Roatan, off the coast of Honduras
It was two years ago, for 3 weeks in April-May, when my son, daughter-in-law, then 3 1/2 year old granddaughter, Jordan, and I last travelled, internationally, as a family. On that adventure we explored the Andulusian region of Spain and a few places in Portugal. Awesome adventure. Beautiful areas.
And, one year ago in March, I had an extraordinary ‘heritage walk’ in England with new found cousins which, like the trip to Spain and Portugal, is all chronicled in this blog (previously under the blog name: grammietravels).
Now I move on to a new blog heading of Paper, Pen, Journey as Vivian C. Murray while reinventing the site to be all-inclusive of multigenerational travel, my family’s experiences in Shanghai as expats in the 20s, 30s, and 40s, and my own personal explorations.
This year, 2014, we traveled again as a 3 generation family and arrived in Roatan, Honduras on the last day of February, leaving 12 days later.
As in previous travels, we used VRBO (Vacation Rentals By Owner), renting a 3 bedroom house on Tamarind Drive which was closer to West Bay than West End. (And that was a good thing, as far as I’m concerned.) The house was about 500 feet (down and back up a steep hill) from the beach. Of course this is not far when a person is fit and used to hiking. For moi, it was a bit of a stretch coming back up that hill.
One hot afternoon, a guy rolled past in his golf cart and asked if I needed a ride down the hill. I told him to come back when I needed a ride back up! He laughed while commenting that he could relate. Another day, a young worker at the boutique hotel (Xbalanque Resort) next to the beach called out asking if I needed a ride back up and while catching my breath I declined saying I was almost there. I had pulled something in my left foot and was using a walking stick to help climb back up the hill. I must have been a pitiful sight all sweaty, sandy, huffing and puffing. I wouldn’t be caught dead looking like this back home.
In our very nice house, the bedrooms and living area had sliding glass doors to the deck where there’s an infinity plunge pool. Is was deep enough to fully submerge, float and Jordan could easily run and canon-barrel into the water.
The guidebooks and house instructions mention the “pleasant” 45 minute beachwalk from West Bay to West End. Our yellow house-on-stilts is in the middle between those two towns and I was pretty much scratching on death’s door by the time we walked to and from West Bay the first week there. It didn’t help matters to have a bum foot.
What the guidebooks also fail to mention is a high metal bridge over a small waterway near Gambolinda Park. There are many stairs which need to be negotiated as well as a rocky area of about 50 feet which needed careful attention (these rocks have now been removed).
Did I mention the fact that these walks are in 85 degrees with 95% humidity?
The water taxi stops at the comfortable and pricey boutique hotel dock below the house (Xbalanque Resort). Jordan and I paired up as a team to take the taxis on two occasions, once to West End and the other to Infinity Bay at West Bay.
A couple of things I love about Central America besides the warm temps and warm oceans, are the geckos chirping in the rooms and the occasional colorful bird perched nearby squawking its head off. But, in Roatan I missed the sounds of the howler monkeys which we heard in Costa Rica, as well as toucans, and parrots. We did have the geckos, bats, vultures, crows, and the odd squawking bird here and there.
The Hondurian vendors on beaches are naturally annoying but not as bad as in Mexico. Here, it usually takes one “No gratias” and they go away. In Mexico they nag incessantly.
At West Bay there was the ‘Banana Donut Man’ a grizzled old guy with a long white beard, a bit rotund, sweet and kind. He fed the little children left over donuts as well as the fish. (Sanding in the water when he threw a piece of donut and have the fish swarm around my legs was a very cool sensation.) We bought one from him at West Bay.
There were young Garifuna boys selling conch shells and dried, plasticized seahorses. It had just been the day before when I talked to ‘the kids’ about how I wondered what ever happened to the beautiful conch shell she had for years, after she passed on. Naturally I was drawn to purchasing the shell which looked just like the one my mom had. The boy wanted $10, I said $5. He said no. The seahorse he wanted $6 and I said $2. I sat on my beach batik throw from Costa Rica, and just shook my head no. He walked away with his little friend, who was trying to sell me more inferior products for my price, so I went to snorkel to get a break.
When I resurfaced from a wonderful escape with the fish, the boy popped into my face and agreed to my prices. “OK, it’s a deal.” he said. He and I laughed over the whole game of it. He was probably no more than 9 years old, just a year older than my grandson in Seattle.
There were also women offering hair braiding and massages, along with an ice cream cart pushed back and forth from a very pleasant local selling a frozen ice cream for $3 but at the end of the day, agreeing to $2.
However, vendors at the West End were another story, especially the ‘masseurs.’ They ganged up on the tourists and had no mercy. Be very careful with these women, unless you want to spend a lot of money for a massage on the beach.
Jordan and I landed at West End on the water taxi and immediately saw this would be a different experience. After running into the Banana-Donut-Man again and buying 3 for the family, we made our way to the first stop for Jordan’s promised ice cream, and then to the beach which was just outside the ice cream shop. Stopping to ask people on the street where to find ice cream or the main beach is a must-do unless you want to wander aimlessly in the heat.
Half Moon Bay was a calm mass of sparkling turquoise and swimming was great. But we landed very close to the town beach bum whom I didn’t trust because of the grizzled appearance and beer in one brown, leathery hand. He was watching Jordan and I very intently when we were in the water so I opted to go back to our spot to keep an eye on Jordan, our bags, and feel less than relaxed. But the old man was probably not the biggest problem on the beach. At least he eventually climbed into his hammock, strung between two palms behind me and which I swear I didn’t notice when choosing the spot initially, and fell fast asleep.
The massage vendors were beyond annoying and were really a crooked bunch of lovely looking young women led by what appeared to be the older matriarch of all Roatan masseurs. This woman was relentlessly trying to massage my neck while saying ‘just a demo’ and then whispering God-only-knows-what into my ears. I was sufficiently creeped out and finally brushed her away as I would an annoying fly. I’m a patient person but she was pushing my limits.
Not so lucky for the young couple next to where I sat who fell under the spell of Massage Mama and her ‘little pretties.’ Before I knew it, this couple were laying face down and getting worked on, in more than one way. About 6 women were massaging these unsuspecting two people. They even I clasped the woman’s bikini top.
While keeping my eye on the beach scene, still waving to Jordan who was having a blast in the water, out of my peripheral vision I saw the couple sit up and heard the voices getting louder. The man was saying, “But you said this was a demo! I am only giving you $20, the only cash I brought, exactly in case of a situation like this coming up!” Mama Masseuse is yelling, “No, no Mister! $80 for each half hour massage!” The ‘Mister’ held his ground and the women walked off all clucking like a multi-colored group of disgruntled hens.
The couple and I started chatting. They were from New Orleans and taking a break from the Royal Caribbean cruise they were on. I liked them immediately and we chatted for awhile laughing at the audacity of Mama Masseuse. He was very pissed off and his voice and accent reminded me of Matthew McConaughey. He laughed to tell me while being massaged he overheard me tell Jordan to just “pee in the ocean” after she had run up to me frantic about her need.
He found it funny while I felt a bit embarrassed for about half a second. He also offered to drive us back to the cruise ship, which of course wasn’t necessary since we weren’t on a cruise. His wife also told me she was pretty uncomfortable about her bikini top being undone by the massage team.
After a bit, Jordan ran up to say she was hungry, a common event on this trip, so we went off in search of a cash machine and a restaurant. My card wouldn’t work in the cash machine, but the Coconut Tree hawker said they accepted credit cards so up the stairs we went.
I had Lionfish fish cakes, presented prettily and tasting especially good. Jordan had cheese quesadillas which she didn’t like and wouldn’t eat. Now I understand why she is so thin. Thrilled to see a tv on in the open aired lounge area, she went to sit and watch Sponge Bob and I had a few minutes to myself. I began watching a bunch of young people swing off the mast of a sailboat into the sea wondering how safe that was but knowing they were having a blast.
It was an easy decision not to fuss with the water taxi (getting in and out was as challenging as I was afraid it would be) so I hailed a $10 cab ride back to Sienna House. Jordan was totally fine to be taxied by land back to the house, and seemed as relieved as I was. Her parents were out and about so the two of us slipped into easy naps under the ceiling fan in my sea-blue and yellow bedroom.
To be continued…