BELIZE TO ROATAN: SELF IMPOSED TEMPORARY EXILE

"Exile is not a material thing, its a spiritual thing" Victor Hugo.

The start of this blog finds me on the island of Roatan, (the largest Bay Island of Honduras).

I was quite unsure as to where I would be going less than 6 hours before I took the flight.

As the hourglass spilled its last drop to the bottom and dawn broke over rough seas,

I awoke that morning to find the gusty winds of March in full force.

Over the radio the crackling sound of small craft warning was being announced and the palm trees out front looked caked in dust.

There was a hole in my life, and it was the hole of mediocre this old gal had sunk into.

I was scared to death of heading to Honduras on a last moment decision but I saddled up anyway. Convinced that the destination justifies the road. With all the present frustrations and the ravages of growing older, I've started to get cracks in my face, and why not? I've earned them.

Simplify.........then Simply FLY
The exit strategy!

I landed on these pirate shores via a 45 minute boat ride off Caulker, a 15 minute taxi ride to the Int'l airport a 45 min hop to cross borders and land in San Pedro Sula where you are transferred to an even smaller plane for a 15 min hop to La Ceiba before changing planes again for another 15 min hop to Roatan plus all airport waiting time, this trip took 4 hours. How about direct flights? Anybody want to start that up between Roatan and Belize?

All this travel time took me only about 100 miles away now from where I originally started!

My frustration back home was like a slow-lit fuse moving ever closer to an explosion and I had to act fast to prevent embarrassing myself on a small island  of peers who love to judge. 

 As I sat on this tiny  airplane free of flight attendants, my mouth was drier than a twig in the Sahara and a bloody mary was nowhere in sight. Just a half-dozen of us and two pilots in the open cockpit.

Aaaahhh. .....but at 15,000 feet above the ground and heading South/Southeast in that little airplane ......with each passing mile the weight of my stress got less and less.......and less.... !

I felt so laid back when I arrived, the only thing I wanted to do was get horizontal on the beach.

I came here the second week of March  in what I called  "putting myself into temporary exile" or the " 51st way to lose a lover".

(chant...chant)..."take the plane Jane"

I hope that the next few years will not follow the past mistakes of the pathetic "ineptitude of my methodology"

Several years ago I was lonely and waiting for a tall, dark, handsome man to walk in my front door and rescue me. T-Rex had arrived and kicked it off the hinges. It took me 2 years to realize that cupid had forsaken me.

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Before the drama,

I felt like I was in my late teens when my skin was still youthfully fragile, that which is now rapidly turning to dried parchment.

I felt I had the eyes not yet tinged with fear;

the full lips not yet dried and cracked from the constant exposure to sun.

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I laughed at my own sad joke as I lit a cigarette from my pack a day habit. I know I'm being ludicrous by spicing my nicotine pack with a menthol in a weak attempt at safe smoking in the pretense of delaying or avoiding the inevitable process of consumption inside my lungs.

I had been inspired by Paul Simon's song to take the leap of faith.

"50 WAYS TO LEAVE YOUR LOVER"

these words became a continuous chant in my head :

"just slip out the back Jack;

make a new plan Stan;

you don't need to be coy Roy;
hop on the bus Gus,

you don't need to discuss much.

Just drop off the key Lee and set yourself free"

and with that chorus, life threw me a curve ball aaaaaagain..........!

For once I would like the creator to consider me and let things be in universal harmony!

I experienced that juiced up feeling of anticipation I always get upon touching foot on new soil.   Exhilaration........more exhilaration than exhaustion.

I was planning on maybe staying a couple months at best. 15 months later I am here and actually putting some roots down in this last place I thought I would try and settle.

The island is special, besides its incredible beauty, there is an eclectic mix of eccentric international people.

After the right amount of alcohol, I realize that I am fluent in Greek; German; Italian and most other "Euro-speak" especially if you add "jaa" to the end.

Back home at my busy backpackers hostel, I had also gotten tired of catering to and smiling and smiling with tourists until my face felt like it would explode in protest.

I had to release from my own torment.

I started to feel as useless as last weeks toilet tissue.

Yet even as I screamed inside and cursed all he Gods, I gave thanks for my health, the remainder of my sanity and other good fortune.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------CAYE CAULKER I was born here. (pink house mine)

The island of Caye Caulker is still a fine place and not all is lost.

Some people are still warm and friendly and most still live life at their own pace. A pace that we have been used to for generations. It makes us suspicious of pushy foreigners which sometimes makes us seem insensitive.

Caulker is like many other Caribbean islands that are at the very frontier of paradise, where the women don't usually wait until the summer to warm up. I didn't like going out much lately because I don't like men who pay me compliments as if they expect a receipt.

I am an "original" from Caye Caulker, this speck of mangroves inside the Barrier Reef of Belize. Once thought of (by me) as a tiny "God forsaken, sand fly ridden island" where fishermen and their families lived off the sea and the land, especially their coconuts which was traded or made into oil. It was common to have a pig pen and hen house in the spacious back yard. I know my grandfather and neighbors did. A feast was celebrated by killing a pig with grand fanfare. The neighbors and friends would show up when they heard that fatal final squeal of the pig as the knife pierced its heart, only to be rewarded for their brazen inquisitiveness with some chicharon and pieces of fresh pork meat. Fruit trees were everywhere, breadfruit; guava; mango; craboo; sea-grape; coco-plum; date palms among others. As an ungrateful kid, if I got another plate of tortillas and fried fish or lobster for breakfast, was enough reason to throw a tantrum.

The need to leave this tiny island was never necessary in those days unless you were really sick or to further your education.

The transformation of Caye Caulker has been cool.

Its famous for being laid back "Go Slow" is the motto.

Its very touristy now with an International backpackers flavor and all the fishermen and boat builders have hotels, restaurants, tours or shops.

A large percentage of the population still consider inactivity as the main activity. You find a nice shady coconut palm tree on the beach and sit and people watch; sip a belikin and make plans as to where you will rendezvous later.

The 14 years away traipsing the world in various countries from Curacao, to Kenya, South Africa, Egypt, US, Europe, South America and most of the leeward islands wet my appetite for diverse cultures and I always hunger for more. I was happy that I didn't have to travel that much anymore, International now came to me on Caulker.

I find myself drawn to living the rest of my life out in the tropics & returned to live a life of quality over quantity back in 1996.

The scheme is still working.

Although there are days when I would bitch that the sky could be more blue, the seas more turquoise; the stars more brilliant, the full moon brighter; the sunsets more crimson; the corals and fishes a little more spectacular; the sand whiter; the breeze cooler; and the Belikin colder, I was in general one happy heifer except for the occasional down days. On those days I would be willing to displace more water than a sinking ship and venture to the tip of my dock and dive into the water with hopes of washing the bad karma off me.

I would wake up in a bad mood some days and lose control, yell at the nearest victim. Lack of activity contributed to my dis-equilibrium and in those circumstances almost everything calls for a drink.

A typical day on Caulker would find me wandering down front street towards the "split" watching rolls of cotton clouds move quickly across the sky as I lumber along.

I would join friends at the split for a "swim" and here details usually get hazy as one becomes inebriated at the beach bar.

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I order my third one barrel and coke and fall in love with the pain of life, with the rack & ruin of Central America, with the bruised bar-maid and with the bar itself.

The warm rum usually brings back memories of this island in the old glory days and any other islands I have spent time on in the past. Other perceived doomed places where nostalgia and squandered dreams waft on the Caribbean breeze.
I prefer places where the decor is deliberately antique with virtues of simplicity and sense of place. Those special spots that have not yet been ruined by progress or closed or burned down.

I realized that the tragedy of this place is all these bored people getting excited by the new arrivals of "fresh meat" and then going out to a bar they themselves would not normally go unless by gunpoint trying to hook up with the new talent.

A majority of the travellers who come here want to trade their lives and live here. A lot actually stay. no sooner than the vacation is over and reality sets in, their stress begins. Some new residents find the island life more stressfull than where they were, (blackouts, mediocre labor force, expensive materials etc.) especially when you are trying to achieve something in what you deem a reasonable time-frame. Some curl their tail and get whipped while others stand firm and learn to relax the Caribbean way. Pirate Heritage places are not for wussey's.

(to be continued)

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OPPORTUNITIES ARE LIKE SUNRISES, IF YOU WAIT TOO LONG YOU MIGHT MISS IT

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"FAR FLUNG HEIGHTS"

The past 2 weeks I found myself caked in red clay everyday as I shoveled what seemed to be hundreds of loads of hillside to make terraces on the sloping piece of dirt I can now call my own.

Sometimes I get sub-merged in self-delusion of grandeur.

Somewhere deep within the jumbled recess of my mind I fantasize, taking me back to the years I spent in Africa when I was known as "madam Tina". Queen of my own beach & Masai Mara resorts. Private plane. Personal Staff. (not of it was ever really mine, but I controlled the king of it)

"This is not the grand life I always dreamed of" I thought as I picked the dirt out of my fingernails. As I started to watch the sun set over the hills from my stone terrace, I surrendered the dreams of the glorious past.

But we have dreams of building our castles up here and maybe someday I can take the throne again in a brilliant comeback. This dirt is Caribbean treasure now, going to be worth a lot more soon and my hard work will pay off. The Honduran Govt just declared the Bay Islands a Duty Free Zone and so Golden Rod, Granny Gial, Romeo & I started buying up this sweet hill we found only 5 minutes from where the cruise ship docks. Combined we have about 10 lots so far. (ship view from property)

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Tina's Six Top Reasons to Invest in the Caribbean

The options are open & look prosperous for the tourism business;

The price is right for the dirt and clay;

the view is a million dollar one;

the country is stable;

the people are exotic;

there is plenty of margarita and bitches....oopps sorry really, slip of the tongue... beaches. But seriously, this is Margarita ville.

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IDEA # 04

Golden Rod (better known as G-Rod): We're going to build our own castle willage on this hill.

Me: Hey..we should make it like a cultural village, they don't have one of those here yet. Each castle we house a different ethnic group from the country, Mayan, Indians, Garifuna, Spanish you know?

Romeo: Sounds good. So are we going to build individual castles and link them together into a grand castle?

G-Rod: yeah, with courtyards & to-die-for gardens. The sky's the limit, it's just GOTTA be far flung.

Romeo: Can we have some canons along the hillside that we can fire out with huge blasts of smoke and thunder

G-Rod: now that's far flung!

Me: (I lick dry lips and search for words)

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A week later.....

G-Rod discussing how to make money on the dirt:

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IDEA #29

Me: "No but really, what are we going to do with our Castle willage?" (always deliberate mis-pronounciation of village)

G-Rod: Why don't we just build a Bar Mall.

Me: What?

G-Rod: A Bar Mall, you know. Sort of a disneyworld for alcoholics. Each castle can house a different themed bar or pub only we can call it "Dizzyworld at Far Flung Heights"

Me: I think you are gringo loco.

G-Rod: Think about it, this could be a hit. We will perfect the pub crawl, all they have to do is maneuver through the courtyard on their knees if need be. Maybe we can save a castle for a side business called the "booze snooze" in case they want to catch a cat nap between bands. We could charge for that, just some bunks.

Me: Tinas Hostel with a twist? you think I can charge $10 a bunk?

G-Rod: Yeah, we could even have a vomitorium?
Me: A what???

G-Rod: A vomitorium, a place where they can go in to barf but have to pay to be let back out into the crowd.

Me: scowl

G-Rod: It WAS a joke but it is far flung and it just might work!

Me: Done say it!

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Harry Dole Wisdom:

You just can't clean up the sex industry.