but their whitey tighties, reggae bands playing on public transportation, taxi cab races and people passing out tracts to the “boom boom room”.

Just a few short days after arriving, I boarded my plane back to the south, fully satisfied at another trip to NYC that was far from uneventful. As I got on the plane, I again announced my departure to the world (via Twitter of course), though something tells me that life will continue on as it has in the Big Apple until my return.

Spencer Spellman

Spencer SpellmanSpencer Spellman is a Freelance Travel Writer, who since flying by  himself for the first time at age 8, just hasn’t been able to kick his travel addiction. His globetrots around the world has included vienna sausage eating contests in South Africa, eating alligator tail in Florida and cannonballing into the Irish Sea in the middle of the winter. Growing up in the deep south, Spencer’s southern drawl is his most distinguishing characteristic, no matter how hard he tries to mask it on Twitter. You can find him on Twitter at @SpencerSpellman.




  • StumbleUpon
  • LinkedIn
  • Delicious
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Google Reader
  • Technorati Favorites
  • Facebook
  • Digg
  • Mixx
  • Yahoo Bookmarks
  • Reddit
  • Share/Bookmark



Photo Friday: Colors of Beijing

July 23rd, 2010 | View Comments

Colors of Beijing, China

I was reminiscing about my time in Beijing the other day. Here are some of my most memorable moments there:




  • StumbleUpon
  • LinkedIn
  • Delicious
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Google Reader
  • Technorati Favorites
  • Facebook
  • Digg
  • Mixx
  • Yahoo Bookmarks
  • Reddit
  • Share/Bookmark



La Boca – The Dusty Pearl of Buenos Aires

July 21st, 2010 | View Comments

Guest blog post by @VagaBen

Photobucket

There are many interesting theories on how La Boca, a neighborhood in Buenos Aires, got its unusual name. The most common theory is that the neighborhood got the name La Boca, “The Mouth”, after the close by harbor which is shaped as a mouth. A more interesting theory is that when the conquistadors arrived to the area they were met by a native tribe who supposedly practiced cannibalism. While these theories can be discussed for ages, there is no need to discuss that La Boca is one of the most interesting neighborhoods in South America.

Today, La Boca is one of the poorest neighborhoods, or barrios as they are called on native tongue, in Buenos Aires. But what they lack in money and wealth, they compensate with culture, passion and history. The Barrios is most famous for its football team La Boca Juniors, and Caminito, the street of colored houses. While the area is often stamped as a tourist trap, the place is still a must go for anyone visiting Buenos Aires. The touristic facade might feel fake, but the history is not.

La Boca, Buenos Aires, Argentina

“Boca Beach”: The industrial pollution around the old port has become a huge danger for the inhabitants of La Boca

From 1895 to 1914 almost 4 million people immigrated to Argentina, which was a doubling of the population in just 20 years! Most of the immigrants were poor people from Spain and Italy searching for a new beginning in a new country. One of the groups that stood out was the immigrants from Genoa, Italy. They were used to work at the docks, and when they arrived at the docks off Buenos Aires with nothing to go to they just as well settled where there was work they knew, forming the harbor barrio La Boca. The neighborhood still preserves their cultural heritage to Genova. Many still claim the Genovian white and red crossed flag to be the flag of La Boca, and the football team shirt carry an inscription saying “Los Xeneizes” which is a Genoese word for The Genoans.

La Boca, Buenos Aires, Argentina

Caminito – The Street of Colored houses in La Boca

For visitors to La Boca, the colored house area is usually on the top “to-see”. Sadly enough, the place has been destroyed by tourism, and the houses that stand their today are new built to satisfy the visiting tourists and empty their money for souvenirs. But the houses still helps to tell the story of the immigrants that lived there, and still live in the areas around. As previously mentioned, when the Genovans and other immigrants arrived, they were more or less broke. So in order to build houses, they had to scrape together what they found lying on the docks and on the garbage fields of the nearby factories. Since there weren’t enough tin or plank to build a house singularly of one material, they simply had to mix the materials together. That’s why you can see houses built with small parts of tin and small parts of plank.

The already shabby looking houses were made even more depressing with the brown/gray color used for painting. Since they couldn’t afford paint, they had to do the same as they did for material, mix everything they had together. A local artist was frustrated by the dark and dirty look of the neighborhood and came up with a brilliant suggestion. Instead of mixing the colors, why didn’t they just paint the house with the colors they had? The word spread, and soon you could see hundreds of houses that all were painted with green, blue, red, yellow and black areas.  That’s how the buildings of La Boca got their Colorful look.

La Boca, Buenos Aires, Argentina

One of the few football grounds in the barrio.

Football in Argentina is bigger than anything else. The national team is almost treated like religion, and the club teams are only a small stretch behind. La Boca Juniors is the pride and glory of the barrio. The team has also become a symbol of the poor people in Buenos Aires and Argentina in general. This is best shown in the local derby match against the northern team River, also called “Los millionaros”. The story behind La Boca’s Blue and yellow color is also a fascinating story. In order to depress the growing rebel of the Genovans in La Boca, their flag in red and white were forbidden area. In order to pick a new color for their team, they agreed upon taking the color of the first ship that arrived on the port. The ship happened to be Swedish, and the team still carries the blue and yellow colors of the Swedish flag! Ironically enough, Red and White is now the color of their most fierce opponent River.

If you ever happen to find yourself In Buenos Aires, do not hesitate on visiting La Boca. Some claim it’s too much of a tourist hotspot, others claim it’s too dangerous.  Like most things in life; it is what you make it. If you only take a stroll down the tourist lane with no interest to the history or the culture behind it; it will be boring. If you run around with your brand new PLR camera and push it into strangers faces; it will be dangerous. However, if you act like a backpacker with interest for local culture and respect for local habitants I can assure you that you will have a great time! To watch La Boca Juniors play at the Bombanera or watch a local tango show at a worn out bar can make for lifelong memories that you’ll never forget. I know I haven’t.

La Boca, Buenos Aires, Argentina

Ben Kvamstad

This article was written by Ben Kvamstad who daily works as an editor for Backpack South America. Ben travelled around South America for 3 months earlier this year while working on his articles, Guides and travel stories. You can find more of Ben’s work over at his Travel Blog – VagaBen.




  • StumbleUpon
  • LinkedIn
  • Delicious
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Google Reader
  • Technorati Favorites
  • Facebook
  • Digg
  • Mixx
  • Yahoo Bookmarks
  • Reddit
  • Share/Bookmark



Held At La Guama’s Police Station

July 19th, 2010 | View Comments

La Guama's Police Station

Ok, so I wasn’t technically held at the police station in La Guama. I went there voluntarily. See I’m honest. Right off the bat. My friend and I were a tad late catching a bus back from Comayagua and by the time we reached La Guama, we discovered that buses stop running at 6PM. This was just perfect. It was our last night in Honduras and we had no clue as to how we were going to find transportation back to our hotel by Lago de Yajoa.

My chicken bus buddy, who appeared to be an architecture, kindly offered to take us to the police station to ask for help. He slipped the guy at the front of the bus a few lempiras and asked them to drop us off at the station. He walked us over to the policeman and explained to him that we were trying to get back to our hotel. Then he left and disappeared into the darkness and my friend and I were left sitting unknowingly underneath a swarm of mosquitoes hoovering near the light bulb above us.

As my friend did most of the communicating with the police officers I was trying to prepare myself for the worst case scenario: crash at the police station till the morning and catch the first bus back to the lake. As we stood by the side of the road, the two police officers tried to flag down a car or a van for us. No luck.

None of the cars seem to be going towards the direction of our hotel. Suddenly, my chicken bus buddy appeared again. I think he came back to make sure we were okay. We were finally able to flag down an awfully nice car – leather seats, air conditioning, surround sound stereo. It was way above the average standard of living standard in Honduras. He officer asked the driver to drop us off at our hotel. Luckily for us, the driver spoke pretty decent English. My friend and I hopped into the back seat of the car and my chicken bus buddy rode in the back.

It was a really quick ride as we almost missed the sign to our hotel if it wasn’t my chicken bus buddy who pounded the back of the truck to let the driver know that we’ve arrived. I’ve never been so excited to be back at a place swarming with mud, mildew and mosquitoes. We were extremely grateful for their help and I will always remember their faces for their sincerest generosity. We waved good-bye and I, literally, skipped to the front of the gate only to discovered that it was locked.

That was just great. Just when I thought I had survived my last and final adventure in Honduras, we had another challenge to face. Determine to get back into our hotel room, I suggested that we squeeze ourselves through the gate. As my friend carefully stuck her left leg in, the gate shifted a little. I pushed and to my surprise, it swung open. We laughed at our idiocy and cheered that we didn’t have another challenge to overcome.

Until we realized that the trail to the hotel was pitch dark and I left my flashlight in the hotel room not expecting to come back this late. One thing I learned racing down Taishan in China the dark is that at night your cellphone is your best friend. My friend whipped out her cell phone and we used it as a flash light to make our way back to the hotel. Adventure complete. Wee!




  • StumbleUpon
  • LinkedIn
  • Delicious
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Google Reader
  • Technorati Favorites
  • Facebook
  • Digg
  • Mixx
  • Yahoo Bookmarks
  • Reddit
  • Share/Bookmark