If Only I Was a Cigar Smoker

I showed up in Danli, Honduras at about 5 o'clock on a Saturday evening.  It was bad timing for what I wanted to do there which was to tour a cigar factory.  When I asked my hotel owner about tours, we were standing in the doorway of the hotel.  He pointed to a few people walking down the street toward us from the outskirts of town and seemed to be saying that they were the factory workers on their way home.  And he reminded me that the next day was not a business day.

Danli isn't a tourist town.  Most people, if they get to it at all, see it fly by from their bus window on their way to the capitol, Tegucigalpa.  So, I had a decision to make about how badly I wanted to tour a cigar factory.  It meant hanging around in Danli for 11/2 days with not much to do and on a Sunday when most everything is closed.  I decided it was worthwhile to stay and treated myself to a few extra hours of sleep the next day.  I drank my morning coffee nice and slow, and wrote a few long emails home.  I did walk around town to check out the market and the central park, but I think I was more of the spectacle.  One couple even asked if they could get their picture with me. 

Despite not having much to do, I enjoyed Danli.  The people were very friendly and it was a small enough town that everyone still greets each other on the street.  It's cowboy country - lots of boots, buckles, cowbow hats, and they even swaggered.  It must be an unwritten law that if you are a cowboy, whether in Montana, Texas, Honduras, or elsewhere, you must swagger.

But after 36 hours in Danli, I was ready to move on.  So, I got up at the crack of dawn on Monday, and set out to find myself a cigar factory.  I asked the hotel owners again before I left whether it was possible to tour the factories and was told yes, of course, like it happens all the time.

I walked down the road the six or seven blocks they told me to go, and came upon the first cigar factory.  Looking down the road, I couldn't see any other factories, so I figured this one would do.  There was a small group of local women outside of the gate.  I'm not sure what they were doing there, some were selling fruit, but the others were just sitting there.  And because they had nothing else to do, I quickly became the main attraction.

I knocked at the gate and a young-ish guy in a white apron and with a dozen silver fillings in his teeth (too much cigar smoking) answered.  I asked about a tour and he gave me a confused look and told me to wait a minute.  I waited a few minutes and then he came back out and wanted me to tell him again what I wanted.  I asked again and he told me to wait again and again he disappeared behind the gate.

After another few minutes, another man motioned me inside and asked me again what I wanted.  He made a call on his cell phone.  At this point I started to feel like Al Capone was watching me from one of the second story windows of the factory.  He asked me my name and then repeated it to Capone.  Incidentally, my name in Central America is Ka-rrrren, strong emphasis on the first syllable before you roll the R.  Usually, the people I meet have to run it over in their head a few times and say it out loud before they make the conversion from Karen to Ka-rrren.  But this guy was on his game that day.  Capone was satisfied with my first name and I was told I would get my tour.

The factory was a family-owned business.  He didn't say, but I think that my tour guide was probably one of the sons of the owner.  He actually smoked a cigar while he walked me through the factory.  He was already halfway through it when I met him, so I know it wasn't just for effect.  It was 8 o'clock in the morning. 

First, I saw where they sort the leaves for the outer shell of the cigar.

Next, I saw where they sort the leaves for the inside of the cigar.  My guide said that they get the leaves from four countries and he listed them, but Honduras was not among them.  

        

Next, came the room where they "humidify" the leaves.  That's the word he used.  I assume he meant that they add moisture, but the racks look like they were for drying. 

And last, I saw the production floor, where about hundred people were hand rolling the cigars. The following pictures are all from the production floor:

                                                                                                                

A Work Station with a Pile of Leaves, Cutting Board, Knife, and Cigar Press

Rolling a Cigar

Cigar Press Where Cigars have to Sit for 20 Minutes

The floor manager of the production room told me that I was their first tourist.  In honor of this achievement, my guide presented me with a gift of eight cigars.  So, if I have any cigar smokers among my acquaintance, let me know in the next few weeks because I have a present for you from Honduras.  Let's call it my token of appreciation for keeping up with my blog :and reading this story all the way to the end ;)