26^th

Today was the final day of the rescue diver course. The written test was accomplishable in one half of a minute and somehow my hand was able to answer each question without the use of any at all cognition. The two days of practical exercise were much more entertaining. Yesterday the instructor went AWOL, viciously swimming with so much intent I thought he saw a whale shark, we followed the endless underwater sand dune down to 135 feet, leaving the three of us following completely Narc’d. The officials will tell you narcosis is like being drunk. I will tell you the actuality, it is like being too drunk.

To celebrate, the instructor took us into the interior Spanish neighborhoods to play billiards. Walking down “main” street, we swung left into what looked like a dingy alley. This alley turned out to be something of a secret passageway into the heart and bulk of the island, the unseen arteries and heart of the isle. We went into three pool halls of varying repute. The first holding a wily transvestite and a sound system rivaling early rock concerts, the second a small cozy hall with smiling faces, and a dark bathroom up two stairs, so it sat like a soaked kings throne. The third held the must uncertainty, dark, laser lighting, a sound system rivaling Madison Square Garden, silent quiet people in the corners, Honduran military passing through, girls coming in and out of backdoors, were are not certain, but we are pretty sure it was a brothel.

In each of these three places we played the most fascinating pool game, Honduran in origin, the balls are lined up numerically around the table, touching all the sides, with the one ball in the center. You start with the one ball, this being the subject ball, you can hit the one, then any other ball. Every ball you sink, you get the points of that ball. So once the one ball goes in you proceed to the two and so on. It is reliant on combos and care, if you miss the subject ball or scratch, it is negative the subject balls value, or if you hit another ball without first hitting the subject ball it is minus the ball you hit. It is far more difficult and contemplative than 9 ball or any other such thing, because there are cases where you could be the world champion pool player and still have a shot that could only result in negative points. My favorite part of this game was the nano second you finished two or three girls would run out from behind the bar and reset the table. Muy rapido.

I returned to the dock on the back of a motorcycle, the motorcycle in my mind still having absolutely no excuse for being on this island, even more offensive than driving a hummer through mid town Manhattan. I found the security guard feeding rum to a bunch of six year olds, I left for my room indifferent. There I found my bike had been stolen, and to salt the wound they also made off with the soggy cheese I bought just that morning. My only comfort being an alley cat, who crawled into my coat and eventually shared my bed nestled up to my chest, but not before trying to burrow into my cranium.

The following day.

Found myself at the helm bright and early, a pod of dolphinos played chicken of the sea with me. Bearing down on the bow with great intensity, preforming a jet fighter maneuver rounding the stern and returning forward to ride the bow for a bit. Even more alluring, I think is the sail fish, or flying fish. Bursting forth from below the waves like a sparrow leaving a tree. Moving from water to wind, surfing the air just above the surface with grace and shimmering dewy wings. Eventually touching down 20, 40, even 70 feet from where they emerged.

When we got back I headed straight for the ferry dock to try and cut off the cheesy bike thief from his break for the coast. No cigar. Always attentive I watch every spoked wheel riding by, but it’s hard when the bicycle market has been corned by one brand, Bacini. Still, having only the bike three days I know I can spot it anywhere. 

The 25^th

Being mobile reinforces how small this island really is. Headed west, and got there in seven minutes. Rode up onto a dock in the lagoon and inexplicably rode out through the kitchen of some resort.

Stopped by the market and received a cornucopia of starfruits, avacados, bananas, eggplants and ginger. Just 52L. The ginger evidently being the least costly thing on the island, the grandest root jangle I’ve ever seen costing a mere 15 US cents.

Searched for passage to Roatan, I was sent from dive shop to hotel to gym, eventually finding the captain in the hyperbaric chamber. He stood there tapping at esoteric buttons and dials as some poor bender was doing Darth Vader impersonations inside. He didn’t know when he was leaving, if ever. He just knew it was $50 one way. A poor alternative to Captain Vern, his posters still hanging about town to this day, promising fun, relaxing daily trips between the island. Much loved and missed he was shot and killed by passengers, or more appropriately, pirates, shortly before my arrival.

On the matches:

There are three types of matches available on this spit of land. The first, Gato Negros. Like the other two, the box is yellow, all minimal in design and visually appealing. The Gato Negros showing a sitting cat, easily mistakable for a subservient whiskered rat, eyes dead on the consumer, with a lit match in its jowls. These become completely unlightable when the humidity gets beyond 10%, you can see their value on the floor below the stove, piled so high you’d think a mouse was running a woodchipper down there.

The second box is Fosfords San Martin. Picturing just a burning match with a flame that you might expect to see a hindu diety sitting in. These matches being the most precarious. You must close your eyes during ignition, for when you strike these evil twigs the phosphorus turns into flaming shrapnel with a common flight path into your eye or other bodily areas, burning most chemically. The third box, Caballo Rojos, are as you might say if there was three bears and a blonde haired girl involved. “Just Right” 

The Next Day(Today)

To quote Jimmy Buffett on the subject of this morning “My head hurts, my feet stink and I don’t love Jesus”. As it goes, straight from bed to boat. Inaudibly groaning I sat huddled in the wheel house as we hiked over ten foot rollers, in pouring rain, searching for whale sharks.

I came back for a snack of the most demoralizing thing to happen since the knife I bought and fully rusted six hours later. Whist shoveling handfuls of old raisin bran down my throat I thought to myself, “well this doesn’t taste good”. A visual inspection of the bags contents held an unacceptable level of movement. Immediately my mouth was emptied at a speed of 74 miles per hour.

Paid my reef fee, on my way back I walked into Roney’s Garage (Go Where You Want Go) to inquire about the bicicletas. “Were shipping in some new bikes” He said looking up from the weld, “500L and you can have it”. “Yes!”. “Or 100L a day to rent”. “Ummm, I think I’ll just purchase to own”.

It only keeps getting better on this island. So with just the graces of the Duppys, the rusty bike will survive without tools and I can survive with the vicious drama of the single lane island super highway.

The 23^rd

Yesterday is a bit blurry, but I will surely recall as I write. Dancing…no…night dive?...one more thing..yes! bicycle. I will start there. I borrowed Jermaine’s new bike which he had purchased the night before, or rather the morning. I had heard him stumbling up the steps around 3 after midnight, returning from some early morning clandestine shopping. He had walked up to some guy and inquired about a bike, the man said “wait here” and disappeared up some back alley, returning a moment later with a nice bike costing a fair 700L.

This very same bike I took for a wonderful ride past town, turning into a desolate sandy road (the alleged last day before paving) through a quaint suburb, trailing off into a Hawaiian looking volcanic coast, featuring hibiscus and lazy hummingbirds, finally leading into jungle. This is where I grew overly confident with the puddles I had previously traversed and proceeded right through the epicenter of a vast ocean, where in I found myself pedaling up to my waist through the murky murk. When progress ceased I stepped off right into the quicksand. The mud held my only sandals with great tenacity, only returning it in an apologetic eruption tearing it in half.

I returned tired, just in time for the night dive. Down 30 metres through the pitch dark to the S.S Dick Cheney (The Halliburton). Fulfilling three Advanced Open Water endorsements, Deep Water, Wreck and Night. We descended upon the spooky scene, beams of light from our flashlights shining spots upon the deck. We circled the ship twice, finally swimming through the bridge with an irritated moray guarding one side and a sleepy urchin on the other. On ascent we killed the lights and drifted softly with the phosphorescents hugging us in neon illumination.

Later on Jermaine and I went on a search for The One Armed Man, last spotted outside Tranquilla Bar, a secondary objective, 10L tequila shots. Otherwise known as half the shot for half the price. Intending to stay for a single drink and buy another bike from the One Armed Man, we instead had something closer to 12 shots, played kings and danced shoeless to terrible club music with five girls each respectively representing a different Scandinavian country.

The Next Day(Today)

To quote Jimmy Buffett on the subject of this morning “My head hurts, my feet stink and I don’t love Jesus”. As it goes, straight from bed to boat. Inaudibly groaning I sat huddled in the wheel house as we hiked over ten foot rollers, in pouring rain, searching for whale sharks.

I came back for a snack of the most demoralizing thing to happen since the knife I bought and fully rusted six hours later. Whist shoveling handfuls of old raisin bran down my throat I thought to myself, “well this doesn’t taste good”. A visual inspection of the bags contents held an unacceptable level of movement. Immediately my mouth was emptied at a speed of 74 miles per hour.

Paid my reef fee, on my way back I walked into Roney’s Garage (Go Where You Want Go) to inquire about the bicicletas. “Were shipping in some new bikes” He said looking up from the weld, “500L and you can have it”. “Yes!”. “Or 100L a day to rent”. “Ummm, I think I’ll just purchase to own”.

It only keeps getting better on this island. So with just the graces of the Duppys, the rusty bike will survive without tools and I can survive with the vicious drama of the single lane island super highway.

Post Script: I usually despise product placement, but I believe in giving credit when credit is due. Krazy Glue steadfastly repaired my blown out sandal, molecularly rebonding the atoms between the tear. Cheers to Mr. Elmer.

The 14 and 15^th

It has been over 48 hours since the rain began to fall, and it has yet to stop. Day one found me on the dock in the classroom for five hours of card games. No matter if you are from the U.S, Germany, Austria or the Netherlands you will sing along with Credence Clearwater Revival.

Went to a party, where at I had my fill of assorted liquids. Wandered back to the Lodge expecting to possibly meet the new security machete toting security guard who covers the shop, lodge and gas station.  Went straight to the kitchen to cook a midnight rice meal, that was where I encountered him. I fixed him a plate which he ate with a mucho gracias. Later on I discovered that he was not the security guard, but just some guy who came to rob our rooms.

Day two I became the apparent dock chess master, a tournament must be in order to achieve any semblance to officialaity. The check mate came in a way I had never seen before, one that took me off guard and left me with wonder about the possibility of recreation. Chess is perhaps the most beautifully expansive game ever to be created by man. With every move you move closer towards individuality, creating a unique game that no one has ever played, making a series of moves no one has ever made. Something like 

16,000,000,000,000,000 of them.

More on dogs. You will see them hastily walking past you on the street, and when you ask them for the time they will just look up and back as they pass and say “I have a meeting across town”

At present I am on the floor sitting on a mat that smells like a horse stable, eating an “authentic falafel” with coleslaw in it, the second innaproiatly coleslawed meal today, the first being a “taco” otherwise known as a “burrito”, “enchilada”, “Quesada”, or “baleada”. I long for my 99 cent Union Square falafel.

The 13^th

Four of our five having coming down from Pumpkin Hill the other day at sunset and lacking flashlights returned to the cave at the hills base. Past barbed wired pastures and up the solid roots of the stately tree eternally clinging to the shear jagged volcanic stone wall to the entrance. A sort of a porch, 25 feet off the ground with many seats and drink holders. Single file we crouched through the entrance hole to the first chamber, the heat already soaking us. We squeezed through the next two passage ways with excellent claustrophobia, avoiding the “mud” on the floor in vain to the third chamber. This chamber held the bats. Before getting here we agreed “don’t shine the lights up, so we don’t wake them”,  but immediately inside we illuminated them like can-can dancers. They remained surprisingly calm, just hanging, upside down, wrapped in their cloak, dangling to and fro, deciding to flutter wildly ever once in a while. We soon decided to about face, only half upset with only just scratching the surface of the cave, the other half more than happy to abandon the rarely felt sense of claustrophobia.

The 12^th

Much thought devoted to human physiology. I’ll design a better human right now. One air duct going from the nasal passage to one lung and the other from the mouth to the second lung. This one alteration making choking on spaghetti only possible if you had an inclination to eating spaghetti through your nose.

Today was by far the most interesting  dive yet, and only due to what was above the surface. Cruising for the North side the sky became filled with cyclones, sometimes four at a time. One touching down 60 metres from the boat, the captain approached it, closing in on only 20 metres before turning away. I wanted to go all in, it was fantastic to stand on top of the bridge when stagnant tropical air suddenly turns chilly, and in gale force as salty raindrops fall from the sky. The clouds returning the sea.

When we returned to the surface the “wind trousers” were gone, a pod of dolphins had taken their place. The lot of us gave chase in only masks and fins. Only two tuna surprises lagged behind to give us cautious inspection.

Day 9

Alive. Got a coconut, never having opened one before I took a pen and like administering an adrenaline shot came down hard on its skull. It became the first thing of the week to “blow up in my face”. Stunned, a geyser erupted into my face soaking my shirt and all four walls.

Hiked Pumpkin Hill, the tallest point on the island. The view commanded a 321 degree view of what you might expect from a decent quality Hawaiian post card. As beautiful as the view was our gazes were aimed at the ground at a leaf cutter ant super highway, so industrious, so small. It got me thinking of the Argentine ants, I believe that they will soon surpass humans as the dominant species, or else it will be yet another failed socialist super system.

Day ?

Today the sun rose with great exuberance, and I found myself as sick as how the neighbor’s dog should (but doesn’t) feel after the many hours he spends lapping away at the seven or so outdoor washing machines. Obviously the perfect day to do my first dive. There was a break in last night at the dive shop, an individual smashed through the upstairs balsa wood vent and alleviated the pressure felt by the cabinet draw, missing was a many number of Lempiras.

My personal strength prevailed for once, getting me through the two dives (drum fish, moray, huge conch, leopard snail…) and many more. I spent the rest of the night writhing and reading, and another perfect coincidence; the neighbors decided to put their soundsystem to use with hours of terrible dancehall. Mark Twain saw me through, today after deliberation I decided to call him the first contemporary travel writer as well as the first Gonzo journalist. With all due respect to my still second favorite author Dr. Thompson.

A coconut would be more than splendid, but I cannot currently constitute the outside, the saturated sounds of what I’m missing on a Skid Row Saturday only taunt.

Day ?

I spend approximately 24 seconds each day wondering what day it is and what time is it, rarely do I find out either. I will now provide a brief synopsis on the wildlife and fauna. Firstly the mystery has been solved about the gunshot sound followed by a secondary solid bang and final plop. The origin of this startling sound that occurrence once or twice an hour waking me up throughout the night is some sort of nut, like a small coconut with a sort of semi green outer layer. It departs the tree, pounding the hollow wooden roof, falling to the porch and then rolling off into the mud below, an autopsy must be in order.

The cats and dogs wander in and out of restaurants, tonight a dog turned down my nachos while a cat stalked them quietly from the ledge, naturally the felines name was Nacho. Crabs in the front yard, mosquitos in the back. A Hummingbird outside my window, a gecko in the bathroom and coach roaches in the kitchen.

The supposed scourge of the island is the sand fly. I have never encountered one myself, but my legs say otherwise, if indeed their signature be abundant tiny red dots forming 2 ½ by 2 ½ by 2 ½ inch triangles. They are smaller than atoms and only come out at night, a dangerous combo.

Day 4: Languidly lilting east an Australian shepherd weaves under my toes. “sorry” his man-buddy says “he’s drunk”. The three of us walked the strip with many people stopping to compliment the man about the dog, instead of the dog himself. Rowdy was his name and a phenomena most interesting surrounded him. The throngs of village dogs all went wild over him, from every side of the street, from high porches and low porches, from behind gates, fences and walls. This being abruptly different from their usual behavior of nonchalance and disregard for cats, humans and other dogs alike. “Yeah” the guy says “you should have seen it the first day here”. So I figure it is either a new kid on the block kind of thing or this dog is some kind of superstar , the Frank Sinatra of dogs.

Day 3: It has been well over a year since I complete the PADI openwater course, thus I found myself snorkeling among divers. Received a short history of freediving, which I discovered is a perpetual thing, half of every breath for most people is used for free dive chattery. If you were wondering how commited some of these individuals are let me tell you ~ so passionate are they, they will flood their nasal passages by snorting up the sea. This will continue until their head is fully saturated, like a cranial fishbowl, thus allowing them to descend to great depths without the inconvenience of needing to equalize.  There is also the story of the diver from some Italian of Grecian village who at the turn of the century was pressed by the government to find and retrieve a lost anchor. So this man jumped in the water swam down found the anchor and tied it up. He was down for five minutes at a depth of 140 meters. This only being possible because science did not exist at the time.

After, Jermaine who arrived one day after me, from one hour away in New York, who is staying one room away, studying for the same certification, and I went to dinner. We were stopped on the way by a man on a bicycle. This man who years ago ran a pirate radio station from the abandoned hilltop-peak  teak castle after a mere minute he offered us both jobs on a gold dredge in Nome Alaska. I must find this man again. We made it to the Main Street(restaurant) and were joined by a Canadian couple, soon talk of aerospace engineering evolved into a science fiction film script in which Earth begins sending convicts to Mar to serve their life sentences  only to rapidly advance technologically and invade earth 35 years later.

Had drinks at Treetantic (a tree house bar with wonderlandesque path ways, bridges, gazebos and caves) I now know why building supplies are so sparse on the island; they all ended up here. Stopped back at the dock where some old ex-pats were smoking , with them was a character whom they call Hurricane Fifi, the story goes, 35 years ago a five year old Fifi washed up to the island during a hurricane and has been here ever since. Beside the fact this man looked as if he was 60 it seemed plausible, I was happy to grant them the benefit of the doubt with the mathematical error attributed to what in particular these grandparents were smoking.

Day 2

I went to sleep less than happy with my accodomations. 8x20 with a bed scratchy enough I contemplated taking out my ravor and giving it a good shave. I woke up earlier than I have in ages, this is the benefit from a non-comfy bed, you wake up from a collection of many lucid naps feeling totally refreshed. Like when I was sleeping in the library, I woke up from a three hour sleep everyday for over a week like I just had some post-space age highly refined coffee.

I got breakfast at “Munchies”, tipped the guy three lempira with USDollars still dominating my value processing system, poor fellow must utterly despise me giving him a 15cent tip. Wandered the main street most of day away, it is non stop quad, moped, motorcycle, tuk tuk, pedicab and the occasional duct tape engine truck, all being operated by three year olds, with two year olds on the back seat.

It rains over one hundred times a day here: “This rain must be messing with me, just when I thought it couldn’t rain any harder, it gets louder bigger and faster. Twice the hardest rain I have ever seen nonchalantly doubling. Pretty soon it won’t be falling, it’ll just be here.

I find it difficult to shop here, you could find a wider array of food products in the Republic of East Germany, and they would be more vibrant as well. I got a sauce that tastes like bathroom cleaning supplies, shoulda known better than buying something labeled Don Julios: Mojo.

Retreated back to the castle to read, after a bit the light goes out in my room. The next second I realized the unceasing club music next store has stopped, the next second; it’s pitch black outside. The whole island lost power.

An hour later the power comes back on, just finished a four serving pasta meal, Really would like to get out for a brew, but I’m stuck laying in a foodacoma. I’ll get one for breakfast.

The Bittersweets

The water in the sinks is a nice tannish brown and is pressurized enough to hit me in the face roughly 100% of the time.

But I can’t complain, there is water!

My room is plain and dirty and the bed is like 100 grit sandpaper.

But I’m paying $70 a month for a room 42 Monty Python ministerial steps away from the azure blue waters of the Caribbean.

The hardest part about cooking here is there is never a lighter handy for the stove.

But the good news is that divers smoke so much I think Paul Mall should give them a sponsorship.

Day 1

Driving to JFK at 3am, feelings of anxiety. I realize that sometimes making plans is more fun than going thru with said plans. Board the 757, one of the most beautiful things is the scenes of earth from god-view, and New York city in the dark morning is indeed the finest you can catch(although it is too late in the morn to see the electric snake, perhaps that is for the best). Watching NY fade away is upsetting, one of the rare times of NY nostalgia. ----This is not an airplane, it is a flying fart juice canister.

Miami is more serene. Across the runway is a Lufthansa Airbus, there is certainly no way that thing can fly, Dorothys house from the Wizard of Oz has better aerodynamics. Board the 737, my fear of flying is gone (seemingly for good), I suppose that is what happens when you’re doing the same thing for hours on end. I even have hopes for some mild to gentle severe turbulence to rock me to sleep. We follow what looked to be the entirety of the Keys about 15 miles to the east (what a unique land formation), and pass right through the center of Cuba, it sure looked peaceful down there.

Grand Cayman Isle: Oh the humidity! I forgot what you felt like. Lap dogs of various breeds sniffing out my bags, still nervous even though I know I had nothing in there, followed by the third pat down of the day, this one being far more intimate, they must like me. I reach La Ceiba, the airports are getting progressively smaller, this one using aeroplanes as a sort of rusty décor rather than for transportation, saw a plane taking of using a single donkey for propulsion. The customs line took well over one sweaty hour as 62 employees watched as one ticket lady stamped away at our official documents.  Split a cab with a Portlandian who after this is heading south to engineer on a research ship based in Panama. La Ceiba is quite beat, the landscape being composed of mud and garbage. We were stopped by two soldiers sporting Ak-47s, I gingerly smile and wave. The ferry was completely sealed top to bottom, I though this excessive until we made it out to the 13ft rollers. The vomit task force was in full operation on this crossing. I want to be the captain of this vessel, it is more like surfing than sailing.

On the dock I bid farewell to my temporary travel buddy, I catch a lift on the divemasters moped, flying past pedestrians on each side, dodging dogs and such, leaning into a sharp left and speeding to a stop at the end of the narrow dock. I’m handed a beer, Salva Vida ~ it certainly was. The young girls are running around with cigarettes in their hands lighting fireworks, than go flying past my ear exploding in the bay. The first thing the little girl tells me is “you’re a good person”, I like this one.