Gringos in the Village - take cover

Sunday in Honduras

Jo's Honduran Honcho - all for the price of a Fanta

We are on the road to Neuve Ocotepeque and have to get across a mountainous divide, but the GPS and map have a line that should indicate a road. We turn off the ribbon of seal onto corrugations and ruts, pea gravel on top of hard clay and huge boulders imbedded in the clay from the last wet season. It is dusty and we spread out so we don’t have to eat to much of the other’s dust. It is Sunday and obviously a church and family day for many. Folk strolling in clean clothes, bright sun umbrellas, young men with shiny black hair groomed to perfection, are all along the road. We wonder where they are going but it seems to be a talking, meeting and courting day for the community.
This is quite a challenging adventure ride, especially on the very steep downhill sections where ruts and wash-outs as well as the scalloping from sliding up hill vehicles makes the potential for “losing it” very high.
We stop for a cold drink in a rural village and park by an old chap in a very classic hat. He chats away and I ask him if he wants a drink too, Si si sinorita.

Gringos in the Village - take cover

After a cold drink with us he is the town hero, and decides to find out about our living arrangements. He asks Dave if he is my man and Dave points at Gareth. I explain that Gareth is my husband and Dave is my friend. The old guy now wants to know if Dave is a friend “with privileges”, all in sign language, as he wouldn’t mind some action too. He had a horse and could follow us.
I point to the church and heaven, and feign shock and say “ solo espousal”. The local man proceeds to ask forgiveness and bless himself, clutches his heart, shakes my hand and I suspect was off to confession for impure thoughts.

Actually when a conversation is mainly in sign language anything could have been meant, but that is my version.

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