Western Honduras - Hiking, Disrupting the locals, and Making Friends

Anna explored the stunning scenery, drank great coffee, immersed herself in the rural life, and was welcomed into many homes, and this was just her first day in Honduras.

On Sunday morning I woke up and thought, “Yes, why not. I’ll do it.” So I packed as lightly as is humanly possible, which to my shame, involved purchasing a bum bag, and headed off to the Western Honduran highlands to hike, experience life away from other tourists, and practice my Spanish on the locals (I’d been told were very friendly).

I was a little concerned about traveling on my own (as a 28 year old female you can imagine my worries), but I had been assured by the local tour guide that it was a great idea. I had met with him the day before, so he could share his knowledge of the Western Honduran highlands. He also drew me a map, which consisted of the names of the villages, and some straight lines connecting them. Apparently there are paths everywhere.

My first challenge was to get to Belen Gualcho, which according to the guide book has a church, a Sunday market and a hotel. Arriving at midday after a couple of bus rides, I saw that yes, there was indeed a church with three domes, and I was pleasantly surprised by the hotel; no hot water obviously, but a private bathroom and a balcony looking across the tiled roof into the hills. Unfortunately, the market was nowhere to be seen. On enquiring I discovered that the market starts as early as 4am, and the whole thing is done and dusted by 10 am.

Picture:Sunday market in Belen Gualcho. Source: www.mikap.ki.fi

Belen Gualcho is a metropolis compared to where I was heading; it had four comedors (dining rooms). I chose the one on the square for a typical Honduran lunch of tortillas, beans, cheese, eggs, cream, and a cup of coffee. I hadn’t drunk coffee in six years, but this was very high quality, and my beverage options were pretty limited - coffee or nothing.

I headed up the hill for an afternoon stroll. Apparently, (according to my trusty guide book) there is a great view of the church from one of the schools. The view evaded me, but as I left town on a muddy path I managed to do some tropical bird watching. I’m not really a "birder" so I couldn't name a single one, but I did appreciate that bright red, bright yellow, and bright blue are not species we have at home.

On the way back I saw open gates that looked like they led to a school, I wasn't sure whether it was private, but hey, I was just a friendly tourist. A teacher emerged from a classroom, I greeted him, “Buenas tardes!”, then realised that a whole classroom of his students were looking at me as strangely as he was. Unperturbed, as I was determined to see the view, I headed to the back of the school building, where I came upon the teacher from two seconds ago relieving himself with the toilet door wide open. The situation was becoming hilarious, not only did I not come across the view I was looking for, but I continued to disrupt the school day by accidentally walking within arms reach of another classroom window.

Belen Gualcho is a town that rarely gets tourists, so it was no surprise to find a classroom of about 20 teenagers and their teacher staring at me, a random foreigner wearing a bum bag and a sun visor, laughing out loud to herself, as she walked along the narrow gap between their building and the rubbish bins. I froze, should I explain why I was there? No, explaining my actions would be far too difficult with my limited Spanish, so I left confidently and quickly across the courtyard, hoping not to draw any further attention to myself, but knowing full well that every eye was looking in confusion and amusement at the back of my sky blue waterproof jacket.

I chose (without appreciating the luxury of options) Raquel’s comedor (diner) for dinner, and had a meal of chicken tacos (a change from my regular diet of tortillas). After a friendly chat I had learnt the name of all the tourists Raquel has ever met, and that there would be many people walking up to the village of La Mohaga the next morning. Apparently, women in La Mohaga make crazy fruit wine, and it’d a great hike as it’s up a massive hill. What great reasons to go, I thought!

Back at the hotel I met a local teacher who was also going to La Mohaga the next day for work, but she was planning to leave at 5:30am. She does the trek everyday, two hours each way, because she’d rather live in Belen Gualcho where she can enjoy electricity and a warmer temperature. I thanked her for her offer to show me the way, but a 5:30 am start? I think not.

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