Killing time in Tegucigalpa

8^th February

After getting immediately lost for 30-45 minutes I eventually found the museum, but it was shut, being a Monday.  So I walked about getting lost some more.

When faced with people struggling to get along in life as you do in a developing country's capital city it puts into question my own contribution.  How long can I continue the selfish path for?  I’ve thought this before when faced with extreme poverty or physical difficult in other countries which also lack decent medical and social care for the un-monied.  It makes you appreciate Europe even more.  I start to feel as if I shouldn’t be here as a tourist, but as an altruistic volunteer, or not all.  I try to imagine a different life path.  The only reason I would choose live in a developing country is if I had work there, but I don’t have work anywhere anymore.  Is that good?  

I walk around for a while seeing if there’s anything worth seeing here.  There isn’t.  I head to buy a bus ticket for Nicaragua for a few days time and end up in a mall looking for a replacement case for my ipad mini.  Worlds apart.  There are various cases, but not the one I need and the prices are high.  I witness the world the more affluent Hondurans inhabit.  Malls similar to those of the Western World.  Similar, but not the same, these are more practical.  Honduras is mostly at a stage in the Western World’s past (about 50-80 years?), and partially just behind.  Modern buildings are sprouting up in the New Central area.  One street is lined with American style diners, like McDonalds, Pizza Hut etc.

I kill time, there’s nothing to do here, or at least, I can’t find it.  As I walk back to town a lorry over spilling with miscellaneous broken goods squeezes down a narrow road and rubs against a power line pole which sticks out of the ridiculously narrow sidewalk.  As I pass by an old wooden chair is toppled and falls on my shoulder.   My backpack strap cushions the impact luckily, but it’s not heavy, and not caused any damage where it hit me.  I’m knocked against the wall somehow but that’s all.  The lorry continues it’s journey, as do I.

I wander somewhat aimlessly into a side alley, which is home to several offices and businesses.  One of the businesses is a small comidor (local eatery which range from a stall, shack or small building) with a difference.  There are thousands of coca-cola goods from years of collecting.  The woman behind the counter looks European.  She explains that some of her grandparents were Lebanese and French and this is her sister’s collection of coca-cola bit and bobs.

I guess her name is Claudia and she’s shocked. 

“How did you know?”

“Magic,” I tell her.

“No really, how can you know that?”

“Magic,” I repeat and spin my finger out from a point on my cranium to the wall.  I see in her eyes, she’s pretty easily freaked out, and thinks I’m reading her mind.   I point to the coca-cola bottle on the wall which has Claudia printed on it.  Not such a good trick really and I discover soon after, there are also bottles with her sister and nephews, and their husband’s names.  Seems like no-one’s played that joke before.  I kill an hour talking with Claudia over a small bottle of coke, but there’s still two more hours to waste before my host picks me up at the cathedral.  

Sometimes travelling means killing time, or waiting for ridiculous lengths, something I always avoid, even if it means paying more for a ticket.  But sooner or later, everybody has to wait.  I’ve become quite good at it over the years.  It’s similar to meditation.  Empty your brain and stay calm… for hours on end.  Flick your eyeballs back and forth across your skull.  Be dumb.  Good skills.  Still and silent, waiting without angst.  Waiting, but ready to move.  Ready at any given moment.  Ready to rush the gate and queue up to get your allocated seat 5 minutes earlier than the others.  

I’ve become tired of travelling at this stage in the journey and am thinking about being in a country where travel is not an endurance sport.  Dreaming of Europe, or of the USA, where I can hire a car for cheap.  Much less challenging, but so much easier.  

In Central America, it’s best to deal with the bus travel as calmly as possible, but it's also wise to keep vigilant.  Honduras is the murder capital of the world.  Mainly because of the activities of gangs, but if you’re not on your guard, a tourist can easily become a victim.  When you look weak, or tired or confused, that’s when they will get you.  The bogeyman robber.  I've not seen one myself in any one of the 40+ countries I’ve visited, but I won’t get complacent now!  

That kind of worrying can ruin the fun of travel, and it has done so a little bit in Central America already.  Watching bags, being worried whether you've strayed into a dodgy area.  Are those guys potential thieves or robbers with weapons?  

You can never really relax here unless you unladen yourself of those things you fear losing.  Wallet, passport, phone, laptop, tablet, bag full of clothes and other stuff.  When I walk about without those things, with just a few notes of cash to last the day, I feel much more relaxed.  But sadly, I’m moving my backpack and day pack around every few days, so those relaxing times are few and far between.  

Even though, I know to pack light, I’m still carrying too much, and it’s a burden.  It puts me off going places because I'll Have to drag this bag with me.  There’s no-one to watch my bag or my back, and I’m in unfamiliar territory every day without a decent grasp of the language.  The best strategy is to travel with dirty clothes and bag, no electronics or anything else you don’t mind losing, and very little cash.  You can move quite freely with a smaller bag.  Next time!  Why haven’t I done it this time though?  My memory is so short.  I feel pretty dumb.