“1-2-3 – Cheeeeeeeese!”
At 3:55am our team was taking one last photo with Alex, the hostel manager and now good friend. We said adios and hoisted our packs on top of a 15-passenger “turismo” van. Bringham and I had just pulled an all-nighter – movies were uploaded, emails sent, phone conversations with family were had, and the pack was… (shoved into, sat on, zipped up and dragged out!)packed.
I sat next to our driver, Victor Hugo (front view is the best preventative of motion sickness). Victor took us down the narrow cobblestone streets of Antigua to pick up our other passengers (yes, more passengers and luggage). I will not miss the washboard effect of cobblestone.
We managed to pack in six more people into the van. I ended up sitting on top of the engine, squished between Victor Hugo and my new front seat friend, an Israeli young man in his twenties.
The long bus ride began. We set off over the mountain range. When we passed the forest and turn off for the orphanage, a wave of something like homesickness washed over me. What were the boys doing? Were Danny and Alex sleeping peacefully? Maybe getting a bottle or a diaper change?
Instead of snuggling in for a hug with Alex, I was sandwiched with Or and Victor Hugo. I offered Victor some banana bread, hoping to make friends and keep him awake. No sign of coffee. How on earth was this man alive and awake this early in the morning? We bumped along, passed in and out of traffic, beeped warnings, waved warnings to oncoming traffic when they could pass. Victor pointed out scenic views or areas of interest.
Not long on the winding roads, Chelsea called out for relief from the back seat. Fresh air on the side of the mountain road was good for all of us. Our new friends made their mark. I also learned they were higher than I kite (apparently the smell was pretty strong when they first entered the van). I don’t think I could have been happier to welcome Chelsea to the front seat with me.
(The Border line up! Fortunately, we got to skip this line.)
By the time we got to the border, my bottom was on fire from sitting on the engine. We waited in line to pay our exit tax from Guatemala and our entry tax for Honduras. Two stamps on the passport and our last Quetzals to use a toilet that didn’t flush.
Adios Guatemala.
It was only ten o’clock and we were starving. We had kept all food packages sealed in case border control checked and seized items. Back on the road, we pulled out the bread, Peanut Butter and Jelly. Chelsea held the bread, I squeezed the jelly and peanut butter jars with my legs and whipped out my Swiss Army knife (a little sharp for spreading PB and a little flat for scooping out jelly, but you make due). Victor shifted, and we bumped along the road and turned mountain corners while passing out PBJ sandwiches. I handed one to Victor, who I doubt had ever experienced the sheer bliss and deliciousness of a PBJ. Hmmmm… it was wonderful! Even after a steady diet of peanut butter and jelly for lunch, I still love it.
Hola, Honduras
Now true bliss is this: a good, strong cup of coffee. My first Honduras purchase was just that. We took a 15-minute break in Copan where I enjoyed my first cup of Honduran coffee. I’m going to love Honduras.
Back on the road again, we didn’t know we had just missed a major bus junction. Two hours later, legs cramped, heads aching, stomachs growling we discovered we had way overshot our bus connection. Our new bus driver took us to the bus terminal in San Pedro Sula and helped us board another bus (this one was freezing). Four hours later we reached Tegucigalpa. The bus station had just lost electricity so we ran through rain to wait inside a dark, damp building. (No comment now on how much I love Honduras.)
I was going in and out of sleep so I’m not sure how much time passed before Dustin and Shaun (from our other team) and Abby our squad leader, met us with a bus. Again, in and out of sleep, I caught glimpses of the lights of the city spread out and stacked upon the mountains of Honduras. When we stopped and bounded out of the bus, our ministry contact greeted us. A calf stood nearby.
I stuck out my hand to meet Tony, our ministry contact. “You’re the Ginger I’ve heard about.” Uh oh.
Task one was received upon arrival: a video for the farm. The farm? Yes! We’re living on a farm! It is 120-acre farm that hasn’t been in use for 18 years. The vision (that I’ve caught a glimpse of so far) is to spruce up the dormitories for Christian groups to stay in while ministering to the local community of El Horno. Making the farm productive is another top priority.
We piled our packs into Tony’s car and began a short climb up to the farm. The bright lights of our new home beaconed us – sleep was coming soon! We’ve made it!
While cruising along the bumpy roads of Honduras, this bumper sticker caught my eye. Another confirmation I’m where I need to be. (see “How I was called” blog for more.)
