The big city

The letters C O CA – C O L A are nestled in the hills above San Pedro Sula and outside a pizza restaurant stands an armed guard. Walking the grid of calles and avenidas, I inhale the copious exhaust of cars that honk in warning as they pass through each intersection. One store offers an “explosión de precios bajos,” another sells Converse sneakers. Water trucks and white taxis are everywhere. Moneychangers near the plaza flash their bills and say dollares, dollares.

The postcards for sale in the Mercado Guamilto depict the cathedral in the Parque Central and a few other older-looking buildings, but more exemplary is the corner marked by Wendy’s, KFC, and Burger King. When I waited for the Rapidito bus to the city earlier in the day, passersby greeted me on the street with adiós, and an old woman even grabbed my arm to tell me Buenas. But in San Pedro, all is economic: ¿Que quiere?

On the ride home we drive past a building with a huge picture of Tweety bird. A couple near the roadside cuts grass in their front lawn with machetes. I nearly fall asleep on the way home—I’m a small-town girl now, and the big city life wears me out.