Tour de Reino Unido – part diez

Dear readers,

    Monday 14th July 2014

An early rise. I think it was some delayed jet lag. It may have been that I was still in work mode and my body clock’s alarm was awaking me at 5am. It could have just been excitement of going to Cornwall and seeing places that I’ve not been to in two years or more. Nostalgia. Days from my youth. Seeing meadows and the remains mines dotted in the vast landscapes. I wolfed down some crumpets and coffee, then we got in the car only to hear on the traffic news that the route to the motorway had queues of up to two hours or more. My dad has never been one for new fangled gadgets, and has always baulked at the idea of having a satellite navigation system. He is a maps man. Speeding down long diverted routes looking for an entrances to the motorway on Monday morning, I was beginning to feel my crumpets and coffee. There were jokes thrown my way about the amount of books that I always carry in my bag. My answer to that is very simple: I’m used to waiting long, long hours in Honduras, whether it’s for banks, immigration or whatever, and the thought of having nothing to do in that time torments me like water to a cat. I carry a substantial amount of reading material because I fear boredom, which leads to depression and/or madness, so consider it a type of therapy. It also builds upper body strength from carrying books in my bag all day long. It inspires me to write recommendations for books on my blog too. If that is a nutshell, I have dictated me reasons quite clearly. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.

We got to my brother’s house in Crowle, where we saw Ben, his son Leo and his dog Oso on a trampoline. At the same time. Oso was barking. Leo and Ben are laughing like barking mad people. Soon we were in the car and heading down the motorway to Cornwall listening to Spanish/Latin American rap and hip-hop. The song below I have included before in my blog, from Molotov, which is about the racial conflicts between Latin Americans (more specially Mexicans) against North Americans.

We stopped off at the Exeter services where my sister and Pamela finally met face to face. My sister, you have to understand, is more like an older brother. Any partner I have must pass her inspection, no matter if the rest of the family love her. It’s exactly why I love my sister. They have talked via Whatsapp since the beginning our relationship, and they are quite similar in personalities. It took one second for Liz to say, “You’re coming in my Audi for the rest of the journey, Pamela. Nick, f–k off. You’re going with Ben.” They seem to have cemented their friendship/sisterhood forever. It also gave Ben and I catch up time.

We got to the hotel, named The Beacon Country House Hotel (;label=msn-iThx3_3FwCYLrgZHthQsQA-4037425742;sid=f1dd0515df64139ba38a61a4e55a7c27;dcid=1;ucfs=1;srfid=3acac8b828d4f6434750406e159bfade78e5b795X1;highlight_room=), near St Agnes, with beautiful views of the Cornish countryside. Bunnies hoped in the gardens, and Pamela got to see the rugged coastline; beautiful beaches going on miles, with giant waves and mystic shards of cliff rock sticking out the sea like daggers. We were met by a lovely Welsh lady and her larger than life husband who had a accent of a sailor/pirate/farmer but the heart of happy dolphin. It was also amusing to see Pam’s face when she heard Cornish caliche (slang dialect)!


Ben, Liz, Pamela and I then took a walk into St. Agnes. Pamela and I were in our Galeano Lempira t-shirts. Galeano is a clothes range using logos and faces important to Honduran history (i.e. Lempira and Francisco Morazan). They are stylish and look very cool, of course, and they are also doing a project to have people take photos of people wearing their clothes in other parts of the world. Pamela, armed with a camera phone and Canon Camera she calls Lola Flash, took many snaps, while the four of us talked about embarrassing stories about me, and got more and more ‘dwunk’. My sister has an expensive, but luxurious taste in Italian champagne, Prosecco. I don’t know how much we drank, but I can’t remember much about the night, nor the walk home.


It was a nice kind of homecoming. Cornwall has a special place in our hearts, and the next day, it would hold a special place in Pam’s heart too.



About Nicholas Rogers

I am an English journalist/copywriter living in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, and I have been here since 2011. I originally came to work with Casa Alianza, which supports street kids and vulnerable youths. I then stayed on, after meeting Pamela Cruz Lozano, who calls me her adopted Catracho. I work freelance journalism and I have my own translation business. Why did I come here? For the challenge, to open my mind and get out of my comfort zone. I love literature and I've written a book with street kids. I write novels, short stories and poetry, all of which you will find on this blog, as well as a lot of information about Honduras. View all posts by Nicholas Rogers

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