Honduras

Oh, Perfect

I'm sitting at an airport for a very long layover before heading back home to Redlands, California.

The whole area is strangely empty and mostly quiet. And I was able to nab a wall outlet to boot! Seems like as good a time as any to do some self-reflection.

I posted on Mastodon over a week ago as I entered Honduras, the country where I was born. Maybe it's due to the red eye flight, but the post was a bit more introspective than I expected.

But, tired as I was, I postponed any further internal analysis for a later blog post. Oops. I totally set myself up.

That's just perfect.

Preamble

The last time I was in Honduras was well over a decade ago when my father broke his hip and had to have hip replacement surgery.

There may be a myriad of reasons why I haven't been back since, but most of them evaporate when I stop to think about it. Maybe it's solipsism of sorts? Maybe if I don't return, time will stop altogether?

A few months ago, my dad had a fall off a ladder. (Why was he on a ladder? Clearly, you haven't met my dad.) Thankfully, nothing was broken, but he was very banged up. The firm realization that age is catching up to him affected him deeply. He was resigned. Maybe depressed.

That age--mind you--89 years.

As he would be turning 90 this October, my brothers and I (who all reside relatively close to each other in Southern California) decided to arrange a trip for our parents to travel to the Honduran Bay Island of Guanaja (off the northern, Caribbean coast), where dad was born.

They currently reside in Choluteca, Honduras, the southernmost Honduran state.

It wouldn't be an easy trek, but we felt it might cheer dad up--and probably the rest of us as well.

Unfortunately, due to timing, bad planning, and general uncertainty, my wife and daughter were unable to accompany me on the trip. As such, a sense of melancholy set in early, even before departing.

(I do hope to correct that in the future, as far as a family trip is concerned. And hopefully sooner rather than later...)

Warning: Despite my best efforts, I can't promise that this won't be anything more than a travelogue mired in omphaloskepsis. You've been warned.

Day 1

On the first day of my trip, I was greeted at the San Pedro Sula airport by a cousin I either hadn't met before, or don't remember meeting in the past.

See, I immigrated to the United States shortly before my 7th birthday, so my memories of Honduras are dreamlike swirls of recounted tales and subconscious undercurrents of emotion.

I visited from time to time, but it was always condensed and focused, so not a lot of time to reconnect with a somewhat large family tree.

In spite of our lack of general acquaintance, my cousin was wonderful and took a large part of his day to accompany me as I waited to meet my parents, brother, and niece who were on their way up from Choluteca (my brother was driving them up from their home).

Arriving in Honduras felt... normal. I thought it might feel different. Magical. Or scary. Nostalgic. Or something. But seeing the landscape overwhelmed by greenery, a sky overcome by bulbous, white and gray clouds, and roads with large, incessant potholes and trash along the side--it kind of felt expected.

Strangely, that's what surprised me.

That it didn't feel different enough.

I waited at a mall in El Progreso, about 20 minutes north of the San Pedro Sula International Airport. Yup. A mall.

I take it back, something that did feel different was the proliferation of globalized brands overtaking the streets--no doubt usurping a lot of the local commerce that existed in the before-times, Capitalism be damned.

Some of those franchises were there before, sure, but it's only multiplied since I last remember.

Seeing my parents again was joyful, but I mostly can describe it as... satisfying. It had been too long since I had last seen them in person. (They had visited the States once or twice in the last decade, but it always felt too short.)

We sat and ate for a while before heading north where we would be staying the night.

That evening, we arrived at the house of a cousin who lives in Tela, a northern, coastal town. (I do remember her!)

She and her husband greeted us with kindness and dinner. (Are those synonymous?)

Before going to sleep that night, I remember wondering how people adjusted to the hot, humid climate (there was A/C in the bedroom I stayed in) and whether the plentiful mosquitos ever get their fill (they don't).

Day 2

The only traveling on the agenda for the second day was heading two hours east to La Ceiba, where we would be catching a ferry the following day to the Bay Islands.

After a short stop at an enchanting northern beach, we arrived at the house of another second cousin who has always been close to our family.

My cousin, her husband, and young son were lovely hosts. While they prepared dinner, they advised my brother, niece, and me to go to "3 Posos", which turned out to be three pools of jungle spring water!

What was remarkable about this outing was the immediate contrast in surroundings. As we approached in the car, I remember the smell being awful, seeing a couple of skinny cows rummaging around, and it felt like we were at the wrong place.

But as we hiked up a small hill toward the jungle, the clear water pools opened up as if in a storybook.

We were the only ones there. It really felt like paradise.

Except for the few beer cans some previous revelers had left nearby.

Almost perfect.

After a refreshing cool dip, we headed to a nearby beach. We narrowly missed sunset, but were drawn to the clear, warm ocean water. We all went for an unplanned swim.

The only thing that forced us out was distant lightning.

As we ate dinner with our family, we laughed and told jokes and delighted in nostalgia. We talked about the different accents in the Bay Islands. We wondered about the state of the world.

I didn't sleep well that night. I was thinking about jungle pools and that very yellow feather we found on the ground. And about the people who visit those springs, but probably have nowhere to go afterward.

Day 3

This was ferry day.

There are ferries that leave from La Ceiba to the largest of the three Bay Islands, the tourist-friendly Roatan.

We were heading to Guanaja, which meant we would dock in Roatan for a few hours, meet my other brother (who flew in to Roatan earlier that morning), and then continue on to dad's island.

Each leg of the ferry takes an hour and a half. Although there are flights in and out of La Ceiba to the Bay Islands, we decided to enjoy some time at sea.

The stopover in Roatan was enjoyable since my cousin in Guanaja (yes, cousins all over the place) was able to arrange for a driver to take us around Roatan for the couple of hours we otherwise would be waiting.

We were able to see a few wonderful, lesser know areas and got a sense of how the tourism industry has been shaping it.

There are more opportunities for locals to work, but real estate has ballooned and prices are generally set very high, which is hard for locals who haven't kept up, especially in Roatan's West End.

Capitalism be damned (again).

After our small adventure, we were on our way to Guanaja.

As we approached the island, we brought my mom and dad out into the air to see the greenery in the distance get closer and closer.

The nostalgia was effervescent.

A funny thing about Guanaja is that most people don't live on the island proper, but rather on a small key right off the island. My dad says this is because the sand flies on the island are so rampant, that most people never really wanted to settle there.

The houses are literally built on the water, and there are no roads. Only narrow sidewalks. You can walk around the whole key in around 15-20 minutes.

My last time in Guanaja was probably more than 20 years ago at this point too, so I was excited to be back.

As the ferry approached the dock, I saw my cousin and several of his grandkids waiting for us below.

We got out into a cacophony of individuals trying to claim their baggage in an orderly chaotic way.

Then dad saw his nephew and was greeted with a genuine kindness from the family members that were waiting at the dock.

My cousin's mom (dad's sister) passed away unexpectantly several years ago. My dad was there for her funeral, but didn't spend much time there, and the rest of us hadn't been back since.

The feeling of absence was (is) palpable.

However, my uncle, who is now 91, was at the house, waiting to greet us. The family tree is a bit extensive, so without going into detail, lets just say that between my two cousins, their kids, and their kids' kids (ranging in age from 1 month to around 14 years old)--yeah, there were lots of greetings.

We were in paradise, but not because of the surrounding nature.

It's family. I'm talking about family.

That's also taking into account the walk I took later that night to see the remnants of sunlight drift away behind the island of Guanaja.

That night I slept around 3 hours. I thought about the strange smells between the dock and the wooden houses around the key. I thought about the locals who grow old not knowing much of the world outside of water. I remembered the house I saw in dreams, pictures, and broken memories. A house where my aunt cooked the most delicious fish, baked Johnny cakes, and loved me as if her own.

Day 4

In his mid twenties, my dad left the merchant marines after 8 years at sea. He became a minister and eventually returned to the island to build a church that still stands today.

We accompanied him to church and it was inspiring to see a lot of the older folks greet him as if a hero had come home. People came up to him and hugged him and wished him well.

While a new generation of islanders no doubt will write a new history, his legacy is very much engrained.

Back in La Ceiba, we joked around that one of the only things people do in Guanaja is gossip. And this is largely true. There's not much else to do. You can go fishing, or try to play a sport in a rinky dink, sorry excuse for a gym there on the key, or find amusement watching TV.

But, for better or worse, the best entertainment is talking to people.

In that same vein, people found out dad was in town pretty quick, and many stopped him on the street to wish him a happy birthday.

(One funny anecdote, my brother, who is 51, was mistaken for our dad by an older lady on the street while he was walking around, and she wished him a happy 90th birthday.)

Okay, so what else to do? Well, get on a boat, of course.

Which we did. We all piled on to my cousin's boat, my parents included, to go touring around the island during the afternoon.

But first, we made a stop at my aunt's grave. It was all very surreal. How I wished to have seen her one last time to hear her thick island accent and hear her laugh.

...

Nevertheless, we continued touring the island, enjoying the spray of salt water as we skidded over choppy waves.

We happened to be mid-ocean during a majestic sunset that lit the sky on fire, obscured only by the dark clouds in the foreground.

There is nothing more perfect than a sunset.

Except maybe the next sunset.

That night I slept very well.

Day 5

This was supposed to be a beach day.

But tropical areas sometimes bring about unexpected rain.

Undeterred, my brothers and niece asked our cousin if he would take us out on the boat anyway. He gracefully obliged. We were accompanied by a couple of young teenagers, his eldest daughter and his nephew (who's name is also Mario.)

The rain drops stung only a little as we headed to a nearby beach. There was a dock with a gazebo at the end. Little Mario climbed on the roof to jump in.

I later did the same with his prompting. It wasn't easy, but it was well worth it.

The rain stopped and we decided to visit another beach.

Each of these beaches has incredibly clear water. Coral reef abounds all around. We had brought some snorkeling gear which I put on and began to explore the nearby reef.

As astonished and amazed as I was, I felt a slight melancholy, knowing full well that our ocean's reefs are disappearing. But I was determined to enjoy what I had in the moment.

On previous visits to Guanaja, I had never taken advantage of its proximity to some of the most beautiful sea life the ocean has to offer.

But this time, I saw parrot fish, trumpet fish, one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish. It was marvelous. One could even say perfect. (Except for the aforementioned notion of disappearing reef, of course.)

On our way back, we saw another excellent sunset.

That night was dad's last night as an 89 year-old. We ate and laughed and reminisced and thought about the way the world is.

Day 6 (The Birthday)

In the morning, my parents and my oldest brother and I went walking around the key.

We talked about the things we remembered. We talked about the things we've forgotten. Mostly, we just talked.

Then we took a turn toward the location where dad went to school in the early 40s. The school is still there, and the current director happened to be standing by the door.

They got to chatting and she was delighted to learn that he had attended that very school decades ago. My brain had a hard time comprehending it all. But my heart somehow understood.

The passage of time is cruel. But somehow beautiful in how it connects us all.

Later, we all loaded up to go to a resort nearby called Graham's Place.

It's impossible to try and describe it, but generally, it is perhaps iconic of what a person might think of when they hear the words "tropical paradise." Crystal clear beach. Palm trees. Hammocks.

And also, hardly anyone there but the people you love.

Nearby was a pool of various fish, including barracuda, an extremely large puffer fish, several large sea turtles, and more. Nearby, we also saw a small nurse shark swim by.

Pelicans were fishing pretty much directly in front of us.

Our duty was to get my parents in the water and it worked. They were like kids again!

Nothing could be more perfect...

Except when we returned home and all the family squeezed together into a dining room with a deliciously prepared meal and an extremely large cake to celebrate dad's birthday.

Family was joyous. Celebratory. Jubilant even. People lingered to talk. You know, that thing people like to do on this island.

Day 7

The day after birthday was always going to be a wind down.

My dad bemoans losing his strength, experiencing memory lapses, and having a harder time hearing things. But all he was able to withstand over the last week is nothing short of astonishing.

By this point, my oldest brother and his daughter were due to head home.

One short side note here is that I also had a chance to bond with my niece during the trip, which, even though she lives less than two hours away, I haven't taken the time to be involved as the "funcle" that I want to be, so this was quite the privilege.

I do feel happy that I was able to share with her some music that I've enjoyed lately, and would you know it--she actually likes it!

After dropping them off at the small airport (by boat, of course), I asked my cousin if he'd be willing to take me out to the reef one last time, as we were all due to depart the next day.

He kindly agreed, pending any tumultuous weather.

I was bummed to see the rain come in, but I was determined. I convinced my remaining brother to go with me, along with the aforementioned Mario, who wanted to go spear fishing with us. Oh, and my cousin's six-year-old grandson who somehow bamboozled the adults to let him come with us.

Late in the afternoon, it looked like the rain would hold, so we went off in "the red boat," which had been tucked away in the boathouse.

The "even faster boat" was inoperable due to some salt corrosion in the motor (bummer), but judging from "the red boat," I can't even imagine going any faster.

So we were off into choppy waters, and my cousin doesn't play around. Sometimes it felt as if the boat was nearly vertical.

At one point, I was holding my six-year-old (second/third?) cousin with one arm with the other firmly gripped around the backrest. It's a small miracle we didn't both go flying into the deep blue.

No life jackets on anyone. Glad you asked.

Needless to say, as soon as we were near the coral, I was off with snorkeling gear.

There were schools of fish, barracuda, angelfish, parrot fish, one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish.

(I also forgot to mention that time when we were by a beach and could see through the water 3 or 4 different sea stars. Also dove down to take a closer look.)

It was a perfect end to a perfect day. Unfortunately, Mario didn't catch any fish with his spear. Next time!

Day 8

My last full day in Honduras was a travel day. It started early.

We took a boat to the airport, which in Guanaja, is a small structure with a few seats inside, and a strip of barely paved road fit for a small propeller plane.

The short, bumpy ride to La Ceiba was mostly uneventful. (Being able to see into the cockpit is kinda neat.)

There, we were met by my cousin's husband who turned over the car (which we had parked at their house), and we were promptly back on our way to Tela. There, we stopped to have lunch with the same cousin we had stayed with before.

After a lovely meal and a round of goodbyes, we were off to El Progreso, where we decided to stay at Hotel Casa Blanca.

To say I was surprised at how beautiful it was is a massive understatement. El Progreso is a very busy, messy town. Traffic congestion is terrible, and I admit, I felt a sense of anxiety while passing through there.

But not at Hotel Casa Blanca.

In spite of being off the main street, it is well enough secluded, with a guard at the gate.

The grounds are kept extremely appealing with green foliage in and out (with a massive white fountain in the middle of the hotel).

The building also has displays and paintings that seem fit for museums, and certain sitting areas that are perfectly staged.

Lastly, it is adjacent to a restaurant (within the grounds) with extremely delicious food and a welcoming ambiance.

It also contained the "trifecta" that you often don't find in places to stay around Honduras. Strong water pressure, air conditioning, and good wi-fi. Not only that, it went above and beyond with hot water, comfortable beds, and great parking!

I spent the evening with my parents and brother walking the grounds, remembering the experiences we'd had, recounting stories from days gone by, and ignoring that little by little, we were dissipating again.

My brother will be with my folks for a few more days as he drives them down to Choluteca.

I didn't sleep well last night. I woke up around 3 am and wondered about how different life would have been if my parents had stayed in Honduras.

Not that I often get lost in the trappings of a would-be sliding doors scenario. I rarely suffer regret or pine for things to have gone differently. Yet, sometimes the mind drifts.

I know that I'll miss my parents. And then I'll get wrapped up in my own life. And then I may forget a little.

And I guess that's okay.

I guess that's perfect.

Sigh.

Day 9

Early this morning, I was dropped off at the airport in San Pedro Sula.

I ate breakfast with my brother and parents one last time.

And I also happened to lose my backpack which had my laptop, wallet, and passport and pretty much everything else (it's the only "luggage" I brought with me).

Thankfully, by "lose" I mean I left it somewhere, and a security agent picked it up and took it somewhere else for safekeeping. I was able to retrieve it and saved everyone from a full on panic attack.

I lost sight of my parents and brother as I headed up the stairs toward security. And their faces faded from refracted light into fractured memories.

Just like that.

Epilogue

I started writing this while at the airport and got most of it done. Now I'm suspended in the air, approximately one hour away from landing in California.

I'm returning to wide freeways without potholes, and mostly litter-free zones. The sights of rampant poverty are cunningly hidden away from plain view, and the smells are all mostly normal.

One thing I do remember from previous trips to Honduras is the culture shock coming back to the States. It is stark.

It is the kind of reaction I thought I would have going there. And it is, but just in reverse.

I'll be glad to be home. To see my spouse and my daughter and to tell them about that time I thought I was going to fly out of "the red boat," or how I jumped from the roof of a gazebo into the ocean, or about the other Mario who dreams of getting a speargun so he can fish more effectively while snorkeling. (I've mostly told them already, but it's more fun in person.)

To tell them that I love them. (I've also mostly told them already, but it's also more fun in person.)

I've mentioned to some close friends in the past that one of the things that I have always feared is the passage of time. I've feared it more than death.

Seeing my parents aging, even through pictures or video calls or news about illness, or memory lapses, or serious falls--it has somehow entered my psyche. It sometimes leaves me paralyzed.

I tend to cope with fears by trying to understand them. But I've never understood aging--or the passage of time.

I don't think I conquered that fear during this trip.

But I admit that I was somewhat tickled by some social media bait used at the restaurant where we ate last night.

There were two chairs on either side of a large display on the wall made of greenery and flowers, illuminated by cleverly placed lighting. Some words were written in large, white letters:

Seamos Felices, No Perfectos

It crudely translates to: "Let's be happy, not perfect."

I asked my parents to sit in those chairs while I snapped some pictures. I took several, because I couldn't quite get the right shot.

But somehow, it all felt kind of perfect.