Author: Ben Anson

We entered a lovely restaurant, Edward and I, located along the famous beach promenade, known locally as “El Paseo”.

Santa Cruz De Yojoa, Honduras is a town in need of a wall all around it. This is a place where nobody respects anyone…

We sat around her table one night, as she regaled both myself and if I recall correctly – her daughter, with an unimaginably horrific tale.

Honduras, is my special place. Those who’ve read my previous articles on here are well aware of this. Yet, as I almost always state…

One minute I was holding the door open for her, receiving a lovely smile and cheery thank you very much young man, and the next…

Where I live, there also reside a father and son from Nicaragua, within the hostel/apartment building in which the three of us rent rooms.

I smiled as the San Pedro Sula taxi driver regaled his experiences. Nobody captures life better than a life-battered Honduran.

“Christ, all that people have done today is complain to me about their country”. I said it out loud, as if addressing a group. Sin embargo,,,

I was standing quite recently under the shower when I gasped slightly and realized that “Honduras was beginning to bore me.”