Cataratas Catrachas...

I had only scuba dived once before, and that was in Thailand on a small island called Koh Tao. I remember it quite vividly, the colours and diversity of life were intense, and the way everything seemed to co-exist harmoniously was inspiring. Since then I had been anxious to try it again, to see more and go deeper into that underwater frontier that we still know so little about. And so it was that I made my way to the island of Utila in Honduras, a place where apparently some of the best and cheapest diving in the world can be found.
The ferry ride over from La Ceiba to the island takes about an hour and is usually a pretty rough ride, which makes for a comical trip across. There are crew on board who seem to have no other function but to walk around and hand out plastic bags and tissues to the many people who cant stomach the angry ocean. I stood near the front and had a view across the whole seated section, where once smiling tourists sat there looking miserable, bending quickly over the side of the boat now and then, or those without shame simply emptying into the provided bag. I suppose I only found it funny because it didn't affect me at all, because I stood there cheerily enjoying the fresh ocean breeze and the fun ride while this puking epidemic unfolded before me.

Utila was not what I expected it to be, and I quickly realized that I had gone from one tourist centre in Copan to another in Utila, and that just wasn't the kind of place I wanted to be at the time. I wanted to be in a place where I was forced to practice my Spanish; where people still reciprocate the curiosity and interest that foreigners bring; where things were a little difficult. Utila though, had everything that a Gringo would need, from fine dining to peanut butter. I tried to use my Spanish anyways, but the locals would always just respond in English - they had no patience for my slow speech. As it turns out, English is actually the first language in Utila, and although it is a part of Honduras officially, it has largely maintained a degree of autonomy which has allowed an interesting culture to flourish. The people in Utila speak English with a sort of Creole/Caribbean accent; apparently the islands were settled by former slaves who moved there when Britain took control of Honduras.
When you get off the ferry at the one port in Utila you are greeted by hordes of people all pretending to be your best friend, trying to convince you to dive with their school. This is something you get used to when traveling - over friendly locals with a hidden motive - and usually the hardened traveler can see right through this. Here however it was a little different because not only were locals there putting on a show, but many foreigners as well, all trying to recruit new students. I managed to make my way through them after a few superficial conversations and made my way to a dive school where I knew someone I had met before in Guatemala. It rained the day I arrived in Utila and continued the four days that I stayed there. It wasn't until my day of departure that the sun finally appeared, which made the return ferry a little easier on people. One of the best things that happened on Utila was that I reconnected with with my friend Nina, who I had been traveling with in Mexico, someone who I never expected to see again as she was heading North. When traveling though, it seems to be quite common that you run into other long term travelers months later down the road.
As expected the diving was incredible and even though I didn't see a whale shark, a magnificent creature that frequents the waters of Utila, I was left quite satisfied with my experience. Diving 18 metres down into the ocean always seems surreal and otherworldly. Everything slows down, your deep heavy breaths calm any concerns you may have, and you glide along peacefully with the thrust of your fins. A little black and white fish appears before you, it is completely alone, hovering in one spot. It approaches you fearlessly and comes right up to your goggles, you watch its curious and intelligent eyes look you over, satisfied it moves on. It seems that as long as you remain unobtrusive and move with the calmness of the ocean life, you are accepted as part of it, and are not feared. However, it was difficult to feel completely connected to everything that was happening before me with all of that high-tech equipment on, I almost wish I had gills...
I finished my diving course and headed back to the mainland to the small port city of La Ceiba, a place that most foreigners refer to as a dangerous dump - I couldn't wait to get there. My friend Tyler, who I had met in El Salvador worked for a Canadian NGO in La Ceiba, he had an apartment in what is called "Barrio Isla", which is a neighborhood with flooded dirt roads and absolutely nothing to cater to a tourist. It felt refreshing to be there. I would borrow a bike during the day and explore the neighborhood, dodging around giant pools of dirty water, every ten minutes stopping to pump up the punctured tire. Tyler made sure to give me the full Honduran experience, complete with a trip to a night club to dance "La Punta", a local dance that is, well, provocative to say the least.

One of the best things about La Ceiba is its proximity to beautiful areas of untouched nature. My relaxing week in the city concluded with a hike into the lush jungle in the surrounding mountain, where we rock jumped into a waterfall pool and a swam in a rushing cool river. We took a long walk out of town because we didn't want to wait for the bus and we were unable to hitch a ride. As we walked along the dirt road that paralleled the river we came across a couple of young guys who were working on repairing the ever forming pot holes in the constantly flooded road. At first I figured they were paid government workers but I quickly learned that they were working for themselves. As cars passed by them they would stop and offer a cash tip to the workers, a sign of thanks for the maintenance of the road. It was a really interesting example of the people here effectively dealing with the neglect of government.
The hike was the best I had been on thus far in Central America, the bright green thickness of jungle that canopied over us and crept onto our path was invigorating. The smell of the ancient trees and the mist of the giant waterfall combined to invoke a sense of peacefulness amongst the three of us hiking alone through wilderness. When we finally reached the base of the waterfall it started pouring rain, and we all just stood there soaking in silence, staring in awe and appreciation at the magnificence of nature.
If I had more time, and a little more money, I would have liked to hang out around La Ceiba for sometime more. There were many more paths to traverse and waterfalls to see, rapids to ride and songs to "dance" with. Tomorrow though, I am on my way to Guatemala city for an opportunity that has arisen that I expect to be incredibly interesting and rewarding. It is a great feeling letting things just play out while traveling, new opportunities and experiences always appear if you just maintain a sense of openness and adventure. I'm heading backwards while I head forwards, and I'm ready and eager for whatever may come next...

Borders...

After more than a month of surfing and soaking in the energy of the ocean, I've finally moved on. It was not an easy decision, and I miss the Pacific already, but after another cracked board and a longing for new experiences, I felt it was time to continue.

I didn't leave El Salvador immediately, but rather headed up into the mountains to a small coffee producing town called Juayua where I spent a few days. When I was living along the coast I often wondered if the relaxed nature of the people had something to do with the peaceful setting by the ocean. A local even told me that during the war the coast was the one place that remained at peace - even during great bloodshed and violence, the ocean and beach maintained a sense of tranquility. Once I arrived in Juayua though, and felt the welcoming vibe of the people there, my respect for the people of El Salvador was only reinforced, and I realized that it was not only the coast that instilled a great kindness in the people here.
Every weekend in Juayua there is a food festival called the "Gastronomical", where cuisine from all over El Salvador is cooked in the central square. As you make your way into the area surrounding the square the aromas of fresh meat and spices hit you. For vegetarians, there is no escaping the fumes and smoke of burning flesh; for those that like meat, there is a wide range to try. Fortunately I had met a girl earlier in the day while hiking to a nearby waterfall who liked eating and trying new things as much as myself. We split a plate of grilled rabbit and barbecued frog - unfortunately the snake cookers weren't present this weekend...
After Juayua I was determined to make my way to Honduras, to the Copan Ruinas. The fact that I was in Central America, where brilliant Mayan structures abound, and I had yet to see any of them, was beginning to bother me. I wanted to do the trip in one day, via chicken bus, and the fastest way to do this was for me to cross from El Salvador into Guatemala and then up into Honduras. I never really considered how interesting of an experience this would be - to cross the borders of three different countries in one day. Traveling in a chicken bus is always an experience of complete immersion, where the services provided are primarily for locals. On the chicken bus in Latin America, the culture of the area flourishes. Thus, by traveling this way in three different countries, I was given a clear and concise juxtaposition of them, and was able to really notice the many differences. Just by simply stepping across a border so many things change drastically: the language; the styles; the attitudes; the music; the food; the politics; the looks; and even the geography. The one constant of course, being those aspects of humanity that an invisible line cannot draw a distinction between - good nature and kindheartedness. Viewing borders in this way made me really question their importance - made me really question whether borders are for better or for worse. Do borders help to maintain a sense of national pride and character? Or contrarily, do they impede a sense human unity? Are the borders there because of the great differences that are apparent? Or have those great differences only grown and been exacerbated by creating a more apparent distinction in the first place? As a strong believer in localized and direct democracy, it is difficult to find a balance between these thoughts. However, it is clear that in most nations of today, democracy is not as it should be anyways, and therefore the notion of a border to protect a shared belief is a fallacy...
Now I am in the border town of Copan Ruinas, a place where arguably tourism has played a vital role in helping the people. The locals here ought to thank their Mayan ancestors for building the incredible structures that now remain in ruins. Were it not for the thousands of tourists that flock here every year to see these stunning structures, I wonder what would keep this community from falling into desperate poverty. I won't dive into the positives and negatives of tourism this time. However, tomorrow I will be diving literally into the Atlantic ocean when I make my way to the Bay Islands...