I went to Roatán, and I have a lot to say...
Roatán, one of the three bay islands off the coast of
Honduras, was the destination of my first international trip. My husband and I left on
Independence Day. The island, which is about fifty feet long and anywhere from
one to five miles wide, is primarily known for its scuba diving and eco-tourism.
I over-prepared in many ways (see packing and vaccinations) and under-prepared
in others (see packing). Because I was meeting people there, not going to a
resort or fancy hotel, I got a good glimpse into the day-to-day of the island. In
seven days, I managed to eat quite a bit, snorkel, explore, hike, visit West
End, West Bay, Coxen Hole, and Flowers Bay. I heard stories and myths about the
island, heard horror stories, and I slept comfortably without air-conditioning.
I heard the ocean in my dreams.
The ride from airport to the cabana near West Bay was marked
by a runaway cow that three kids were chasing, a few close calls with cabbies on
steep hills, and a lot of shifting of gears. Thing is, it didn’t seem road rage
was as much of a thing – more a thankfulness that you aren’t creamed. The turns
and hills were endless and sharp during that first half-hour drive. At the tops
of hills, we could see the ocean on both sides. At the bottoms, there was a lot
of loud breaking. We passed hitchhikers which, I would later learn, are more
commonplace than exception. “Pick them up… they’ll knock on the window when
they want off,” we were instructed. So later, when leaving the West End (nearby
West Bay but a hell of a walk), we picked up three people on our way home who
waved happily toward the bottom of West Bay before we arrived at our temporary
home. This brings me to the first recommendation when visiting the island.
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| Road to Flowers Bay Methodist Church |
The roads are cracked and tough, the homes are candy shell
bright, and the food is inconsistent, but when you find a place that’s good it’s
really, really good. We visited Flowers Bay the second day, where
my father had walked a few miles from Keyhole every day for months (some years ago) to design and create
stained glass panels for the Flowers Bay Bethesda Methodist Church, a historical building, that sits a quarter mile
from the ocean. It’s side door remains open, inviting the saltwater breeze.
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| Stained Glass by Mark Knox |
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| Flowers Bay |
In full exploratory mode, I sat in church for the first time
in twenty years, confused by the quiet, aloof manner of folks before and
comforted by the way they opened up as they began to sing and share stories to
buy time – then more time – because the preacher didn’t show. Nonetheless, it
was a heartfelt service, marked by only one unfortunate event in which a man
with a dreaded beard yelled at a dog from outside the open door then picked
up a large rock as the dog continued to bark. He yelled toward the church,
nonsense, “the false prophet,” they called him. I wanted to run out and throw
the rock back at him, but he was crazy and at the same time a part of things
more than I was. I needed to be respectful. He was a crazy part that ran off,
and the dog didn’t appear to be hurt – it too was long gone in the other
direction. This bit of ugliness was quickly remedied as my father was mentioned
in sermon, called up and thanked. The singing got better as the service went
on. The preacher never showed but a few women stepped in to see the program to completion. We navigated the street above on the way there and back.
By the end of seven days, we had seen much more of the island and had eaten here and there and, well, everywhere. I recommend you do the same.
2.
Eat and drink widely
Foster’s (on Foster’s stretch of the beach) on Lobster Night
and Mangiamo’s for breakfast (a corner store/breakfast nook that has amazing
breakfast and lunch) were my favorite places. In fact, Fosters again for
afternoon coconut shrimp and rum punch. I heard Oasis was wonderful too, but I
missed this meal when taking a night to explore the West End—the divers’ spot,
it seemed—for a night. We ate apple-bananas, the best papaya in existence, and
island sugar in our coffee.
The second day we were there, we had a barbeque and saw more
of the tropical jungle—just enough—and were told story upon story of the land
we stayed on, up the hill from West Bay. We had island lettuce, a buttery dark
leaf, on our sandwiches. We tried to get Monkey Lalas on video (Monkey Lalas
are clumsy lizards that run rampant on the island. I saw one run into a coconut
tree and get right back up only to run away faster on its back legs). There is
a drink named after these guys, as well there should be, and the Monkey Lala, a
sort of Mudslide with banana, is the island drink to try for tourists. Think
dessert and drink in one.
3.
Zipline (there are many options – I recommend
South Shore)
After ziplining (another first – quite fun), we met a man
who expressed anger at the mainland, said the crime kept trying to bleed over
but “We won’t let the corruption in. All the drugs over there … shame. The
drugs will make you kill your entire family.” He went on. He said Roatán won’t
let that happen, the island is too strong. I hope so. I saw a crease of worry through the anger and wondered what had happened, exactly, to make him so angry. Honduras is the murder capital of the world, though not often given much mind in international US news. I wouldn't have known if not visiting the island.
4.
Snorkel (but check your gear before you go – a
bad fit or bad buckle can mean no gear)
The island brings in money, mostly from tourists, and yet it
remains largely undeveloped. The ecology is notable. Don’t step on the coral. If
you dive, swim with the dolphins (one thing I’d like to do when I return),
snorkel or even swim out, be respectful. In many areas, it seemed the economic
stimulation felt both necessary and in direct opposition to the natural beauty.
Small piles of trash can mean small tears in this pristine, picturesque
setting.
5.
Park carefully if you rent a car
We got a parking ticket, went to Municipalidad de Roatán in
Coxen Hole. Coxen Hole is worth seeing, but I’d recommend not going to the
Municipal unless you have to. Downtown traffic was so bad that my
father was able to get out, find a policeman, walk to the building and pay the
ticket by the time we parked. The officer he walked with, however, was very
nice and ensured the boot was removed from our rental before we even handed
over the Lempira. Luckily, we had a backup ride, or that could have been a day
gone instead of a few hours.
6.
Take a water taxi
The short ride from West Bay to West End costs about $150
Lempira ($20 lemp = $1 dollar). The highlight of our trip was when, halfway,
the driver yelled at us to put on our vests. “I’ll get yelled at. Marines!” he
said. We grabbed the soggy vests and indulged, laughing as we watched the
looming ship pass by, imagining this anxiety-ridden driver getting yelled at as
though by a parental figure.
7.
Listen to stories, tell stories. There is no
need to make things up.
There were stories of love, of those travelers falling in love with the island, and those who only want to leave getting the opportunity to travel themselves. There were sad stories of bodies washing up on the property shore after Hurricane Mitch (1998), toys and clothes appearing in quantities from the
mainland. Útila, another of the Bay Islands that currently hosts a research center for
whale sharks, was torn apart by the storm back then.
There were stories of magic and fortunetellers,
murder and voodoo, retaliation and myth. There were stories of extortion told over Cuba Libres (rum, cola and lime) as we stared out at the
water crashing yet serene. There was more anger or fear regarding the
mainland, but there were also stories of family there—homes there. The people
we met around town were helpful, showing us around and telling us what not to
bother with. It all made me wonder about the stories I’d hear back home, if I
knew of all that happened in my immediate neighborhood and what could be said
about the violence here that is often unreported or ignored by officials. Development
means structure, but it doesn’t always mean shelter or safety.
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| Fidel, the Keyhole dog, liked to sit out by the ocean and stare at the waves |
We listened. We danced. We climbed laughably steep hills and
felt our hearts reach out for the many free roaming dogs on the island. The
homeless cats. We met a woman from London who said she came to visit and
couldn’t leave. We met a diver: same. Businesses opened on-time or not, so we
waited by doors. We swam and soaked up the sun, and it didn’t sear.
I feel I know the island well already. We haven’t just met,
we’ve dated. Getting to know the island more intimately before 2020, a target
date for doing my part to help establish an artist residency there by this keyhole. This
myth-rich island, with its unparalleled beauty and extremes, is a place every truly
artistic person should visit. Visit with care, visit with art… visit with a willingness to give up what you know for a time and open your eyes (or just go and stay at a resort and soak up the scenery). It's a truly remarkable place.
