Outings in the Capital

The rain here comes down fast, without warning and with an alarming ferocity, as it pounds down with tremendous force, saturating the inadequate drains; converting the narrow streets into canals. As we stepped out of the busy mall, the queue for taxis was heinously long. After a hectic day, rushing from one meeting to another in rattling vehicles with no air conditioning, both of us just wanted to go home.

We decided to brave the elements and darted quickly across the street in a break between the heavy traffic. Although it was dark, the streets were rammed with cars and I didn't feel threatened as we trudged our way towards the hotel. The unceasing rain pummelled relentlessly in our faces. There was no pavement and we were forced to squeltch and slide our way along the muddy verge, a hair's distance from the oncoming cars, who showed little regard for pedestrians, as they forged through the flooded streets, spraying us with dirty water.

As I duck just in time to avoid decapitation by a low hanging cable, my suspicion is reinforced that the most dangerous aspect to walking the streets in this neighbourhood is the threat of being swept into a gaping manhole or knocked into the curb by a pickup truck. Dengue infected mosquitos are also an issue and the local press obsessivly covers the escalating epidemic. It's not advised to hang out near pools of water and ankle high in puddles, I wonder if I should have thought to lather myself up with repellent before leaving the hotel.

My inadequate footwear provides little traction and I slip and and skid along the path. It's a tricky balancing act as I do my best not to topple into the stream of traffic or end up in a mud puddle on the grassy verge.

The onset of night seems to draw out the same characters each day. The rain always starts as the light fails and the fire throwers appear at the traffic lights, juggling their flames high into the air, cutting through the night sky, turning the rain golden. The limbless beggars manouver themselves in and out of cars as they plead for a few lempiras to stave away their hunger.

The area here has been taken over by the North American giants of Burger King, Wendy's, Pizza Hut and Chillis. A 24-hour offering of bright lights, plastic food and paper plates. There is little to draw the food lover's attention to Tegucigalpa, although I have to admit, the meat here is some of the best I've ever tasted (and I lived in Argentina for four years).

If it has to be fast food, then at least it should be the Honduran kind. We try out "Coco Baleadas", an outlet selling large tortillas stacked high with just about anything you can think of. The attentive man behind the counter looks at me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement as I am so obviously unaware of the protocol here. You basically chose anything you want and my baleada is piled high with avocado, cheese, beans, a curious combination of three meats, jalapenos, carrots and tomatos. Steaming hot and wrapped up in foil, as it's placed on my tray my hands spasm and I almost drop my food, surprised by the sheer weight of this thing.

No one in our group is able to finish and I have to confess, just the sight of this beast is intimidating enough to stifle my appetite. It's a feable attempt and I feel decidely foreign as I look around and realize there are far more grandious things on offer here.

A Honduran couple orders a dish a meter log of tacos stacked to the ceiling with a stomach churning array of vegetables, meats, condiments and salsas. I don't think I haved ever taken such pleasure in watching people eat as I try not to blatently stare at the pair chomping through this banquet for ten. On a diet of corn based breads, fat upon saturated fat, zero hours in the gym and a job that is far more mentally tiring than physcially, I think it's inevitable that I will put on weight here. As long as I don't start squeezing my bulk into ill-fitting shock-pink jeans and my feet into plastic stiletos, perhpas I can retain some of my class. It's early days. When my head starts turning at the collections of earrings of florecent yellow hoops then I'll know I'm in trouble.