La Ceiba.

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La Ceiba, 5 marzo 1990.
Rumour has it that the honduran banks have allowed the lempira to flow which basically means that they will pay 4.50 lempira to the dollar, the current black market rate.
There were no banks in Puerto Cortes and there are none in La Ceiba so Peter and James had to take a bus to San Petro Sula hoping to change money there, leaving me and Nora behind with our backpacks, I'm not so happy having to babysit Peter's bulky backpack considering its contents, all sorts of mind enhancing goodies and that most likely in huge quatities.
Now, I've plenty of money having changed 200 american greenbacks at the border and having won 380 Lempira yesterday afternoon playing pool with Nora making bets while distracting the locals with her well formed boobs that were hanging braless in her shirt.
It's near noon and like Puerto Cortes La Ceiba has got a nice little harbour full with fishingboats.
Sitting here outside a small restaurant guarding 4 backpacks and drinking strong coffee, I watch how the fishingmen are busy preparing for a night of fishing out at sea.
Cartons of Port Royal Export Beer are loaded aboard together with crates of vegetables and fresh fruit, men sit on the quay repairing nets.
A slight breeze is coming in from the caribean sea, salty and refreshing, the smell of sea strong in my nose, half naked children dressed only in baggy shorts with the occassional dirty T-shirt, run after each other in their play stopping every so often to have a shy look at me the Gringo from far away.
I've no idea what Nora is doing, she left to have a look at this little caribean town leaving me with the backpacks.
If all goes well tomorrow we should be on a small 8 seater plane for Utila, a small island in front of the honduran coast.

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