Sambo Creek...

Sambo Creek was originally settled by escaped slaves. It is a poor village, its panorama dominated by mud huts.
Fishing is a major and growing source of income for the inhabitants; fish distributor conglomerates from Miami

are changing the face of the fishing industry throughout coastal Honduras in that they pay top dollar for Red Snapper. It is a sad fact that it is a tasty little fish, and the voracious appetite of our consumer culture has caused it to be over-fished in the Caribbean; now it is commercially viable to plunder the Honduran and Nicaraguan coastline of this species.
The beach at Sambo Creek is wonderful. One can watch the fishermen launch wooden doug-outs that have probably not changed much in design since Pre-Columbian times.

There is one hotel in town; it is marginal, with shared bathroom. While we were there, a sunburned crazed-looking red-bearded feral gringo occupied the room across from ours. He avoided eye contact and gave us the creeps. Clouds of Ganja smoke would pour out of his room at night.
The next day we overheard that there had been recent brake-ins at the hotel, and up in the hills a colonel who had been bathing had been robbed at gun point. Our Detroit instincts told us to leave the next day. We did.