Cartels & Hurricanes

This episode´s characters:
Captain Mike-American penal system refugee (read: lawless) and 28-year-old captain of his parents´ freight boat. Carries at all times a Glock-9 and monstrous Jamaican blunt.
Neil-Floridian, 20, with a lazy eye and an easy laugh.
Kevin-Neil´s leader. This 19-year-old New Yorker is the brighter of the two and a tad less trusting.  
La Ceiba, Honduras. Man, La Ceiba totally sucked (and that is not a word I use lightly). So much so, we paid nearly $700 to get the hell out. We never actually planned to spend any time there, it just worked out that way. Here´s how it went down…
We meet Neil and his pal Kevin (no, not the same Kevin-thank God!) on the bus from Copan. At first I think we´ll be able to exploit their Spanish-speaking abilities to make our transfers a little smoother, but I soon realize that our Spanish is actually better than theirs. And now, we seem to be stuck with them.
When we arrive in La Ceiba, our stepping off point for a ferry to Utila in the Bay Islands, we find the ferries docked due to a severe tropical storm. Captain Mike convinces us to spend the night in La Ceiba and catch a ferry the next morning. Gun in hand, he chauffeurs us to what he claims is a decent hostel.

Neil, Kevin, Chris and I split a double-and-two-singles room at the New Amsterdam 2001, a hostel that is neither new nor European. For a whopping $3.75 apiece, and only after Kevin gets 10 minutes alone in the room to hide his and Neil´s money belts, we get to sleep on mattresses that should´ve been incinerated no less than a few decades prior to our tenancy on this planet.
The next morning, I step outside to brush my teeth (because that´s where the communal sink is located, not because I´m some sort of oral exhibitionist) and am caught in a squall. I tell the boys that it doesn´t look like we´ll catch a ferry today, either, what with the waves (visible across the street) breaking above my height. Even the taxicab driver laughs when we suggest going to the dock to wait out a ship.
Leaving Kevin and Neil behind, Chris and I get soaked to the bone trying to find a way out of town. After being harassed on the street by a bug-eyed man with no shirt and paying roughly $30 in taxi fare between the airport where all flights are grounded and the two bus stations where all buses are stopped and back to the airport again, we manage to get a break: the clouds part for about 45 minutes, all of which we spend waiting for an old, rundown, malfunctioning ticket printer to concede and print our boarding passes.

As we sprint across the quickly flooding tarmac to board the tiny plane, the heavens open up once again. Luckily, this plane gets out with us aboard. From the sky, we can see rivers flowing over the only highway out of La Ceiba and slums flooding down below. I can honestly say we´ve never been more relieved in our lives to leave a place and, in our opinions, these tickets are worth every penny.

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