Horseback Diaries

It turns out that Rob and I skipped the night club last night for no reason. We got up at 4:30 AM to catch the 7 AM bus at San Pedro Sula only to find out that it didn't leave until 11 AM. Disappointed, we made ourselves comfortable at the bus station; 7 hours later we were standing on the cobblestone streets of the City of Copan, home to the most famous Mayan Ruins in Honduras. It is picaresque city surrounded by a sprawling mountain range, this country's version of an old European mountaintop village. The air is crisp, the people friendly, and, contrary to most of Honduras, the streets are safe at night. Our late arrival made it impossible to visit the ruins, so we left it for Monday. Instead, a couple of SHH folks and I decided to take some horses to the top of a local mountain.

I can't quite describe how epic this was. The journey began with a pleasant walk through the city streets as we struggled to steer our horses around the incoming moto-taxis that zip about Copan. We continued over the Copan river and through the local farms, in which our horses normally toil. Being my usual self, I tried to turn our expedition into a race and repeatedly attempted to urge my trusty mare Princesa into a gallop, but she refused to go beyond a quick trot.

Once at the top of the mountain we dismounted to take in our destination, the Hacienda San Lucas. I could not help but be entranced by the breathtaking serenity of this place. On one side, a curtained gazebo covered in cushions overlooked the postcard-worthy view of the Copan valley. A Hippie couple followed us in as we immersed ourselves in the Zen-like atmosphere amid the aroma of cocoa, coffee, and banana. Following in the tradition of the place, we performed a Yoga sun salutation as the Honduran sun began to sink behind the mountains. We then proceeded to quietly sip wine while observing the fantastic view once more.

As moving as this was, I don't think anything got close to my conversation with our humble but very knowledgeable guide Ruben, a local campesino struggling to find work farming corn and beans. He explained how many of the rich families were usurping the fertile lands and refusing to use them for cultivation. As I looked at this earnest, hard-working man fitting so well into this landscape, I couldn't help but picture this as a black and white flashback from the Motorcyle Diaries.

On the ride back down, I was estatic with joy at the fact that I succeeded in urging Princesa into a canter for a total of five seconds. Just for the record, I also won the race.

The night culminated in the "Lun Club", a local gringo bar with a ping pong table that I soon took over. As the night drew to close, our group was approached by and gang of Honduran machos and their girls looking to avenge their soccer loss the US. Their starting man was struggling, so he handed the paddle over the Honduran National Table Tennis Champion. After Bobby was narrowly dispatched, it was my turn to carry the American/Argentinian torch. Despite severe disadvantages, including a heavily Honduran crowd, severe inebriation, and a 5.6 earthquake, I mounted a valiant comeback to win the match 23-21.

Epic day, if you ask me.