Back to La Ceiba

When we arrive in La Ceiba, it is still pouring rain. We instantly go to the airlines desk to see if it’s possible to book a flight to San Pedro Sula for our 9:47 a.m. flight the next day. If it keeps raining, we worry that the Hedman Alas bus, which leaves at 5:15, may take longer than the 3.5 quoted time. We don’t want to risk missing our flight to Belize.

Sosa tells us that its flight is full, but the Taca agent standing besides him overhears the conversation and says, yes, on Taca, there is room. For $70 US a person, we book 6 a.m. flights to San Pedro Sula the next morning.

A flight is better, he says, because with the rain, the roads could be bad. He adds, Be sure to be here at 5 a.m..

Thanks, I say. And tell me, what clubs are good tonight.

Haha, you’re going out? La Palapa, he says, and Hibou.

Oh good, I say. Done.

What time should I pick you up? He asks.

We say goodbye to our friend and bargain a minivan taxi to take us to Hotel Rotterdam for 150 lemps. In the back of mind, I am hoping that just maaaaybe that Canadian boy is staying there too.

Our cabbie has a sense of humor so Cyn and I karaoke to Chris Brown and Katie Perry all the way on the 20-minute drive in. I’m sure our cabbie wants to kill us… or scrape off his ears… but he is young and just laughs.

We arrive at Rotterdam again, disheveled and check into the same room that we had had a week before.

Settling in, we vow to go to dinner and then go out (it is Saturday night, after all), but I go down for a nap almost instantly.

Hours later, I wake up in a panic. Shit, have we missed our flight?! I ask.

It’s only 930, Cyn says. Outside, club music is already thumping. That damn Malarone is giving me vivid dreams, faking me into thinking I’ve had deep sleeps. Screw it, I’m not taking that shit anymore.

Let’s go out, I say.

It’s raining, she says. Do you hear that?

I step outside and get slapped with skinny rain droplets. It’s only drizzling, I say. Let’s go.

Fine, she says. But, she wants to nap for an hour. I protest, saying that she won’t wake up, but she promises she will.

I go outside to ask for a taxi pick up at 4:45 a.m. the next morning. Not knowing if Cynthia had paid, I hand over 250 lempiras for our night‘s stay. On the way back to our room from the reception, I am pelted with rain.

When I return to the room, I am torn. Club music is still thumping outside and I’m dying to go out.. But all this rain. I would have to go clubbing in stilettos and a poncho.

Ahhh, fuck it, I think, and fall into sleep that is intermittently interrupted by the sound of pouring rain and club beats that do not stop until dawn.

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