When I return to the United States, I think I will be selling my apartment and moving into a bus. On a bus, or in a truck, is where I’ve spent a majority of my time the past few weeks for the sake of travel.
Being on a bus or being on the road is starting to feel like my new home.
Last weekend I left the mountains of Olancho, Honduras for the hills of Honduras’ capital city, Tegucigalpa, to visit some friends. Though in the same country, I quickly realized that the two cities are two very different communities.
In the communities of Olancho, I had traveled dirt roads, and in Teguc (as the capital is affectionately nicknamed) I found myself inhaling diesel in the back of a taxi as the driver adeptly maneuvered the crowded streets of the city.
In the mountains I ate beans, eggs and tortillas for breakfast and tortillas, eggs and beans for supper. In Teguc, I consumed every type of Western food imaginable from cappuccinos to cheese pizza, since my friends insisted that I consume something other than typical Honduran fare.
In the mountains, I awoke to the sounds of roosters and cattle, and in Teguc I awoke to the sounds of my friends’ children turning on the TV to watch Saturday morning cartoons.
Many people that I had met in the mountain communities of Olancho had never had the opportunity to complete elementary school, much less high school, while in Teguc I listened as a group of accountants, lawyers and engineers discussed the resolution of the parking situation of their neighborhood.
Two cities, but two very different communities. Before traveling to each community, the mountain villages of Olancho and the capital city of Tegucigalpa, the only difference that existed for me between the two communities was the location of their dots on the map.
Now I realize that geographic location is not the only thing that defines the differences between these two communities.
Despite the noticeable contrast in transportation, diet and lifestyle, I realize that people of Olancho have much in common with the people in Teguc.
The mother in Olancho warns her daughter about walking alone at night just like mothers in Teguc.
The boy at the school in Olancho likes to buy the same bag of potato chips as the boy at the school in Teguc. And as I interact with people in Honduras, in Olancho and Teguc, I realize that many of their hopes, dreams and fears are the same as many of my own hopes, dreams and fears.
We may come from different geographic locations, from different communities, rural mountain communities of Honduras or semi-urban communities of Tennessee, but we’re all human.
And that’s what I love about travel. Through the lens of travel I see the differences and similarities that make us all “people.

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