Homeless By Choice

I have long said, “If it’s not on google it doesn’t exist.” I was wrong.

The Lno Indians of Ometepe, Guatemala have their own language, glyphic writing system, and religion. There are but 22 adults left. I am in daily contact with the 80 year old Harvard educated “voice of the people.” They are looking for a way to raise one million dollars to buy a 622 acre of land on which the people would relocate. They do not wish to own the land, they don’t believe in land ownership, they wish to be “guardians of the land.” They would invite hundreds of people of any race or nationality that wish to learn their language and culture to preserve it before it disappears. Living for free in paradise would just not suck.

I am welcome to any serious ideas. Please don’t make this a joke thread.

Thank you and wish them luck.

At five o´clock the taxi driver showed up. We pulled up to the gate, this time he decided not to go under it. We walked my bags to the terminal, two women were at the Sosa counter and 1,826 Limpare later and five minutes later I had a ticket to Tegucigalpa, Honduras. I didn´t have a ten, I have my driver a fifty and he returned thirty, fair enough. I checked my backpack, which in the US would have cost me a $75 overage. Spying the food court, I set up camp and continued programming. At ten to six a little kid ran up with 90 eggs and opened up the restaurant. At precisely six some woman presumably his mother entered and the shutters were opened. I order juevos ranchero and a coffee. Twenty minutes later I was served, my flight leaves in twenty minutes, but I am too hungry and this is too good so I finished off and got my coffee. This wonderful meal cost me 140 Limpare. I had to pay my airport tax of $2 then it took about 30 seconds to clear security.

We sat around and then some incredibly hot chick came in with a low cut dress, perfect everything and a lot of it showing, but it was a sun dress over a swimming suit on a tropical island; it didn´t look slutty. But every guy in the room turned his head. Even the guys with their wives and the wives just understood.

Time to watch a little TV then a ¨”Paso verde primero, rojo segundo” or something close. My boarding pass was red, I moved to the second group. It was funny looking at the guys faces when stunning hot walked down the aisle, the seats at the back had filled first, who would it be. The look on the guys face she sat next to was priceless.

All the craft were thirty passengers or so turboprops.
We took a fourteen flight to Ceiba, deboard the craft, the guy was asking us where we were going to give us boarding passes to our destinations without asking to see our tickets. We went into the terminal, another plane took off, and five minutes later we were boarding again. Some of us, miss hot wasn´t there.

Forty minutes later we pulled into Tegucigalpa. Some Americans in Roatan told me that Honduras was the poorest country in south america. I´ll have to check that out, I doubt it is true on a per capita basis. The houses were all very nice, late model cars in the airport parking lot. I met a taxi driver. Strangely enough they weren´t crowding the doors. Very smartly dressed man in gray suit and brown shoes. I told him I needed to get to a bus terminal to take me to Rivas, Nicaragua. Like the way I preplan this stuff? He started yelling to an American it is yelling down here it is just an excited extremely high volume level talking. I think he was offering to drive me to the border and I could get a bus there. Hell the border is five hours away. Nice car by the way, what kind of honda is this? A huge amount of space in the back room. We drove through down I took some pictures, short block buildings, barred windows and doors, old men leaning in door ways watching the world go buy and huffing bus exhaust. Young men clustered on stoops. Horns blaring, exhaust. Dirty streets, litter free being swept by women with brooms too small for the task, pushing upgright in that strange way they do down here. I wonder how long those brooms last.

Half an hour later we pulled into a tiny block building. I recalled this spot, that woman over there sodomized on a currency exchange last time I was here. The guy at the counter told me in spanish that they were all sold out, for $20 I could buy a ticket for 9:30 tomorrow. Fuck me, in the ass, with a hot poker. I inquired if there was another bus company in town he wrote down the name and advised me that they would be leaving today at two but cost $40. Ok, I get to leave today, the company is still in business so their busses must be a lot nicer than Tica Bus, let´s go. My driver took me over there, we pulled up in front of a hotel a shotgun toting guard in front a nice looking hotel. No, no, no, I don´t want a hotel for the night. I want to get the hell out of here. He walked me inside, sure enough it was a bus company. I bought a ticket, checked how much it cost to leave this country, $2. When you do it at the airport it is $25. She kindly gave me a place to store my bags. I asked where an internet cafe was. Three blocks down the street.

Buses, bus farts, fruit vendors, people hanging out of buses yelling their next destination, horns, more people yelling, more horns. About fifteen police men, in armored vests holding old assault rifles. I held up my camera, “Permissio”, sure. The puffed out there chests and flexed a cop on the porch noticed and laughed.

I took a movie of two minutes of street traffic. I believe you´ll say, ¨”Yup, don´t need that.” A big guard standing with his shotgun with a menacing look on his face in front of a bank. “¿Donde este cafe internet?” He snarled at me, looking like he would take a step back if he weren´t leaned against the wall. “Internet, computadora”. No comprehension on his face. I pulled out one that worked before, “Facebook” made a silly face and pretended I was typing. He laughed put his gun in one hand and pointed down the street.

I entered the mall, put my hat on manequin´s head, took a picture, then asked the girl to pose for my collection. She was flattered and loving it, you´ll see by her face. Now I in the internet cafe having just caught up except for pics. I think I´ll go see what other wild stuff I can find three or four blocks from here.

Catch you tomorrow.

Back in the seventies the family vacation was in August, on Finch Creek Road, 37 acres of paradise, near Mancelona, Belaire, and Alden Michigan. Finch Creek was a trout stream, in piney woods that yielded to deciduous forests. The road ran north and south, given a compass I was told, “On this side of the road, head west.” I wandered where I may. Kids these days are coddled. Let me fall and bruise. Cold creek came right out of the side of the hill, I found it, walked right to it in 1998 with my sis and a couple of brothers.

My dad sold a couple of acres on Elk lake to buy the place. He figured Elk Lake property values had peaked. The Elk Lake property value quintupled. The land on Finch Creek Road is probably still worth less than forty k. Dusty days as the cars drove by, now it is paved.

Mittens and Patches were the family cats. Mittens would come when you called him. He followed me through the woods. He was my dog. I had no idea that cats are generally antisocial.

Just some random thoughts going through my head.

Notes that will probably never be fleshed out. If I had a netbook, I could write on a bus.

Rented scooter – piece of shit won’t idle have goose it while holding both brakes.

The gardens, beautiful, great view from top. Many blocked trails.

Heading east. A Pepsi delivery track roars down on me and blow its horn. This thing is going as fast as it can. A Truck cuts around me. A taxi cuts around me. Three minutes later we are all bumper to bumper for the next 15 minutes.

Parrot Tree plantation, couldn’t get served at restaurant.

Road side typico comidas. Oxtail was nasty. Fish was fried to rocks. 130 Limpares. No tengo cambio. I gassed up and got some change. WTF? I was told this tank would take me from one end of the island to the other twice. It won’t get me to one end of the island.

Back to view point.

City after city on the bay, housing developments. Beautiful homes on lush gardens overlooking the Caribbean.

Dirt roads, riding directly into the sun, can’t see, turning around.

Heading home it is getting dark. If I look through my glasses all the spray on them makes it impossible to see. If I pull them down, dirt and bugs fly in my eyes. Cars riding up my ass.

Made it home.

Packing was arduous. I am in a tiny room. Usually I have another bed to keep my stuff on. I had to take an inventory of all my stuff. I headed down to Reef Gliders to settle my account. They took my picture for my Advanced Diver Card. I gave them my son’s address in Indiana. I have none. Paid my tab at the scooter rental and now I am trying to figure out my bus route.

It appears I have to take a ferry from Roatan to Ceiba at 6:00 in the morning and then sit around the terminal from 7:30 until 2:00. From there we make stops at Tela, Aeropuerto San Pedro Sula, San Pedro Sula, Siguatepeque and finally arrive at Tegucicalpa, where I will have to figure out how to get to Rivas Nicargua.

The bus companies site is http://www.hedmanalas.com/index.html, which everyone says is the best. To order tickets on line, you send an email to info@hedmanalas.com which bounces. I don’t know what I am going to do if the bus is sold out. Teguicicalpa is not my kind of place apparently what one does when one gets there is head out to some near by cities and shop for souvenirs.

This is going to be a long haul.

I walked back to Reef Runners to get my temporary Advanced Card and asked a guy who works there how long the bus ride was going to be. He told me the airline was running a special it was 3,369 Limpare round trip. That was a hell of a deal, but apparently not available online. I tried to go online to see their flight schedules but their website was down This website is temporarily unavailable, please try again later.

Four hours after getting my bounced email message I got this.

We have Bus Service from La Ceiba to Tegucigalpa at 5:15 am, 10:00 am, 2:20
pm (with 8 hours of duration)
- Service Executive $ 25.00 round trip $ 50.00
- Service Plus: $ 30.00 round trip $60.00

We hope that you travel with us.


Right. A one and a half hour ferry ride a wait of an hour and a half and an eight hour bus ride. And you want me to email my id and credit card information.

By now it was after five, the dive shop closed at six and Jennifer was busy with other customers. She hadn’t filled out the information yet. Ok, please give it to Madam Wet Spot and
I’ll pick it up from her when I get back from the airport.

Every day, walking down the street, “Want a taxi?” Now I wanted one so of course I couldn’t find one. One the far end of town about one click I found three guys lean up against a taxi, shooting the bull. “How much for a round trip to the airport?” “Twenty-five” “Twenty.” He looked at me wondering if I was going to walk, but accepted the rate.

A half hour later we pulled in. There was a crossing bar, he drove under it, I thought it was going to come through the window. A metal scraping sound. “Antenna.” Just as I feared, there
was a row of stations, all unoccupied. I didn’t see Central American Air. At the far end an
indescribably hot flight attendant with incredible flecked brilliant hazel eyes sat on a bench. “Pardon me where is Central American?” “Como?” Oh, we’re back to Spanish again. English/Spanish, Dollars/Limpare, Liters/Gallons. “Aero Centro Americano?” Which is not its name, it’s name is in English. “Primero estacion.” Huh, there was a little booth, looked like something you would run a vending operation from at a grade school fund raiser on the other side of the airport and there were two guys in the booth.

I walked over, one guy was diddling with flashlights the other just looking off into space. From above the awful cacophony of construction, banging, hammering, metal against metal. They both seemed impervious. “Habla Ingles?” “Yes, I do.” without the trace of an accent. How much
is a ticket to Tegucicalpa?” “1943 Limpare.” “But round trip is…” and he finished “3369 Limpare, 177 dollars. But we don’t fly tomorrow, it is charted.” Ok, your web site is down, you are operating out of booth that wouldn’t have got a passing grade in seventh grade workshop and you have chartered a regularly scheduled flight. “Sosa air has two flight tomorrow, one at 6:40 and one at 11:40.” He never looked anything up, but I guess with only 8 flights a day and six competitors it’s not that hard to remember.

So, I got in the cab and drove back. The driver wanted to pick me up in the morning. I told him to be here at 5:15. “Out of my brain on the 5:15”. It seemed appropriate. I started Entwhistling it. I’ll stop now. Hopefully I can buy and fly. Then a cab and a long bus ride.

“Hey, Rick, cheeseburger please.”

“Man you’ve dropped a few. Sorry, the kitchen is closed.”

“Can’t be, that woman is cookin’. Jim, and you are?”

“That’s my wife.”

“Only in your dreams bud. Only in your dreams. Is this storm ever going to end?

Seven guys; one hot bar maid… only two eyes not watching the Jets.

I decided to walk to West Bay over road for a change of scenery. The walk is only 5.3 km; round trip doesn’t get my days quota in. So I hooked a right at the end of town and walked up a hill and kept on walking up a hill. Not a lot going on in the center of this island, there is just lush vegetation and the occasional entrance to a resort. Two kilometers into this hike in the direct sun, temperature in the mid eighties, high humidity. At the 3k mark I stopped to catch my breath. Man I am one sorry son of a bitch. The view from the summit was pretty amazing, miles of jungle ending at the azure waters of the Caribbean.

West Bay is long expanses of white sand and luxury resorts. A few lucky sods have houses right on the beach, maybe forty feet from the water. Is that Charlie Parker? Where da hoes? I sat down at the ??? bar. This place did not sell bottled water, you bought water in paper cups or buy a $6 nalgene bottle or $8 aluminum bottle and get free refills for life. That was a good price for the aluminum bottle alone and it says “Roatan, Honduras” on it. I took one. The bartender said, “Did you just walk in from the West End?” “Yup.” “Man, that is tough.” The guy sitting next to me looked over at the bartender, I didn’t see his expression but the bartender said, “He walked the road.” The guy said “Wow!” and the girl said “You know you can come by beach.” “Yahh, I did that a couple of days ago, but I needed a change of scenery all I have seen for the last five days is endless stretches of white beach and deep blue water.” I don’t think they knew what to make of that. In any event I was feeling a little better.

I walked to the dive center and inquired about the shark dive. Apparently for $100 you can you put yourself on the edge of a feeding frenzy of eight foot reef sharks. There is a big cage of dead bloody fish and when it is opened the sharks go nuts. Seems like a must do to me. Probably not everybody’s cup of tea. “They don’t answer their phone, they haven’t answered it four days.” “They must have caller ID I talked with a guy who went on the dive the other day. I’ll check through my dive shop.” I did notice that they have a package of 15 dives for $375. I’ll have to talk with the guys back at Reef Runners and tell them we need to work out a better deal. I wouldn’t go to West Bay, I can’t go more than 100 feet here (West End) without a “Hey, Jim” from one of the local proprietors or diving buddies. West Bay is upscale, the staff at the resorts are just doing a job, not living the dream. The guys running their own businesses in the West End living the dream, in Paradise, loving life.

It looked like rain, great excuse to take a taxi back. I paid for my bottle with a twenty dollar US bill and was given my change in Limpare. With a quick calculation I realized that he actually had given me a damn good exchange rate, but still I asked for my change in dollars.

We had to wait for ten minutes some other passengers wanted to come along. The boat was moored offshore, I would have to take off my boots and wade over to the boat. When we got to the West End the step off the boat onto the dock dedicated for water taxi use was over 30 inches. There is next to no tide here. Get a clue.

This morning’s dive was over. We emptied the boat of the dive gear. Around here people are expected to participate, carry the gear off the boat, rinse it, hang it up. It’s part of diving.

Yesterday I wanted to give my divemaster, a pretty 25 year old blonde upon whose head I could readily rest my chin, a T-shirt that says, “I’m your dive master, not your bitch. Take care of your own gear.” There is no such shirt, but if there were she wouldn’t wear it. Instead she borrowed my guide shirt so she could go out as Steve Irwin to a Halloween party yesterday. She never asked me she just told the woman who owns the Wet Spot that the shirt I was wearing would be ideal, Madame Wet Spot asked me if Jennifer could borrow my shirt for the night. “I’ll give you a free Don’t sleep on the Wet Spot T shirt.” I really don’t need a T shirt, thanks, all my clothes are plastic. They dry in 10 minutes in the sun.

Jennifer was very embarrassed that I was asked. Then she told me that she couldn’t use it because she was going to go as Steve Irwin and would have to put a big blood spot over the heart and it might not come out. “This shirt’s life is over. I have worn it over a 80 times in adverse conditions, it has been torn and patched. When I get back down to Panama I’ll pick up some others that I have stashed. A blood stain over the heart would just add some character.”

I switched into the T shirt and handed her my shirt, she took a whiff of it and said “I don’t know.” Hell, I had been wearing all day sometimes after coming out of the sea and still wet; if you don’t know, sea water gives everything a funk. Madame Wet Spot assured her that this just gave it some authenticity.

This morning I strolled into the dive shop wearing my T shirt, Jennifer gave me a half smile and a bit of a laugh with a “Hi, Jim.” What now? I never asked, I don’t know if I want to know. My shirt was hanging up to dry, quite a bit cleaner, but with a bit of residual blood stain in the central chest. There were many more speckles of blood on the shirt from my Bolivian Jungle days, it mattered not.

Now it was time to carry the dive gear to the shop. (Nice chronology) I hefted a few weight belts, and grabbed a BCD which was secured to a now empty tank. Jennifer said, “I’ll take that one, it is heavy.” Shoot me now.

With my drift dive I completed five adventure dives including my mandatory dives. I passed the knowledge review and now can get an Advanced Diver Certification. With this comes a card which is used at dive centers when one wishes to do deep diving. The most difficult part of this process seems to be getting my card. First of all, my forms require a home address but I am homeless. I am going to see if I can get it sent to a place I expect to be in a about a month. Processing takes two to six weeks. So I need to pick a place I will be six weeks from now that is really long range for me.

I’ll try to get back and describe the various dives, it was a lot of fun. I have to go now and get ready for my night dive. I should have plenty of time tonight to blog as I watch the Halloween mayhem.

Jim and Pat Anderson, will be coming to Roatan on November 6. That is awesome, I was thinking I was going to have to hump my way down to Costa Rica, blowing through Nicaragua to catch them. Jim Anderson recruited me to RepublicBank Dallas in 1980 and is the man responsible for inflicting me on the State of Texas. Jim is now a great grandfather. Whew! We have a lot of catching up to do.

A young blonde was walking an adorable seven or eight week old Labrador puppy down the street.
“You have the cutest dog on this whole island.” I started to bend over and scratch the little puppy behind the ears when a scroungy mutt bounded out of the open air restaurant and jumped on the dog, biting on its neck. I gave the dog a healthy kick and it ran back to the restaurant with its tail between its legs. The cutie said, “thank you”. “Sure, anytime, I’d be glad to do it.”

I walked into the restaurant and confronted the owner, “you need to keep that dog under control.” They looked at me and smiled. “Do you want to be next?” “Its just protective.” “No, that is a public street, I was being protective, your fucking mutt here was being aggressive.” “He was a street dog.” “That attitude is why the dog is the hellion that he is, you people don’t know shit about dogs.”

Kind of a strong confrontation with the owners of the place in which one is staying, but, so be it.