Intrigued by the stories told, the alleged wildness of the place and the many groups of Indigenous Indians with their separate languages I headed toward the Mosquito region of Honduras.(a wilderness paradise east of Trujillo and running toward Nicaragua)My research showed this region was the largest tract of virgin rainforest in the Northern Hemisphere. I had a vague idea of my self designed trip into one of the wildest regions of the Americas. Landing at San Pedro Sula I headed overland on secondary buses. It was good to be back on the road again. Miles and miles of royal palms, little hamlets with their Coco-Cola signs plastered everywhere and the Marlboro Man—- as if we need anymore reminders.
At least where I am headed I won’t be inundated with advertising signs. Man somedays I just want to say enough is enough already— leave the beauty. Arriving at the town of Trujillo with a statue of Oliver North reminding us Americans of just one more screwed up warring effort. I checked into a local bar and told some xpats I was heading into the Mosquito region on a self-imposed exploratory trip. After the rum started to take hold every last person advised against going in alone. Recounting stories of a female archeologist who was recently be-headed and was told flat out “Muy Peligroso Senor” why don’t you visit the Bay Islands and go diving or bird-watching like a normal tourist?”
That’s all I needed to hear! I was psyched— a place no-one one should go alone. Taking the bus from Trujillo I headed south to the town of Puerto Lempira where I loaded up on supplies. From Puerto Lempira I headed toward Perla which I was told was the last town of any consequence on the Mosquito Coast. It started to pour buckets of rain and I began to doubt the sanity of this trip all together. You couldn’t see ten feet in front of you. So much for designer trips —I think I just designed the trip from hell.
While being holed up in Perla on the coast I was told the bus-driver would be there tomorrow morning at exactly five a.m. By the third day I was getting a mild case of cabin fever and wanted to move on. “No problema senor! Buses haven’t been running. All of the roads are washed out— maybe manana. It’s the rainy season you never know what Mother Nature has in store.” Slap, Slap, as I killed yet another mosquito! Big Mosquitos in Perla!
Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. I heard the bus blowing it’s horn as it flew into town at exactly 4:20. Thank God I was awake and packed. I ran down to the corner with an Olympic effort — just in time to flag the bus down as it was pulling out of town.
Tropical jungle everywhere as we pierced our way through the mountainous terrain. I sat directly behind the bus-driver and could see the pavement or dirt road directly under my feet. It started to rain crazy fast as we maneuvered our way through some mangrove swamps. The bus-driver stopped the bus over a rather deep ditch. He jumped out the side door and hit a gator over the head with a tire iron— throwing the gator between the bus-drivers seat and my feet where he continued to kick, and thrash, and make snarling noises.
The road narrowed with the ditches getting deeper and the mud more menacing as we headed along the coast. We came upon a rusty barbed-wire fence right in the middle of the road stretched from tree to tree serving as posts. A rather worm-faced man with a machine-gun appeared from nowhere, hopped on the bus and made a few spot luggage checks. He couldn’t get my Swiss army pack untied so he just moved on. The bus-driver had to reach in his wallet and give the man a stack of money.
As we were pulling out a man dressed in black with all black combat boots and a green duffle bag hoped on the bus and took the last remaining seat next to me. Traveling through the blistery rain he began to assemble a machine gun which was in pieces in his duffle bag.
After saying my hellos the rather stern looking all serious man with a large black mustache asked me what I was doing here in the tropical jungle of Honduras. I told him I was heading to the Mosquito region where I was searching for the Indigenous Indians and their trail of underwater petroglyphs. Just like the info I received from the last bar he leaned over and said: “Very Peligroso Senor!” Darkness came across the dense Honduran jungle. The bus came to a grinding halt in the middle of nowhere. He whispered “This is my jumping off point— I’m heading into the mountains to track bandidos.”
The driver got out and installed chains on both sets of dual wheels on the back of the bus plus the two front wheels. Our red bus was now a chocolate brown as we submarined ourselves through the next series of water hazards. As we went down submerged above the floor boards in muddy water our bus-driver yelled: “Everyone out!” as the engine made a clanking sound and then conked out with one more last thrust. Pitch dark and raining like hell, I finally was able to find the bus-driver who told me to walk east for about three miles until I could hear the ocean and then walk south approximately one mile to the small unnamed native hut fishing village.
Walking through the jungle with my boy-scout flashlight in the pouring driving rain I was beginning to think maybe I went to far this time. I was getting flashbacks of my high-school days and could hear the warnings my parents often gave me. Starting down the beach in the driving rain I thought maybe this was it. Could anyone survive these tropical rains and what if I just got washed away — who would know! Another hour on the beach in the drenching rain I spotted a fisherman’s hut just off the beach with a plume of smoke coming from the thatched roof. I knocked on the door to be greeted by a short black Caribbean man who invited me in for the night. He told me point blank that I shouldn’t be wandering around in the jungle by myself because it was “Muy Peligroso!” Are you kidding me! He fixed me up with a hot cup of tea and placed me in front of the fire. He lit up a 30 inch ivory pipe and began to tell jungle stories as I drifted off to sleep. I was told later he was a Garifuna which means fun-loving sea loving folks located all along the Mosquito Coast. I couldn’t have had a nicer host… I was very grateful indeed. I often wandered If somone knocked on our door would we do the same.
The following morning he shook me and yelled: “Here comes da truck running the beach. Get moving mon- if you run fast enough you can catch a ride all the way down beach.” With the bright sun and all blue sky juxtaposed against the mountainous jungle and flying along the beach, I felt as if everything was coming together. Thank you Jesus! The truck came to a roaring stop with the truck-driver announcing: “This is the end of the line. This is as far south as a vehicle can go. You have to work your way into the Mosquito region by taking a series of dugout canoes and walking. “Buena Surete Senor!”
Yelling thank you very much I walked several hundred yards and came to an opening. Here I was able to hire a motor-driven canoe called a TUK TUK which took me approximately twelve miles through the jungle on a small tributary. At the small fisherman village I had lunch with six men, all of whom were packing pistolas stuck in the front of their pants, with the revolver handles sticking out in plain sight. Another man entered and enquired If I wanted a place to stay for the night. Since he wasn’t packing I thought I might as well bed down— I could already see a dark series of rain clouds were heading our way.
His daughter and wife began grinding the corn and preparing the evening meal while he poured us each a cup of jungle juice. He lauged heartily by telling me we were having green Iguana for dinner– he hoped I was hungry. He indicated he was of German decent and had settled here 60 years ago. I carried my boy-scout flashlight in my right side of my pants and If you were astute enough it might look like a pistol. At least that’s what I thought. On my second cup of jungle juice he point blank asked me: “If I had a pistola?” I told him I did! He asked what I did with the pistola and I pointed my finger right between his eyes and told him I shoot people.
I turned in that night sorrounded by pavo silvestres only to hear a pounding on my door at about 2:00 A.M. It was the ole German who told me we had to leave immediately for the mountains. As we made our way through a maze of jungle paths he explained there was a rogue jaguar eating all of his cattle and he was treed just last week for 24 hours. He visually demonstrated how he escaped and showed me his scratches as he fled for his life.
What seemed like an eternity suddenly turned into an adventure of a lifetime as the ole German took me into a limestone crevice which opened into a white city of marble. Impeccable buildings made of hand carved marble mimicked the imagery of a lost civilization. Just then four large all white monkeys dressed in flowing red satin robes embellished with gold thread came out of nowhere and greeted us formally. Your Royal Pectus, Your Royal Zeus, Your Royal Herman and me I am the king. “What brings you here? I hope you aren’t a missionary, reporter, scientist, archeologist, type trying to steal our secrets. Tell him my German friend what happens if anyone gets to close. He made a throat cutting gesture so I would get the message.
Clap, Clap, Earth Servants please serve out guests the special tea. Looking like the crash test dummies the all white Earth Servants mysteriously showed up with steaming hot tea. Bowing— they handed us bright red tea cups with green wax embossed Chinese lettering and disappeared into the ether.
Show em the Doom Room Pectus! Hundreds of skeletons all labeled and in perfect shape imbedded into marble with an alcohol process making them appear as if they were neon purple liquid lluminaries. You could still see green blood running through their veins and arteries. “A nuclear expression of plutonium” one of them mummured. Each Earth Body was numbered and labeled with their Misdemeanor on Society. “Would you like to see the Hydraulics Room”? Through a rainbow labyrinth we wound around going through a series of revolving doors until we reached the elevator where we used centrifugal force and shot down a three mile all white tunnel— brightly lighted with about 4 billion candle-lights of power.
Historian Monkey as he was called snapped his fingers while the doors flung open into The Lost City of Pacificus. Real humans mixed with Royal Animals and Gods milled around naked and drank cups of mystical tea. He pointed out there very svelte figures and mentioned they were mostly hydroponic and didn’t eat anything. They only drank liquids which accounted for their longevity. I asked King White Monkey if anyone ever made it out of here alive and he pointed his staff at the ole German. “Would you like to stay for the Jaguar Transformation Ceremony he enquired? You see it’s the ole German’s turn— he just getting too dam nosey if you know what I mean.”
Historian Monkey opened up the Jade Room with a mountain of elaborate carvings representing all of the major civilizations on Earth. He explained the intricate carvings were carved by laser precision light with no tools. He opened the Gold Room for a glance at most of the glitter in the World entombed here for safe keeping. He quickly spun through the Emerald and Diamonds Rooms and stopped briefly at the Universe (digitally lighted) Mapping Room which he said came in handy for space travel. At the Leisure Room they had a beautiful swimming pool with monkeys swimming laps and playing chess with Jade pieces. Pulling a red lever next to the PEACE LORDS ROOM by mistake we shot out of the system as if being shot from a cannon.
Once out of the labyrinth I looked at my German friend and said I hope you said goodbye to your wife and daughter. Out of nowhere a large Jaguar cat leaped from an overhanging tree more than 30 feet– taking the German to the ground. All I could hear him say was: “Shoot senor shoot!”
Back on the airplane in San Pedro Sula I knew that was the final Transformation Ceremony and I didn’t want any parts of that ritual– I have places to go and places to see. Adios Amigos!
PostScript: I have tried to find the Royal White Monkeys and The Lost Civilization of Pacificus several times and haven’t even turned up one clue. Of course down in the fishing village everyone knows of the legend and a few even say they could guide me there when the time has come. So forget fancy burial plots and cremation schemes I know where I’m going to perform the ultimate transformation. Can anyone keep a secret I have a map. Of course If I told anyone and showed anyone I would be history. If anyone has seen the Mosquito Coast movie with Harrison Ford you simply hike about one mile north of the ice factory and turn west at the Missionary Plantation. You make your way along a treacherous ravine then you proceed approximately 21.5 miles through mountainous jungle terrain and look for the hidden crevice. It’s so simple to find even a cave-person could find it. Buena Surete and did I mention it is Muy Peligroso!
QUOTE: ” I believe there is nothing we can’t achieve if we put our minds to it.”
THINGS YOU MAY NOT KNOW:The Fierce Snake or Inland Taipan has the most toxic venom of any snake. Maximum yield recorded (for one bite) is 110mg. That would probably be enough to kill over 100 people or 250,000 mice.—- Convictcreations.com
THINGS YOU MAY WANT TO SAVE: The forests of Boreno! This makes the chainsaw masacre look like a cartoon compared to what’s happening in Boreno.
Zentraveler says quit monkeying around and at least save this Planet.