Trip to La Mosquitia!

Here is an account of my Spring Break trip...my friend Katie Braum and I decided to collaborate! I took pictures on our trip for us to share, and she has so willingly let me quote her blog post. For the most part, we were right next to each other, so our experiences were quite similar. So here are Katie's words; thank you Katie!

For Spring Break, eight of us, seven Americans and one Honduran, traveled to La Ceiba, a city in the department of Atlantida on the Caribbean coast, and then to La Mosquitia, a region in northeast Honduras that is highly isolated and graciously untouched by modern development efforts. Many indigenous groups occupy the area, which is covered in tropical forest and marshlands. Because the area has been protected, travel to the region is difficult and thus provides an opportunity for adventure.

We stayed our first night in La Ceiba at Rotterdam Hotel, a cheap Dutch-Honduran hostel by the ocean. The city is notoriously known for both drug-trafficking and partying, but boasts a friendly low-key atmosphere. We all awoke the first night to gunshots right outside our hostel, but after a half-dazed and exaggerated moment of thinking through an escape plan, I fell back asleep for the rest of the uneventful night. Likely, the cause was a security guard shooting to scare off a dog.

In La Ceiba we visited Cayos Cochinos, which are beautiful islands about a 45-minute boat ride off the coast. Many islands hosted Garifuna communities, indigenous peoples descending from Africa. The water was crystal clear, and there were gorgeous stretches of reef that we were able to snorkel through. It was my first snorkeling experience, and it was amazing. There were a couple of places we snorkeled which were infested with jellyfish (small ones), and we all received several stings. For most of us it was our first time to be stung by a jellyfish, so we decided to soak up all the joy out of this experience.

The next day we left for La Mosquitia. We awoke at 3:30 am to travel to the bus station, where we caught a bus to Tocoa, another city toward the east. At Tocoa we found a truck driver to take us to Batalla, a village on the edge of La Mosquitia. We all piled in the back of the pick-up truck, which was loaded with crates of beer and wooden planks for us to sit on. Oh the adventure… for the next five hours we endured the jerky, dusty trip in the afternoon sun and held on for dear life. The last couple of hours we drove along the beach of the Caribbean. Literally, we drove along the water’s edge. Apparently these trucks have a very small lifeline: only six months or so due to the sand and salt water that degrade the engine. At one point along the journey, we reached a river that ran into the ocean and because it was too deep, the truck had to cross on a wooden raft. Upon arrival in Batalla, we were very wind-swept, dirty and sunburned, but quite satisfied with our new adventure.

From Batalla we picked up a small boat (lancha), which took us on a two-hour trip down river to Raista, another small village. We arrived there late afternoon. We stayed the night at Raista, which boasted ocean on one side and a vast lagoon on the other. Our cabins were slightly rustic yet very comfortable, with soft white beds with mosquito netting and a candle for nightly use. The next morning we traveled by two small lanchas to Las Marías, a small village south of the ocean into the deeper jungle. We endured a seven-hour boat ride up river in the blazing sun, but kept it interesting by singing such opportune songs from Pocahontas, The Lion King, and “My Heart Will Go On.” Occasionally we stopped to cool off in the river, which was wonderfully clear. At one point part of the motor on the boat I was in broke, and our driver fixed it using a stick. This was the first of many instances where we discovered the resourcefulness of the local people.

Once we arrived in Las Marías, we stayed at another hostel that was a little more rustic than the one in Batalla. Because we all traveled very lightly, we tried washing our dirty clothes in the river, and they turned out surprisingly clean. After a night there, we set out the next morning for a two-day hiking trip in the mountains to Pico Dama (Lady Peak), one of the prettiest mountains in La Mosquitia. Between the eight of us we took five backpacks and left the rest of our things in Las Marías. We also brought along some food (rice and beans, pan dulce, oatmeal, flavored chicken soup, and Tang), which we would cook at our campsite. It costs us each a total of $1.50, which would feed us for two days’ worth of meals. For this trip, we traveled in four canoes up-river for two-hours, then hiked another three hours up the mountain. This hike was a bit intense toward the end; several of us were ready to give up, but we all encouraged one another and kept going.

At once we realized that our hostel back in Raista was quite luxurious in comparison the place that now stood before our eyes. It was a one-room cabin that was seemingly lacking in sleeping accommodations. There were three kid-sized wooden bunks stacked on top of each other, and three more small single wooden beds. The guides then informed us that the single beds were actually double beds, which were meant to be shared among the six girls. Although we were given small mats, sheets, and mosquito nets, our next two nights were quite restless. Bethany and I kicked and shoved each other the whole night, and begged morning to come quickly. [I was afraid I would roll out of bed in the night, accidentally falling onto one of our guides who was sleeping on the floor…a fearless Mosquito woman…who snored quite loudly!] We also wanted to bathe after our long hike, and one of our guides told us there was a river a little ways down for water and bathing. The so-called “river” consisted of a tiny creek with a somewhat large puddle for bathing. Ha. We immediately decided bathing wasn’t an option, especially after Liz discovered a leech on her leg. After all, we didn’t smell too bad yet. Additionally, we had run out of water, so there was no choice but for us to use the water from the creek, which turned out to be extremely pure and hopefully lacking in parasites.

The next morning we began our ascent up the mountain. The jungle was like a dream; as we climbed farther and farther up, it transitioned into a dream world like the fairy-world in Fern Gully or even Avatar. The trees were covered in moss and stuck out at weird angles with vines draping over the branches. Near the peak of the mountain we were literally climbing the trees to get to the top. Occasionally one of us would pull a monkey-move and swing from a limb. [One of our female guides did the entire hike barefoot!] Upon reaching the top, we were greeted with mountain grandeur. All I can say is that I better understand the phrase, “The heavens declare you are God and the mountains rejoice.” At that moment we were isolated from civilization, yet still in the midst of God’s good creation. It is incredible to see a world, seemingly different from our own in Michigan or other parts of the U.S., where God still has power over night and day.

After this intense hike, the girls decided that some form of bathing was necessary. It had been four days since we showered. Consequently, we returned to our puddle and had the time of our lives experiencing a new form of getting clean in the jungle. It’s amazing what a few days of living simply will do to one’s perception of comfort (Leeches? Piece of cake!). Another example of this: the boat we road in for seven hours had only backless wooden boards to sit on. How joyous we were when we took canoes to the mountains that still had hard wooden benches, but with back rests. Once again, we discover the meaning of luxury.

The morning we left the jungle, it rained. We thus made our trek down the mountain in the rain, and we hilariously slipped and wiped out the whole way down. At this point I started noticing lots of red splotches all over my arms and legs. Thinking they were bug bites, I thought nothing of it. Later, however, I realized I developed a rash from some sort of jungle plant (I assume). By the time it had finished spreading, my feet were incredibly swollen, making it awkward to walk. Somehow, and rather ironically, I came back from the jungle walking like a penguin.

In the end, we returned from La Mosquitia to Tegucigalpa the same way we came, just backwards. All went surprisingly smoothly, considering the difficulty of transportation and our isolation from society. We never had confirmed sightings of drug-traffickers (La Mosquitia is apparently one of the new hot spots for the Central American drug trade), though we amused ourselves by raising suspicions at any unmarked box that entered our truck or boat (likely beer or food), or at any person we passed with a rifle (probably hunting).

For our book-study, we are reading Richard Foster’s Freedom of Simplicity. Therefore, we have thought quite a bit about what it means to live simply, particularly in the United States where materialism is rampant. I think traveling to La Mosquitia helped us grasp a little bit about what it means to live simply. Sure, we did bring many things with us and had to constantly re-wear dirty clothes (we smelled really bad). But I think we discovered that living simply means more than having few material goods. It also means being content with the moment, with what is there. We were content to go to sleep when the sun went down in the jungle, even though it was only eight o’clock. In general, we were content to let the day guide us rather than our watches. The majority of the time in La Mosquitia, I had no idea what time it was. There was no need to rush, but it was beautiful just to breathe in the moment and not think about the next. Finally, we took delight in simple forms of entertainment, such as singing stupid songs that go along with the moment (“In the jungle, the mighty jungle…”) or playing word games or simply conversing around the fire. I think living simply ultimately means being content with what life throws at you, and taking it at its best. Fittingly, the department that includes La Mosquitia is called Gracias a Dios, which in English translates as “Thanks to God.” That phrase sums up our adventure, and also what it means to live simply. Gracias a Dios.