Honduras blog begins

San Pedro Sula is one of the most ordered and industrious of Honduran cities. The streets are in a systematic grid. Street locations are labelled (north-west, north-east, south-east, south-west) for geographic dunces (sometimes handy). But a very Latin American chaos hits you almost as soon as you land. It was my taxi ride into town that did it for me (the airport is 10 miles outside of the city, plonked in the middle of banana plantations). Cars with dents for doors (you think a 1989 Renault 5 looks knackered?) swerved in front - indicating is for wimps here. Families stretched out in the back of battered pick-up trucks that were belching clouds of dark diesel fumes. One middle-aged lady ride was riding pinion on a motorbike without a helmet. Nearer the city centre, we waited at the traffic lights behind a scrawny mule dragging a cart laden with bananas and some tired looking coriander dangling over the edge.

Coventry it ain´t. It´s exhilarating, maddening and intoxicating. And a bit of a shock to the system. My plan to hit the ground running involved me going to sleep at 2 in the afternoon on the day I arrived (3-hour queues at the immigration desk at JFK do little for energy levels or mood).

But I have landed on my feet here. The hostel owner Juan Carlos has been a mine of information. Slightly randomly he also offered me a vegemite sandwich (when he knew I came from a land down under). Even more randomly, I ended up at an exclusive party last night held in a car park, celebrating the 10th anniversary of a shopping mall (Juan Carlos and his wife Angela play in a band and were performing for the great and the good of the San Pedro commerical elite). Fun in a bizarre way.

I also got my first linguistic gaffe out of the the way early. At the very good restaurant just opposite the hostel, I asked for ´ironed chicken´ (pollo planchado) as opposed grilled chicken (pollo a la plancha). The waitress very politely corrected me. On the scale of things, not quite as bad as the time I said ¨thank you for eating me¨ after a friend´s grandparents in France had invited me round to lunch.

On that bombshell, I better sign off. I have already abused my right to 15 minutes´internet time. Suppose I better keep this blog thing short and snappy.

I´ll probably be on the Caribbean coast next time I write - should be getting the bus there tomorrow. Adios for now.