La Moskitia, Part Two

There are a few points that I missed in the last entry, so I will begin by backtracking. The chance to travel out to La Moskitia just fell into my lap. I heard about the trip through another teacher here, who is friends with a guy named Alfredo. Alfredo, who is Honduran but was born in Chicago, heads up Providence Ministries here in Siguatepeque. He runs an orphanage, and hosts lots of medical missions groups from the States. Alfredo wanted to see what medical needs were in La Moskitia, and figure out how to get a group out there.
I tagged along with Alfredo and a few members of his church, not knowing exactly what our plan was for the week. We met up with another group from Tegucigalpa, and so I was thrown in with lots of people that I didn't know previously. This was a good thing, of course. They spoke a very clear Spanish, and I had little trouble in keeping pace with the conversations.
There were a few North Americans tagging along with the Tegucigalpa group; young guys just out of high school. There was one in my truck who had just arrived the day before, and he looked utterly confused with everything that was happening. The thick clouds of dust gave him a nose bleed, and he had to wear a big hooded sweatshirt to keep from getting sunburn. He tried to wash the dust off of his face at one point, but it only redried in thick rivulets under his eyes like muddy tears.
We were bouncing down the road, which cut through perfect rows of stocky African palms, and all eight of us would pop off the wooden boards when we hit a bump, hover for a moment, and then land in more or less the same order. About two hours into the drive, the back bench gave a loud crack and split in half. Four of us were scattered into luggage and bags of bananas. The ride continued uncomfortably as we tried to do surfing numbers on the piles of sleeping bags. Eventually, I climbed out to stand on the back bumper and hold onto the side bars, which was the best way to ride.
The Caribbean was always close, but never in sight. We took a sharp left turn, and we were right on the sand, with an absolutely empty cerulean sea in front of us. We drove along the hard-packed sections of sand at around 50 miles per hour. We were sprayed by the sea, and the sand made us swerve and drift. There are endless miles of untouched coast. We drove for an hour and a half without seeing a single building. Only a few wirey Garifuna fisherman wandered the beach.
We drove as far east as possible. Where the road ends, the rivers begin. There were three boats waiting for us: long wooden lanchas with motors that held about 15 people. They are similar, in shape and thickness, to a platano. We began what appeared to take 20 minutes; I could see the other side. Once again, the horizon stretched out further and further. We navigated through swampy channels under a canopy of trees, and then into open lagunas with land just barely discernible on the other side. And instead of a destination at the opposite end, we only found more channels. Look at the map below, the lagunas are above where it says 'Gracias A Dios'. After 4 more hours on the boat, we reached the town of Brus Laguna. Completely soaked and dehydrated, we dragged ourselves onto the dock. After a 12+ hour day of traveling, we had arrived!

The computer lab is closing, so I'll have to stop here. I promise these things will get briefer.