Puerto Cortes.

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Puerto Cortes, 04 marzo 1990.
I'm not really sure why we decided to have an overnight stop in this little caribean harbour place.
The air is salty, the sea a magnificent blue and the harbour full with fishermen off-loading their catch from poorly maintained fishingboats. My nostrils are full with the smells of sweaty men and fresh fish, the smells of the sea and the droppings of the countless gulls that obscure the stifling caribean sun overhead.
I'm not really sure I've ever seen so many gulls before in my life. Diving down they steal the fish that spill over and land on the wooden quay.
Their shrieks fill my ears mingling with the angry spanish shouts of hard working honduran fishingmen.
We're in a spacious bar down at the harbour and I'm playing pool with some of the locals while James and Peter are busy talking world politics, their main topic of conversation, Nora is making money betting with the locals on my pool prowess, I'm winning most of the games so her stake is growing.
Not that her "victims" seem to care, their minds are elsewhere, the obvious lust in their eyes for this afroamerican beauty is taking over the very admosphere, all the men are around her lempira notes in hand and ready to make a bet.
I've a strong suspicion that Nora's breasts hanging braless in her pink T-shirt, nipples poking through makes these excited latino macho men forget where their tatty lempira notes are going.
A mexican lovesong is coming out of the jukebox mingling with the excited shouts of the onlookers while a bag another ball.
The admosphere is mellow and this being late afternoon nobody too drunk yet to get upset about the lost betting money.
I soon tire of the pool and return to my chair outside, a Port Royal export beer in hand, to once more enjoy the smells and sounds of this pretty little caribean harbour city.
There are many bars around the quay and I've no doubt, this being macho country and all that, things will heat up around here tonight.
My peacefull mental contemplation of Puerto Cortes is soon interrupted by Nora-Go-Happy placing herself square and fair on my lap, kissing me on both cheeks and full on my lips, her hands full with these dirty and tatty lempira notes, handing me my share whispering in my ears "we've to do this again, Hans", "this was fun, beaucoup de plaisir, Hans", "let's go out and find ourselves a restaurant, we can affort a little party now, Hans".

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