(Honduras)…Flying into the scruffy but enjoyable town of Coxen Hole, the erstwhile capital of Honduras’ Bay Islands, on the island of Roatán, I was struck by how green the isle was; and that it had some topography, a definite sylvan spine running down its middle. After the scrubby flatness of Antigua & Barbuda and the Bahamas, I realised I had been luckier picking out first Jamaica and, now, Roatán. It has two main tourist spots, with the more upscale hotels on West Bay Beach and the backpackers and scuba crowd in West End. It is possible to walk between the two, but not at night, as some guidebooks suggest, there being two stretches over rocks close to a cliff face and a steep, metal bridge that crosses a small canal entrance and is missing one or two of its wooden slats.
I am not a beach-lover, but the strand at West Bay, especially in front of the new Infinity Bay Resort (www.infinitybay.com), is gorgeous and has all the criteria that I require: it was curved for starters; had a sandy floor, was warm and had fish of several colours swimming metres from the shore. Iguanas patrolled the sharp jags of the coral to one end, while to the other were two good restaurants, Las Rocas and Bite on the Beach.
Jesus lizards (Basiliscus plumifrons) scuttled around on their back legs like Keystone Cops. To get to the other, eastern end of the island, it is necessary to catch two buses, one from West End to Coxon Hole, the other from Coxen Hole to Oak Ridge, which was hit by Hurricane Mitch in 1998. It seems to have recovered in the subsequent 10 years. It also has mangrove swamps, but neither claim to fame had me accepting the offer of a ride in a boat. Instead, I wandered down a narrow lane that leads to the breakwater that curls back by the sea.
Here I discovered a great little bar and restaurant called BJ’s Backyard (www.roatanonline.com/bj_backyard), which is run by a couple from Alabama, who, I strongly suspect, have been on this island for more than 30 years; and I returned a few days later in the wonderful company of Liza and Pedro, who I met on the island. Its small outdoor, wooden patio sits on the harbor mouth, zipping through which are numerous taxi boats full of schoolchildren. It is a community of both blacks and Hispanics, while up the hill is Barrio Lempira (named after the Honduran currency), in which only Spanish is spoken. I had a Port Royal beer there while waiting for a bus to take me over the top of the spine to Pollytilly Bight, the name of which had me making a beeline for it. This is Garifuna country (more of which later).
The mountains by the nearest mainland city, La Ceiba, are very dramatic, and I was lucky enough to stay at the wonderful Lodge at Pico Bonito (www.picobonito.com), which has kilometres of trails winding up the mountainside behind it. I went swimming naked in mountain pools and was fortunate enough to see two amazing species of birds here, the White-collared manakin (Manacus candei) and the definitely-needs-to-be-seen Lovely cotinga (Cotinga amabilis), which it took me four efforts ranging over five hours to get a sight of. The highlights of this area is walking up the Río Cangrejal, in which you need to wade through water, clamber over rocks and jump off boulders into the swift current. Assuming the safety position of knees up, arms out and feet forward, I maneuvered downstream to where I started whitewater rafting (www.jungleriverlodge.com/rafting.html) on class I to IV rapids, although I suspect that the water level was not as high as it could have been to make it truly terrifying.
The second must-do is the train journey (the last one in Honduras) from the dusty town of La Union to the wildlife refuge at Cuero y Salado (www.cueroysalado). I was told that the true benefits of allowing tourists, not cattle, to use this remaining stretch of track have not been fully realised by the locals, most of whom are not, understandably, patient to wait a full 10 years for the tourism master plan to unfurl in all its developmental glory.
The reserve is a peaceful place, especially the watery passage the locals called Mirror River.
The Bay Island of Útila is not as pretty as Roatán, but it seems more laid back, if more laid back is possible. Two dusty roads lead away from the only town, also called Útila, but disappear into a beach and swampy wood, respectively.
That said, people come here to scuba dive or learn to scuba dive, it being the cheapest place on earth in which to become PADI-certified. I searched for Whale sharks with no luck, but I did see a group of 50 or so Spinner dolphins (Stenella longirostris), some of which did spin on their tails. Equally aquatic was the inverted grotto that was the Jade Seahorse (www.jadeseahorse.com), a hotel in which the owners have gone to no imaginary expense to decorate: Small pieces of tile of every colour, plastic bananas, seahorse, bottles, shells, arches, a treetop bar, mirrors, you name it, it is probably in this wondrous pile somewhere.
It only has six rooms, all wonderful, too, but in the ones next to mine were Barrett and Heidi from Seattle and Joaquin (Norway) and Cyncia (Italy) who met in London and now live in Rome. Fantatsic company.
Back on Roatán, I attended the 211th anniversary celebration of the Garifuna people’s arrival on the isle. I was told that originally the Garifuna (actually, technically, Garinegu is the correct plural term) came from the Caribbean nation of St. Vincent & the Grenadines, but when the British took over these islands and following some clashes with the locals, the “blacker” members of these people (like all populations there are those who have darker skin, those who have lighter) were shipped off to Honduras. Of the 5,000 who started the journey, only half survived.
The celebration—we saw Honduran president Manuel Zelaya Rosales (known to everyone as Mel) leave in his helicopter—is in the first settlement that they reached, Punta Gorda, which remains their base. The women were dressed up in colourful dresses and skirts, and a man, wearing an elaborate headdress of reeds (see the photo above) that reminded me of photos I had seen of dances in West Africa, sang a song on a stage. The dance they performed is called a punta (which might explain the town’s name, although in Spanish it can be directly translated as “fat point”), and the music is referred to as bunda, which means “backside” in the West African Mandé language. It was all dusty and wonderful and the perfect soundtrack to my latest journey.
I am not a beach-lover, but the strand at West Bay, especially in front of the new Infinity Bay Resort (www.infinitybay.com), is gorgeous and has all the criteria that I require: it was curved for starters; had a sandy floor, was warm and had fish of several colours swimming metres from the shore. Iguanas patrolled the sharp jags of the coral to one end, while to the other were two good restaurants, Las Rocas and Bite on the Beach.
Jesus lizards (Basiliscus plumifrons) scuttled around on their back legs like Keystone Cops. To get to the other, eastern end of the island, it is necessary to catch two buses, one from West End to Coxon Hole, the other from Coxen Hole to Oak Ridge, which was hit by Hurricane Mitch in 1998. It seems to have recovered in the subsequent 10 years. It also has mangrove swamps, but neither claim to fame had me accepting the offer of a ride in a boat. Instead, I wandered down a narrow lane that leads to the breakwater that curls back by the sea.
Here I discovered a great little bar and restaurant called BJ’s Backyard (www.roatanonline.com/bj_backyard), which is run by a couple from Alabama, who, I strongly suspect, have been on this island for more than 30 years; and I returned a few days later in the wonderful company of Liza and Pedro, who I met on the island. Its small outdoor, wooden patio sits on the harbor mouth, zipping through which are numerous taxi boats full of schoolchildren. It is a community of both blacks and Hispanics, while up the hill is Barrio Lempira (named after the Honduran currency), in which only Spanish is spoken. I had a Port Royal beer there while waiting for a bus to take me over the top of the spine to Pollytilly Bight, the name of which had me making a beeline for it. This is Garifuna country (more of which later).
The mountains by the nearest mainland city, La Ceiba, are very dramatic, and I was lucky enough to stay at the wonderful Lodge at Pico Bonito (www.picobonito.com), which has kilometres of trails winding up the mountainside behind it. I went swimming naked in mountain pools and was fortunate enough to see two amazing species of birds here, the White-collared manakin (Manacus candei) and the definitely-needs-to-be-seen Lovely cotinga (Cotinga amabilis), which it took me four efforts ranging over five hours to get a sight of. The highlights of this area is walking up the Río Cangrejal, in which you need to wade through water, clamber over rocks and jump off boulders into the swift current. Assuming the safety position of knees up, arms out and feet forward, I maneuvered downstream to where I started whitewater rafting (www.jungleriverlodge.com/rafting.html) on class I to IV rapids, although I suspect that the water level was not as high as it could have been to make it truly terrifying.
The second must-do is the train journey (the last one in Honduras) from the dusty town of La Union to the wildlife refuge at Cuero y Salado (www.cueroysalado). I was told that the true benefits of allowing tourists, not cattle, to use this remaining stretch of track have not been fully realised by the locals, most of whom are not, understandably, patient to wait a full 10 years for the tourism master plan to unfurl in all its developmental glory.
The reserve is a peaceful place, especially the watery passage the locals called Mirror River.
The Bay Island of Útila is not as pretty as Roatán, but it seems more laid back, if more laid back is possible. Two dusty roads lead away from the only town, also called Útila, but disappear into a beach and swampy wood, respectively.
That said, people come here to scuba dive or learn to scuba dive, it being the cheapest place on earth in which to become PADI-certified. I searched for Whale sharks with no luck, but I did see a group of 50 or so Spinner dolphins (Stenella longirostris), some of which did spin on their tails. Equally aquatic was the inverted grotto that was the Jade Seahorse (www.jadeseahorse.com), a hotel in which the owners have gone to no imaginary expense to decorate: Small pieces of tile of every colour, plastic bananas, seahorse, bottles, shells, arches, a treetop bar, mirrors, you name it, it is probably in this wondrous pile somewhere.
It only has six rooms, all wonderful, too, but in the ones next to mine were Barrett and Heidi from Seattle and Joaquin (Norway) and Cyncia (Italy) who met in London and now live in Rome. Fantatsic company.
Back on Roatán, I attended the 211th anniversary celebration of the Garifuna people’s arrival on the isle. I was told that originally the Garifuna (actually, technically, Garinegu is the correct plural term) came from the Caribbean nation of St. Vincent & the Grenadines, but when the British took over these islands and following some clashes with the locals, the “blacker” members of these people (like all populations there are those who have darker skin, those who have lighter) were shipped off to Honduras. Of the 5,000 who started the journey, only half survived.
The celebration—we saw Honduran president Manuel Zelaya Rosales (known to everyone as Mel) leave in his helicopter—is in the first settlement that they reached, Punta Gorda, which remains their base. The women were dressed up in colourful dresses and skirts, and a man, wearing an elaborate headdress of reeds (see the photo above) that reminded me of photos I had seen of dances in West Africa, sang a song on a stage. The dance they performed is called a punta (which might explain the town’s name, although in Spanish it can be directly translated as “fat point”), and the music is referred to as bunda, which means “backside” in the West African Mandé language. It was all dusty and wonderful and the perfect soundtrack to my latest journey.
