Despite the amount I drank, I was surprised I wasn’t more hung-over than I was the next day. Some of the gang worse than others. Breakfast was a strong pina colada served up Jano, who then suggested we went to a waterfall and then the Spanish fort. But I think exhaustion left us all “echar la hueva” – couldn’t be arsed. Pamela and I then went to beach and I had another lovely long soak in the Caribbean, making best use of theruptic warm waters. Being several hours away from it in Tegucigalpa, weeks quickly become months before you end up seeing it again. I wish Tegucigalpa would knock itself down and rebuild itself just an hour or so away from the northern coast, but keep the more refreshing breezes of the Francisco Morazan region. I miss the Caribbean and it’s vivacious spirit and lush tropical vegetation, full of new wildly sweet scents and alluring flora which can leave you easily in a happy trance. It gives you a good feeling, an almost tangible rhythm that you csn quickly get into stride with. I remember telling Fabricio that I always think of the Caribbean when I hear La Gua Gua song by Juan Luis Guerra. Fabricio always thinks of The Girl from Ipanema. I reminded him that Rio is not in the Caribbean. He shrugged. He was drunk at the time. Back to the beach, it was nice to take in the landscape of the paradise-like beach curve round to our right up to the glistening white Puerto Cortes on the near horizon, with pockets of shade from what looked like lopsided, windswept palm trees hovering over dead trees, driftwood and junk spewed up and whaled up on the sand from the sea, along with the broken coconut shells. I especially enjoyed lying there like a lazy lizard in the sun with Pammie, taking pictures of ourselves and loving every single second of the tranquility, leaving work and Tegucigalpa and smog a million miles away, while baby waves came rushing out excitedly to give us a nice refreshing thrill every few seconds. It was a special moment. And it was 7.30 in Sunday morning; a time of the week I reserve for sleeping. This form of relaxing was even better than sleeping.
Eva came to join us and we talked about Belgium not having an elected government. She is a proud Flemish Belgian from Leuven. I was unsure if it was still the case about Belgium not having an elected government, or a government that doesn’t get on, but it was funny seeing Pamela’s face when we spoke about it.
“How does the country work?” she asked.
“Better than many countries with elected governments, I imagine,” I replied.
“We just get on with it,” was Eva’s definite answer.
I then squirted them with a water cannon. Not quite as relaxing anymore.
We got changed and then set off for the Omoa fort. As said in an earlier post, I am interested in Honduras’ pirate past as many pirates happened to be English and many English pirates happen to be from Cornwall, where my nan was from. I can imagine some of my ancestors had once pounded the Spanish colonial forts. They showed the torture chambers and the prisons and the gun rooms etc. I was paying a little bit of attention due to the dense heat, but my ears pricked up when the guide said the English pirates were tougher, crueler and more efficient than their French counterparts. It filled me with great patriotism for a few moments and I only wish a Frenchman had been there that moment just to laugh at him and his pathetic piracy. England 1 France 0. Losers.
I felt for the guide. Half the group showed an interest, the other half wanted to take countless selfies, and the word of the weekend became “capturar”.
We then went to the Omoa town to have a lovely fish lunch. However, when we went to the restaurants to see what fish they had, the majority felt the fish were too small, so we catched some Garifuna folk dancing punta and bought some chicken then went to the house, where we could lounge the afternoon away and give super Erick and supreme host Jano time to sleep. I sat with Melanie on a hammock for a while and talked about The Great Gatsby, which I think is a bit overrated, and compared our Irish tattoos.
To get in the car, we had to get past a scowling and hissing cat. The poor thing looked disease ridden, but ready to strike. I had tempted it out from under the car but it was now sitting in front of everyone and I couldn’t
remember last when I’d had a tetanus jab. No bluffs would move it. So I all took precautiously long routes to try and get into the car. I was in super Erick’s car sitting next to an elebriated Fabricio, happy to the heavens knocking back lukewarm alcoholic energy drinks and sweating with a great smile on his face. Between San Pedro Sula and Lago Yajoa, he became fascinated with my mobile and began taking photos of us all. These are just some of the results.
At Lago Yajoa, we did what anyone should do at Lago Yajoa; eat delicious fish and take in the beautiful views. We reached it as the sun was setting. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, it reminds me of a Scottish Loch; peaceful and serene and thrilling with wildlife. A treat to finish off a brilliant weekend.
The last leg of the journey was largely quiet, except for a stop off at the chicharrones farm shop in Comayagua. It was a fantastic weekend and very much ‘vale la pena’ – worth the pain. Thank to all for making it a great getaway, enabling me to cross off Omoa as one of my places to visit, and make some new friends. I appreciate it a lot.
I make a little habit of buying something slightly cliqued and touristy from most places I go, if I like yhe place obviously. I bought this from outside the Spanish fort and it now sits proudly on my bedside table. A pelican made of shells. It cost barely a pound fifty. I am now going to finish this little series of updates about Omoa with a photo of my Omoa pelican, before I turn off the light beside it and go to sleep. Enjoy.