The drone of the twin prop engines is nearly deafening. My seat vibrates in resonance with the noise; I think my teeth might chatter if I unclenched my jaw. At least the cabin lights have stopped flickering – we boarded the plane in the dark, phone flashlights in hand.

And so goes my welcome to La Ceiba, Honduras.

After a short night, early morning, plane delays on the tarmac, and frantic connections in Miami, four of the six rehab volunteers found ourselves at the Ramón Villeda Morales International airport in San Pedro Sula, passing through security in order to be at our gate the requisite hour prior to our 4:00pm departure.

By 4:30, we were informed that we were delayed to 5:00. Similar news arrived at 5:30 for an anticipated 6:00 departure. But no news came at 6:00, or 6:30, or 7:00. We told stories of travel. We told stories of adventure. And, as all stories that wax on longer than the storytellers desire, we talked about food. And then we fell into a saddened silence, supper-less.

Finally, at 7:10, an airline employee unlocked the gate doors and called for “pasajeros a La Ceiba” – not sure why he specified the destination, since the only remaining passengers in the terminal for the last 90 minutes had been sharing their joint misery in being held from La Ceiba.

So! This is one of the most joyful, shaky, and appreciated flights I’ve ever taken. Tomorrow, we visit the clinic!