chapters close – Santa Elena, Honduras

Once released from the Guatemalen border, we drove all day through the mountains and found a campsite on the shore of lake Atitlan. It rained hard, and thunder shook above us, but the tent remained… fairly dry. Dawn over the lake was nothing short of transcendent. No words could describe it.

We wound through the mountains for some hours, stopping to admire the local crafts, but not for long. We arrived in Guatemala City and enjoyed the warm hospitality of family friends, rested a day, and headed for the Honduran border.

The road through Copan is not the most direct route to our destination, but it has the double advantages of being a relatively simple border crossing, and also, one of the most beautiful and famous archeological sites in Mesoamerica – so we opted for that, and skipped El Salvador.

The small jungle frontier between Guatemala and Honduras held none of the chaos and menace as did Tapachula, and despite needing copies in triplicate of all forms, it was a relatively straightforward crossing… and the last we will have to endure for some time, I hope.

Once in Honduras, we breathed easy and arrived in the rustic and picturesque town of Copan.  Without even unloading our bags into the hostel, we made for the natural hot springs nearby. The miles and miles behind us escaped into the steam as we sank into the sulfur-smelling waters. We put mud on our faces and explored the jungle resort, which contained a very psychedelic cave like something out of ‘El Topo’.

We went to the ruins of Copan the following morning, and arrived as the park opened, before any tours or others were there. Copan and the pyramids have been a bucket-list thing for me, so I was quite happy. The whole of our time there felt like a reward for the strenuous, month-long, winding journey from Los Angeles, and we relished it.

We hit the road again, and were happily surprised that the dirt-and-pothole Honduran highways we remembered had been replaced by newly paved streets. We were laughing and incredulous as we sped along the freshly-tarred blacktop, and made it back to Marcala, and our little cabin, in just under four hours – half the time we were anticipating.

When we arrived, however, we were met with unexpected, tragic emptiness. Our friends, the family on who’s property the cabin we rent is built, were nowhere to be found. Several of the familiar dogs yapped to meet us, but our own dog, Pip, was nowhere to be found.

One of the men who works on the property told us that the family was on vacation. And Pip?

Dead.

Simply, flatly, as though he were surprised we remembered enough to inquire. Murió three weeks ago, shortly after we set out on this journey to Honduras. The dog that Ela rescued from the streets as a puppy too injured to eat. Pip, whom she nursed to health and became her companion of two years. Pip, the 100% pure-bred Honduran street-punk who kept me company countless nights while I slaved away at the keyboard. Pip our dog, the ulterior motivation for us to drive for one month over 3,500 miles to bring back with us. Pip. Gone.

It has been several days now since we learned this news. The pain of the loss is still very near. Our cabin is no longer the home we knew. We planted a jasmine tree at the place where he is buried.

Ela has some words to add-

I’ve always had the feeling that I want a dog but was never looking for one. I like it when things happen naturally and I instinctively care about even the most unwanted – I am going to show you the beauty in it. 

When I first saw Pip he ran after a boy from the school where I was volunteering. I felt an instant connection. He was extremely stinky, undernourished, his fur was missing on some spots of his body, his bones were clearly visible, and he came to school to drink/eat from the water that came out of the school kitchen. I started feeding him just to give his young body a chance to catch up and become healthy though he always kept his distance built on mistrust. My feeding did not have a real effect on him. 

One day he came to school though couldn’t bend down to eat. Every attempt made him scream in pain. So I took him and brought him to the Veterinary – it made him mine with all consequences. People and families around me thought I would be crazy: „Not even for money I would take him.“ And yes, it was a long process to make him learn what good food is – until he was well fed and his body did not ask him to eat anything that has some kind of flavour (packages of pollo, for example). He got healthy, strong, and we developed our own world.

He made me feel safe and welcome in a country that was not mine. He dug his head into my legs when he needed attention. In anticipation of food he tap danced, I could whistle from the bottom of the hill when I was on my way from town back to the cabin – he came. He wanted to be with me in bed but was only allowed to stay on the steps to the bed. He waited me lifting my head from bed to welcome him into the day. He made me feel alive and valuable. I never knew this exists.

I went to the states to be with Joey and to work towards our next steps in life – that included Pip. We bought a car to get him and make a trip back. I anticipated the families he stayed with understood – they did. Though they thought because I care so much for him it would be better if I find out myself. It’s all in god’s power.

I still don’t know what happened but it might be he had an infection. I would involve a Veterinary – as I did before and that gave me a most wonderful connection to another living being. In my world every step I took made sense and most likely would have lead into a long relationship. Different cultures make things complicated. I like to be empowered, care for what’s around me, and make people, animals as well as plants flourish – a passive, believing life seems not worth living to me.

I made it three weeks too late to Honduras. I was ready to show him beaches, the snow, and give him a place in nature – most important I committed to be next to him when he, after a long healthy life, passes over.

That’s all I wanted to give him. I was moving mountains for what he had to offer – my family that I started here is gone.

I should have never left him behind.


THE DOWNS WE EXPERIENCED ON THIS TRIP IS THE SUPER EASY VERSION OF WHAT THE REFUGEES FROM HONDURAS GO THROUGH. I AM EXTREMELY EXHAUSTED JUST BY OUR TRIP.

AT LEAST LET’S THINK ABOUT IT.