Low cloud delayed my start but as the heat increased this began to disappear. Copan seems more wealthy than many of the places we have visited and most of the houses along the paved street, although small, were cement rendered and painted. New development is taking place and about the point where the paved street turns to a dirt track a new ‘town house’ can be bought.
Even in such an upwardly mobile residential area piles of rubbish are still to be found.
Beyond this point the houses became less well constructed and were more obviously linked to small plots of land. Some were mud brick or even a local version of wattle and daub, a bamboo frame forming the base for the mud. Although most properties have piped water the sinks are outside and I assume the toilet is somewhere out back.
I still haven’t really got used to the sanitary arrangements throughout Central America and find it hard to throw the used toilet paper into the rubbish bin beside the loo rather than into the bowl itself!
Climbing higher the heat and humidity began to slow me down to the point where I was forced to accept the more cautious target of climbing the lower hill of the two possible. By now small plots of maize were the majority land use although some sugar cane was growing in a small area around a radio mast. Near the top, the land flattened out and I found a football pitch. Views back towards town were still somewhat hazy but the higher land behind was much clearer.
Vultures swooped nearby and I settled to try and photograph them. A man wearing a typical Honduran hat passed by and asked what I was doing. This was beyond my command of Spanish but he waited patiently whilst I got out the dictionary and explained that I was waiting to photograph a vulture. Eventually I gave up and, of course, as soon as the normal lens was put back on the camera, the vulture returned. Now, the hats I can understand but why some of the men wear wellie boots is utterly beyond me.
Back into town I paused to reflect that I’d started to take the level of armed security for granted. Every building that has large amounts of cash has an armed guard outside, delivery trucks are similarly protected and one of the restaurants in town has a man carrying a pistol. Beyond the edges of town virtually everyone seems to be carrying a machete, some of which must have blades nearly three feet long.
In the afternoon I went with Sarah to McCaw Mountain, a sanctuary for McCaws and other endangered tropical birds. Hunted as pets, they are now endangered in the wild and most of the ones here are recovering from the stress of inappropriate captivity and diet. The highlight was the interactive zone, where we were able to get up close and personal with the birds. Transport to and from the place was by tuc-tuc, my first ride in one and exciting given the nature of the road.
With a long day’s travel to Roatan Island in prospect it was early nights all round in preparation for a 5am start. I can’t speak for the others but I found it exhausting. A walk to the bus station (my pack seems no lighter), bus, bus, fast ferry, taxi and another walk brought us to a new hotel in a matter of about 12 hours in all. Desperate for food, service proved slow but a couple of rum punches later and I slept really soundly for the first time in ages.
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