The 14th Angel and the holes

We woke up early monday to catch the bus to San Pedro Sula at 6:00AM because we were not sure if the 7:00AM bus existed. It’s existence seemed too mythical to rely upon.

Back at the Metropolitan Bus Station, we stopped in the food court to get something to eat. Since our friend Fred had been conditioning us to stop spending money from the start of our trip, it seemed natural for me to open up a peanut butter and jelly jar to make some cheap canadian-style sandwiches. As me and my friend Dre were spreading the peanut butter with our hunting knives in the middle of the bus station, Fred went out and bought a fancy freshly-pressed tropical juice along with an exquisite plate consisting of a variety of meats and vegetables, followed by french fries and rice. She did look pretty full afterwards, but I did not dare comment on her spendings.

It just so happened that we had spent our last few weeks in the countryside, and the feminine sightings we had had in those times had been less than up to par with any respectable canadian standards. As we were innocently enjoying our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, I had this vision at twelve o’ clock of our first really beautiful, incredibly stunning, amazingly gorgeous, astonishingly shapely and perfectly pretty latina walking by with her mother (we are running out of adverbs and adjectives at this point). In all the surprise she had bestowed upon my eyes, I could not help but point her out very discreetly and very very subtly to my friend Dre. He also seemed to be surprised by her rare aesthetics (for the Hondurian standards we had met). As we were chatting away of nothing and everything, she kept spurring our conversation for a good half hour. We had the pleasure of noticing that she also seemed to be looking our way occasionally and laughing with her mother. We sort of shrugged it of as one of those gringo spotting moments.

When we all got up to leave, under Fred’s urgent war-cry-like signal, the girl we had been talking about got up and walked towards my friend Dre. She had a piece of paper, without doubt written out by a friend of her’s, on which was inscribed in English: Hello! Can I take a picture os you? Sure, I mean, why not?

Taken aback by the sudden manifestation of a lady we had only seen up to now in the perifery of our vision, Dre smoothly babbled something that sounded like a reply while she took a picture of him with her phone. I don’t know if I could have pulled the same cool he had at that moment. Since he was not very well versed in Spanish, and she could speak very little English, the conversation was limited to a few sputtered words. Our mamasita further managed to ask for Dre’s email address and took my picture. She was disappointed to learn that my friend Dre had a girlfriend.

We found the encounter quite funny, and afterwards always referred to it as the angel 14 girl (inspired by her email address).

We caught back to a seemingly all-too-unimpressed Fred that pushed us to the ticket booth. The drive back to La Esperanza, as with any event pertaining to La Esperanza, was quite uneventful.

We mostly spent our week working on the house in Chiligatoro. However, one evening of utter boredom, Dre, our volunteering friend Stacey and I decided to go on a adventure. We opened up our Honduras guidebook to a page entitled Los Hoyos. It talked of an untouched and never-much-really-before-studied historical site near La Esperanza. The site apparently consisted of a myriad of deep cylindrical holes (hoyos) in the ground. Fair enough, we went on a two-hour hike up the mountain to Los Hoyos.

One thing I learned from the hike up to the site, pertaining to bodily functions, was that the rate of belching was not only dependant on the ingestion of carbonated beverages (such as Banana Tropical), but also on atmospheric pressure. The hike was very scenic (pictures to come) and exhausting.

On our way back from Los Hoyos we hitchhiked from the back of a truck. Back in town, as we were getting down from the truck, we met with a bunch of schoolgirls in their uniforms. Opening scene of The Giggling Schoolgirls, Episode II.

They asked for our names and made us speak in french. One girl told me I had nice eyes, and the pack went giggling away. We could still hear them crying out in ecstasy in the distance after being seperated for a few minutes. Admittedly, they were probably not the same girls we had encountered in Episode I, but they fit rather well in the same category.

That was the end of that Episode.