copán ruinas

On Friday, October 21st, after two false starts - once in August when illness derailed me and once the day before leaving when I arrived at the bus station only to learn the buses to Honduras were suspended due to hazardous road conditions - Rachel, wrapped in a hat and scarf to fend off the morning "chill", drove me to Puerto Bus, where I finally began my long-awaited journey to Copán.  

6:30 a.m.

Not only my first trip to Honduras, it was also my first time traveling solo in a foreign country, much to my mother’s dismay (when I told her of my plans, including the failed attempt to leave on Thursday, Mom’s actual words were “please tell me that you are not traveling alone”).

Yes, I am, but give me some credit. Since I'd be flying solo, I paid an arm and a leg to take the expensive, luxury, King Quality bus line instead of your dime-a-dozen, rag-tag, Central American chicken buses. I would, however, have to disembark before my bus’ final destination, and ride a chicken bus from La Entrada to Copán Ruinas. That was the part that made me nervous: finding the correct bus stop and bus in La Entrada.  

My worry was for naught; it was easier than I thought. After the King Quality bus left me in its dust, I found the nearest grocery store, asked the cashier where I might find a bus to Copán. He pointed to his right, explaining that the bus stop was less than a ten minute walk down the road, under an almond tree. I headed in that direction, and just to be certain, stopped in a furniture store a few hundred yards down the road, asking the same question. The clerk confirmed what I'd been told - just continue recto (straight).  

Upon finding the bus stop, an older gentleman graciously gave me his seat on the bench. I sat down next to a kind-looking woman in her fifties or sixties, holding a young child on her lap. The boy appeared to be about five or six years old. 

“Is this your grandson?” I asked. 

“No, it’s my son!” she exclaimed. 

Oops. That’s what I get for assuming. But she went on to say she has six children and two of them are married with kids of their own, so she is a grandmother.  

 

I also asked her how long the bus ride to Copán would be. 

“About an hour," which, I learned, in Honduran time actually means closer to two hours.

The ride to Copán was my second experience with a Central American public bus, which in this case was actually a twelve passenger van that acts like a thirty passenger van and stops every two minutes for everyone and anyone to get on and off. I was fortunate enough to sit in the very back, the most difficult seating to access, so I had a fairly comfortable ride with only two seat mates, one of whom was kind enough to put my overstuffed hikers' pack (borrowed from a friend) on the floor between his feet, so I didn’t have to hug it against my face the entire ride.  

After an exhausting eight-hour journey, the bus rounded the last curve in the road, and I saw my destination - the quaint mountain town of Copán Ruinas. I had finally made it.

 

Copán is one of the most beautiful towns I’ve seen, anywhere. Uneven, hilly, cobblestone streets; new world colonial architecture; bells tolling the hour in the Catholic church off the bustling town square. It reminded me of the picturesque pueblos I visited in Western Spain, and it is much cleaner and better-looking than San Salvador or our hometown, Planes de los Renderos. 

My friend, Alexa, teaches high school English at the Mayatan Bilingual School. She lives with three other American teachers and above two others in a complex of apartment houses. Her apartment is open, airy and has a breath-taking view of the mountainous countryside. 

 

Copán is definitely a tourist town, especially popular with backpackers. There are numerous souvenir shops, unique eateries, and attractions from horseback riding to zip lining to touring the ancient Mayan ruins after which the town is named. Here are the highlights of my trip: 

Ziplining

Baleadas

Macaw Mountain

Mayan Ruins

I was slightly nervous about the trip home because, even though I had called King Quality to confirm the bus would pick me up in La Entrada, I still had my doubts. It is Central America, after all. But, thankfully, everything went as planned. 

After biding Alexa farewell at 6:00 a.m. and catching another microbus, I arrived at the La Entrada bus stop, the Hotel San Carlos, a half hour early. Upon inquiring about the King Quality bus, the receptionist told me breakfast was included in my ticket price, so I was ushered into the dining room and had just enough time to eat before boarding for the six hour ride to San Salvador.  

It was exciting to visit a new country, comforting to see a familiar face, and rejuvenating to not work. But even better than spending time away is what awaited me upon returning to the Home Wednesday evening. 

Entering the house, I was once again amidst loud, boisterous children, full of a contagious energy that makes you happy to be alive. They smiled and hugged me, asking where I’d been and what I’d been doing. And I was surprised to realize that, after only six days, I had missed this place and the people in it more than I knew. Love & Hope is not just the place I am volunteering and working for a year - it’s much more. It has become the place I feel love and give love. The place where I can be myself. The place, and the people, I can count on. 

That evening, as I sat in the kitchen during dinner, surrounded by the kids talking, laughing, shouting, shoveling food into their mouths - the organized chaos that defines my life in El Salvador - I grinned broadly, happy to be, well, home.