It was Maya, a Peace Corp volunteer from Chicago who persuaded me to return to the mainland and venture inland. The others had decided on the spur of the moment to take a boat to the larger island, Roatán for the New Year’s Eve party there. The weather was dark, stormy, waves crashed the pier and the boat was flimsy. At the last minute I decided against. To my knowledge there were no reports of backpackers lost out to sea the next day but I never saw them again.
Instead New Year’s Eve was uneventful and the next day Maya and I took another boat from the municipal dock on considerably calmer waters to the industrial port city of La Ceiba. Maya left for her posting in Yuscarán, while I took the first bus I could find that would take me to the random town I had picked from my guide. The town was specially chosen for its lone marking on the map and its barely noticeable sights. I stepped into the bus, the lone traveler amongst locals, and the bus stuttered up and headed to the interior.
“Sleep well and dream good thoughts,” she said.
The sun was setting when I arrived. The bus stopped in the square and mothers, fathers, children, bags, chickens, stepped off and the bus pulled away.