You got to be careful if you don’t know where you’re going, because you might not get there. – Yogi Berra
Friday, April 20, 2012 (DAY 47)
Knowing that the first bus heading south to Rio Dulce left at 5:30am and it would be a 6km walk with our packs to Poptun, the time is 4am and the alarm clock is ringing, the morning of our escape has arrived. I will begin by saying that I would not recommend volunteering at Finca Ixobel if the owner, Carole, is present. The only reason I lasted five weeks is because she was absent of the premises and the entire time she was not around it was a fantastic place to be. However, if you find being talked down to in a condescending manner constantly, called upon verbally like a dog, treated as though you are incompetent when the ambiguity of her direction is the result of the outcome, required to do busy work when there are not guests because she attempts to run the business like her roots as an American, than by all means enjoy. The last straw for me came the night before just shortly after requesting to leave the next day in the absence of guests, power, and Internet. I was asked to bring back a cooler from the bar, which is a ten-minute walk next to the lagoon and did so, no problem. I was never told what to do other than bring it to the kitchen area and had no idea what this was going to be used for since it was at the request of Carole’s daughter. Later in the evening Carole asked who brought the cooler up and I stepped forward without hesitation and said it was me, she than began in to an irate tangent about how it should have been washed and while it wasn’t even that dirty she made it seem as though the end of the world may just spontaneously occur because how dare this cooler not be spotless as ice and bottles of beer were the only contents placed inside the unsanitary walls. Surprised at this lack of even the slightest bit of professional courtesy, let alone manners, I was taken back. Before I could even respond Roberto, the manager, thought it best to jump in and make a very rude and sarcastic statement directly in my face implying that I was incompetent as he asked if I thought it was brought up for someone to sit upon. Gritting my teeth, that was it, I knew I would be leaving first thing the next morning. I could not help but think how particular friends back home would have reacted to this situation, the first was my buddy Frank Gatto, he would have lit her up without a second thought, tears would have been the outcome and they certainly would not have been from him. The second person that quickly came to mind was Jeremy Vlad, and then on down the list with Andrea Vlad and several others. Laughing to myself, I was glad to see that I could still find humor in the situation and was not about to let this cranky woman get the better part of me. The final icing on the cake arrived after working a nine and a half hour day with no gratitude for putting in this extra time, especially after the previous comments were made, Carole should take a hard look at a quote from Randy Pausch, “Showing gratitude is one of the simplest yet most powerful things humans can do for each other.”
I do not want to dwell any further upon the unfortunate circumstances of my altercation with Carole, but feel that it is only fair to let other potential volunteers know exactly what they would be signing up for if they choose to spend time here.
Knowing that the first bus heading south to Rio Dulce left at 5:30am and it would be a 6km walk with our packs to Poptun, the time is 4am and the alarm clock is ringing, the morning of our escape has arrived. I will begin by saying that I would not recommend volunteering at Finca Ixobel if the owner, Carole, is present. The only reason I lasted five weeks is because she was absent of the premises and the entire time she was not around it was a fantastic place to be. However, if you find being talked down to in a condescending manner constantly, called upon verbally like a dog, treated as though you are incompetent when the ambiguity of her direction is the result of the outcome, required to do busy work when there are not guests because she attempts to run the business like her roots as an American, than by all means enjoy. The last straw for me came the night before just shortly after requesting to leave the next day in the absence of guests, power, and Internet. I was asked to bring back a cooler from the bar, which is a ten-minute walk next to the lagoon and did so, no problem. I was never told what to do other than bring it to the kitchen area and had no idea what this was going to be used for since it was at the request of Carole’s daughter. Later in the evening Carole asked who brought the cooler up and I stepped forward without hesitation and said it was me, she than began in to an irate tangent about how it should have been washed and while it wasn’t even that dirty she made it seem as though the end of the world may just spontaneously occur because how dare this cooler not be spotless as ice and bottles of beer were the only contents placed inside the unsanitary walls. Surprised at this lack of even the slightest bit of professional courtesy, let alone manners, I was taken back. Before I could even respond Roberto, the manager, thought it best to jump in and make a very rude and sarcastic statement directly in my face implying that I was incompetent as he asked if I thought it was brought up for someone to sit upon. Gritting my teeth, that was it, I knew I would be leaving first thing the next morning. I could not help but think how particular friends back home would have reacted to this situation, the first was my buddy Frank Gatto, he would have lit her up without a second thought, tears would have been the outcome and they certainly would not have been from him. The second person that quickly came to mind was Jeremy Vlad, and then on down the list with Andrea Vlad and several others. Laughing to myself, I was glad to see that I could still find humor in the situation and was not about to let this cranky woman get the better part of me. The final icing on the cake arrived after working a nine and a half hour day with no gratitude for putting in this extra time, especially after the previous comments were made, Carole should take a hard look at a quote from Randy Pausch, “Showing gratitude is one of the simplest yet most powerful things humans can do for each other.”
I do not want to dwell any further upon the unfortunate circumstances of my altercation with Carole, but feel that it is only fair to let other potential volunteers know exactly what they would be signing up for if they choose to spend time here.
Groggy, but ecstatic to be leaving, Armando and I throw on our packs and begin walking under the cover of moonlight and stars. Upon reaching the front gate that is under lock and key with the supervision of a guard and his rifle, Armando tells him something in Spanish and the gate is opened and we have reached our first milestone. The long dirt road has more potholes than smooth surfaces and we are marching with a mission–Honduras or bust. Within minutes of walking through the darkness, the neighborhood stray dogs, some that are sure to be rabid, begin their aggressive barking. Fearful of this thought we continue to press on but the fatigue is hard to ignore as the weight of our packs are settling in with each step. I continue to keep a close eye on the time, 4:45am, I calculate that we are about a third of the way to the bus terminal, but suddenly, off to the right in front of us there are two figures in the distance. As we approach the two bodies slowly lingering on the side of the road I hear my name called out, Troy. Surprised since the faces are indistinguishable in the darkness, the voice belongs to Lillian, one of the young cooks at the finca. Wanting to stop and explain with a brief goodbye, Armando reminds me that we don’t have time for this since it would be a series of translation back and forth since she did not speak English. Sadly, we rush by knowing we still have quite a distance to cover.
Ten minutes later and once again I am crossing the airport runway that has as many planes landing on it as there are sober groups sitting in the Rock Pile at Coors Field. The lights of the town are just ahead and soon we trade the dirt paths for concrete sidewalks, the second milestone has been reached. Winding through the town, unsure of exactly where the buses congregate, the time is just after 5am when we reach our second to last milestone. Sitting and waiting with the knowledge that we are at the mercy of Guatemalan time, the minutes pass and still there is no bus to be seen. Just shortly after 7am we are finally leaving Poptun and headed to Rio Dulce where we can purchase tickets to San Pedro Sula, Honduras. My second overland border crossing is successful, and as hoped, we are given a new 90-day stamp, allowing us to stay in the C4 Agreement countries (El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, and Nicaragua) until July 19th. Traveling without a time limit is still the most preferred method in my opinion since it carries few restrictions, one of which is paying close attention to how long you have until you must exit particular countries or in this case entire regions. After a sweltering sauna ride in a bus without air conditioning or windows that opened, the three-hour nightmare was over and we transferred to a bus that had windows that opened. Thank God! Covered in sweat I climb aboard and pass out from exhaustion. 3:38pm, I awake as we are pulling into the largest bus terminal I have experienced thus far, San Pedro Sula. The massive bus terminal has two levels and feels more like a shopping mall on the inside, complete with a food court that carries all of the recognizable American staples–Pizza Hut, Burger King, McDonalds, etcetera, etcetera. Navigating our way through the crowds, we find one of the many options to purchase our bus ticket to La Ceiba. The first person we approach has a thick moustache and a slightly higher price ticket than the woman in the booth next to him. Opting towards the cheaper ticket with Diana Express, the woman also tells Armando in Spanish not to trust the Mexican guy in the booth next to her, and I cannot help but laugh. This also reminds me of the quote from Aldo when I asked him humorously who, if any, does Guatemala have conflict with, and his response was, we can’t stand Mexicans. Apparently there will always be differences between borders and neighboring countries. Almost five hours later and spending ten and a half hours on buses, we reach our final milestone at 8:10pm, La Ceiba. Breaking two of my rules, first riding a bus at night, especially in the newest murder capital of the world apparently, Honduras, and secondly, arriving in a new city after dark, it is only after an additional forty minutes of locating a place to stay, we settle on the third location we are taken to, Hotel Christopher, that reminds me more of the hotel in New York City from the movie Big. Yes, the bathroom is down the hall, the sheets are so paper thin I think just breathing on them would have opened another hole, upon check in we are given a single roll of toilet paper, and there is no sink in the bathroom. Welcome to Honduras. Completely exhausted, dehydrated, and hungry I curl up in my protective cocoon, also known as my sleep liner, not wanting to touch the sheets with my bare skin, and I am quickly asleep.
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