Antigua (Guatemala) - back for the lava

The Rough Guide describes Guatemala City, Zona Uno in particular, with a host of seemingly off-putting adjectives (dangerous, decrepit, run-down, sleazy and crumbling to name but a few). Ignoring this not very subtle hint, I thought I could hang there for a few days whilst awaiting a connection. I was wrong and, after walking just a few blocks on a Saturday night, I ran for the hills of Antigua, which I never really gave a good chance.

Here there was one thing I really regretted missing. A hike up Volcan Pacaya. Shorter and supposedly easier than some of the big volcanoe treks, it nevertheless promises a close-up view of live, flowing lava. Then I made two dumb decisions. Firstly to do the walk at night. Secondly to set off at 1am direct from the pub, after 6 hours of drinking. Climbing up a path of fragmented lava (crumbly, slippy and sharp as a razor blade) is not a rewarding experience and I have the cuts and grazes to prove this point. Climbing down is even harder, but at least that was after the incredible feeling of standing about 1 metre from a river of lava. Imposible to describe, apart from obviously 'hot', yet amazing. Once the sun rose, the views into the valleys were equally stunning. A day of sleep followed, happy in the knowledge that I had seen something unique.

The only other thing I did in Antigua of note, was to take a cooking course (kindly bought for me by pals in Sydney as a leaving present) where I learnt to cook frjoles, tamaritos, and platanos frito. All the things I never really liked! Yumminess.

Siguatepeque & Santa Rosa (Honduras) - time alone

The unremarkabe town of Siguatepeque was where I decided to hang for a few days, basically trying to kill time, after saying adios to Heidi in Comayagua (somewhere that really doesn't merit an entry). A sad but inevitable farewell.

Back on my own again was time to crank up my Spanish and rediscover my masculinity. Off to a pool hall then, for a few rounds of the strange Honduran game. The balls are placed around the cushions and then you pot them in order, receiving the points on each ball. So, pot the last 3 or 4 high scorers, which I did once, and you are likely to win.

After leaving for a dinner break, I bizarrely landed an invite to the mayor´s house to watch USA vs Honduras (who lost 2-0 sadly) and drink beer. About ten guys sat in the lounge room (doctors, architects, businessmen), chatting about football and politics (I kept quiet then), whilst the women of the house trooped in periodically with plates of greasy, meaty food. Otherwise, they were quite correctly banished to the kitchen. Highly amusing.

Two days of doing nothing here, and off I went again in the direction of Guatemala city. Lots of time spent on local buses followed, listening to an assortement of intestinal pill spruikers and evangelical preachers who take position at the front of the bus and rant. An uneventful night in Santa Rosa de Copan and, behold, I was back in Guatemala.

Peña Blanca (Honduras) - passing through

The Lago Yojoa area seemed to promise a decent place to chill out after a long journey from Trujillo. A journey extended by roadblocks set up by those protesting at the recent annexing of the leftist president. But that's another story. Part of the allure was talk of lakeside hotel which was also a micro brewery. Arriving there at dusk with rain setting in, to find the brewery part had closed down, no lake in sight and disgusting rooms, was disappointing to say the least. Bloody guide books.

That said, we found somewhere else to stay which was tolerable, if expensive, and the food in the area was cracking. Fresh fish from the lake with, wait for it, green vegetables. A rare treat and I don't know why as the markets are full of them. In the morning, we checked out a 43m waterfall called Cascada de Pulhapanzak before, once again, hopping on a chicken bus and hitting the road.

Las Marias (Honduras) - truly the middle of nowhere

Our next step on the journey into the wilderness was as incredible six hour journey up the Rio Platano. Incredible because of the scenery passing by, birds sweeping overhead, people by the riverbanks and the absolute lack of any trappings of the western world. Also incredibly hot, uncomfortable and sweaty. Once in Las Marias - a collection of isolated homesteads spread around a curve in the river - we chilled for the day and planned our trips into the interior.

Myself and Heidi chose a two day trek deep into the jungle, culminating in a hike up a mountaina and staying in a cabana overnight. This was not a trek for the faint-hearted. Mud like I´ve never seen before, bugs that defied belief and trecherous ground. A sprained ankle was seriously on the cards and I´ve no idea what our one guide would have done about it. Phew. It was the real thing and so we weren't too disappointed when at the summit of Pico Baltimore, the tree shrouded view was practically non-existent.

Following a night in the cabana - thanking god for mosquito nets and coils - we trekked the long way back to the village. On return I was shagged and leapt into the muddy waters of Rio Platano. Aaaaaa.....

Raista (Honduras) - start of the end of the world

Once I found out the name La Mosquitia has nothing to do with mosquitos - rather from the word 'musket' used by British pirates back in the day - I was sold. Using a collection of anecdotal emails, various guide books and the fantastic website La Ruta Mosquitia, we hatched a plan.

A group of four set off from Trujillo at 6am and, after a few hours on local buses, we had made our way to Tocoa where the real fun started, sitting on the back of pickup truck, in the full heat of the sun, on a plank of wood strapped to the sides. Roads turned into dirt tracks and then, after a trip on a rickety barge, the road becase the beach. Though, given it was high tide, the road was actually the ocean. Five butt-killing magical hours later and we had made it to Batalla. From here, and in the rest of La Mosquitia, there are no roads of any description and so the last two hours were spent on a lancha.

Finally we arrived in Raista as the sun went down over the water. Rarely has a shower and basic meal of rice and eggs been so welcome. It was only day one.

Trujillo (Honduras) - last outpost of the kiwi empire

After too many days on the orthodox backpacker trail, my travels with lovely Heidi took me to the far eastern outpost of Honduran civilisation. Funnily enough, what greated me in Trujillo (well, a few km's outside) was a hostel of sorts, run by two ladies from New Zealand: Casa Kiwi.

This retreat had everything going for it on paper: a completely untouched beach and a lively bar, with free pool. Yet, there it was tinged with melancoly for some reason. The sense of an idyllic dream that never quite made it. Principally because beach itself, riddled with merciless sandflies, didn't quite justify making the considerably trek required.

One purpose that was definitely served, was meeting up with a couple of guys planning to take on La Mosquitia, the real wild west of Honduras (except it's in the east). Otherwise, a few games of chess, scrabble, cards and pool passed the hours agreeably as we prepared for our assault on the wilderness, mainly stocking up on chocolate biscuits and bags of peanuts, instead of sunscreen and mosquito repellent.

Utila (Honduras) - divers' delight

Conveniently the three Bay Islands, off the north coast of Honduras, are tiered into three categories: super luxury resort, package holiday and backpacker retreat. Needless to say, the latter option, Utilia, was taken by me.

This island is ALL about diving, to the extent that I wouldn't recommend visiting unless you plan on sinking into the depths. The social life and even the accomodation is all tied up with various dive schools. And the monopoly ferry there is pretty pricey - in the context of Central America.

I spent one day diving with Creekside Diving which was 'nice' (interesting coral and a few fish), but not world-class. Good to keep up your skills if nothing else and those taking courses benefit from incredibly low prices. Otherwise, a few trips to the beaches, if you can call them beaches, were the only other daytime activities for me.

Two evening highlights were the 'aquarium bar', for moonlight drinks sat around a floodlit patch of sea, complete with stringrays, octupi and fishes, and 'dave's place' for dinner. King-size pork chops in a jalepeno sauce, jacket spuds and veggies. Yumminess. Another amusing thing to listen for is the creole language spoke by the carribean locals. It's kind of English, but certainly not the queen's. I understood hardly anything.