1 hour ago
My friend and I had just spent three days in Nicaragua and were crossing the border early that morning into Honduras. Most backpackers cross this border on Highway 1- the Pan-American, which stretches from the glaciers of Alaska to the Straights of Magellan. Instead, we passed through Highway 12, the back roads of Nicaragua where only the locals live. We were the only gringos for miles.
Our bus (actually probably more suitable to say a minivan) stopped about 50 yards away from a tiny wooden terrace where five guys were playing cards. My friend and I grabbed our backpacks and hopped out of the sliding door. The guys stopped, dropped their food and cards and sprinted toward us at full speed. “Holy God,” I thought to myself, “these dudes are attacking us!”
We stood, patiently awaiting our fate. We knew there was no where to run or hide. One of the guys fell to the ground in the process due to another pushing him out the way, but the others ignored him continued at the speed of light. They honestly seemed like they were competing for the gold at the Olympics.
They reached us, right in front of our faces, stopped on a dime; and began screaming, “TAXI! TAXI! TAXI!!!”
A tidal wave of relief drenched my soul. We chose one guy randomly telling him we needed to get to Honduras to catch a bus to Tegucigalpa. “No probelma,” he responded.
We boarded his strange little taxi- a bicycle with a two-seater wooden bench nailed to the front. We jumped on while he began peddling. Now I understood how they could run so fast; they get a ton of exercise from peddling people back and forth the bridge separating the two Central American republics.
Part one, cross the Nicaragua/Honduras border- Mission accomplished.
Next, take another compact van from the Honduran border town to a larger city to catch a bus to Tegucigalpa.
About 20 minutes into the journey through a lush, dark green valley, everyone noticed a short indigenous man in the distance waving his arms frantically in the middle of the street. The driver slowed to see what was going on. Immediately, the driver yelled in Spanish, “Open the door! Open it! We have to go to the hospital!”
A passenger opened the sliding door and we all discovered what the dilemma was. There stood a 5 foot tall woman with a few missing teeth, breathing heavily with her hand over her contracting stomach. She was having a baby.
We all made space for the couple in the seat directly behind me and peeled out down the two lane highway at 130km/hr. The woman was moaning, grunting and doing whatever else you do when you’re in labor.
Soon, the van filled with a rank, putrid smell. The odor was horrid, rivaling the smell of spoiled milk, rotten tuna fish and goat feces mixed together in a blender. (In fact, I almost threw up while re-writing this story).
I almost vomited. I cracked the window and stuck my head out as far as I could to inhale the fresh, tropical, jungle oxygen.
Finally, we arrived at the bus terminal in a small Honduran city. Now, pay attention to the detail of the sentence I just wrote. The key word is “bus terminal.” We didn’t stop at the hospital first. Oh no, the driver insisted that we catch our connecting bus. “You only have 5 minutes!” He said justifying his reasoning.
I couldn’t believe it; the driver actually gave us priority over a woman giving birth! I knew Latinos were known for their hospitality, but this was taking it a bit too far.
We tried convincing him to just go to the hospital, it didn’t matter if we missed the bus or not; we’d catch the next one out. Nonetheless, he insisted we go. We gave in, untied or bags from the roof rack and wished the mother good luck. The white van roared down the unpaved road and turned the corner, almost taking out a pedestrian and trash can in the process.
Part two, make it to the bus station just in time to catch the last ride to the capital- Mission accomplished!
Next was just a simple, oh so simple, two hour bus ride to Tegucigalpa.
Finally, we arrived in Tegucigalpa in the middle of the ghetto just an hour or so after sunset. My friend and I were the last ones off, but, the bus driver had a few words of advice to give. In Spanish, he stated, “Boys, be careful. There are some strange people in this city.”
“Strange people?” I said to myself, “I’m from Louisiana, I see strange people all the time! They can’t possibly be that bad…”
The driver closed the garage door and walked off, leaving us there on the middle of the street. I looked toward one end of the dark alley and saw a group of four or five young guys dressed in baggy clothes hanging out under a lamp post. I glanced in the other direction and spotted the same exact thing. My nerves began twitching, an instinct warning me it's time for fight or flight; and I certainly prefer the latter when in the MS-13 dominated slums of Tegucigalpa. I told my friend, “We need a taxi, now!”
As luck would have it, a taxi came rolling around the corner as the words came falling out of my mouth. He parked and opened the trunk for our backpacks. I put mine in first and waited for the taxi driver and my friend to forcefully stuff his oversized bag.
Instantly, I noticed a shadowy figure in ragged clothes across the street pointing directly at my friend. The character then proceeded to walk briskly toward him, gradually increasing his pace the closer he got while his index finger remained locked like a heat-seeking missile. I shouted to my friend, “Quick, behind you! Coming on fast!”
My friend turned to meet the intruder directly in front of him. Then, like a dear blinded by the headlights, the raggedy man stopped and stared directly in my friend’s eyes with a mysterious glare. My friend, entering a state of mental and physical shock, did the same.
Out of the blue, something touched my shoulder. I turned and, to my surprise, saw a half dead looking guy well over 6 feet tall, decked out in a camouflage from head to toe and grey, stringy, filthy hair flowing out from his camo hat. This zombie literally came out of nowhere, almost like he teleported there from the underworld! He stood there, looking down on me, tapping me every two seconds.
I regained my composure and demanded the taxi driver to take off. My friend jumped in the front seat while I struggled to open the back passenger door; but it was stuck. I yanked with all my might, pulling as hard as I could while the freak behind me kept touching me. I was panicking and losing my cool quickly. “Open the fucking door!” I screamed at the top of my lungs in Spanish.
With one more tug, the door swung open. I jumped in and locked it instantly. The driver then attempted to ignite his bondo, half functioning automobile, turning the key back and forth revving the engine. No luck. I looked out the window and suddenly witnessed something truly horrifying.
Two other zombies joined the man in camouflage and were knocking the car with the back of their hands. At the same time, my friend screamed, “Shit!” I looked over to his side and there was another zombie standing to the right of his window. In total, five of them surrounded us from all angles, something you’d see out of an early 90’s video game or a crappy low budget horror film. The only difference, this was reality!
Abruptly, the engine resurrected and came back from the dead just like the guys tapping or car. The driver sped off, leaving our adversaries behind. Noticing that we were a little shaken up, he said in Spanish, “You don’t have to be scared, they’re harmless!”
We made it to the hostel relieved to be in a safe zone. I threw my bag on a random bed (since we were the only guest in the entire place) and asked the cute receptionist if there was a bar near by. I desperately needed a strong drink. She responded in her heavily accented Honduran Spanish, “There are no good bars around. I suggest you boys just stay here and have a drink. Besides, you don’t want to go out, there are some strange people in this city.”
“Strange people?” I reiterated. Where have I heard that before?
We chilled at the hostel and told the receptionist and her other hot friend the story of our insane day. They actually thought that it was so humorous that they gave us free beer and food the rest of the night. I’m glad somebody thought it was funny!
Finally, the end of the night came and my friend went to bed while the receptionist’s friend went home. After a few moments of flirting, I told the young woman that I too needed to get some rest. I stood up, thanked her for the brew and delicious food and went walking toward my bunk.
Then, she said in a soft Spanish whisper, “You know you can stay in my room tonight if you’d like?”
I halted, trying to figure out if she really just said that or if I was indeed going insane. The angel on my right shoulder said, “What if she’s part of the zombie plot to get you? Maybe this is just a set up? Don’t turn around and go to bed!” Then, the little red devil on my left shoulder stated. “Even if she is a zombie, you don’t have to be scarred, they’re harmless! Remember what the taxi driver said? Plus, even if she is a zombie, she's by far the hottest zombie you'd ever seen! Go for it!”
The angel and devil debated their views, but I had to make a decision fast. I made up my mind and sided with the one who made the best argument. I turned around, looked her dead in the eye and responded to her question.
Part three, arrive in Tegucigalpa safely to relax from a long day of traveling- Mission accomplished!
