APRIL 2008
Our flight takes us direct from Newark, NJ on Continental Airlines. As we step off the airplane, we are greeted by a sweet stickiness in the air, followed by a compelling over-ripeness waiting in a crowded immigration room with a hundred other people. At least we do not have to wait for our luggage, only packing daypacks with the bare essentials - swimsuits, a shirt, shorts, and sarong. Nevertheless, we are eager to get to the beach and decide against waiting for the public bus, instead catching a taxi into the West End.
After checking in to our secluded second story apartment at the Arco Iris, we jump into our swimsuits, go for a swim and then walk the length of the beach to Mavis and Dixie's, where we had the Island lunch special (catch of the day which is mahi, rice and beans, plantains and salad). Best six dollars spent. Lounging in the shade, we drink the local beer and watch the tessalating waters of Half Moon Bay. Then go back to the room and take a nap, only to wake up an hour later and go a hundred feet back to the beach to read, swim, and alternate in the shade and sun (which is fairly intense).
And so it goes for the next seven days. When we are tired, we sleep. When we are hungry, we eat (street food - baleatas, catch of the day). We drink fresh fruit smoothies, beer, rum concoctions, and lots of bottled water. We swim every day and snorkel most of the time. Russ does some diving and I go out on the dive boat. We walk several times during the day. We take kayaks out in the ocean. We people watch. We stroll into neighborhoods. The West End is pretty laid back, and we soon see the same people (locals and tourists) over and over again. Every evening, we watch the sun set on our beach, and know that we are in a very good place.
One day we spent a morning in the Carambola Botanical Garden, a rich land preserve started by a former Peace Corps Volunteer who has served on the island in the late 1970's and never really left. It is pretty facinating that no matter where we go, we always meet other volunteers and there is an instant connection. The garden is filled with indigineous flowers, trees, and undergrowth. Coffee, cashew, banana, cinnamon, mahogany, cymbindium to name a few.
Another afternoon, we leave the West End to walk the deserted stretch of beach to the West Bay, which could not be more opposite than where we are staying. Where the West End is more low-key, West Bay is hoppin'. It is more glamourous, more glitzy. The sand is even whiter here and the water even more turquoise. It is said this is the most beautiful beach in Central America for that reason and it is easy to see why.
Our tastefully decorated place at the Arco Iris feels like home. There is a table, chairs, and hammock on the patio. The inside has a fridge and small kitchen. We walk around barefoot (actually we walk most anywhere without shoes). We overlook a huge garden in the courtyard. And if we follow the path of the couple staying next to us, we will be back repeatedly (they have been here every April for the past fifteen years).
Our flight takes us direct from Newark, NJ on Continental Airlines. As we step off the airplane, we are greeted by a sweet stickiness in the air, followed by a compelling over-ripeness waiting in a crowded immigration room with a hundred other people. At least we do not have to wait for our luggage, only packing daypacks with the bare essentials - swimsuits, a shirt, shorts, and sarong. Nevertheless, we are eager to get to the beach and decide against waiting for the public bus, instead catching a taxi into the West End.
After checking in to our secluded second story apartment at the Arco Iris, we jump into our swimsuits, go for a swim and then walk the length of the beach to Mavis and Dixie's, where we had the Island lunch special (catch of the day which is mahi, rice and beans, plantains and salad). Best six dollars spent. Lounging in the shade, we drink the local beer and watch the tessalating waters of Half Moon Bay. Then go back to the room and take a nap, only to wake up an hour later and go a hundred feet back to the beach to read, swim, and alternate in the shade and sun (which is fairly intense).
And so it goes for the next seven days. When we are tired, we sleep. When we are hungry, we eat (street food - baleatas, catch of the day). We drink fresh fruit smoothies, beer, rum concoctions, and lots of bottled water. We swim every day and snorkel most of the time. Russ does some diving and I go out on the dive boat. We walk several times during the day. We take kayaks out in the ocean. We people watch. We stroll into neighborhoods. The West End is pretty laid back, and we soon see the same people (locals and tourists) over and over again. Every evening, we watch the sun set on our beach, and know that we are in a very good place.
One day we spent a morning in the Carambola Botanical Garden, a rich land preserve started by a former Peace Corps Volunteer who has served on the island in the late 1970's and never really left. It is pretty facinating that no matter where we go, we always meet other volunteers and there is an instant connection. The garden is filled with indigineous flowers, trees, and undergrowth. Coffee, cashew, banana, cinnamon, mahogany, cymbindium to name a few.
Another afternoon, we leave the West End to walk the deserted stretch of beach to the West Bay, which could not be more opposite than where we are staying. Where the West End is more low-key, West Bay is hoppin'. It is more glamourous, more glitzy. The sand is even whiter here and the water even more turquoise. It is said this is the most beautiful beach in Central America for that reason and it is easy to see why.
Our tastefully decorated place at the Arco Iris feels like home. There is a table, chairs, and hammock on the patio. The inside has a fridge and small kitchen. We walk around barefoot (actually we walk most anywhere without shoes). We overlook a huge garden in the courtyard. And if we follow the path of the couple staying next to us, we will be back repeatedly (they have been here every April for the past fifteen years).
Breaking
from our state of doing nothing, we actually make a plan to take an entire day
to go of the opposite end of the island. We meet a colorful local guide
called Jimmy, who was born and raised on the island, moved to Los Angeles, and
then came back where he lives with his family. Quite a character.
We negotiated a fair enough price the night before and promptly leave at 7:00
am. (unusual, given our experiences with Africa time). We thought we were
going to be the only ones but quickly met the six other girls who joined
us. They are from the midwest, just out of college or still in. A
lively chattering bunch. We pile into the minivan and set off.
Early morning is a wonderful way to be up and around, as there was much
activity. Kids in blue and white, grey and white, white and maroon school
uniforms. Adults riding bikes, horses, waiting for taxis, walking - all
presumably to work. There is a distinguishable smell of burning garbage,
a familiar, somewhat comfortable odor that brings back days in Africa.
We pass through the towns of Coxen Hole and French Cay. We see the new cruise ship terminal (sigh) and massive water treatment plant. We stop off at a sunny spot where there are hordes of iguanas. They are not as big as the Malaysian ones, but still quite large. At some points during the drive, we can see both sides of the island. We pass through Honduran settlements as well as Garif ones. We see the brightly colored houses you see everywhere else in Latin America as well as buildings not quite put together. There is a sense that life in every aspect is flourishing.
We arrive at the port town of Oak Ridge and Jimmy negotiates with a captain of a very small boat to ferry us up to the eastern end of the island (the roads eastward at this point are difficult and often impassable). Jimmy is the self-described Gilligan and we are about to set sail on a three-hour cruise (which turns more into six as we soon find out). The boat starts off at a slow pace which we think is normal as we go through the canal. It never really picks up, making our venture into the open ocean with six feet swells an interesting one to say the least. Our captain - Bob Marley is our name for him - is calm and steady, and no one gets sick so that is a plus. It is just very very slow going, and the mood of the girls is mutinious. We choose to take it in stride - this is the Central American/ island aspect time we are used to. It is wonderful to be out on the water and take in the island from a new perspective.
Once reaching Barbareto Island 50 kilometers from West End, we stop on a sandbar for lunch and snorkeling. It feels good to be standing and stretching our legs after sitting for so long. We make just one stop on the way back to Old Port Royal, a former English fortress. Back in West End we are tired and definitely ready for a sundowner.
We pass through the towns of Coxen Hole and French Cay. We see the new cruise ship terminal (sigh) and massive water treatment plant. We stop off at a sunny spot where there are hordes of iguanas. They are not as big as the Malaysian ones, but still quite large. At some points during the drive, we can see both sides of the island. We pass through Honduran settlements as well as Garif ones. We see the brightly colored houses you see everywhere else in Latin America as well as buildings not quite put together. There is a sense that life in every aspect is flourishing.
We arrive at the port town of Oak Ridge and Jimmy negotiates with a captain of a very small boat to ferry us up to the eastern end of the island (the roads eastward at this point are difficult and often impassable). Jimmy is the self-described Gilligan and we are about to set sail on a three-hour cruise (which turns more into six as we soon find out). The boat starts off at a slow pace which we think is normal as we go through the canal. It never really picks up, making our venture into the open ocean with six feet swells an interesting one to say the least. Our captain - Bob Marley is our name for him - is calm and steady, and no one gets sick so that is a plus. It is just very very slow going, and the mood of the girls is mutinious. We choose to take it in stride - this is the Central American/ island aspect time we are used to. It is wonderful to be out on the water and take in the island from a new perspective.
Once reaching Barbareto Island 50 kilometers from West End, we stop on a sandbar for lunch and snorkeling. It feels good to be standing and stretching our legs after sitting for so long. We make just one stop on the way back to Old Port Royal, a former English fortress. Back in West End we are tired and definitely ready for a sundowner.
Safe to
say, this is some of the best snorkeling and diving we have ever done.
Our amateur photos and unsophisticated equipment will not do it justice.
We saw fish that we had not ever seen in aquariums. A barracuda swims
alongside us for awhile. One day, Russ spots a sea turtle. The reef is
alive and well, in sharp contrast the the dead, bleached coral we saw north of
here in Belize. The water was warm and crystal clear. Easy to lose
oneself once you go under; it is another world.
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