Well, here we go again. I decided to re-visit Honduras to verify the impressions of my first trip (See Honduras 94). Also, Honduras is still the cheapest, quickest, closest place to go for what I consider to be a truly exotic (yet generally safe) vacation.

My trip begins with a visit to a travel agent who seems to specialize in Central America. Last time I felt that I paid too much for my tickets. The directions given were pretty explicit. Couldn't find the place. Then I started thinking: "Well, she seemed pretty bright over the phone. So let's assume she gave me the correct address. Lets assume I misunderstood her accent. What's close to fifty? Let’s try fifteen." Yep - here it is. Then I watched in horror as she typed in stuff on her terminal. I have no idea how the inner sanctum of travel agents works. All I know is that I had been quoted a price of $450 and I never saw a price under $500 on the screen. I began formulating my strategy. She didn't speak very good English so my usual rapier wit would probably be lost. But then any efforts at brutal nastiness might also be wasted. While I debated my options she handed me a charge slip to sign. While she explains all of the restrictions on my ticket: no refunds, no exchanges, no changes, no nothing, use-it-or-lose-it. I notice that the bottom line was $415. Once again I had misunderstood. In the interest of international relations I decided to be gracious and forgiving.

My day starts at 1AM Sunday morning. I had discovered that with 24 hours of credit hours, a holiday, and 8 hours worked Sunday morning I could have a week off from work without using "vacation time".

I've got enough to do: queries for the EEO people, publish the Workforce In Profile for the Internet, new pay-tables from Curtis/Jeannette, set up the user feedback database and check out the e-mail features. Change the "What's New" indexer so that it will not index each page of the Workforce In Profile. (the espresso machine in my office really is great at times (early AM) like this)

I got most of it done but this business of publishing and leaving the country bothers me. There's always something that can go wrong. Especially with so much running on auto-pilot from 4-7 AM.

Off work at 9:30 AM. Back home I try to call Honduras but nothing gets through. Need to get some cash, would like a few pictures just in case I need a visa or some other permit and batteries for the camera. I decide to bring along one of my computer books just in case I want to read something - it's the one on SQL (Structured Query Language)

Now to the airport. I'm supposed to get there two hours early. That means 11:00 AM.

It's going to be close. I'm not sure why they want you there so early. Maybe there's a lot of people/red tape.

Oh-yeah, I forgot mention that I'm flying Taca Airlines. The only thing that I know about them is what I read on the U.S. State Department's Bulletin Board System (BBS). Two months ago a bunch of their passengers rioted in Honduras. Apparently Taca's baggage handlers had decided to become independent recyclers using checked baggage as raw material.

I got to the airport in plenty of time, park in one of the first long-term parking lots and hurry over to the shuttle bus. Unfortunately, the bus driver has taken the phrase "long term parking" and applied it to the bus itself. Finally off we go. First driving directly past my airline to deliver three twits to somewhere (they certainly aren't anywhere near as important as I am) and finally back to my drop-off point. I hurry in expecting to see a madhouse.

There's only one guy in line. I'm in, out, and upstairs at the gate in short order. The plane is scheduled to leave at 1:10 PM and is flagged as "ON-TIME". At 1:30 it's still scheduled to leave at 1:10 and is still flagged as "ON-TIME". We finally get going at 1:40 (Still ON-TIME) It's about the homeliest bunch of people I've seen since... (Well, you get the idea) They seem quieter than when I flew Continental and they don't have as much baggage. (Of course that trip was just before Christmas)

There seems to be about 3 flight attendants. Two guys up front and one female in the back. The guy demonstrating safety procedures is the first attendant I've ever seen that actually put the oxygen mask on completely. All of the others seemed to be more concerned about their hair. These guys were amazingly efficient; a round of drinks (I'm amazed that my ears are already attuned to some Spanish - specifically blanca and rojo) followed by a meal. I had a chicken-cheese roll-up thing, rice with raisins, broccoli, carrots, salad and dessert. It came with actual silverware. The silverware is kinda small but has a nice feel to it. (Kinda like a Cross pen.) I wonder if the silverware is small because the people on the plane are more likely to be small, to make the meals seem larger, or is it just a space/weight consideration of air travel? I contemplate stealing it. Perhaps just the spoon - it's so small and cute. It'll go great with my espresso cups. Not that I ever use cream or sugar but some of my sissy friends might appreciate my thoughtfulness. Then I decide that stealing silverware on a flight to El Salvador may not be the brightest idea that I've ever had.

All this was followed by a cart with coffee, Amaretto, Cognac, Baileys, Kailua, etc. I go for the coffee - Honduras is here, Guatemala over there, Costa Rico over yonder. Gotta be good. The coffee sucks.

We land in Belize. First time I've ever done a U-turn in the middle of a runway. It seems to be a really small airport. Only one runway - no "taxi way". You land, slowdown, make a U-turn and come back to the terminal. Going out, you leave the terminal, go down the runway, make a U-turn, and take off.

On to El Salvador.

You realize that I'm not very happy about this. Landing in El Salvador that is. I couldn't get a direct flight to Honduras. Not only do I have to land in this God forsaken place but I've actually got to change planes. I envision dodging bullets as I scurry from plane to plane across a dusty pockmarked runway.

We land. It's a rough landing and the plane slows rapidly. All the better to reduce our exposure to mortar fire I'm sure. I look out the window. A taxiway. Hmmm-m-m. The runway is made of asphalt not cement. I suppose that's a sign of something. I stand quickly to get my bags out of the overhead and prepare to run the gauntlet. A little grandmother in front pushes me aside. The pilot almost knocks me over as he decides to move the plane forward about 20 feet.

I get to the door of the plane. Expecting to feel the wind and perhaps shrapnel in my face. There's an elevated walkway - just like Houston Intercontinental - I walk through it. And into a very modern, clean, air-conditioned terminal. I'm in a hurry to get to my connection (Gate 5) but this is one very nice terminal. Duty free shops all over the place, arts, crafts, food, etc. Television monitors to keep you up to date. I'm directed to a "transit passenger area". I go on over to Gate 5 since it's where my plane is/was/will be. I'm directed back to the "transit passenger area".

Some guy with a suit and 2-way radio (there's a lot of people here with suits and 2-way radios) comes over. He says that my plane has already left for Tegucigalpa. It had to. It seems that they close the airport in Tegus at dark. I'm going to spend the night here in El Salvador.

Hot Damn!! I really wanted to spend the night here!

There's another guy here in the same situation. I sneak a peek at his pasport over his sholder: He's a diplomat from Honduras. The suit shuffles a few papers around, stamps some things, staples stuff to other stuff and asks for the other guys passport. Now he wants mine! Is this some plan to assassinate this diplomat and I just happened to get caught up in it? Is it a plan to get my valuable "United States Passport" and this other guy is here as cover? Whatever - I'm glad to have company.

The diplomat expressed his opinion about the situation with an old Honduran expression: "Bullshit!". He says, "They say the plane has already left? Bullshit! I saw it. It was still at Gate 5." One suspects perhaps an old American custom - overbooking?

They give us vouchers for dinner, hotel, a 3-minute phone call anywhere in the world, and breakfast. They're going to provide a taxi to the hotel and a ride back after breakfast. The suit escorts us out to the taxi stand, picks out a taxi and sends us on our way.

The airport is nice. It seems to be in kind of a free trade zone. Lots of signs. The first one I see is for the local Apple Computer distributor. Then once you get out of the "zone" you're in an area of thatched huts all along the side of the road. (" Hut" may be a somewhat flattering term for these things) Selling a lot of coconuts, watermelons, and about everything else.

On the way into town I see a couple of women climbing an impossible hill. Climbing an impossible hill without using their hands. Climbing an impossible hill without using their hands with pots of water balanced on their heads. There's a lot of traffic on the road into town. There seems to be a lot less horn blowing here than in Honduras – perhaps they’re better armed. The driving style is pretty much the same though. Many more bicycles here than in Tegus. Lots of construction going on. I wish that I hadn't forgotten and left my camera in my bags.

I'm not looking forward to the hotel after seeing things along the highway. The country looks like what it is: a country that not long ago was at war. The taxi driver seems to know all of the back roads, short cuts and alleys. My attitude swings wildly as we move from slums to suburbia and back.

We get to the hotel - Camino Real. Just your standard "Hilton" type palace. Cable TV (with detached remote), English-speaking staff, free shower cap, hair-dryer, electronic-coded door locks, and so on. Free tequila in the bar from 7-8 PM, buffet in the restaurant with dessert bar. You get the idea.

I have dinner and dessert (flan with candied figs) and decide to go wandering around. Maybe. I check with the guy at the front desk. How safe is it? What's happening? Can I change some money? etc. The guy says it's pretty safe if I turn left when I get to the street. I change money and head out. To the left. Well hell, there's Macdonald’s, there's BurgerKing, there's Wendys. Pizza Hut has a line out the door. So much for the exotic and mysterious. There's a very small kiddy amusement park. A few teenagers in front who look like they've been watching "Bad Boys". Certainly nothing here I'm interested in seeing. Well, maybe that Beyers Ice Cream place. Yeah, that's the ticket. I'll just check it out.

I have to stoop to get in the door. There's another American in here. We start talking. He's from San Antonio/Brownsville. He's here in El Salvador working for the U.S. Government. (Nudge-nudge, wink-wink, say-no-more, say-no-more.) He's heading back to the hotel - says it's too dangerous after 8PM. We get back at 7:43PM.