Mahogany Bay offers a brand new, wet paint, cruise port (Coxen Hole) combined with a brand new, wet paint, shopping centre. Surprise, surprise: Diamond International, Tanzanite, Emerald, Del Sol all represented. A few souvenir shops and lots of bars to suppluy Margarita, Beer, and every other tropical concoction anyone would want. A zip-line at the end of the paved plaza satisfies the adventurous, and the less daring can take a flying beach chair (yes, that's the name) across a small lagoon to a whita sand beach.
I booked a tour, which called itself Far Away, and promised to pass fishing villages, magnificient vistas of the turquoise waters around the world's second largest barrier reef, and less travelled parts of the island.
After a 'slow down' of the bus, beside the local 'White House', a pretty good smaller version of the Washington one, mansion of the Mayor, we headed to the hills. First impression is one of dense, impenetrable greenery...palm trees, flamboyant trees, mango trees etc etc, mostly almost suffocated with linanas and other climbing plants. The ususal 'selfperpetuating fences' (sticks, when planted develop leaves and grow into hedges) did not contain pastures or orchards, but more overgrown greenery. Many of the 'ranches', especially the ones on hill tops, are no longer owned by locals, but by foreigners, who want to have 'a view'.
The island, is 30 miles long and 3 miles wide, made up of rather mountainous terrain, is mostly populated by English speaking people, given that it used to be a haven for British Buccaneers and Runaway Slaves. Immigration from Hispanic Honduras mainland added latin people. Intermarriage did the rest. Spanish being the official language, one hears more English and a lot of Pidgin English - absolutely untranslatable. Although evangelical religions arrived with the original settlers, the catholic religion is making inroads to the Methodists, Baptists, Latter Day Saints and a handful more.
During the drive through jungle like forests, we caught glimpses of fishing villages way below the road, as well as condo developments and villas for retired expats - taking advantage of the low cost of living here. We stopped at a lookout over the symphony of aqua coloured waters below, with a few souvenir stands scattered about. The wooden look out platforms, were strewn with garbage, old kitchen utensils, rags, and the underlying planks appeared as they may give way under the weight of a flea...totally rotten. There was a little hut with toilets, always an important issue, on these tours, but - porobably for valid reasons - they were tightly locked.
Now we headed to the real 'far away' from the paved road onto a pothole marked dirt obstacle course. The guide mentioned, that in her youth going to school, public buses drove for a mile and were pushed for a mile when it rained. Today it was dry, and the potholes mimiced mini grand canyons.
Paya Bay, a little 'resort' balancing on a rocky outcrop between two crescent shaped beaches, small but 'far away'. One of them - pristine and white - the other - the ususal flotsam and jetsam humanity chucks into the water. The owners built it in 1993, and they lived and operated it ever since, except when one of the major hurricanes blew their personal residence to smithereens, and the rest of the place did not fare much better. Before the deterioration over time, and the unrepaired bits and pieces it must have been a delightful place to enjoy the best the island has to offer. It still has a loverly light infused restaurant, expansive terraces (without rails, and some with the de rigeur rotten planks) and 30 guest dwellings. The owners wife, a stout lady who looked like everyman's aunt, mingled and chatted and told us, that her clientele consist of repeat customers, who like her little slightly dishevelled paradise. A group of locals black dancers entertained with ballads, drumming and dances, reminiscent of Togo looking at their bizarre outfits.
I just looked for a shady spot, armed myself with a bottle of cold water, and vegetated. Unusual for me, one may think.
The Mayan's took their vengeance out on me. In Guatemala, when I stepped on a regular round pebble in a banana plantation, I lost my footing and crashed onto the macadam and gravel of the road bank. Split second and not even on a Mayan carving!
With my internal eyes playing the obligatory celestial display, I checked my limbs (nothing broken), my wrists (some bloody scrapes), my camera (in once piece, except for the viewfinder being a little askew) and my brand new 10 dollar watch (exploded). I staggered upright, still seeing stars, with the help of several fellow travellers, A bandaid later, I was in business.....BUT, next day here in Honduras, I felt as if an earthmoving machine had rolled over me. Arms, thighs, neck, ribs all felt crushed - but not a single bruise in sight. Hence my languid idleness in the 'Far Away' Paya Bay Resort.
The fact, that I had WARM lasagna the night before which was the first and only meal that had dire consequences, only made things worse. Weak and drained, I spent a D-Day....doze day....wrapped in a thick towel, under a sun hat, snoozing on an upholstered chaise longe at the PayaBay Resort, without taking a single superfluous step anywhere, beach or no beach.
The ship's store replaced my exploded watch with a new one, of the same caliber...no questions asked. Now I am back on local time...heading for New Years Eve in Cozumel.
