My flight arrived in San Pedro Sula at 9:40 on a grey, drizzly Monday morning. Despite having only carry-on luggage and not stopping to withdraw money, it was nearly impossible to reach the Hedman Alas bus terminal in time for the 10:40 bus to Copán Ruinas. But I made a game attempt.

Outside the airport, the first taxi driver told me the ride to town was $12. "Doce? Doce?? Doce?!" I repeated over and over...it just didn't sound logical. Perhaps I was overtired from TACA's insane 3:45AM departure time. But no matter how many times I petulantly stormed off, every driver gave me the same rate. I had to give in.

I missed the bus by minutes despite my driver's promises, and secretly, unfairly blamed him for giving me false hope. With a new departure time of 2:30, I had more than 3 hours to kill, lugging all my vintage photography equipment around a city reputed to be Honduras' most dangerous.

Luckily, the Hedman Alas station was in a low-key part of town. In the light rain I tramped to Pizzeria Italia; after what I'd heard about Honduran food, I felt absolutely no guilt over scarfing down a greasy bacon pizza for my first meal in a new country. It was far more food than one person needs but quite tasty as Latin American pizzas go. With two Fantas to quell my sugar cravings, my bill came to a grand total of 125 lempiras—$6.60. An extraordinary amount to spend on lunch in Honduras, but I was tired, a bit cranky, and felt I deserved a treat.

I dawdled at Pizzeria Italia and then at an internet cafe, as I had a heavy backpack and nowhere specific to go. After deciding to walk off the grease, I quickly managed to get lost. I knew I was near the bus station but had gotten disoriented due to the lack of street signs. I had an umbrella in my backpack but didn't feel like pulling it out, so the drizzle built up on my face and hair—yet despite my disheveled appearance, no one as much as stared at me. Eventually a kind older man pointed out the way back to the bus station, even offering to walk with me, but I didn't want to trouble him.

The Hedman Alas bus costs $14 for a 2.5-hour ride, making it the most expensive bus ride I've ever taken outside the States. Accordingly, luxury was on display. An attendant holding an umbrella walked passengers individually from the office to the bus. Once we'd finished boarding, another attendant immediately handed out snacks and drinks. We spread out as the bus was sparsely occupied, perhaps because it was low season or perhaps because the price was prohibitive to locals. Unlike some buses I've taken, this one obligingly left its bathroom unlocked for use, complete with a sign explicitly stating it was for urination only. Not sure how that could be controlled. We were supposed to watch a movie as well, but the DVD player seemed to be broken. I gratefully passed out and missed my first glimpse of Honduran scenery.

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