Today after work, Adoña, Alex, and I vowed to climb up to the Coca-Cola sign that is perched halfway up the western mountains above San Pedro Sula. As a security precaution, I have decided not to run around the city, so I was excited to get a little exercise at this spot that is a haven for Hondurans looking for a little athletic adventure. As we drove toward the base of the mountain, the jungle of cement and cars ended in a sea of green. Nature’s chorus of birds and breezes quickly replaced the artificial sounds of civilization. Higher and higher, our feet followed the serpentine path up the majestic mountain. Dollar signs loomed larger with every passing moment, but these incredible vistas were not solely to be enjoyed by the rich. Squatters, too, had made their mark and were happy to offer a cold water to passersby, at a premium of course.
Finally, after collecting more S’s than are in a Scrabble game, it was our turn to go…. C-O-C-A-C-O-L-A. 14 points, not bad at all. Hundreds of feet below, thousands of people carried on with millions of mundane chores that make life possible. Banks, churches, homes, and hotels all simultaneously burst into light as dusk was fast approaching. Way off in the distance, a single light pulsated with a message of danger or perhaps hope, but we were unable to decode its message. Turning our backs on the city, our feet made their way back on the trail, fireflies pointing the way home in the darkness.