Tegucigalpa: En la Ciudad de la Furia

Dear readers,

Three or four months ago, I went to a nightclub named Noches Magicas, close to downtown Tegucigalpa, or Tegus, as it is more affectionately known. It’s an after party place, a haven for those who aren’t content on returning home after bars and clubs have kicked everyone out in the Godly hours. It’s a venue for the true nocturnals, also known as dirty stop-outs. And on that night, I was just that.

It’s in a hotel. I was told it had been abandoned but the social media pages suggest otherwise. There is a swimming pool plonked in the middle and different rooms playing different genres of music, catering for all sorts, because that’s exactly the type of person Noches Magicas attracts: all sorts. There were folks of all ages, generations, social classes, backgrounds and walks of life, dancing, smiling, chatting, kissing, God can only tell you what else, along with the doormen, spotting sins of all sorts. But I like that: a blend of people of many orientations, tastes and spices of life, all under one roof, of varying states of inebriation, all enjoying themselves. It reminded me of a place I used to hang out in Birmingham in my youth called Moseley Dance Centre. A haunt, with a similar vibe. But for Tegus, there aren’t many places like this. I feel it’s quite unique, but all cities and towns require such a place, for the dirty stop-outs of life.

Sadly, I have no photos. A fool, I am. Or maybe not, because I too was in an intoxicated state.

On that night, at some ghastly late hour, I decided to walk home. It’s about 4 or 5 miles from where I live, mostly flat, and it took me about 2 hours. I knew the route and my legs carried me on automatic pilot. I didn’t feel I was going through any particularly dangerous barrios, but I get it: it only takes one ghoul to put you to sleep. I don’t know what my rationale was at the time when I made the decision to walk, other than I just wanted fresh air and to spend some time alone with my thoughts. A strange hour and a place to stroll, I agree. Suffice to say, Tegus isn’t the safest place to walk alone at night, but no city is. “Especially for a white, gringo-looking dude like you,” a friend told me the next day, an echo of many other comments I received from friends and family. There were quite a few adjectives, actually: crazy, irresponsible, silly, selfish, daft, foolish, arrogant for thinking I was untouchable. Maybe it was just my flow of thought at that moment, as I’m usually more sensible (kind of). Then again, what they don’t know but will do now; I’ve walked home loads of times, and I love it.

It’s not that I enjoy taking risks. But I don’t feel unsafe in Tegucigalpa. Hondurans look at me bizarrely when I say that. People are generally sweet, nice and have a good vibe here, with a bit of boisterousness to add to the spice. Don’t get me wrong, I know very well that the barrios marginales (marginal neighbourhoods (sorry, I really dislike the English term slum. I find something so outdated, undignified and disrespectful about the word)) can be very dangerous. I don’t want to underscore the violence in Honduras and paint the place as a safe haven, nor do I want to pinch a patriotic nerve, as I know many Hondurans are tired of having their country portrayed with “the most dangerous country in the world” narrative. One shouldn’t drop their guard, of course; it would be irresponsible to encourage folks to flaunt their valuables to the world walking down a street. However, I sometimes feel more unsafe walking the streets of Birmingham, London or even Preston, especially at night, than Tegus. I’ve been robbed and assaulted more times in Europe than I have in my 13 years in Honduras. One might point out that in Tegus I live in a gated community, true. Nor do I have not the faintest idea of what it’s like to live in a barrio run by gangs. But still, generally, I feel it is less likely that a drunk smashes a bottle over my head or a gang stabs me for no reason in Honduras, than the UK. I’ve seen less bar-room fights and had less people starting on me because I accidentally looked at them a little funny.

That’s not to say these things don’t happen in Honduras. I acknowledge there are many variables to take into consideration. In Honduras, I enjoy an anonymous life where I don’t frequent the cantinas and bars in certain neighbourhoods, where as in my younger days in the UK, I was probably more carefree and enjoyed going out more. I might be painting my native country in negative colours, as well as crafting an image of Honduras that many feel might seem as unrealistic, but I’ve heard other Europeans in Honduras say similar things. It’s bizarre to say it, and maybe contrary to popular belief, but an honest observation, it is.

En La Ciudad de la Furia

Tegucigalpa has a certain melancholic charm, but it shines even more after the sun goes down, and I love to embrace it. Even with the energy, excitement and drama that comes with the nightlife in a Latin American city, Tegus possesses something magnetic that makes it hard to depart the place. Maje, as I mentioned above, I’ve been here for 13 years, and while I might moan about it now and then, it’s difficult to claw myself away. Please excuse my machista language, but for many years, many Capitalinos have given their city a colourful little tag:

La puta: ugly by day, beautiful by night.

And that’s the certain melancholic charm I was telling you about.

On the walk home, I took a few photos. Despite the intoxicated state, my senses were heightened. I embraced the bumps and wails of the night. And when I got home I wrote my immediate thoughts in an Instagram post. See below:

It’s not wise to walk around Tegucigalpa in the wee hours, especially with the swill of alcohol flowing in the bloodstream. Many people have reminded me and rightly scolded me. Such is life. But at night, like anywhere, your perception of the environment transforms and dimensions change in the contrasts of light. The unGodly hour attracts a different type of person; the obsessive joggers, the lonely strollers, the after party’ers, the criminals, the intoxicated drivers, and those starting or finishing a long shift of work: the crazed nocturnals of life. There are also the sounds and noises and bumps in the night: the music from an after party, the wails of late night love-making, arguments and laughter, a lonely engine of a car running, the hum of a generator, a dog barking.

In Tegucigalpa, embracing the city without traffic is divine. You notice the little things in an intoxicated meditative state. You feel at peace.

So many people here tell me that the Soda Stereo song “En la Ciudad de la Furia” is about Tegus. Even though I think it is about Buenos Aires I agree. It seems Tegucigalpa is adopting it, or one better, stealing it.

On that note, I say goodnight or goodbye, depending on what time of day you read these very words. And for the Capitalinos: don’t walk the city at night. Leave that to idiots like me.