471 - Playa de Cedeño
Crossing the borders in Central America isn’t exactly a cake walk. Today’s adventure involved scams, deception, and an obsessive amount of hummus.
It was our decision day. After breaking my foot, I’d promised myself a two week “trial period” to determine if I was fit to continue our grand adventure. If I decided to continue, we’d simply head to the next country. If not, we’d begin our journey back to the United States and this would be my southernmost shoot.
The choice wasn’t easy. It’d been a difficult couple weeks living in the van, and it was only getting hotter as we descended closer to the Equator. I’d also come to the realization that my photography would have to be limited to smaller, more intimate scenes. Mentally, this was a tough pill to swallow. World-class volcanos were everywhere, and happily laughing in my face. The cherry on the cake was that our next country was Honduras- arguably the most dangerous country in Central America. It wasn’t going to get any easier from here.
With that thought process in mind, I decided to keep going. More danger equals more fun. Right…?
Heh. We decided to spend the night at a dinky truck stop about 30 minutes east of the Honduras border, aiming to cross in the morning. Reviews claimed you paid the security guard $2 USD, and he’ll watch over your van all night. Sounded good to us.
As the sun descended, our pans came out and I cooked up a Mediterranean bowl that’d make Naples proud. Chalk full of greens, quinoa, garbanzo beans, and chipotle hummus, we gorged ourselves with nutrients until we couldn’t move. And then we heard a knock at the door.
It was an English-speaking man, asking about our Montana license plate. He claimed to be from Texas. We rolled down the window and were greeted by a short, stout man that smelled vaguely of cigarettes. I cautiously shook his hand, as nothing good comes from these kinds of places after dark.
The man proceeded to tell us about his family in the states, and his link to El Salvador. From the sounds of it, he owned some kind of telecommunications company. He was grandly intrigued by our journey down here, but the whole conversation had an aura of fluff. Kind of like when a dog suddenly becomes your best friend when you pull out the fried chicken.
He then proceeded to offer us a “friend” to help us cross the Honduras border the next morning. He claimed that without his “friend” that knew everyone, our van would probably be rigorously searched for 4-5 hours and our belongings would be torn apart in the process. As he waved his arms to demonstrate how long the line would be, I noticed on his phone he’d been taking photos of our van from afar.
He suddenly left to retrieve a cigarette and Haley mouthed to me that it was scam.
Thinking fast but not smart, I told him we might not even cross the border in the morning. Haley interjected that we were waiting on COVID test results first. He didn’t seem to care. He kept pushing the notion that we’d be screwed without his help. We took his phone number with a in an attempt to shrug him off our backs and left with a maybe.
As we rolled up our window, Haley told me that according to her border crossing research, they don’t search your vehicle at all. It was apparently common knowledge on the travel forums that these men instill fear on purpose to get you to pay them for help.
We went to bed with a touch of anxiety about how the situation would play out.
I woke up at 7am to Haley yelling at me that they were waiting for us outside our van, ready to go. My adrenaline spiked and I stormed out of bed and peered through the blinds. Fuck. We have to tell this dude no. I had no idea how he was going to react.
We got the van ready to go, then rolled down the window and greeted him. Right out of the gates we told him that our friends had crossed the border the other day without problem, and that we wouldn’t need his help.
He responded with asking why we “led him on” the previous night, to which we hastily replied that he was making assumptions about our interest. He was clearly upset, but since our van was primed up, we just drove away. Fuck em’.
Then his “friend” then proceeded to follow us on his motorcycle. Great. Fucking great.
As we rolled up to the first immigration checkpoint, he pulled up next to us and began to advise us on how to cross with him. Clearly pretending we hadn’t flat out rejected him moments earlier. I looked him in the eye and firmly told him to stop following us. He walked away and never came back. I didn’t realize I could be intimidating in crutches, but I digress.
Within moments of his departure, ANOTHER man rolled up and took his place in advising us. What was this? A Russian doll? Now I was getting pissed. I blatantly told this new guy we were not paying for his advice, everything he tells us is free. He agreed then proceeded to advise us on what to do next.
These people are absolutely relentless.
And they’re everywhere down here. All the “border helpers” all wear the same uniform. They KNOW you need their advice, too. Because even if you do your research prior to arrival, you still can’t tell what’s a government building and what’s not, because nothing looks official.
Needless to say, we told this dude to fuck off for the next 30 minutes, but he kept at it. At a certain point he realized we actually weren’t going to pay him (as I kept telling him,) and he left. Thank the lord.
The best thing to do with Central American border crossing is research them until you know the process like the back of your hand, then look for the security guards with guns. They’re usually guarding the important buildings you need to access.
And with that, we made it into Honduras. Our plan from here was to drive to Playa Cedeno for a shoot, a beach that's biggest plus was its “local hospitality.” In Central America, this roughly translates to “incredible food, nice people, ugly environment.”
But after today’s debacle, we were ready to do absolutely nothing for the rest of the day. As long as there was fresh fish, sand, and a wave or two, we’d be happy.
And that it was. Nothing more, nothing less. A small fishing town on the outskirts of Honduras featuring collapsed buildings, ice-cold beer, and good vibes.
I’m realizing that these kinds of places are some of my favorite stops. Small, remote fishing towns with happy people. The photography is always incredible, and the universe always seems to drop us a nice sky in these places for some reason. (Check out Isla Aguada’s adventure for a similar tone.)
When the sun started to set, I roamed the shores with a full belly, sinking my crutches into the sand like jelly. In the distance I saw a faint pier, a perfect composition.
But as I estimated it’s distance, I realized it would be a stretch to make it there in crutches before the sun was gone. I decided not to risk it, and set up my tripod at the nearest pile of trash. I never said this beach was pretty.
Today, I proclaimed, it would be a challenge in composition. No easy pier shot for me- I was going to figure out how to make garbage look beautiful:
“Pastel Post”
Taken on Sony a7rIII + Tamron 17-28mm f/2.8
[ISO 640 ~ 17mm ~ f/7.1 ~ 1/160s]
(Want a Print? Get one here.)
I like to think that given the large variety of trash to choose from, this was the best pile. The composition hit the nail on the head. The key was making sure everything fit in the frame- notice how the edges fit all the items neatly in place, and the front left brick wall almost pulls you into the shot. Since there wasn’t a leading line, I had to embrace the chaos and highlight it’s major components.
Hence, this image was also a masterclass in dodging and burning.
What a day. We passed out to the sound of waves.
I like to think of this adventure as the perfect representation of what it’s like to travel in a van. People always ask- “aren’t you living the dream life?” Well, yes. But it’s got it’s extreme highs and extreme lows, often following each other rapidly. Living in one spot is more like a steady line… No extreme highs and lows. I guess what I’m trying to say is that #vanlife comes at a cost. A cost not everyone is willing to pay when the dips come.
Speaking of the dips, on our next adventure, Haley hits someone with the van. Stay tuned for that good time.
BYE.
I’m on a mission to explore as much as humanely possible.
Want to see my progress? Check out the Adventure Map.
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