TCC Territory #14. May 15-17, 2026
San Pedro Sula
Part One — San Pedro Sula is emphatically not a tourist destination. The city is rife with violent crime, you cannot go out at night, and though the situation is not as bad as it was a decade ago, street gangs/organized crime are still very much in operation and the area is a critical hub for international drug trafficking. It is not safe to take a taxi or an Uber unless the driver comes recommended by a trusted source. Public transit is commonly hit by robbers and gangbangers. A tall and solo female gringo like me is a prime target for harassment, which I did indeed receive (it was verbal only, I’m fine). However, I was mentally prepared for all this and feel the three minutes of negativity I experienced was a small price to pay for otherwise safely visiting the former “Murder Capital of the World.”
I also need to say that my pre-arranged taxi drivers and the hotel staff at Casa del Arbol are the nicest people, and they took really good care of me.
Honduras has a lot to offer in terms of tourism. Maya ruins, gorgeous beaches, jungle excursions…and those experiences are in generally safe areas if you have standard street smarts, do your research, and use tour guides and prearranged trusted drivers. Since I am a constant traveler who has recently already seen Maya ruins (Belize), beautiful beaches (Costa Rica and The Bahamas), and jungles (Costa Rica and Guatemala), I decided to do the unusual thing of visiting San Pedro Sula. Most fly into San Pedro Sula and then take connecting flights to the northern islands, etc. I went into San Pedro Sula itself. This is where my “country counting” goal kicks in…there is no way anyone should travel to Honduras and go to San Pedro Sula itself as some kind of vacation. I went because international flights go there, some culture and history can be had, and I figured I could check off Honduras with a short trip. As far as all that goes, mission accomplished.
I am no stranger to navigating sketchy places. Both in Chicago and New York, way back in the day, I visited some not-at-all-safe neighborhoods on a regular basis. I feel I have sharp instincts that come to my aid when I need them. That being said, I’m not an idiot. I prearranged transportation with drivers who had great reviews from other solo travelers, and I stayed at a hotel that is locally owned and has excellent security along with a reputation for taking good care of their guests. I know how to walk in a city without a purse and in layered clothing that hides a million different zippered and deep front pockets, I try to avoid having my phone out in public, I walk with confidence and keep to myself, and I make good use of hotel safes.
There will be other places I visit where I will employ a local guide to accompany me every time I step out of my lodging. For San Pedro Sula, however, I decided I could handle the two or three hours I would spend visiting my four places of interest on my own. From my hotel, I would walk a total of ten short blocks in a mostly square-like configuration. I would go inside two of the places, a cathedral and a museum, and those places could give me a slight safety reprieve.
Part Two — The day-by-day (long).
May 15. I arrive in San Pedro Sula and fly through immigration since the line is nonexistent. I accidentally pre-filled out the wrong customs form, and the officers are polite and helpful as I quickly complete the correct requirement.
My hired driver is the first person I see when I come out of arrivals. His name is Kerim Perdomo, and he kindly leads me to an airport food vendor so I can grab a bite before we head to the city.
I arrive at Hotel Casa del Arbol, and Wendy at the front desk lets me check in early at no charge even though it’s only 9am. This is a good thing, because there is no way I want to wander the streets with my heavy backpack.
I venture out only once the rest of the day to buy some food at a nearby mini market. A much older woman shadows me in the store, getting way too close. All my valuables are in the hotel safe except for one credit card that is in a place she cannot reach no matter how close she gets. She stares and stands closely while I choose what I want. She only does this with me and not anyone else who walks in. I politely tell her several times in Spanish that I do not need help, but she ignores this and shadows me anyway. I don’t know if she is trying to be helpful to the obvious foreigner, if she thinks I am a thief, or if she is trying to see where I keep my valuables. I keep my elbows up and ready, and I buy my few things from the friendly young women at the register and leave without incident.
I hear loud and festive music from my hotel room, and I try to decide whether or not to risk going out to investigate. I take the risk and find out it’s a local school group’s band performing on the sidewalk. The music sounds great, though. Lots of drums. I watch for a few minutes and then return to my room.
May 16. The day’s goals are 1) to see four things: Parque Central, St Peter the Apostle Metropolitan Cathedral, Estacion F.F.N.N., and Museo de Antropologia e Historia and 2) to return to my hotel without having been hurt, mugged, or pickpocketed.
I eat a delicious breakfast made by the hotel’s chef, Perla. I spend the next hour memorizing Google Map’s depiction of the entire area in which I will be walking. I will need to pull out my phone to take photos, but I will do so quickly and sparsely. In no way will I spend any time outside staring at my phone for navigation. First I will go to the park, then the cathedral, then the outside of the old train station, then finally the museum. Nothing but my phone, a photocopy of my passport, and $5 cash comes with me. Everything else stays in the hotel safe.
The four block walk to the park is uneventful. I even find some sheltered areas (my back and side to walls so no one can sneak up behind me) to quickly take photos. The park has a couple of police officers. I am able to take quick photos of the “San Pedro Sula” sign and even one short video. I sit for a minute on a bench and look around. Street vendors apparently fill this space during the day, but I guess I am here too early for that.
Cathedral de San Pedro Apóstol, built in 1949, is across the street. It is beautiful and solemn. I sit for a while in various spots and discreetly take photos of the ceilings and walls (locals are here praying and I want to be respectful).
Estación F.F.N.N., San Pedro Sula’s old train station, is a block and a half away. Honduras had a national railroad system once upon a time, but hurricanes Fifi and Mitch wiped out most of the infrastructure and brought that era to an end. I leave the cathedral and pass through a group of four guys on the sidewalk who immediately start calling out “Hi there lady!” I ignore them and go to the train station. There’s a giant tree across the street, and I am able to stand behind it and quickly and unobtrusively take out my phone and snap some photos of the station.
I have to head back to the cathedral and then make a turn down some narrow streets to get to the museum. When I reach the cathedral, one of the guys who previously called out approaches me while I wait to cross the street. He steps right in front of me and asks “Can I ask you a couple of questions?” I am aware of the three other men watching me. My instinct says to tell this guy “No” in a no-nonsense way, so that is what I do. He steps forward and repeats himself. I step to the side and repeat myself. The guy goes back to his friends and I cross the street.
The museum is three short blocks away. Halfway through the first block, I hear a “HEY!” I know in my gut this is directed at me, but the voice is not close, and I ignore it. At the end of the first block, the voice is closer. I turn to quickly look, mainly to see exactly where the yeller is, and it is one of the other guys. He looks angry. I guess he didn’t like the fact that this woman wasn’t smile-y and subservient to his little friend..? The man does not scare me, he just pisses me off. I am a 55-year-old woman who, in my life, has experienced a ton of bs from boys who thought they were men, and I’m over it. Also, I am a short block and a half away from a museum with a bank across the street. I’ve noticed in Central America that banks tend to have visible police presence standing in front of them. That being said, I am in San Pedro Sula, one of my goals is to get back to my hotel safely and with all my belongings, and I have not seen even one other gringo. Also, this guy has three friends, and for all I know he is playing “distraction” while his amigos stealthily approach. This is neither the time nor the place to let my anger get the best of me.
Nevertheless, when our eyes meet, I roll mine. It just happens. I simply cannot keep all the “F You” submerged. Then I turn and casually keep walking. Never run from an agitated dog or you’ll trigger their chase instinct.
The guy goes verbally ballistic. He does not hurl obscenities, though. Instead, he keeps following and yells, “I have weed, you asked for weed and I have some, baby, little girl” over and over. Perhaps he is trying to get me in trouble with the police? I am not afraid of that since I of course did not ask anyone for weed, and it’s probably obvious to others that the guy is trying to harass. I pay close auditory attention to his general location, and he never seems to get closer. I see no shadows approaching in my peripheral vision. I do feel incredibly angry, though, and I so very much want to do something to him with my anger, but I keep reminding myself that the way to win here is to just keep casually walking and reach the museum which is now thirty seconds away. As soon as I reach the block with the museum and the bank (which does indeed have an armed guard out front), the guy goes quiet. I look back once I reach the museum door, and the guy has disappeared.
Museo de Antropología e Historia showcases Maya and other indigenous peoples’ artifacts, and it offers a brief history of Honduras colonial times. I spend forty-five minutes there before heading back to my hotel.
My hotel is three blocks away in a different direction from the cathedral and the park, and I don’t see or hear the little yelling man or his friends again. I reach my hotel safely after making another quick stop at the same mini-market I visited yesterday (no shadowing older lady this time). I spend the rest of the day catching up with friends online and making sure my travel documents are in order for my trip to Panama.
May 17. I eat another delicious breakfast but then have a little stomach upset afterward. I don’t think it’s the food. It’s likely the fact that I forgot and brushed my teeth with tap water the night before (oops). I take some Imodium along with my anti-malaria meds and Eliquis, and I throw in some acetaminophen just in case. Don’t want any health issues at all on a transit day. I get a ride to the airport with Don, Perla’s husband. At the airport, a woman gets right up against me for no reason while I wait in line at the ticket counter (no online check-in). Out go my elbows. When I reach the ticket counter she rushes up behind me again and tries to look at my passport when I open it for the flight representative. This is very odd, and I don’t know why she is doing this. I block her view and snap “No” at her.
I am questioned for a long while at Honduras exit immigration. At one point the man asks me to wait while he goes and confers with his colleague. He comes back after a while and asks for my yellow fever vaccination card even though I am not going anywhere in Panama where yellow fever is considered endemic. I do actually have a yellow fever vaccination card, and I show it to him. He makes a copy/scans every page of it, even the blank ones. He eventually stamps my passport and lets me through. At the security line, I am body scanned once and frisked twice.
The weird woman who was in the check-in line is on my flight to Panama. I start getting paranoid and feel my heart race. Maybe it’s the meds cocktail messing with my vitals. I don’t see the woman again after we land.
Next: Panama City, which I’ve been looking forward to for quite some time.
