Tegucigalpa, Honduras

 Following on from the previous blog I still had some miles to cover, horizontal and vertical, through the hills of Western Honduras. I've now made it to the capital, Tegucigalpa (please don't just skim read it, say it out loud), where I've taken my first rest day in 12 on the road. My longest stint of consecutive riding days since leaving the States. 

This picture is me taking a breather on the ascent to La Esperanza, Honduras' highest town at about 5600ft or 1700m.

 With the painful ride to Santa Rosa still fresh in my memory I decided on the 'better the devil you know' strategy; napkin with a rough sketch of the elevation profile between Gracias and La Esperanza. It took the sting out of the ride and helped me pace myself.  

 More coffee beans drying. Dust from the mills coated my water bottles lending my water a rich aroma of coffee. Which I like. 

 In fact, coffee has been one of the greatest pleasures of Honduras. Usually there is a direct positive correlation between the wealth of a country and its quality of coffee, even if it's a coffee producing country (it's not unusual to be served Nescafé, yuck). Indonesia was a great example for me, fairly poor place serving distinctly average coffee despite Java being a major producer. This was 15 years ago, maybe things have changed. However, Honduras is a poor place that serves exquisite coffee! I'm so happy that it bucks the trend.

 I've rarely paid more than $10 for hotel rooms in Honduras and sometimes you get what you pay for. In the politely named town of Gracias I landed my worst hotel room yet. As night fell I realised I wasn't alone in my bed. The bed clothes came alive with bugs, mercifully non-biting ones but unwelcome all the same. After an hour of squirming around and flicking them away I gave up. Only solution, not for the first time on this trip, pitch the tent on the bed and lock out all forms of life!

What a convoluted way of getting a decent night's sleep, thanks for nothing Gracias. 

 On to Siguatepeque and, after many nights in hotels, I had a Warm Showers stay lined up with Moises and his wife Adriana. They were so welcoming and couldn't do enough for me. As usual with these experiences, I felt genuinely humbled by the hospitality I received.

  My dish is a baleada which is pretty much the national dish of Honduras, a bread stuffed with beans, egg, chicken and whatever else is to hand.

Moises is planning a tour to Costa Rica in April and had a million questions to ask about my experience. It was nice to play the expert for a change and a good workout of my Spanish.   

 I really like coffee. 

 Rough around the edges, the outskirts of Tegucigalpa. As you can tell from the buildings, this is a poor place, a magnet for migrants from the countryside. Building on marginal land, steep slopes or by rivers, is a risky business, especially when you consider the country lies in a hurricane zone. Sadly, thousands are regularly affected when the autumn storms pass over the city.

 Tegucigalpa has pockets of attractive colonial architecture but in reality it's a scruffy, run-down place. At first glance it's easy to dismiss the city as an ugly, even slightly menacing place. The city's crime problems are notorious. However, having given the place a little time, just a day, and the old world, time-warped charm of the place has emerged. The city has few concessions to modernity excepting the tawdry presence of American fast food outlets. It's a bustling, functional place that reminded me of Kowloon or Saigon. 

 Plaza life, singing and dancing in the main square. Not one woman present in the picture, curious!

The activity of Tegucigalpa completely sets it apart from the tranquil towns in rest of the country.

 Yes, I really do like coffee! 

 Alejandra, a local English teacher accosted me in the street thinking I was lost. I wasn't exactly lost but it was great to chat with her for a while and get the lowdown on the city from a local. The city and country as a whole suffers a terrible crime rate, one of the highest homicide rates in the world but I've felt warmly welcomed at all times. 

 Remesa means remittance, wages sent home from abroad. Most overseas Hondurans are working on the States. How long will this continue? After Trump's shameful executive order against Muslims you wonder when he's going to pick on the Latin working community. Odious man.

Lo and behold, a day after writing this blog, I saw this article:

Central American Refugees

It's Wednesday now, if the next couple of days go smoothly then I'll be in Nicaragua by Friday. With mostly flatter terrain between me and Panama I hope to be there by the start of March. Keep reading the blog to see what happens next!