Restless Me          Base Camp for the Global Traveler

home     |     about us     |     books & tunes     |     forum     |     events     |     links     |     archives     |      write for us

Page: 1 | 2 | 3

The Last Good Weekend (cont.)

My first few days back in the States, the voices I heard in the forest faded in out of my mind, along with the music from San Juancito’s fiesta. Then one day, nothing but silence. I didn’t think too much of it until I began to notice reports of Hurricane Mitch pummeling the entire region and reducing it to a haven for more misery and disease than most folks care to name. I tried for days to e-mail Joe and others I’d met there, but most of my messages just bounced back.

 

Two weeks later, after both the hurricane and the news reports subsided, I got an e-mail from Joe. He apologized for the delayed reply, explaining that the clean-up efforts were keeping him busy. He also wrote: “Remember San Juancito? It’s gone! Mudslides took it away. You should see the carnage down here, it’s unbelievable . . . I tell you man, we had the last good weekend this country’s going to offer for a while.”

 

The last good weekend. It was a great weekend. But looking at the photos, I could only imagine that steep crevasse channeling a wall of mud past the ghost town and upon the village of San Juancito. I looked at the police on their front porch minding a children’s fiesta and thought of how quiet it must be now. I wanted to imagine their pride and their determination to rebuild, but it was difficult. Joe never said if anyone survived.

 

He did describe rescue efforts in Tegu. He told of pulling survivors from collapsed buildings and plucking the dead from tree limbs where floods had crested. Mostly his stories focused on blowing debris dams out of the rivers to prevent further flooding. No one else in Honduras had the munitions expertise to do that, he said.

 

In short, they did more for the initial recovery effort than any relief agency in the world. And for a moment, I actually wished I could’ve been there — as a Marine. Hell, they even rescued a few hopelessly stranded Peace Corp volunteers.

 

I scarcely heard from Joe again in the following weeks. All the while the official count of the dead and missing crept closer to 15,000. Among them was mayor César “El Gordito” Castellanos, who perished in a helicopter crash while surveying the damage.

Finally, after many months, I started getting firsthand reports from San Juancito. The first came from a Red Cross volunteer, the second from a Baptist missionary. Details varied, but both agreed that, ironically, the mines that had created the town were instrumental in destroying it. They’d filled with water; and when they reached their limit, they channeled a debris flow through the town in the crevasse.

 

The missionary’s report contained the best news. He said that the people of San Juancito had been aware of the impending catastrophe and evacuated the area in time. He also seemed more optimistic about recovery efforts.

 

Later reports would prove him right. The town did recover, in a manner of speaking. It rebounded with new handicraft centers modeled after those in Valle de Angeles. New accommodations sprouted up to supplement the dormitory in El Rosario. Even Pepsi joined the renovation efforts by sponsoring a hotel and a visitors center. Transportation services have been added, shuttling hikers between town and park. And tourists herded through today, they don’t seem to notice that anything is missing.

 

(A version of “The Last Good Weekend” first appeared in Outpost magazine.)

Page: 1 | 2 | 3

 

– – – – –

 

Stephen Ausherman is the author of the award-winning novel, Typical Pigs, and a collection of travel essays, Restless Tribes. His next novel, Fountains of Youth, is slated for publication in June 2005. Visit www.restlesstribes.com