La Campa

coffee drying

It was a dusty, bumpy, winding and choking journey from Gracias to La Campa. All the bus windows were open, we appeared to be inhabting the inside of a vacuum cleaner busily hoovering the Sahara.

The town itself is snuggled in a valley at the foot of steep, chalky, pine and cedar lined cliffs. A massive market snaked and sprawled all the way through town making it difficult to see the streets and get a feel for the layout of the place.



Our reason for going.. Its meant to be a good base for a hike, I fancied a go at lenkan pottery and its pretty far off the usual Honduran tourist trail. When we arrived we had the good fortune to be at the beginning one of the largest religious festivals in Central America where they bring out various saints and all the locals from suurounding towns gather to look at them. Excellent!



We weaved our way through all the stalls and managed to get a room in the only Hotel in town, dumped our bags and got stuck into the market.


Hard sell from down here

All the traders were here with beds under their stalls and you could buy anything from garlic to riding saddles. Most stalls were selling pap or second hand clothes, the mountains of which (donated from the west) was the reason for the lack of traditional dress in the area.

Lots of women had made their own hearths in situ for the occasion and we shared a tamales: maize type goo stuffed and boiled, it was as unsuusal & unisperational as it sounds.
The women explained to us how they made tortillas. Soalking maze in water with a touch of lime overnight before mashing it togther ready to form into the small flat tasteless things, it was that simple.

We sat down at a food stall and had Chicken rice & tortillas. Coffee is plentiful in these parts and so we had a strong cuppa and watched everyone beavering about.



There were no other tourists at all, we are a real novelty, especially for the young kids.

Went and had a look at the main church in the sq, which is draped in lacy fabric and packed with people who’ve come to be blessed by the statue of st. Mateus, who was sat in a portable gazebo glittering brightly and adorned with ribbons.

We left em to it and fought our way through Jesus jewellry, balloons and tat.



Patricia (our new conpanion) decided that a budgies advice about the future was exactly what she needed.
Quickly and with great skill the bright yellow prophet picked a card, and after reading it the locals laughed at us. We couldn't get Patricia to tell us what it says until much later….



“There are 2 people standing in your path, they are jealous of your work & love, and mean you harm”.

Actually we were impressed with her Peace Corps work in Africa, which involved trying to persuade the women to cook with clay beehive shaped ovens rather than the old method which was causing them severe health problems. We didn’t mean her harm but we were happy to go our seperate ways by the end of our stay.

Around the back of the stalls we came across this game of pen, paper, horse. In which a piece of paper suspended from a line must be speared by a bic wielding man on a horse… Brilliant!



“Anyone fancy a beer?” . We looked for some, no one seemed to be drinking?.
Then we find out this town (in fact the whole municipality) is not only dusty but dry as a bone. A festival, without any beer? I hear you ask. Apparently the men here used to drink to excess and end up fighting. They’ve all got machetes from working in the fields which when pissed came in handy for clearing a way through arms and legs, ears and noses.. Consequently drink is banned and the last 3 priests here have upheld this decree.

In a town where the entertainment options appeared to consist of waiting for a Mary, kicking some dust or burrowing through mountains of old clothes, the lack of beer was decidedly worrying. I was beginning to warm to the idea of a machete fight.


Before the ban

We found another church on a hill overlooking town. Patricia, who’s working knowledge of Spanish is marginally better than ours, discovered that a Saint is visiting the next day coming all the way from the Vatican!!


Preparing the floor

Went for a wander on the road out of town and chatted to a little old lady in a shop selling gold bird-whistles and pop.


British/American relations.

Back at the hotel we’ve got a wonderful view of the surrounding hills from the Hotel balcony it’s a fine place to read, relax and try and re-assemble tshirts that are perishing. Pat twists our arm and we let her bunk down in our room.



After a hearty read we head to the market in search of a hearty meal. We discover all the stalls are selling the same thing and we tuck into what we will eat, for every meal with slight variations, – this is a combination of Chicken, rice, beans, tortillas, fried plantain, sour cream, salty cheese and tortillas.



Occasionally eggs and avocado feature. Its not bad but its basically breakfast, dinner and tea for the duration, theres nothing ELSE!
The music was pumping and the air full of fire crackers, some journalists arrived from La Prensa(big Central American newspaper) and they take our photos and interview Patricia.

The stalls look fantastic at night, everyones selling brightly coloured rectangular bars of sugary stuff



Which Jackie reckons is probably for offerings rather than eatings, but no its very tasty coconut niceness.



A powercut took out half the market, so we stumbled (sober) back to base.

THE MARYS ARE COMING!!

The next morning after tucking in to greasy Chicken, rice, beans we wait in the grounds of the church for the coming of the Marys.


Event organizer

Inside the floor was covered in pine needles and we were given gold ribbons to wear. There was still bedding spread down one side from where pilgrims had spent the night.

Back outside we met Michelle, a freelance travel journalist and author of ‘sand in my bra’ & ‘more sand in my bra’ and ‘Who’s wearing my panties?’. We warmed to her instantly and became part of her gang.
She was there to write an article for a tourism magazine on La Campa and also to advise and investigate possible improvements & incentives for tourism in the region as none exsited.
Jackie quizzes her, as it seems she’s swamped with work offers after only doing it for a few years. We ponder travel writing....

We also hook up with an incredibly round faced peace corps volunteer from S Korea.

After an excited commotion all involved with the church get into a pickup, (Michelle is swept along with them) to meet and escort the Virgin into town. They come back sore and dusty with The marvelous Mary.



Here she is.

It’s a beautiful statue and the locals who had been chanting loudly on the way here, take her carefully into church so she could bless em all.

Head gear in this hot climate is the sturdy faithful cowboy hat for the men and a towel for the women. I kid you not they were everywhere not just inside the churches.



After a short while there was more excitement, it turns out this isn’t Mary from the Vatican after all. Quick get the guitars! Expecting a Mary even more stunning we had to suppress our giggles as the Virgin Barbie arrived.


Does the pope know you’ve got his favourite doll?

The two Marys were brought out for a quick pow wow, jovially accompanied by the band.



People arrived in cattle trucks and many in fuscia pink outfits (in honour of the barbie mary?).


General toing and froing


reporter Jones & Oooooooooooo arrrrrrrrrrh farmer henckel

We left em all too it and bought a nice bunch of carrots and sat down for the best banana milkshake we’ve ever had.


People queing to see saint mateus, note the female towel wearers.


Cowboys kickin back

After getting kicked out of our hotel (as it was the main day of the festy and booked up) Michelle kindly offers to stow our bags and we set out our camp mats in the dining room of her hostel.



The Hostel is a welcome relief from the crowded dusty town and we relax before heading up the hill to attempt to find the party and dancing. No one seemed to know when or where it was meant to be, we did however find the band practicing. They were playing some very jolly tunes indeed, strangely none of the crowd watching were dancing nor even tapping their feet to the infectious euphonium grooves.. weird!!



We followed them down to the main sq where we expected the dancing would begin.

It didn’t.

Someone mentioned they were not dancing out of respect or something silly. I couldn’t help feeling sorry for the band but more than anything we couldn’t stop jigging about. We did get a few moody looks from anti foot-tapping officers. So that was Saturday night, no drinking, no dancing and groups of men looking slightly menacingly at us as we are plundged into the darkness of another powercut.

So we stumble back to the hotel under and overwhelmed all in one go. We bed down on the stone floor and finally drop off to the sound of extremely loud fireworks that are still going on in the morning when we wake.


Finally a decent drink

On Sunday we had an amazing breakfast, Orange juice followed by a rather delicious piece of …. You guessed it chicken, but with plenty of meat on it and no fat. We couldn’t do any pottery as all the people that usually make it were busy with the festival, the museum was still closed, we’d looked at all the saints and given the second hand clothes a second rumage and had spent too long watching the con artist with his ‘which cup is the ball under?’ trick, he was making a killing. We’d eyeballed the stooges and decided it was time to skidaddle before any trouble started . Time to leave perhaps? so we headed for the bus and waited……





and waited...


others left in style

we waited…..

Every Woman and her melon, Every man and his pig were trying to get out of town.

We watched in horror at the desperate scrambles to get onto any passing vehicle.
No time for chivalry here as woman and children fall by the wayside.

One particular truck was so full it ended up careering out of control backwards towards us then down the hill almost squashing several people who had to leap out of the way before it came to a sudden halt in a ditch. Disaster narrowly averted.

Patricia tries to convince us to shove our way onto one of these things or an equally impossibly full bus with all our rucksacks but Jackies having not of it.


A bag of oranges, easier to look after than goldfish.

We spent a few more hours watching the madness of the masses, before cutting our losses and heading back to the Hostel that now has rooms.




simple childrens toys

Michelle turned up and we all piled into a pickup and were driven up to the Mirador overlooking the town. We certainly got to see a lot more stuff when she was around. It was great to get above the hustle and bustle and gaze out over the surrounding countryside.

Michelle is impressed with Jackies photos and talks about using some for her article and paying us, ooooh!





That evening is the procession of St Mateus around the village, back at the Hotel we watch from the balcony.

The usual powercut added to the magic of the candlelit procession. They pass below us, the saint bathed in colourful light, proceeded by bangers being let off and the band we saw yesterday playing the same jolly tune.

We see their lights snaking round the small town, they do several curcuits before Mateus is taken back to church. Glad we were forced into staying.



Decide to stay for the day, in the hope that we can do some pottery and go for the hike the next day. We wandered the market, which was in the process of being packed away, it really started to feel like the aftermath to Glastonbury.


the bfg makes an apperance much to the delight of all

It was interesting just hanging about watching people. The food stalls must have made a killing, the milkshake man even refused a tip!!!

Everything is being packed away and carted off in huge trucks reviealing for the first time the town.






cats and dogs in harmonious scoffing


tardis pepsi machines everywhere

All this rubbish and junk that the school children are now responsible for cleaning up, poor souls.


more little men



The following day Jackie wakes up with a stinking cold, so we decide to stay again. We go down to the picturesque river for a walk but head back after finding its been used as the festival loo.

All the food stalls are gone now leaving only one make shift front room restaurant in town serving? you guessed it, beans, egg, torteas & rice our favourite meal, uuuuuuhhh!



I visit the pottery museum which is finally open, and accompany Michelle to where one of the potters lives. I can have a go tomorrow if I want but I think we’ll be leaving town.. the plastic fires have started.and the peace corps volunteers are off to a cock fight…go figure . its time to go.


Interesting experience, would like to come back and see the place as it should be, simple, quiet and pretty.