Is it “dived,” “dove,” or “diven”? Nobody knows for sure.

Today was my last day of diving on Roatan, and it was a banner day! It has, in fact, been a great week of diving. I figured out that if you add up all the hours I have spent diving since getting certified in 1994, I have spent something like two weeks of my life underwater. Pretty cool, huh?

I have met some very interesting characters here, too. Kevin, the owner of the inn, is not as mellow and laid back as he used to be–of course, it’s understandable because he’s now married and has a young daughter. He did remember me, though, and his first question was “What took you so long?” Hah.

The town of West End has changed a lot–many new buildings, etc. However, it looks like the rest of the island is changing even more. There are several *huge* resorts going in about a mile from West End, and everything is much more expensive. There are tons of real estate offices, and people have approached me on the street to offer, in hushed, secretive tones, a prime piece of real estate here. Of course, I offered them a lovely lot on the verge of the Everglades in exchange…no one has taken me up on my offer yet.

For some reason, I have been having the most freakish dreams while I’ve been here. Truly alarming stuff…for example, in one dream, I was enormously pregnant, waddling around in the heat, carrying a very heavy ladder, while looking for a shady place to sit down and rest. I walked up to a nearby house, and out came Scott’s mother. Who proceeded to discuss, in great detail, the arrangement of petunias and begonias in her front yard (which were styled to look like an American flag). All the while, I was standing there in a bovine manner, holding the freaking ladder, and sweating. Too weird.

I think I have developed a tiny crush on my Argentinian dive master. Unfortunately, I suspect he is gay. Figures. Our dive masters have been awesome this week. They have basically let me do pretty much whatever I want. I’ve gotten in several *very* deep dives, including one this morning to 110 feet. We dove to the wreck called El Aguila, and swam through the hull, squeezing ourselves through portholes and up gangways. On the second dive, I spotted a good-sized octopus–really unusual to see them during the day. We had a photographer on the dive, and he was thrilled. The other group of divers on our boat asked me to come with them on their next dive so I could find them cool stuff but, alas, my 24-hour no-dive-before-flying restriction is now in effect. Also, I did resist the urge to tell them if they stopped farting around, developed some basic diving skills, and pulled their heads out, they too could actually see cool stuff for themselves. See, Emily…I *am* becoming a better, nicer person every day.

Anyway, I am off to get a bit more of a tan…really behind on my tanning schedule. And I’ll probably have a few cocktails…really behind on my alcohol quotient. And, I may take a little siesta…really behind on my doing nothing regimen. So, as you can see, it’s just go-go-go here on Roatan Island.

Gunfire! Lust! Loud music! Futbol! Honduras has it all!

How do you like the new slogan I've developed for the Honduran Board of Tourism? They didn't seem very impressed when I tried to sell them on it. In fact there was a lot of scowling, so I tried to make the point about truth in advertising (see below), but they threw me out of their office. They didn't even appreciate that it rhymes. No vision, I tell ya. On a more serious note, I have *finally* made it to Roatan. The weekend in La Ceiba was a bit crazy. I went to the big festival on Saturday--it makes Mardi Gras look tame! Think 200,000 drunk, sweaty people along a 20-block parade route. Wait til you see the pictures. The language school is located right on the main parade route, so it was a handy base of operations. They had twenty students there, plus me. The students were all very young college freshmen from two Catholic colleges. One of the groups was from St. Louis and one was from Albany, NY. I had no trouble whatsoever telling the difference between the midwesterners and the New Yorkers.  I'm sure they're very nice people. Really. I did, however, feel like I was surrounded by a pack of used bible salesmen. After quite a bit of cajoling, I finally managed to get some of the braver students to walk down the street with me to see the sights. They were all hesitant and timid...hah! Lightweights. They should try Kingston sometime. There was also a big championship soccer game that evening, which was broadcast on big projector screens up and down the avenue. It was a really exciting game that ended in a 3-3 tie (hey, I like soccer). The president of Honduras was at the festival, too--he came strolling down the street a few minutes after the game ended. He walked about 3 feet from me...the only reason I knew he was anyone was because he was surrounded by about 10 heavily armed bodyguards. Unfortunately for him, he is about 6'4" and his bodyguards are only about 5' tall, meaning any potential assassin would have a pretty clear shot at his head. Perhaps they took "bodyguard" too literally? I didn't take his picture because I thought there might be some sort of taboo, and I didn't want to become target practice for the bodyguards. Anyway, as it turns out, the school director (and host pop) has become one of those people who drinks heavily from the moment they wake up until they pass out (what do they call those? Oh, yeah--raging alcoholics). Suffice it to say, by the time the parade ended he was exceedingly, disgustingly, falling down drunk. He offered to give me a ride back to my inn (and, eeeww, sexual favors, but I tried to pretend I didn't hear that), but I declined, not wanting to go anywhere near a car with him behind the wheel and, of course, not wanting to be in a small, confined area with him, either. Churning waves of nausea aside, it was quite sad to see him in such terrible shape. Unfortunately, this left me stuck in el centro, sort of scratching my head about how to get home. By this time, all the good little Catholics had bailed. Some of the teachers and their friends were still there, so I stayed with them to listen to the music. As the night wore on, things got crazier, louder and smellier. About 10 p.m., I couldn't take it anymore--it was wall-to-wall people and I was getting claustrophobic. Then, we got hit by the most amazing tropical downpour I've seen in a long time. It rained for about a half-hour straight--just a solid wall of water. The streets cleared as everyone ran for doorways, and then all the gutters backed up and the water rose to about ankle deep. I tried really hard not to think about how disgusting the water was!  One of the teachers--and luckily the biggest Honduran I've ever seen!--agreed to walk me back to my inn. This was especially great because that's about the time the gunfire started. He too offered me sexual favors. Guess it was my "lucky" night. Yikes. I managed to avoid the second horny Honduran, and did manage to get a few hours' sleep between bursts of gunfire. By 7 a.m. today, I was up, packed and grabbing a taxi to the airport. Needed some serious island chill-out time. I'm amazed by how different it all looks--there has been a lot of development over the past nine years. But it still feels mellow and nicer than Utila. I think, as long as there's nobody shooting at me, all will be well. 

 

 

More notes from Honduras…

Tonight’s my last night on Utila. Tomorrow, I hop on the ferry back to La Ceiba for the big 3-day Carnaval (actually, it’s the Festival of San Isidro, the town’s patron saint).

I have managed to get in a wonderful day of diving. The reefs here are pretty fished out and there’s quite a bit of evidence of coral bleaching. But, there’s still a lot of color and lots of little critters to see. Today we saw an arrow crab with luminescent blue claws, and I spotted an anemone crab (hiding away in the tentacles of its host anemone). I also saw a golden-tailed eel–about 1 foot long, looking like a little ribbon swirling around the coral. We also saw a juvenile spotted drum–the smallest I’ve ever seen! I didn’t know they had the long fins (top and bottom) when they were that young.

Most of my time this week was spent in Spanish class. My teacher managed to pack about 2 years of college-level Spanish grammar (yech!) into 4 days. My brain is simply overwhelmed. And do I know preterite from subjunctive imperfect? Well, let’s just say, not so much.

Tonight, when I got back to my little inn, the inn’s owner cut a fresh coconut off a tree and gave it to me. He said it was a Phillipine palm, and had the sweetest water. I can say it was the yummiest coconut water I’ve ever had! Especially good for washing away the taste of saltwater from diving.

I’m going to go in search of a restaurant for dinner…it feels strange to eat alone! I  don’t remember ever feeling odd about traveling alone, but it’s setting in. I guess I’m going to have to remember this for my next trip–bring a buddy! Also, apparently Utila has a lot of bars that are really fun at night; however, yours truly has demonstrated her age by going to bed early every night. Back in the good old days, I used to go party with the divemasters. Now, I’m pretty sure they just think of me as “the geriatric diver.” Damned whippersnappers. Why I oughta…

Anyway, I am feeling very relaxed nonetheless. I am looking forward to some hard-core hammock sitting at my hotel on Roatan.

I’m also looking forward to seeing my host family this weekend. I plan to remind Maria of the saying I taught her last time I was in Honduras (forgive the grammar!): Lo mas que conozco a los hombres, lo mas que me gusta mi perro.

Honduran Travelogue, Part 2

My first three days have been quite adventure-filled. Today, I decided to take matters into my own hands (after all, this whole language school thing is on my dime). My first order of business was to find coffee. This may sound like a simple enough matter; however, it was not so. The entire island of Utila lost power last night, so I had to hunt down the woman with the taco stand on the other side of town, who just happens to have a kerosene stove. Voila! Coffee. (By the way, I did conduct the entire transaction in Spanish, before 7 a.m., and–obviously–without the aid of caffeine. Historical occasion.) This getting-of-the-caffeine-fix was very important because my next order of business was to find a new hotel, which involved me wandering around town, making inquiries in Spanish. (My tutor was still asleep, and unaware of my sinister plan.)

When I arrived in Honduras, it reminded me a lot of my trips to Baja and the Yucatan with S., my travel/dive buddy. Except I have not yet fully submerged a rental car in a body of water. The director of the language school told me I would not be staying at the Deep Blue Resort, as planned, but at an “even better” one–the aptly named Cross Creek Resort. See, to get to it, you have to walk about 200 yards from the road (mit suitcasen), through the city dump, and over a–what else?–fetid little creek. It’s also constructed over the decimated remains of a mangrove forest. The term “bad feng shui” comes to mind. My first stop was the dive shop, conveniently staffed by snooty British 20-year olds. Then, the luxurious resort itself. Our rooms (mine and my tutor’s) turned out to be dark little plywood-like boxes (think “The Beach”) surrounded by a horde of Eurotrash backpackers. At $16/day, this place definitely caters to the down-at-the-heels crowd. Turns out, the showers are these little defective spigots that need to be turned on, in my case at least, by standing on a chair. Except my room has no chair. So I managed to turn it on by jumping up and whacking the handle sideways–all those games of tetherball in 6th grade finally paid off. Very creative, I thought. The spray came out horizontally at a height of about 6 feet, doing me little to no good. However, that was okay, because as soon as I got my hair wet, the water went off anyway. The toilets, which are about 100 yards away, are the type where you’re afraid to touch anything. But that was okay, too, since they (all two of them) were backed up and unusable anyway.

Between 2 and 3 a.m., all the backpackers returned from the bars. That was okay, too, because the noise from my fan drowned out their yelling (not to mention retching), at least until the whole island lost power at 4 a.m. It was a good thing I packed my flashlight.

So, this explains why, at 7 a.m. today, I decided that I was no longer listening to anything my (kind of adorable) 24-yo tutor had to say. Time to cambiar el hotel! Utila actually has several nice-ish places. I found a much nicer place, called the Holland Inn, right in the center of town. My tutor actually didn’t argue with me–he just shrugged and said “you’re the boss” (I really need to hear that more often), then confessed he didn’t like the Cross Dump Inn, either. He did call Host Pop to tell on me, but because Host Pop knows me, I believe he just shrugged his shoulders in resignation. Possibly a muttered curse under his breath…but, hey, I lugged video game crap for his kid. I deserve a working toilet. I hope to sleep tonight. I have already showered, overjoyed by my actual ability to reach the shower controls. Between the hotel hunt and my first full day of Spanish lessons, I did not get to dive today. (By the way, shouldn’t I get a gold star from my teacher for my early morning extra-credit language usage?) I’ll be diving with Deep Blue tomorrow (turns out the resort itself is on a little cay, so that’s why I can’t stay there–my tutor would have no way to get out to the cay. I can’t say I wasn’t tempted to go anyway, and tell him to buzz off back to La Ceiba.). But the dive operation looks like a good one–they are at least professional and, dare I say it, polite. 

Things are looking up! I hope to see a whale shark this week. Hope you are all having a wonderful week, enjoying indoor running water and electricity.

Honduran Travelogue

Ten years ago, I spent a month living with a family in La Ceiba, Honduras, and studying Spanish. Last year, I went back to visit them, take a refresher course, and do some scuba diving…this post (and a few others that I’ll be putting up soon) is excerpted from emails home and my journal from the trip. I hope you enjoy them! 

So, 24 hours after departing Sacramento, I am *almost* to the island of Utila. I will regale you with the tales of missed/incorrectly booked flights later. Suffice it to say, I made it to La Ceiba tonight, at least. This small victory is owed to sheer willpower, stubborn refusal to acknowledge reality, and a light refreshing nap in a steel chair in Atlanta. It was really a good thing I packed granola and my stepsister gave me an apple on the way to the airport. Let’s just say it was a long day. Also, 24 hours without sleep or a shower have taken their toll. I did appreciate the amazing sight of Pico Bonito as we landed tonight–it’s this gorgeous, huge mountain that just sort of towers over a lush, green valley.

One important change is that tomorrow, luck holding, I will get to Utila, but I won’t be staying at Deep Blue. The place I’m going to is called Cross Creek Resort, which I know nothing about.

I was worried that I might not recognize my former host “pop” at the airport, but it turned out I spotted him instantaneously. He doesn’t look a day older. I will be having lunch with him, his wife Maria, and their son Raul tomorrow. Host pop says Raul is excited to see me, but this statement lacks credibility because (1) he was 4 when he met me, and (2) I’m packin’ Playstation loot that host pop had me pick up for him. Hmmm… Also, those groovy stainless steel kitchen implements I got for Maria? Not such a great idea. My bag ended up being searched by TSA, and that gift was the only thing opened. I can’t imagine why they would have an issue with a heavy, solid metal canister. Noted for future gift-buying and international travel reference.

So far, I consider myself fortunate that my luggage did arrive with me this time, instead of the 9-day “waiting period” when TACA lost my luggage 10 years ago (to their credit, I got everything back intact, which I considered nothing less than a miracle after the first few days). Although part of that may have been my somewhat stubborn behavior with various members of the Islena and Sosa airlines’ staffs. Some of the school’s other students were not so lucky. Two American women were supposed to arrive from San Pedro Sula at the same time I arrived. They are still in San Pedro Sula. (Ironically, their luggage made it to Ceiba.) I can sympathize with that one completely–I did that drill last time around, too. They are in for a fun night of barricading hotel room doors and invasions by cockroaches.

My accommodations here in Ceiba are luxurious by comparison. I quickly figured out that it’s best to use the toilet and shower with the lights off so as to avoid giving the rest of the guests a show. Tonight is the big revival at the church next door–so I’ve got that going for me, too.