Monthly Archives: March 2015

In 1980, as a graduate student in film production, I was part of a crew that traveled to Copan, Honduras, to make a short educational movie about the ongoing archaeological excavation. It was an eye-opening experience and it planted the seeds for the kind of filmmaking I ended up doing as a career. We recorded interviews with the archaeologists and shot scenes that helped to elucidate the points they made, including not just the dig itself but the way the local people lived in the same place and conditions as the Maya did more than a thousand years before. I fell in love with the process of analyzing the message and creating sequences that interpret and visualize it. 

I was never interested in Hollywood — my dream job was to work at National Geographic — but I love the process of filmmaking, the creative collaboration with a good crew and the technologies of sound and picture recording, and particularly the challenges of unscripted documentary filmmaking, the travel, shooting in difficult  locations, interviewing non-actors and getting them comfortable in front of the camera, making a gazillion decisions a day on where to put the camera and how to structure a scene, getting the crew to all pull in the same direction, keeping the end goal in mind but still remaining flexible if disaster strikes. It’s stressful, sometimes backbreaking work and I loved it. 

I never got to work for National Geographic but I did have a very satisfying career making corporate image, marketing and public information programs for a lot of high tech companies, with all the the same elements of documentary filmmaking that I fell in love with on that first movie gig in Copan. I couldn’t wait to go back. 

We got to the ruins at opening time to avoid the crowds but the crowds were already gathering, including several school groups. We picked up a guide as recommended and walked toward the park entrance, past the gorgeous macaws. We never tire of macaws, and we even have a soft sculpture macaw adorning Escape Velocity to remind us of our time in Central America.  

The story of Copan is rich and complex and beyond my ability to summarize adequately. You can read more here and here. We did what you should never do, we raced though the ruins and the museum instead of lingering for days. We just didn’t have the time, but better to be here for a day than not to be here at all. 

Our guide Fidel started nearly every sentence with “the archaeologists deciphered….” as he interpreted a significant glyph or recited the successions of the Mayan rulers in the various periods. Within minutes our heads were reeling with too many dates and facts, which Fidel admitted was a common reaction. Research, excavation and reconstruction at this site have been going on for over 150 years and the archaeologists have deciphered many things, apparently at an ever-increasing pace. Luckily the Hondurans have also undertaken serious conservation efforts, protecting the stelae, structures and scupture from the severe weather conditions and too many touchy hands.  Many of the more fragile and precious works have been moved to a new museum, with excellent copies marking the original locations. 



We had a plan. It was aggressive, as our plans often are. It would require a fast car, sharp navigation, and an early start. Melvin, the car guy, had different plans so our early get away went a little pear-shaped from the get go. Melvin arrived with our rental forty-five minutes late and shy one permisso for Guatemala. We would have to follow him back to San Salvador to pick up the additional paperwork and fork over 25 USD.

We tried to leave Bahia del Sol several times only to discover Melvin racing across the parking lot due to another spot of forgetfulness. Each time I had to pull off a narrow access road so that traffic could get by and each time I did, someone would start beeping at me. I was having enough trouble dealing with the strange touchy brakes and an accelerator pedal that at my slightest suggestion was about as progressive as lighting a stick of dynamite. I find this an unfortunate combination in close proximity with walls, curbs, shrubs, and other cars. Beep-beeeeep. There it is again but I still can’t tell where it’s coming from. It’s more of a meep-meeeep than a beep-beeeep. Oh there he goes again. Apparently Melvin just remembered he was forgetting something else so it’s pull over to the side of the access road again, meep-meeeep. Who? What the… I think it’s me! I must be bumping some secret horn button on the steering wheel. How embarrassing. I resolved to be more careful. 

We had to gas up as we entered the out-skirts of San Salvador and having no clue which side of the little white XB Cube (LWC) had the gas fill — maybe this has happened to you — we decided to entertain the patrons of the Puma gas station with a spot of close quarter maneuvering. Around and around we went trying to aline the little white Cube with the correct gas-fill side adjacent to the correct pump. Meep me meeeeping at every turn. It’s like the damn thing has a mechanical version of Tourette’s syndrome. I swear it isn’t meeee.

Next stop was the rental office where I had to meep-meeeep into a tight car park. After I finally got the LWC quiet, Melvin shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry. We don’t know why it does that.” 

Things were, let’s say, quite relaxed at the office but eventually papers were produced that state that we have permission to go to Guatemala. This was not the quick start we’d hoped for but with a little perseverance we felt that we could still make Copan Ruinas before dark. Everyone warned us that under no circumstances should we drive in the dark.  

I can’t explain Central America’s fondness for speed bumps. They aren’t doing their cars any good, I can vouch for that, but they are everywhere, massive, rarely marked, and unpainted. My strategy was to follow somebody and as soon as they were catapulted up into the air I’d hit the brakes. Hard! M. was also given the additional responsibility of yelling SPEED BUMP! fortissimo if she thought she saw one coming and I’d throw out the anchor. This strategy worked most of the time but often even creeping over some of these behemoths the LWC would bottom out  half way across, and usually to the accompaniment of meep-meeeep. Not much of a horn really, it must be worn out. 

M. did her usual stellar job navigating but there were several detours and with the sparse detail of the offline Google maps we were uncomfortable with any kind of an alternate route. When we were turned back at a police barricade for their election party we meep-meeeeped the whole way around. It’s a testament to the El Salvadoran personality that most of the people just thought “ah, more crazy gringos. Let’s wave at them and maybe they’ll stop beeping at us.”

The roads were paved at least and the mountainous switchbacks were lots of fun. SPEED BUMP!…BAM!  meep-meeeep. Ok that was a little fast. We really needed to press on regardless if we’re going to get to Copan in the daylight and we still have two border crossings to do.

We knew we were approaching the frontier with Guatemala as soon as we saw the mile long solid stream of trucks parked nuts to butts waiting to cross the border. It was difficult to know where to go or even park but there’s no way I’m waiting in that line so far away from the office so we just wandered right up to the gate and a guard motioned where to park. The cheerful LWC meeped him too. It was all rather straightforward compared to clearing in with a boat. It’s just a matter of finding the correct line to stand in and smiling even when you really don’t feel like it. 

Aside from the randomly placed speed bumps we seemed to be making good time and when signs started to direct us towards Copan we thought we might still take in the small Copan Ruinas museum and maybe a drive-by too. 

I fell in love at first sight. Steep narrow stone streets with restaurants, hotels, with a town center square and even the worthwhile town museum was still open. 

We found a hotel by getting utterly lost and pulling over to contemplate our life choices and a guy walks over and says, “Are you looking for a hotel?” Why yes we are. How much? Twenty five USD. Where? Right beside you.

Much meeping ensued trying to squeeze the ever meeping LWC into their courtyard car park. Home for the night but first dinner at Twisted Tania’s and if we can find it fast, two-for-one happy hour. I’m beginning to like this Honduras thing.