Copan: Maya's Cultural Heart

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The biggest draw in mainland Honduras, Copán features amazingly complex sculptures unique among the Mayan civilization. In addition to its beautiful sculptures, Copán was considered the cultural center for 400 years due to its advancements in astronomy and hieroglyphics. The ruins are in great condition and well worth the trip for any visitors to Honduras; many travelers hop over the border from Guatemala just for a peek.

In addition to the ruins, the nearby town of Copán Ruinas is a valuable stop in its own right. A beautiful cobble-stoned town encircled by rolling hills, Copán Ruinas charmed me quickly. Friendly locals, an inviting atmosphere, and beautiful surroundings to explore on foot or horseback make it a great place to spend a couple days.

Quick Tips:

The ruins at Copán open at 8AM. If you are interested in taking photos, be aware the light gets bright and flat early so it's best to go right as the park opens.

Honduran food can be pretty bland, but in Copán Ruinas, tourists = fusion food. Whether you've been traveling in Honduras a while and need a break from baleadas or you're just starting out with days of rice and beans to look forward to, Copán Ruinas is a good spot to fill up on more interesting dishes.

Getting off the bus in Copán can be an intense experience, especially if you've taken the "rich" Hedman Alas bus. If you're determined to get to a specific hotel, you will have to physically and mentally push through the insistent hotel touts when you arrive.

Best Way To Get Around:

Copán Ruinas town is easy to reach from San Pedro Sula. Buses in a range of qualities ply the route, with the best being the luxury bus company Hedman Alas. The small Hedman Alas bus terminal is in a quiet, safe part of town, and the ride costs .

Copán is very small so everything can be reached by walking—including the ruins themselves. However, mototaxis are also widely available and very inexpensive.

Hedman Alas has its own bus terminal in town, but if you are heading to Gracias or back to San Pedro Sula via chicken bus, the buses leave down the hill near the bridge, on the road leading toward the ruins.

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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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As soon as we pulled into the Copán Ruinas station, hotel touts surrounded the bus. Considering how few people came off the bus, it was absolute overkill. I was drained from travel so I allowed a persistent man to sway me from walking to backpacker favorite Hotel Gemelos and taking a ride to Hotel Mar Jenny.

The hotel was quite nice, albeit more than I wanted to pay. I was shown 3 different rooms, but in my dazed state I didn't know what I should have been looking for and simply took the last one. $10 got me a well-sized private room with bathroom and TV, complete with towels and toilet paper; however, I'd be perfectly happy in a cheaper room without TV. Especially considering my TV didn't change channels and was stuck on awful Spanish-language music videos.

I wasn't sure how I felt about the hotel tout. He started out friendly enough, but for some reason I couldn't even be bothered to remember his name, as I didn't want to engage him any further. I decided to opt for a horse ride the next day, even though I felt it was overpriced. The tout also insisted on giving me a ride to the Copán ruins in the morning, even though I was pretty sure it could be quickly reached by walking, or cheaply by mototaxi.

He then showed me the view from the roof. Standing a bit too close, he proceeded to tell me—unsolicited—he'd once had an Asian girlfriend. Thoroughly skeeved, I ignored my lingering chill/sleep-deprivation from the day of walking through rain, and hit the town.

Ready for the Honduran specialty, I headed to Carnitas Nia Lola for baleadas and a couple of local brews—Imperial. Baleadas are basically beans, cheese and cream in a folded flour tortilla, just lightly warmed rather than griddled like a quesadilla. Tasty, hit the spot, but nothing particularly special.

Carnitas Nia Lola was very popular. The downstairs area was filled with locals having a drunkenly happy night out. An American couple at a nearby table discussed upcoming wedding plans in Roatán. At the table next to mine, three friendly Honduran men grinned broadly any time they entered my peripheral vision.

Eventually they used the time-tested technique of sending free beers my way. After a couple beers and some basic polite small talk, they cajoled me into joining them at their table. They were staying in the same hotel as I was, visiting from elsewhere in the country; beer erased my memory of where. After a fairly stilted conversation about travel and the US, they paid for my meal and drinks and offered me a ride back the hotel.

Copán Ruinas is tiny, and there's almost never a reason not to walk. However, I'd had five beers, the town had shut down by 10pm, and my hotel was on top of a steep hill. Perhaps it wasn't truly that steep, but in my general state it felt San Francisco-high. I might have reconsidered in a larger city, but with such pleasantly drunk men and only a 5-block drive, I thought, what's the harm?

The harm came after we arrived safely at the hotel. Although I gave the men the slip while they were parking, it was easy to figure out what room the sole Asian girl was staying in; one of the men proceeded to pound on my door screaming my name for 30 minutes. That's not normal, is it?

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I figured accepting a ride to the ruins meant I could get there earlier, but the obnoxious hotel tout insisted—despite my knowledge otherwise—that the site did not open until 8:30. I affirmed I wanted to arrive at 8:00 anyway, but he simply refused. In retrospect, I cannot explain why I didn't take $5 back and find my own way to the ruins. However, while it was certainly my fault for agreeing to his conditions, it was hardly obvious that he'd take a leisurely breakfast first, then chat with his buddies, and only then deign to take me to the ruins at 9:00.



At the boleteria, a sign clearly stated the opening hour of 8AM. I pointed this out and the idiot claimed the ticket window opened 30 minutes before the actual entrance. There is essentially no distance between these points that would make this logical, but I steamed even more when the sign at the entrance was also clearly marked 8AM. I was so happy to be rid of him.



Brilliant red macaws lined the entrance gate, completely oblivious to the tourists trickling in. The number seemed to grow every time I glanced at the entrance. It was beautiful, and not just a bit like "The Birds."



I opted not to hire a guide, but one young man particularly wanted to be hired. He was already leading a good-sized group, but he broke away, ran up to me and asked if I was American, then followed me for a while asking eager questions. Eventually he blurted out that I was pretty and hurried back to his group. I don't know why I didn't see that free guided tour coming my way...I probably could have learned something about Copán.



Copán lives up to the description "archaeological park," looking somewhat like an outdoor museum. It's not a dense jungle-covered city creating a sense of discovery on first sight, but rather a site full of roped-off gorgeously intricate sculptures set on a manicured lawn. This isn't a bad thing, it's just a little short on romance. But its relative lack of fame compared to Guatemala's Tikal means it's very easy to wander off and find a spot away from crowds.



Even though I was annoyed at being delayed by the hotel tout, the late start only affected my photos (mostly very flat); it didn't mean the place was teeming with tourists by any means. Starting out with the stepped structures along the perimeter gave me a chance to explore the ruins alone.



Copán does not feature impressively crafted buildings or pyramids reaching towards the sky, but its delicate sculptures and carvings are its main draw. As the incredibly detailed various stelae and altars in the Great Plaza are the most impressive, most tour groups will be gathered there. Another beautiful sight is the Hieroglyphic Stairway; the 72 steps containing more than 2500 hieroglyphs are permanently under study by archaeologists hoping to read the history of Copán's rulers and are thus covered by a tarp.



The amazing sculptures in the park are mostly duplicates, with the real versions housed in the Sculpture Museum. The museum is an additional $5 fee, but completely worthwhile to enter through a tunnel and be faced with the garishly painted replica of the Rosalila Temple, built in 571. It's a bit of a shock, as seeing ancient ruins with any remaining color is usually rare. The museum also holds additional pieces—notably, a wall of heads—displaying the incredible skill of the Mayan craftsmen.



I took a break from old stones to enjoy Copán's short "nature trail," which winds through the trees and features various educational signs about the Maya. To my surprise, it eventually led to more old stones, a rather small structure. No one else was on the trail that morning.



The quietest spot was the southernmost grouping of structures. I ambled along a wall with grass growing between its stones and found the forested area with a grouping of low buildings; beautiful, but not dramatic enough to bring more visitors. A friendly groundskeeper told me I was in the cemetario and agreed that there were never many people here. He divulged that it was his favorite part of Copán. It was exactly what I'd hoped to see: dark stained buildings rising out of the woods, overgrown grass covering the lower steps, and the whispery echo of the past.

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There was something wrong with my saddle. Within minutes I was feeling tortured and could not figure out why no horse ride has ever hurt me to this degree before. The talkative guide seemed to pity me, but with his utter lack of English I didn't know how to explain why I was in pain. Plus, he was getting on my nerves but I felt horrible for thinking so...he was certainly friendly enough, but I don't always trust friendly folk.



Was I completely evil for wondering why he constantly pointed out the obvious? Granted, my Spanish was not capable of discussing philosophy, but I really didn't need a cowboy to point and exclaim, "Vache! Bananos!"



While waiting for my guide to pick me up, the obnoxious hotel tout tried to act friendly and ask about my future plans in the country. I told him my immediate plans were to visit Gracias—"No, there is nothing to do there," he said dismissively—and then a couple days in San Juan—"There is nothing to do there either. No one ever goes there," he said, looking annoyed. I burst out, "Does ANYTHING interest you?" He listed towns where party bars and loose women were more easily found. I wasn't really that surprised.



I'd paid that asshole $50 for a package combining the ruins in the morning with an afternoon horse ride; subtracting the $10 entrance fee, that meant my ride was still overpriced by at least $20. When I considered that my horse ride in Tupiza cost only $6, and that even at only $10 these may be the priciest ruins I'd visited to this point, I realized Honduras was not a bargain destination—at least, not by my cheap-ass standards.



I don't know why I automatically sign up any time I'm presented with a horse-riding opportunity. I'm terribly frightened of horses, never dreamed of owning a pony as a girl, and always carry too much breakable photography equipment on my person to trot, let alone gallop. And yet, as always, here I was.



But even with the pain emanating from my lower regions, the horse ride was a great deal of fun. We rode out of town along a river, surrounded by beautifully lush banana trees. It wasn't the rainy season, thankfully, but it also wasn't bone-dry; every bit of green in this country glowed and smelled fresh. There weren't many tourists around, and I was impressed to notice how many locals were walking the same long route I was riding.



We took a steep trail up to a Mayan village, the horses weaving from side to side rather than climbing straight up. I'm not sure what I was expecting from the village, but it definitely wasn't a group of small girls encircling me, holding a variety of handmade trinkets in their outthrust hands, eyes glazed, chanting "compras...compras..." in a creepy possessed way. They did not take no for an answer, although they did stop briefly when I held up my camera. Weirded out by their insistence, I readily jumped back on the horse.



The best part of the trip was stopping for a cold drink at Bessie's, a café in the middle of nowhere. Bessie's is owned by a fat American in his 50s and his 27-year-old wife (!), and provided entertainment in the form of their snarky 12-year-old (!!!) daughter. She spoke flawless English with a healthy dose of sarcasm. She cracked jokes, wished she had my hair, and dismissed Copán Ruinas as "not a real town." (Although I'd think it would be better than living on a farm!) She saw my guide on a regular basis; unlike me, she was not ashamed of disliking him and had also noticed that he always pointed out the obvious. When he hinted with a wicked grin that she would marry his son someday, she turned to me and said clearly "I want more for myself."



You can't help but love a gal like that.

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I took a mototaxi back from the ruins and had about 2 hours to stroll around town, checking out the little houses and bustling shopping areas. Before taking my horse ride in the afternoon, I stopped for lunch at Café Via Via, a touristy spot with international fusion fare.



I decided it was too early in my trip to delve into Thai curry (and I happen to pretty picky about my Thai food anyway) so I ordered something called gapachos which were similar to Mexican tostadas. The dish was 2 thick deep-fried tortillas covered in spiced juicy chicken and a salad of chopped tomatoes, cukes and peppers. Topping it off was a pineapple juice smoothie, costing a total of 75 lemps. Via Via wasn't nearly as popular as I expected, considering it was normal lunch time; it was definitely tourist-oriented, with English menus (albeit no English-speaking servers) but no one else was there when I was. Perhaps it was just a slow time of year for Honduras.



After my ass-breaking horse ride on an unsuitable saddle, I decided I needed a treat. At Llama de Bosque I ordered a local specialty called anafre, basically a cheese-and-bean dip warmed over a pot of coals. This pot is shaped vaguely like a pig head...I cannot imagine why.



My version came with chorizo mixed in and freshly-fried, very oily (but yummy!) tortilla chips. With a few Salva Vidas, it was absolutely decadent. It was a monetary splurge too, at 105 lemps (about $5.50).



Llama de Bosque was across the street from Café Via Via, and definitely a large gringo place, so I felt more than a little guilty when in the morning I felt unadventurous and returned for breakfast. The breakfast was delicious, though—one thing I can usually count on in bland Central American cuisine is good hearty breakfasts. This one was no exception, coming with fried eggs, avocado, maduro, cheese, cream and corn tortillas. A fragrant pot of café con leche completed the meal, for a total of 50Lps.



I had sensed that food would not be Honduras' strong point, but everything was decent so far. I certainly wouldn't spend the rest of the trip starving, and was eager to try a few other local specialties.