.....after 1 boat, two chicken buses, a shuttle and a taxi the last thing I needed was a preaching session from an evangelist, but thats what I got. He clamboured abourd a bus bound for Tela in Honduras, all orange tank top and bible gripped in the whites of his hands. His stern voice demanded the chase music be knocked off and then he started. His eyes bulged, veins popped and spit sprang from his mouth as he passionately got his point across. I thought he might faint or at least burst into flames, nothing. He quietened, bowing his head and recited a prayer. Long and meaningful. Then the bus gave thanks by giving him money. In Honduras the Evangelists are the bad people, they bribe people into their religion with gifts and promise of food. Is that Gods work? I guess so......
......Tela, ramshackle and alive. The central park bustles with locals living. Selling, buying, laughing and crying. This town has a pulse that has not been diluted. Bad tourism planning and Hurricane Mitch tried it and failed. A lazy dirty Carribean beach hems the town in. Old hotels and restaurants pepper the coast, hinting at a bygone splendour. I was one of only 20 tourists there. I really stood out. Yet all the people were helpful. I visited a Garifuna town, all red dirt and African style dwellings. These descendants from slaves have kept true to their culture in a foreign land through language, dance and song.......
.....Utila, Ibiza in Honduras. Its pretty, but does not have a soul, there are some authentic things, locals who descend from pirates who talk in a crazed English dialect and more Garifunas and blow ins from the mainland. Then there is us, and cheap beer. enough said.
Un poco de Espanol
esponge-Guatemalan nick name for the Irish.
How many Beards since being away
3 and working on a fourth.
Be in Utila till Sunday,
After
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