The following was written on January 11, 2005, while I was on vacation on Roatan Island, Honduras.
I am sitting on a wharf that juts into the Carribean, my feet dangling over clear water populated by water grass and schools of tiny fish. My horizon is a semi-circle of breakers spilling in a continuous roar against a coral reef. In contrast to the incessant thunder of the waves, a carpenter's saw buzzes intermittently, punctuated by hammering. A new house nears completion in paradise.
To my left, the Carribean Ocean, blue and gray and turquoise, flashes white foam. Directly in front of me is a small point of creamy sand outlined by dead water grass washed up by the tide. Green, riotous green, begins a few yards from the water. Inland, the broadleafed trees, the palms, the tall almonds, reach for the sun. On this part of the beach, the houses are wooden and barely discernible from the vegetation. Not so either direction down the beach. The stark concrete houses shout their presence to every passerby.
The blue sky is ringed with white and gray clouds. Some pass over and provide a quick shower, which means I must retreat to a covered porch.
Sunday, we went into West End and prowled through the little shops. June and I bought straw hats to protect our white "European" skin. From the shops, we went to the dock where Loren engaged a water taxi, a dilapidated motor boat driven by teenage boys. We picked up several more fares on the way to West Bay. We were moving right along when the wind caught my hat and plopped it into the water. The "captain" executed a smooth U-turn, slid beside my hat and the youngest of the "crew" scooped it up. Bravo! I was grateful then and especially grateful later in the heat of the day.
After we reached West Bay and clambered out of the boat, we walked back toward West End through the rich Europeans who had left winter behind to soak up the Carribean sun. (I thought I must be the only woman on the island who had brought a one piece swimsuit!)
We ate a seafood lunch of shrimp salad and grouper sandwiches at Bite on the Beach then headed for the Gumbalimba Bird Sanctuary. First, we toured a small, man-made cave with a visual depiction of the island's history. In the 1700's, the island was the primary residence of a pirate name Coxen. (Coxen Hole is his namesake.)
From the cave, we entered the bird sanctuary by crossing the river on a hammock-like bridge that swung freely over the water. Four of us (including the Gumbalimba owner) made the bridge a bit more unsteady than I was comfortable with, but we made it across without flipping the thing over.
The parrots were friendly, especially the large colorful male. Two small green parrots nibbled at Junes's earrings and had to be removed from her shoulders. In the living quarters of the monkeys, a baby spider moneky fell asleep in June's arms, and a baby howler attached itself to me. A larger spider monkey bit at the babies in a pique of jealousy. Just like human children!
The owner of the sanctuary called a car for me. I was going to do the canopy ride! The car turned out to be a dilapidated pickup - all but the newest vehicles on Roatan are dilapidated. The driver took me to one of the highest points on the island and left me with teenagers. Again. They seem to run the place. Why aren't they in school? I paid my $35 U.S. to the oldest person, and two boys harnessed me into a tangle of straps and buckles and topped me off with a bicycle helmet. After they donned their gear, they led me to a platform, explained how to hold onto the cable and using the leather glove on my right hand to brake. One young man took my flip flops so I wouldn't drop them into the forest. The other went down the zip line to the next platform to wait for me - there were eleven platforms in all. The first boy attached me to the cable, told me to sit and let the harness support me, then I was off! I zipped across tree tops eleven times in a switchback pattern until I arrived - exhilarated - at the beach where June and Loren waited. There is a lot to be said for a second childhood!
We caught a water taxi and motored back to West End where we caught a land taxi and headed "home" for a supper of black-eyed peas and rice.
Monday, Loren was busy putting dead bolts on all the closets as a result of break-in in the next house over. I borrowed his fins and snorkel and went out to renew my water skills. Snorkeling on this side of the reef is not terribly exicting, but it was safe for a novice like myself. I didn't drink an inordinate amount of seawater.
While I was drying out on the top level of the dock, a young man came up to sun. Todd was well-taveled but called Cambodia home. Full of stories, tattooed, and be-ringed, he would have been comfortable visiting with the Pope. He offered to take me out in the kayak so I could snorkel over the coral reef. It was a serendipitous opportunity since Loren was finishing up odds and ends at Seadancer, the house of which he was part owner.
Todd showed me how to get into the kayak without turning it over, and soon we slid across the ripples to the reef where he tied the kayak to a rock. I wasn't sure how to get out of the kayak without creating a big disturbance, but somehow I managed to slide over the side without splashing. My feet touched the ocean floor. (We were at least three football fields from the shore.) That gave me enough stability to adjust my goggles and snorkel. I ducked my head under the water and without thought, my feet let go of the bottom.
I was gazing into a world of coral, made and in the making. While not the brilliant-hued vista encountered by scuba divers, it still spoke of other worldliness. Huge chunks of dark coral populated by living fans and tubes; small fish the color of night or almost ripe bananas; slivers of silver roaming in packs.
I kept Todd in sight so I wouldn't become disoriented and swim in the wrong direction - like toward the open sea. Even though it wasn't strong, the current was a force to be dealt with. The power of the sea was very evident, awesome and inspiring.
At the kayak, I told Todd I wanted to swim back to the wharf. How hard could it be with fins and a snorkel, buoyed up by salt water? Not hard at all until I was halfway across. I was tired, but I huffed and puffed my way to the dock - over a quarter of a mile. Todd kayaked back to the dock where we visited until Loren waved for me to come in. We were going out to eat so I had to hurry. I thanked Todd for the snorkeling adventure and wished him well.
That evening, the three of us dined at the Argentinian Grill perched on the side of a mountain. Loren and I got monkey lalas - a concoction of coconut milk, rum, and vodka - more dessert than anything! We had a wonderfu Greek salad as an appetizer. June ordered lobster. Loren and I had grouper - mine with a cajun sauce, his with something milder. At the end we ordered bananas Foster - good but barely reminiscent of Brennan's in New Orleans.
Tuesday, Loren had business in Coxen Hole. June and I went along for the ride. We parked on a side street and walked to a "mall" where we could use the telephone. We passed ramshackle houses and tiny shops thrown along the road with no apparent plan. Children played in mud holes and dogs loafed along the street. Trash floated in the murkey river that seemed not to flow in any particular direction alongside the houses.
The native islanders bought peeled oranges and sliced mangoes from little stands and ate as they strolled to and from the business of their daily lives. White taxis weaved in and out, honking greetings or directives. The pedestrian traffic and the motor traffic mingled without thought.
The main road through Coxen Hole was newly paved with asphalt. Side roads were sand and gravel affairs that battered the kidneys, where speed bumps were huge shipping ropes lying across the road and slowing traffic very effectively.
June and I bought a bunch of small bananas at Two Doves. Exquisite things with a hint of strawberry and none of the "draw" of the large bananas shipped to the States. There are 30 plus species of bananas in the world, and we tasted what were surely the best.
At the mall, June and I took turns using the only phone, leaving messages on answering machines for fifty cents a minute. Most of the shops were not open because it wasn't "ship" day - a day when a cruise ship docks and tourists flood the little town and spend thousands of dollars. Loren showed up wet. A sudden shower charcteristic of the island had popped up. We waited it out then walked to an "American" cafe for lunch. June and I tried the black bean soup - delicious! Loren had trigger fish - a big chunk!
Wednesday, I kayaked with Loren out to the reef then swam back to the dock. This time without benefit of fins and snorkel. Felt great to have the stamina and to float really well on my back.
Thursday, Loren and I toured the east end of the island while June stayed in bed. She suffered from a queasy stomach and couldn't eat. We saw some gorgeous homes with even more gorgeous views. In many places, the roads are not paved or maintained on a regular basis. The steep terrain makes a four-wheel drive vehicle a necessity. The island is 33 miles long and two miles wide. In Coxen Hole, or just above, the mountains of Honduras, fifty miles away, are visible. Everything mass-produced must come from the mainland since Roatan has no factories. Roatan was a pirate's island. Specifically, that of Captain Coxen. Pirates' treasure is still found from time-to-time, especially where excavations are taking place.
It is dark by 6:30. Not much to do after that. We go sit on the dock and look a the stars and listen to the waves crash over the reef.
I don't want to go home.
I am sitting on a wharf that juts into the Carribean, my feet dangling over clear water populated by water grass and schools of tiny fish. My horizon is a semi-circle of breakers spilling in a continuous roar against a coral reef. In contrast to the incessant thunder of the waves, a carpenter's saw buzzes intermittently, punctuated by hammering. A new house nears completion in paradise.
To my left, the Carribean Ocean, blue and gray and turquoise, flashes white foam. Directly in front of me is a small point of creamy sand outlined by dead water grass washed up by the tide. Green, riotous green, begins a few yards from the water. Inland, the broadleafed trees, the palms, the tall almonds, reach for the sun. On this part of the beach, the houses are wooden and barely discernible from the vegetation. Not so either direction down the beach. The stark concrete houses shout their presence to every passerby.
The blue sky is ringed with white and gray clouds. Some pass over and provide a quick shower, which means I must retreat to a covered porch.
Sunday, we went into West End and prowled through the little shops. June and I bought straw hats to protect our white "European" skin. From the shops, we went to the dock where Loren engaged a water taxi, a dilapidated motor boat driven by teenage boys. We picked up several more fares on the way to West Bay. We were moving right along when the wind caught my hat and plopped it into the water. The "captain" executed a smooth U-turn, slid beside my hat and the youngest of the "crew" scooped it up. Bravo! I was grateful then and especially grateful later in the heat of the day.
After we reached West Bay and clambered out of the boat, we walked back toward West End through the rich Europeans who had left winter behind to soak up the Carribean sun. (I thought I must be the only woman on the island who had brought a one piece swimsuit!)
We ate a seafood lunch of shrimp salad and grouper sandwiches at Bite on the Beach then headed for the Gumbalimba Bird Sanctuary. First, we toured a small, man-made cave with a visual depiction of the island's history. In the 1700's, the island was the primary residence of a pirate name Coxen. (Coxen Hole is his namesake.)
From the cave, we entered the bird sanctuary by crossing the river on a hammock-like bridge that swung freely over the water. Four of us (including the Gumbalimba owner) made the bridge a bit more unsteady than I was comfortable with, but we made it across without flipping the thing over.
The parrots were friendly, especially the large colorful male. Two small green parrots nibbled at Junes's earrings and had to be removed from her shoulders. In the living quarters of the monkeys, a baby spider moneky fell asleep in June's arms, and a baby howler attached itself to me. A larger spider monkey bit at the babies in a pique of jealousy. Just like human children!
The owner of the sanctuary called a car for me. I was going to do the canopy ride! The car turned out to be a dilapidated pickup - all but the newest vehicles on Roatan are dilapidated. The driver took me to one of the highest points on the island and left me with teenagers. Again. They seem to run the place. Why aren't they in school? I paid my $35 U.S. to the oldest person, and two boys harnessed me into a tangle of straps and buckles and topped me off with a bicycle helmet. After they donned their gear, they led me to a platform, explained how to hold onto the cable and using the leather glove on my right hand to brake. One young man took my flip flops so I wouldn't drop them into the forest. The other went down the zip line to the next platform to wait for me - there were eleven platforms in all. The first boy attached me to the cable, told me to sit and let the harness support me, then I was off! I zipped across tree tops eleven times in a switchback pattern until I arrived - exhilarated - at the beach where June and Loren waited. There is a lot to be said for a second childhood!
We caught a water taxi and motored back to West End where we caught a land taxi and headed "home" for a supper of black-eyed peas and rice.
Monday, Loren was busy putting dead bolts on all the closets as a result of break-in in the next house over. I borrowed his fins and snorkel and went out to renew my water skills. Snorkeling on this side of the reef is not terribly exicting, but it was safe for a novice like myself. I didn't drink an inordinate amount of seawater.
While I was drying out on the top level of the dock, a young man came up to sun. Todd was well-taveled but called Cambodia home. Full of stories, tattooed, and be-ringed, he would have been comfortable visiting with the Pope. He offered to take me out in the kayak so I could snorkel over the coral reef. It was a serendipitous opportunity since Loren was finishing up odds and ends at Seadancer, the house of which he was part owner.
Todd showed me how to get into the kayak without turning it over, and soon we slid across the ripples to the reef where he tied the kayak to a rock. I wasn't sure how to get out of the kayak without creating a big disturbance, but somehow I managed to slide over the side without splashing. My feet touched the ocean floor. (We were at least three football fields from the shore.) That gave me enough stability to adjust my goggles and snorkel. I ducked my head under the water and without thought, my feet let go of the bottom.
I was gazing into a world of coral, made and in the making. While not the brilliant-hued vista encountered by scuba divers, it still spoke of other worldliness. Huge chunks of dark coral populated by living fans and tubes; small fish the color of night or almost ripe bananas; slivers of silver roaming in packs.
I kept Todd in sight so I wouldn't become disoriented and swim in the wrong direction - like toward the open sea. Even though it wasn't strong, the current was a force to be dealt with. The power of the sea was very evident, awesome and inspiring.
At the kayak, I told Todd I wanted to swim back to the wharf. How hard could it be with fins and a snorkel, buoyed up by salt water? Not hard at all until I was halfway across. I was tired, but I huffed and puffed my way to the dock - over a quarter of a mile. Todd kayaked back to the dock where we visited until Loren waved for me to come in. We were going out to eat so I had to hurry. I thanked Todd for the snorkeling adventure and wished him well.
That evening, the three of us dined at the Argentinian Grill perched on the side of a mountain. Loren and I got monkey lalas - a concoction of coconut milk, rum, and vodka - more dessert than anything! We had a wonderfu Greek salad as an appetizer. June ordered lobster. Loren and I had grouper - mine with a cajun sauce, his with something milder. At the end we ordered bananas Foster - good but barely reminiscent of Brennan's in New Orleans.
Tuesday, Loren had business in Coxen Hole. June and I went along for the ride. We parked on a side street and walked to a "mall" where we could use the telephone. We passed ramshackle houses and tiny shops thrown along the road with no apparent plan. Children played in mud holes and dogs loafed along the street. Trash floated in the murkey river that seemed not to flow in any particular direction alongside the houses.
The native islanders bought peeled oranges and sliced mangoes from little stands and ate as they strolled to and from the business of their daily lives. White taxis weaved in and out, honking greetings or directives. The pedestrian traffic and the motor traffic mingled without thought.
The main road through Coxen Hole was newly paved with asphalt. Side roads were sand and gravel affairs that battered the kidneys, where speed bumps were huge shipping ropes lying across the road and slowing traffic very effectively.
June and I bought a bunch of small bananas at Two Doves. Exquisite things with a hint of strawberry and none of the "draw" of the large bananas shipped to the States. There are 30 plus species of bananas in the world, and we tasted what were surely the best.
At the mall, June and I took turns using the only phone, leaving messages on answering machines for fifty cents a minute. Most of the shops were not open because it wasn't "ship" day - a day when a cruise ship docks and tourists flood the little town and spend thousands of dollars. Loren showed up wet. A sudden shower charcteristic of the island had popped up. We waited it out then walked to an "American" cafe for lunch. June and I tried the black bean soup - delicious! Loren had trigger fish - a big chunk!
Wednesday, I kayaked with Loren out to the reef then swam back to the dock. This time without benefit of fins and snorkel. Felt great to have the stamina and to float really well on my back.
Thursday, Loren and I toured the east end of the island while June stayed in bed. She suffered from a queasy stomach and couldn't eat. We saw some gorgeous homes with even more gorgeous views. In many places, the roads are not paved or maintained on a regular basis. The steep terrain makes a four-wheel drive vehicle a necessity. The island is 33 miles long and two miles wide. In Coxen Hole, or just above, the mountains of Honduras, fifty miles away, are visible. Everything mass-produced must come from the mainland since Roatan has no factories. Roatan was a pirate's island. Specifically, that of Captain Coxen. Pirates' treasure is still found from time-to-time, especially where excavations are taking place.
It is dark by 6:30. Not much to do after that. We go sit on the dock and look a the stars and listen to the waves crash over the reef.
I don't want to go home.
