Crossing borders and eras

Last night was a sad and final departure from nearly all things Xela as we bid adieu to our British friend from our Xela school, Kathleen. After a lovely wine tasting and (fruitless) tremor watch with Kathleen and her recently arrived and equally witty and British friend, Emma, at our favorite Antigua wine spot, (named Bacchus and randomly owned by a woman hailing from northern Virginia, like myself), Tony and I turned in early. We figured we would need all the sleep we could get before our 4 a.m. shuttle to Copan Ruinas, Honduras from where I write you now.

The shuttle ride was unexpectedly amazing, as Tony and I -- having found a Drammamine (sp?) equivalent in Antigua -- were passed out in our seats for 80 percent of our journey. We did wake, however, in time to get to the border and realize that we had grossly underestimated how much money we would have to pay to leave the Guat and enter Honduras. While, all said, the sum was nominal (about $5 per person), we didn't have it. Luckily, Tony and I are apparently charming when shrouded in helplessness, and between the micro-loans of a Guatemalan-American family and two Irish women, Tony and I were able to pay our dues and get into the country without shackles or unforgiven debts -- I traded money for hand sanitizer and banana bread with the Guatemalan-American family, and when we tried to pay for lunch for the Irish women in Copan Ruinas, they actually gave us more Guaetmalan money.

Once past the border, Tony and I set up in Cafe Via Via, the first listing under "budget accomodations" in our Lonely Planet guidebook. Rooms here are $14 a night for a double and have such amazing features as a ceiling fan and private bathroom. Perhaps the most welcome feature of our room, however, is that we have a mattress. Our $16-a-night accomodations in Antigua afforded us two boxsprings piled on top of one another. Every time I turned over in bed and made the mistake of laying on a limb atop this unyielding surface, the respective appendage would lose all circulation within 10 minutes and I would wake myself by shaking the blood back into it like I was creating a new dance for a new John Waters' film (see "Hairspray").

Back to Honduras. It's hot here. And humid. Very different from Guatemala, yet in ways already better as we feel a little more tropical and more comforted and surrounded by nature. The park plaza near us is bursting with vegetation, coconut trees sprout roadside and the song of cicadas can be heard in rounds throughout the town. It reminds me a lot of the climate in Benin, West Africa -- I'm oily, my hair is frizzing and I'm forever covered in an alternating ebb and flow of the air's natural condensation and sweat. Appatizing, I know.

Anyway, once settled into our room, we grabbed a bite and set off for the ruins. A $15-per-person entrance fee shot us back in time over 1500 years. Following the path and stupidly shrugging off the offers of experienced tour guides, Tony and I wove dumbstruck through stone pillars and temples, altars and accented sports fields, wowed by the skill and intricacy demonstrated by the ancient roots of a ever-alive culture. From what I've been told, Copan Ruinas' ruins are some of the best-preserved in Central America. While Guatemala's city of Tikal has much larger structures, the carvings depicting Mayan dieties, leaders and heiroglyphics are said to be much more intricate here. The other plus is that none of them have been cemented over for preservation's sake -- they are all presented in their original form, save one, which is labled as a replica (the original has been placed in a museum).

I have great pictures, but again, I may not be able to upload them until I get home next week. Sorry!

For tomorrow, Tony and I are toying with the idea of trekking to another ruins site or to a coffee farm. Either way, a horseback ride may be involved. We're having bolo ties traditionally woven for us as we speak. ...Kiding. See you soon, and I'll try and write tomorrow!