There's nothing quite like crashing in bed at 1 a.m. after indulging at a wine-and-cheese engagement party, only to have to wake up at 4:30 a.m. to finish packing and get yourself to the airport. But I've never been one for an adequate night's sleep before a flight anyway.
When my cell phone alarm starting bleeping ominously this morning, I barrel-rolled out of bed, shoved some toiletries into my backpack, put on my embarrassingly gringo-esque weatherproof cargo pants and disintegrating tennis shoes and stumbled into the elevator. Fortunately my friend Azul and her boyfriend Salvador had offered to give me a ride, so I hopped in their backseat and passed back out for a bit. I made it to the gate just a few minutes before boarding time and settled into my seat on the plane to Panama City, which touched down at 11 a.m. - precisely 10 minutes before my connecting flight to Tegucigalpa was to take off. Somehow I managed to sprint across the airport to my gate and thrust my boarding pass at the airport lady just before they closed the door. A few of my fellow passengers stared nervously as I walked down the aisle panting heavily and smiling like I'd just won a million bucks.
Once I landed in Tegucigalpa, I paid a gummy old man in the parking lot $1 to find me a safe street taxi (is that an oxymoron?) to take me to the nearest bus station. Once the 2 p.m. bus to San Pedro Sula rolled into the one-company station at 2:30, we headed 4.5 hours northwest to Honduras' economic capital and third largest city. From there, Oscar, a taxi driver hired by the hostel I'm staying at, picked me up at the food court and took me to my dwelling place. Along the way, he assured me that Matt would find another girlfriend while he's away on Warped Tour. I countered that that would be impossible, as I'm (clearly) the best woman (girl?) to ever exist. He begged to differ, then laughed again at my imminent heartbreak and despair. I tried to impress him with my "...but I live in Mexico City!" line, but he countered that by saying that he hated Mexicans because all they do is kill, fight, do drugs and kill some more. All 100 million of them.
The hostel is a cozy place, and functional WiFi is possibly the hugest plus (besides free transportation to/from the bus station). As soon as Oscar dropped me off, I headed out into the well-lit middle class suburb where I'm at in search of dinner. I came across a three-story shopping mall and swung by the Sushi Itto to get some Japanese franchise goodness. I might've thought I was still in Mexico if all the waiters weren't wearing Honduran soccer jerseys and speaking in a Central American accent.
Tonight it's early to bed. Tomorrow it's early to rise and a crappy combi bus ride to Omoa.
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