Exploring the old Chiquola Mill

Jacob, Wilson and I recently drove over to the historic Chiquola Mill here in Honea Path to see what there was to see. It turns out that we were able to access most of what is left. The mill operated from 1903 to 2003, and has been in a state of slow demolition since then.

The historic Chiquola Mill in Honea Path, SC

Amazingly, there is virtually no security at the site, and we were able to simply drive up to it and walk right in a broken roll-up door. We DO NOT recommend that anyone go to the site and explore due to numerous hazards including crumbling structural elements, shear drops, open elevator shafts, industrial materials and chemicals, and sharp glass, among other things.

A picture from back when the mill was in full operation

The first and second floors are the only ones that are completely structurally intact. Half of floors three and four are still in place.

Looking out an office window on the first floor

The first floor looks like this.

Each side of the complex had a stairwell, though one was in much better shape than the other. We were only able to go up one floor on the north side but all the way up on the south side.

Half of the second floor is open to the sky

We were able to access the fourth floor from the south stairwell.

We found this old Polaroid of Alvin Sturghill. Employee of the month?

We went through some offices and out a back door and found this old monument to employees with over 50 years of service. The top is missing.

Wilson looking out a third floor window.

The Robbery Bus to Cortes

Birds that might as well have been right next to our little hut woke us up this morning at La Casa Rosada. We skipped breakfast and hurried out, grabbing two Snickers bars from a store on the walk down to the dock. We caught the next 30-minute water taxi to Puerto Barrios, where the adventure began.

After wandering around and finally finding a place to change our last Belize dollars into Guatemalan quetzales, we tried to find a person who could call Ron from a cell phone. Ron had told us to call him in Puerto Barrios so he could meet us at the Honduran border. Ron has basically adopted us here, and said that since sometimes the bus from the border into Puerto Cortes gets robbed, he’d feel better about picking us up there. Well, no one could reach him. Something weird about calling a Honduras number from a Guatemala phone. We even tried it from a pay phone and left a voice mail- on some woman’s phone. We asked people to dial his number on their phone, but they said he wasn’t picking up.

So we had given up on that and as soon as we went looking for the bus station to get

a bus to the border, a minibus pulled up beside us. A young man was hanging out the open rear door and he yelled “Frontera de Honduras!” How did he know? We were a little weirded out, so Clif told him to hang on a second. We went into a store and asked where we could find a bus to Honduras. They pointed at the minibus in front of us. We looked in. Three older women were sitting in the back and one of them had a child. Looked safe enough, so we hopped on. The man collected 20 quetzales (about $2.50) for each of us and we were on our way.

We stopped at numerous small rural towns to pick up additional passengers and soon, the minibus was crammed full with mostly women and children. Again, we were the only English-speakers. By the time we reached the border we were the only ones left on board, and they let us off about 100 yards from the passport check. We paid our three dollars to get into Honduras.

Now to find Ron. If in fact he had somehow gotten our message, our arrangement had been to meet in the border town of Corinto, Honduras. We got directions to the town, but it was not clear to us that Corinto was about a mile down a side dirt road. So we walked maybe a mile out of town down the highway before deciding it was not the way to Corinto and we turned back. We caught a taxi to take us into Corinto and after making the rounds of the town and deciding Ron was not there, we got the taxi to bring us back to the border area. All this took close to two hours.

We finally hopped on the robbery bus to Cortes. Luckily for us, this trip was without incident. A Honduran Pentecostal Christian named Edgar let us borrow his phone and we were finally able to get through to Ron. He told us to meet him at the Omoa bus stop, and 45 minutes later, we were there and so was he. And so now, after surviving on only a Snickers bar for the last 20 hours, we just finished another excellent Southern meal of pork chops, mashed potatoes and gravy, beans and coleslaw. And sweet tea. A great way to adjust our stomachs back to Southern cooking. We return tomorrow. Pictures to come then.

Jack

View from the garden

Boat to Livingston, Guatemala

Ian and Kate

Well, we didn’t hear any howler monkeys last night, possibly because we were dead tired after not sleeping much the night before. So we failed in our scientific mission for all mankind, but even so, Ian was kind enough to deliver tea and french-press coffee to our front porch this morning. After a bread and butter breakfast with coffee and juice, Ian drove us into town and dropped us off at the immigration office and dock. We said our goodbyes and set off on the tiny boat with a Canadian couple that had also stayed at Hickatee.

The boat had seats for 12 passengers, but because it was seemingly overloaded with cargo in the front (including huge sacks of frozen chickens), they crammed all seven of the passengers into the back two rows and took off. The ride took maybe an hour, and we disembarked in the city of Livingston. Clif sat on the far left side of the boat and as a result, his left arm is very sunburned right now.

Just before Belizean customs told us to put the camera away

The boat may have been overloaded with frozen chickens

Livingston is a small city of maybe 20,000 people, with a mixture of Garifuna and Mayan peoples. It is hilly with narrow streets and lots of shops and people walking around.

We are staying at Hotel Casa Rosada, which is an amazing value for the money. $20/night gets you a private thatched bungalow with bug nets over the beds, a fan and a bathroom shared with two other bungalows. Javier, the owner is very personable. He is of Mayan descent and was born and raised here in Livingston. His wife is Belgian, and they have owned and operated the hotel together for seven years.

Looking out from La Casa Rosada

The dock of La Casa Rosada with the lights of Puerto Barrios in the distance

In the morning we will take one last (shorter) boat ride to the city of Puerto Barrios and catch a bus to Honduras. There, assuming we can get in touch, we plan to link up with Ron and his family again. We should be able to post pictures from his computer.