The Nightmare of Belize Returns

The journey from Copan Ruinas to Tela was a small adventure in itself. We missed both direct buses to San Pedro Sula, due to Lonely Planet lies. This meant we had to get 3 buses to reach Tela. The first bus we got from Copan Ruinas was a typical chicken bus but differed as it actually had a chicken on it! A farmer kulak was holding it on his lap. The bus was very slow and stopped in one town, only 10 minutes down the road, for about 30 minutes. A couple got on and sat in front of Lisa and continued with some very heavy petting. Charlie then exclaimed loudly about the lateness of the bus. A few seconds later the man, from the heavily petting couple, strode to the front of the bus and continued to drive the bus. This has to be much more bizarre than the journey where the bus was measured. This amorous Latinos just can’t stop themselves. The bus became uncomfortably full before we reach La Entrada. Here we changed onto a bus for San Pedro Sula. On this more luxurious bus we had to sit next to our bags but as the bus filled up they had to be moved. Lisa’s bag was squashed up into the overhead space but Charlie’s apartment bag wouldn’t fit. At San Pedro Sula we changed buses for the last time with a small taxi ride between stations. The final bus to Tela was a much more relaxed affair but there was still a chicken present!

When we got off the bus we got a taxi with a canadian man to the cheapest hotel in the guide book. However, when we arrived it had quadrupled in price. We wandered around town in the pouring rain with our heavy bags checking out prices of other hotels, and eventually got a taxi back to where we started where somebody else had reccomended a cheap hotel. Well it certainly was cheap! Private room = 75p each! The hotel (Pre-Luna) is run by an old man ("Pops") who sits gambing and smoking all day with his friends at the front of the hotel. The hotel is very dark even during the day. We changed rooms because the first one had one normal bed and one matress on a crate. At night time, the hotel is haunted by Crispy Hands Man, and we hear the screams of his victims coming from neighboring rooms.

The inside of the hotel is like in a horror film. You have to walk through the gambling den on the ground floor to reach the bare wooden steps at the back of the hotel that take you to the first floor. If you make it this far alive, you then have to walk down a pitch black corridor to reach our room right at the end, passing on your way rooms that hold
1000 tortured souls. The doors of the rooms not occupied by the living are left open, and as you walk past them you sometimes catch a glimpse out of the corner of your eye the unmistakable shadow of an old man and the glint of an axe. But the second you turn to look at it, it is gone.

To escape from the horror hotel (Charlie has been reading too much Stephen King!!) we went on a wander with our new Canadian friend to get a coffee. We knew we had to lose him but it wasn’t going to be easy and we ended up going to the beach in the rain with him. The waves were huge crashing rollers, which was reminiscent of Monterrico and thus dangerous for swimming! A large stretch of the beach was covered in debris, mostly vegetation but peeking out from the palm fronds were sandals from Crispy Hands Man’s forgotten victims. We saw a tattered pier ahead of us and decided to explore. I had once been a busy railway supplying international freight with bananas but now it lies crumbling and desolate in an angry sea. We walked down to the end of the pier very carefully as many of the wooden planks were rotten, wobbly or completely missing. It was starting to get dark as we glanced back at the shore and the mists were rolling in. We peered at the shifty looking fellows silhouetted at our only escape. We safely made it passed them and headed back into town with our stomachs rumbling (having not eaten since Copan). We found a street vendor selling ´Baleadas`, which are large flour tortillas spread with refried beans and cheese and then folded in half. They make a very cheap snack or meal. You can also add more filling ingredients such as egg, meat, avocado etc. We had two simple ones each. The Spanish word for simple is ´sencillas`. Charlie has taken to using this word in place of Baleadas but almost came unstuck when about to order a ´sandwich sencillas`, which has nothing to do with Baleadas. Lisa fears it is now too late to implement a change without having to resort to electric punishments and possibly a few treats.

On returning to the hotel a huge deluge of rain clattered onto the corrugated roofs in the street and cascaded forcefully onto the streets. We ran back to our hotel and listened to the horror storm from inside our horror bedroom in the horror hotel!

The next day the weather improved with sunny spells and light cloud. We spent the day rolling around in bed, reading and snacking. Though the weather was possibly beach weather the town did not feel safe enough and we had recollections of Belize City. We decided to move on quickly.

Final thoughts: Even as the weather improved our impression of the town worsened. There was another non-swimming beach, a horror hotel and too much English spoken by Garifuna locals. The only aspects to gain points are the cheapness of food and our accommodation.

Mark out of 10: 2

Next time... Utila