“A nation misunderstood”. Honduras, one man’s view

The sun beats down. It does so fiercely. At this moment however, I remain cool . I happen to be sitting below the kind, encompassing shade of a large Palm tree. Crisp, white grains of sand slide between my toes as I stand up. I do so in the attempt to see if any ‘coconut bread’ vendors are coming along. So they are. Sliding back down the Palm’s trunk I arrange myself comfortably on the dry sand. A bronzed coconut rolls off another near tree and thumps upon the neatly attended beach. Some local children run past me, one shrieks