Bidding farewell to beautiful Costa Rica in 1982 was not easy. We were
leaving behind many friends. But the thought of arriving in our beloved
Honduras seemed to diminish our sadness. There was only one stop between
San José and our destination in Honduras. That was in the land of
turmoil--Managua, Nicaragua.
It wasn't long until we could see Lago de Nicaragua, the large lake
near Managua. We knew we'd be landing in just moments. My mind temporarily
drifted to a few years earlier when we had driven through Nicaragua on
our way to Costa Rica from Tegucigalpa. That was in 1975--before the Sandinista
coup d'etat and not long after the terrible Managua earthquake. I remembered
seeing the rubble of that quake and the pride of the people in restoring
things as best they could back to normal. I remembered the fascinating
Masaya market, where one could shop for hours (even me!) and not tire while
marveling at all the beautiful hand-crafted curios. I remembered the eloquent
beauty of the land, accented ever-so-often with mountains of inactive volcanos.
But most of all I remembered the people, friendly people, who loved their
country and wanted to share it with gringos like me.
None of that had changed. But, believe me, some things had changed.
As we began our descent we noticed something different about this airport.
There were soldiers everywhere. And they weren't just playing cards. They
were manning anti-aircraft weapons all along the runway. Strict orders
were given for no picture taking. Anyone caught taking pictures could say
adios to their camera. Yes, some things had changed--but not for the better.
Soon we were off again, this time with no obstacles between little Switzerland
(Honduras!) and our SAHSA 737 jet. I could hardly wait! I could already
visualize my big KW radiating from three 100' towers with monobanders gracing
the friendly DX skies of Honduras. (Unfortunately visualization and actualization
are frequently completely unrelated.) At any rate, it wasn't long until
our plane touched down in San Pedro Sula, our new home.
There were literally scores of things we had to take care of after our
arrival. Time nor space doesn't permit me in these articles to share them
all, or the difficulty in accomplishing those tasks. But one of my early
tasks was to get my reciprocal operating permit. This was no small task.
Even though the U.S. had a reciprocal operating agreement with Honduras,
one didn't just present his FCC license to the authorities and walk out
with an HR ticket. The first step was to join the radio club. No one could
even apply for a license without belonging to one of the three national
clubs.
So, as soon after our arrival as possible, I attended a meeting of the
Radio Club de Honduras in San Pedro Sula. I introduced myself and indicated
my desire to join. I was voted in a member and after the meeting I went
to pay my dues. OUCH! Have you ever complained about your RVARC dues? Don't
ever complain again. Get this. The treasurer said, "That will be $110."
That's right--$110. And that was just for six months. It included $30 for
six months dues, $50 new member fee, $25 building fee (?), and $5 repeater
fee. Like I said, ouch. All this just so I could even apply for a license.
But hang tight. You've heard the saying, "Cheer up, things could be
worse." Well, I cheered up, finally, and, sure enough, things got worse.
You see, the next step was to go to Tegucigalpa (a five-hour drive) and
visit the office of Hondutel, which is the office of all telecommunications
in the country. It's sort of like our FCC. I was sure I wouldn't have any
problems there because I'd gone through this a few years before and I knew
the man in charge. Boy, was I ever wrong! My problems had hardly begun.
The first thing I found out was that still worked there, but he was
no longer in charge. (Changes in government tend to do that.) Next I discovered
that nobody was getting licenses then, whether Honduran or reciprocal.
The terrorist activities in the country had put a temporary halt to that.
All you had to do was listen to 40 meters during the day to see why. The
leftists were using amateur equipment in the amateur bands for much of
their communications.
One day there was an article in one of the local papers about a raid
on a house in Tegucigalpa which was found to be one of the meeting places
for the terrorists. It was also their armory. Pictured in the paper were
scores of weapons seized in the raid, plus about fifteen Yaesu FT 101 transceivers
used for communications. Still any wonder why third-world countries have
such tight controls on communications? Next time I'll tell you about some
of the almost unbelievable obstacles I had to overcome in order to finally
get on the air.
