On September 9, 2002, my first day in Tegucigalpa, it had been one year since starting my trip. It had taken me longer than expected, but it was not a trip I was going to do everyday! To celebrate, I spent the day getting my laundry done, e-mailing family and friends, taking pictures in the market, and getting the film processed. I soon discovered that the hotel was in a prostitute district. It seemed sacrilegious to me to be selling sex in front of the town's main cathedral.

         The next day, I tried to have a shower but the water was shut off. I spent the day touring around the city and looking for the best spot to get some good video shots. After touring around the downtown core, I went to have my hair cut followed by a shampoo to get out all the gel the barber had plastered on my hair. After supper at Wendy's, I went to a movie - a Central American version of James Bond.

         Every afternoon it would rain and the downtown vendors would rush around to cover up their wares. During rush hour, long lines of people waited for the numerous white taxis that were constantly blaring their horns to attract business. I spent my days touring around the city as it was very depressing sitting at the hotel in my windowless room. I noticed that there was a heavy police and army presence. Female officers traveled in pairs and were accompanied by a soldier carrying a heavy machine gun.

         I rode back to the site where my GPS had been stolen hoping that someone had turned it in to the store but with no luck. I went to a car repair shop to get a part made for my bike and they were very accommodating and interested in my trip. However, the part did not fit properly so I returned to the hotel in frustration.

         On September 13, my birthday, I thought I would try fasting to clear up an upset stomach that I had had for days. I found an internet service and there I found my first electronic birthday card. I sent e-mail messages to friends that I had met along the way. By mid-afternoon, I forgot about the fasting and had lunch and then headed downtown to watch the action. There, in the crowd, some guy rushed by, spit on me and shouted "Gringo." I was very upset and followed him to ask why he had done that when he spit on me again! Now, I was livid and started swearing at him. I guessed the macho attitude of the Latin American countries had started to get to me as had the filth and constant noise. The only good thing about the city was the attractive, flirtatious girls!

         The next day I decided to try and shoot some video of the city from a hill outside of town. The road was too poor to ride my bike so I walked up and passed a shanty town on the way that I included in my video. Back in the city, I stopped to have a pizza which further irritated my stomach and caused severe diarrhea. After a few days, the diarrhea did not clear up so I was forced to see a doctor. He prescribed antibiotics which, after a few days, cured my problem. My days were spent packaging pictures and parcels for friends and family, trying to phone Rubidia in San Salvador, fixing my bike, looking for the El Salvador Embassy to try and find a phone number for Rubidia, and picking up Malaria pills for the next leg of my journey.

         I met an American photographer from California who was retired and had lived in Costa Rica and Nicaragua. He was thinking of moving to Honduras. We went out for coffee and he told me that it was dangerous to ride across Nicaragua. I was planning on heading there the next day!