The bus drove through Sambo Creek for about ten minutes before its journey ended, literally at the end of the road where it met the beach; and in front of the only Sambo Creek, proper, "hotel." Sambo Creek is a coastal town of about 8,000, mostly Garifuna, inhabitants. It has a very Caribbean feel.
Traveling in Honduras isn't terribly dangerous, but there are some times that you want a little security when it comes to your belongings (more specifically, everything you depend on)... The hotel didn't have any locks on the doors. It could be a place that you wouldn't have to worry about someone going into the room, but as the only travelers around, we kind of stood out and certainly appeared comparatively wealthy. In general, Garifuna are incredibly friendly, but desperate economic situations lead to desperate measures. More on this later.
We learned that there are two hotels a short walk down the beach. So, off we went across a creek running into the ocean where local Garifuna women and children were playing and washing clothes. We quickly acquired three young "guides" that walked with us the half-mile or so to the gates of the two hotels. Mind you, these gates are on the beach...
Seeing the contrasts between Sambo Creek and these two hotels alludes to the reason for the gates. Sambo Creek was made up almost entirely of Garifuna people. If Honduras is poor, the

We stayed at Helen's and it was a luxurious stay compared to most of the other accommodations I had stayed in within Honduras. It did have the only in-room rodent that I saw too. The place is really nice though with a couple of jungly pools, a beautiful beach, a really nice courtyard and rooms, and a good restaurant serving local - Garifuna caught - fish and lobster, among other things. We had a pleasant conversation with the owner and he said he would inquire about a boat to the Cayos Cochinos. It wasn't long before a couple (a Canadian scientist and his Beautiful Honduran Girlfriend) showed up and inquired about a trip to the islands and that sealed the deal; four was enough justification for a Sambo Creek boat owner and fisherman to take us to the islands for about $15 each. It was early to bed that night.
We met on the beach in front of the hotel just after sunrise. The boats bow was beached and the motor was churning and bobbing in the white wash from the waves. With no time for formalities, the four of us waded into the wash and jumped aboard. And we were off - cruising at full throttle over the swells and into the sunrise.
There was never a doubt about our captian being a fisherman. As we were heading to the islands, he held his bare foot on a stick with line wrapped around it, the end of which was draped over his knee and dragging in the water behind us. Who needs a fishing pole anyway?
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