El Caribe: Roatan and Cozumel

Days 13/14
Roatan, Honduras / 16˚18.72 N
Cozumel, Mexico / 18˚
November 4-5, 2010

It rained. A lot. It didn’t help that my tour guide said that the day before was sunny and beautiful and that 90% of the year is that way.
Roatan. Part of the Bay Islands,it was once owned by the UK, many people still speak English. It’s a multi-cultural island with deep roots in Anglo-Europe and Africa.

I was alone on the island. Glenda had been here before and Chris and Ursula, our wonderful travel companions, had other plans. That was ok. I attached myself to a group of others off the boat for a three hour van tour if the island. It was stormy and blustery and the first half the ride slogged through deep mud puddles and the only vistas were through rain splattered windows. What few communities we did go through were poor, which is understandable as Honduras is a poor, Central American nation.

Our tour guide was an American ex-pat who'd lived onthe island for several years. He ran a one man monologue:

"If it were a nice day you could see a group of islands out there."

"This is the local brewery."

"There's good surfing here."

Total nonsense. Nothing historical, nothing that would engage the tourist.

Behind me sat Archie and Edith Bunker, direct from Queens. Out of the ten or so people in the van, he was the only one who asked any questions.

"They got AIDS here? Huh?"

"These people work?"

"Where are we? What country are we in?

"They got AIDS here?"

"These kids go to school? Probably not."

"They got here? Huh?"

"They got AIDS here? Sure they do. They don't care.

"They got a Socialist government here like we got in the United States?"

My god! I wanted to turn around and tell this stupid Tea Party Republican to shut up!

At one point, when the van stopped for photos, I actually apologized to the Australian woman sitting next to him.

"Is he for real," she asked me?

"Must be, I said. "This is what the Tea Party/Republican Party is doing to the USA."

"You're in for some real trouble," she added.

"Yes, I know."

Fortunately the "tour" was coming to an end when I saw Glenda walking on the side of the road.

"Stop," I commanded the driver, and I jumped out, leaving Archie and Edith to the others. I'd have something to share at dinner.

Glenda was chatting with a young man and his two nieces and I was just in time to take their photo. She'd scored a bottle of Coke and was proudly showing it off.

In the end it was a disappointing circle around the island. It just seemed to be about trees and rain with only a few vistas of the distant sea. Perhaps on a dry day, seen under a blazing sun, Roatan would have been a pleasure.

I boarded the boat early, did a bit of business relating to my early departure off the ship on Friday and ran into Silva, our traveling companion from the beginning who is on her 81st
cruise.

She’d fallen earlier in the day, had gashed her forehead and smarted a huge black eye. We sat with her a bit and will make every effort to be with here tomorrow in Cozumel when she gets an MRI.

This would be my last night on board—a bittersweet event. I spent time alone at the 12th floor cocktail/Diet Pepsi lounge, “The Galaxy of the Stars,” writing this blog and listening to the ship’s very fine Jazz/Big Band quintet. Later, we dined with Chris and Ursula, who will keep Glenda occupied once I leave.

Cozumel. The adventure began at 7:45 when I was “to present myself to the officials.” All my ducks were lined up: hotel reservations, ongoing flights, passport. All my worrying was for naught. It was a straightforward clearance and I cleared customs in no time at all. I had all day ahead of me to share with Glenda, but the two of us had decided the night before to accompany Silva to the hospital on Cozumel where she’d have an MRI. We were, after all, the only others from Plattsburgh, and if it had been me I’d want the same. No good deed goes to waste.

I was very impressed with NCL, and the hospital. NCL picked p the entire tab from the taxi to and from the facility, to the MRI and the consultation with the doctor. They even provided a Peruvian translator which was invaluable at the hospital.

She was fine. A bit shaken up, but with no permanent damage. Thank God!

Glenda and returned to the ship then ate way too much for lunch. I then packed up the last of my things, wheeled my bigger than life suitcase out of the stateroom and exited the ship. We hugged each other goodbye and tried not to cry.

Thirty minutes later I was on the Playa Express, crossing from Cozumel to the mainland.
Once there, I picked up my suitcase, and walked to a nearby park facing the sea; I bought a soft drink and a bag of fresh coconut and waited for the boat to depart. She was but a toy ship in the far distance of Cozumel, but I knew it was her as she pulled out of its pier and slowly headed north.

“Good bye, dear friend,” I whispered to the darkening afternoon.

I waited until the ship was but a speck on the northern horizon which, too soon, was out of sight.

I gathered up my things, walked away from the Caribbean, my aquatic home for the past two weeks, and headed into Playa.

The second phase of this journey had just begun.