Yesterday I went with a few people from work to hike to some caves. It was a 2.5 hour drive to the point where the walk began. The last hour and a half was on dirt roads and we probably didn’t go more than a couple of miles the last thirty minutes because the road was so bad that I had to put our Toyota into 4 wheel drive for the first time in the two years we’ve had it. What made the last bit so treacherous were the deep, wide gullies that had been washed out by the rains. They were just deep enough that a couple of times if a tire had slid into one we’d have had a bit of a problem getting the car out and/or it might have been damaged. (Needless to say Ellen is still in Cape Cod because had she been with me we’d have probably thought twice about going forward). Fortunately we got to the trail head ok and other than some new finger sized  indentions in the steering wheel, the Toyota seemed to be ok.

When we left La Ceiba yesterday at 7 AM I didn’t even know where we were going, but was pleased to have something to do. The guy from the area we were traveling to said that the dirt road part of the trip would be 45 minutes and then we’d hike 20 minutes. I remember thinking that with the heat, I’d rather spend more time driving than hiking so that sounded good. So when it took us 1.5 hours to complete the dirt part you’d think maybe the guy was off on the hiking part. And you’d be right. The 20 minutes turned into almost two hours - all up hill.

About 85% of Honduras is mountainous and when you fly in a small plan here you see what look like little ant trails. The trails connect tiny huts that are miles from their nearest neighbor. At night you can make out the wood fires where they cook their food.  Yesterday we hiked along such a path, but the population density was greater as the homes were only a mile or two from each other. Often they’d have cleared way the vegetation from around their home so all you saw was bare dirt (this would have definite safety benefits in seeing snakes and such, but probably has an esthetic value for them as well).  Maybe because it was a Saturday people had traveled down the mountain to the shop or maybe it was just another work day of tending to their fields, it was so strange to come across these homes mostly empty. Occasionally if we yelled out asking for directions a child would step out of the dark interior of the home.  

Needless to say, the trail was beautiful. It started high above the valley below and as we continued to hike upward the view got even better. Usually we were in vegetation so thick that it would have been impossible to detour from the trail without some serious machete work.  Like all land in this region the mountains have long been deforested. What remains are scattered trees and dense foliage. Most homes have an assortment of fruit bearing trees.

Occasionally we’d come across someone going the other way on the trail and we’d ask how far it was to the caves. It got to be amusing because people would without exception say 30 minutes. On reflection I don’t think that these people meant to perk up our spirits or mislead us, it’s just that they probably have no clue how long 30 minutes is. For them it probably means, “just a bit further”. Why would someone in this part of the world care about such a modern convention as time?  

Our destination, the caves, are situated in a large stone wall that is several stories high and can be seen even from the valley floor miles away. Intermittently we could get a glimpse of the wall from along the trail. Finally we got to the last home on the trail but there it seemed to stop. Fortunately a very nice woman was home and she agreed to guide us on up a less defined trail. She got us to a creek crossing and told us to just cross the creek and then we’d see the trail and we could not possibly get lost. We crossed the creek and came into something a clearing. Shazammmm there was the stone wall just a mile ahead of us! But no matter how hard we looked we couldn’t find a trail, the terrain was still steep and the while the vegetation wasn’t more than 4 feet high, it was thick with thorns. The only solution was a machete and grit and determination. While the group had the first, I had depleted the other two and turned around. I had the distinct sensation of being a hobbit and being teased with my goal within sight yet all but unreachable. A few others continued on for an hour and got to the wall but never could locate the caves.

I returned back to the woman’s home with a couple of others and we visited with the woman while we waited for the others to return. She was the mother of eight and her family lives off $250 for an entire year (most of this coming from the 18 pounds of coffee they produced). They raise their own beans and bananas, which are their staples. They have to purchase rice, clothes and incidentals. Her husband had taken their burro down the mountain to the nearest pueblo to buy some provisions. She said he hoped he’d bring back some meat then said with a smile, “Meat is so delicious”. I’ll never forget how she looked as if she was talking about something other worldly.  

The hike back down the mountain went a lot faster, but at this point we’d long run out of the purified water we’d brought and though we crossed numerous creeks it seemed prudent not to partake. A member of the group stepped into a path of hundreds of ants and they got into his pants so badly that the only thing he could do was to run to the nearest creeks and lay down in it. Other than that we got back to the car in relatively good shape.   

As we were passing through the last pueblo yesterday morning while heading to the trail head we stopped and asked an Adelante client to cook us lunch. It was 5 PM when we got back to her house but lunch was still available. Unfortunately something had happened to the chicken she’d prepared for us because it had taken on unnatural colors. Me and the other two gringos (Americans) in the group did the best we could to eat it, but as hungry as we were we didn’t do too good a job. We did have some cold Pepsi to wash it down with and it was one of the best liquids I’d tasted in years.

What a day. Hiking into a beautiful time wrap. Visiting with a woman whose eyes glaze when she thinks of eating meat and then capping off the day with a Whopper Junior at the local Burger King in La Ceiba. Crazy world this one. 

I hope your world is treating you well.

(Update - people have since explained that the meat of free range chickens, such as we were served for that meal, are often interesting colors).