My last morning in Copán Ruinas was spent in a leisurely fashion. It was a beautiful little town, reminiscent of Tupiza with green mountains instead of red.

I lazed about greeting the friendly locals and unadventurously ate at Llama del Bosque again. Hondurans are either naturally late risers or affected by slothful tourists in Copán, because few places were open and I was the only one in the restaurant.

Copán Ruinas is considered the most popular spot in Honduras apart from the Bay Islands. However, it was off-season, so the two Irish gals and one's Mexican boyfriend—fellow hotel guests—were the first tourists I actually spoke to. They had already spent time on Utila, seen the ruins, and were heading back to Guatemala later that day.

After a pleasant chat at a coffee shop, the fun really began: hello and goodbye to my new acquaintances, and on to Gracias. I headed to the bridge where the buses gathered, but before the Bluebird buses even came into view, I was quickly ushered onto a waiting minivan. I didn't know if I should argue for a full-size bus or not, but decided this would at least fill up faster.

The ride was beautiful but soon grew uncomfortable; luckily the crossroads town of La Entrada was not terribly far away. Once there, I was basically yelled at until I understood I needed to get on a bus to Santa Rosa. I asked if the bus continued on to Gracias, quite possibly asking incorrectly, and believed the answer to be yes. I assumed the bus would simply stop in Santa Rosa and move on, so after paying my 35Lps fare, I settled into my seat to enjoy the view. The creaky Bluebird was only about half-full, leaving room for children to walk up and down the aisles with hopeful smiles and bread or trinkets for sale.

The relative comfort did not last long. Once in Santa Rosa, what felt like the entire bus turned around and yelled at me to RUN for the bus to Gracias. Now my stammering confusion came from their calling it "Gracias Lempira! Gracias Lempira!" As in the capital of the Lempira department...but I didn't realize it at the time. I climbed apprehensively onto the new chicken bus, fully expecting to be taken to the other Gracias, which is actually the department on the other side of the country.

Fortunately, there is only one Gracias in this part of Honduras, so after I squeezed into a seat next to a man who hadn't bathed in a week, I relaxed. This rather beaten-up bus was standing room only. The high point came when the bus attendant moved my backpack from the back area onto an empty seat and at one of the many stops to cram in yet another family, I watched in horror as it rolled out the door. Thankfully everyone noticed, and called to the bus attendant to return it to me. Losing that wouldn't have been particularly auspicious on my third day in Honduras.

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