Cursing early morning bus departures, I groggily pulled out of bed around 5AM. Fatigue prevented me from packing up the previous night; I was certainly regretting that choice now.

View from the bus to San Pedro Sula

Hotel Gómez wasn't conveniently located to the heart of La Esperanza, but was a 5-minute walk to the bus station; fortunately, since I had to poke around a bit to find a family/staff member to open the front door. With a 6AM departure there was no reason to drive up and down the streets trawling for more customers, so we were soon on our way.

A familiar scene played out upon reaching San Pedro Sula: I had missed the pricey Hedman Alas bus. The ride had been under four hours, but the distance between terminals made catching the 10:20 impossible. The next bus to La Ceiba was too late for the ferry, and I realized that a few days of hitchhiking with locals made taking the luxury bus seem foolish. I inquired about my other options. In clear English, the Hedman Alas clerk said, "well, there are chicken buses, but I don't recommend them."

I never knew that residents of chicken bus countries actually referred to them that way.

Gentle reminder in San Pedro Sula...

The chicken buses were frequent, so I had time for the internet café. The first one I tried was closed. A couple sweet Honduran soldiers were right behind me, and offered to walk with me to another café. Both originally from Tegucigalpa, the English-speaking one told me he'd once been stationed in Morocco and loved it. I had no idea the Honduran military was so far-reaching.

We passed up the café I used last time in favor of one in a small mall off the Parque Central. The English speaker claimed it was safer. Eyeing the giant guns strapped to their hips, I wondered what could possibly make them feel unsafe.

After we checked email, the English-speaker begged me to wait for Hedman Alas, again emphasizing safety. I hated to be contrary but I absolutely had to get to La Ceiba for the 4:00 ferry. Giving up, they walked me to the chicken bus terminal.

Lingering doubts dispelled when I sauntered up to the ticket booth with two gun-toting soldados in tow. The bus line Catisa cost slightly more than I expected, but perhaps the soldiers had steered me toward the company using Mercedes buses rather than creaky Bluebirds. It was very comfortable, most of the seats empty, left on time and made few stops.

View from the bus toward La Ceiba

I grazed on bus food all day: vendors got on at every stop offering baleadas, empanadas and salted peanuts. A mobile buffet of tastelessness, with the empanadas being the most disappointing.

I arrived just an hour before the 4:00 boat, but luckily there were plenty of tickets available. Moon Honduras was way off on the price: a shocking 400Lps one-way!

I beelined toward the only other Asian person in the waiting area. He told me his cousin also worked in fashion, and he wasn't able to make it to Fashion Week this year. I rambled a bit that my mother was forever sending me clippings of up-and-coming Asian designers, and that the various fashion houses I'd worked in always had plenty of Asian worker bees.

Ken said, "Well, my cousin is Anna Sui."

How utterly random. Even stranger, he told me that Anna loved my new workplace, Rugby and had once dragged him to our NYC store that I hadn't visited yet myself.

A quick glance around the ferry confirmed I was heading toward the country's heart of tourism. After a week alone on La Ruta Lenca, I had to admit a small part of me was relieved.

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