Saturday 27th December 2008 - Saturday 2rd January 2009
This post really is going to be short. Very little to talk about between Utilan New Year and getting here, Finca de Eden, back on Honduran mainland. And still no photos either.
The day after Boxing Day we left Paradise for Water Key, a small uninhabited island about 500m long by 50m wide. Sunday I perfected my hammock, mosquito net and tarpaulin setup, by using the diagonal of the tarp across the line of the hammock, and tying the other 2 corners down to not obscure the view too much. The net then attaches to the eyes of the tarp by 4 corners, being a hybrid 4-poster hammock net, perfectly suited for such use as this.
Monday night rained hard, the rainy season on Utila being completely out of sync with mainland Honduras and the rest of Central America. The horizontal sheet rain got me wet from both ends, so I crawled into the tent with Damian and my girlfriend. Damian's net and hammock all-in-one's zip's broken, but he is travelling with a hammock AND a tent, so is well equipped. Tuesday we blagged a bottle of vodka off some Guatemalan rich tourists, and had Bloody Mary shooters. Later Zorro picked us up and took us back to Utila and Paradise.
New Year's Eve was probably my second best ever (after the multirig free party 2 years ago), again staying up all night. It started fairly unpromisingly with having the runs during the day of the 31st. So I slept from 8pm-11pm, and felt a lot better. And my favourite moment of 2009 so far (ahem) was swimming from the dock of the bar to our dock, and then back again, at 9am on New Year's Day. It's not often you can swim from your hotel to the bar.
Today, Friday, we left Utila on the boat, picked up the car that I left the passenger side window open of as I left in such a hurry, paid the lady an extra 100L on top of the 150L for being 5 days longer than we said we'd be, dropped Jordan off in La Ceiba, and headed for El Salvador. Our stopover tonight is a place run by a German guy, pretty chilled given it's the 3rd January, with good cold beer as one would expect from a German bar owner. Tonight, in the absence of a good hammock spot, I think I'll sleep in the car, a factor I haven't really taken advantage of since the U.S.
Showing posts with label utila. Show all posts
Showing posts with label utila. Show all posts
Monday, January 12, 2009
Krimbo in the Caribbean
Saturday 20th - Friday 26th December 2008
This is going to be a short one, I don't think anyone wants to waste too much time reading about Christmas in Caribbean paradise. Also, all of us left our cameras in La Ceiba, on mainland Honduras, whilst we are on Utila, the middle sized of the 3 Bay Islands, about 30km off the North coast of Honduras. So no pics :-(( until Jordan gets his disposable camera developed and sends me the jpgs, which I fear will take a good while, if at all.
So where I left off last we were in Antigua Guatemala. We crossed the border into Honduras on Saturday near Copán on the CA-10. This was a rather painful crossing, it being hot, and 3pm on a Saturday. The girl at the Customs desk (immigration for people, customs "aduana" for the car) was resting her eyes and head in her arms when I arrived, and not too pleased to be awoken. We needed US$29.80 - L580 - for the car. However, there was no explanation of a breakdown of this, and the Form 9A, the permit/certificate said "Value: 135L" at the top. The accompanying receipt said "Form 9A: 430L". So to be asked for the total of these seemed strange, particularly when there was no sign nor documentation to explain this. The large roadsign indicated a much lower amount, along with the instruction to refuse to pay more than this. Anyways, I put up a good fight but my girlfriend told me to shut up and paid.
The next thing was the $3 immigration tax. This was odd, as here the Foreign and Commonwealth Office advise me that the CA-4 agreement of 2003, to which Honduras is party, states that UK residents need not even register with immigration to travel inside the CA4. I again argued until blue in the face, the chap behind the desk not too keen that I knew the law. The problem was that he had my passport, and some of the above details I didn't find out until afterwards.
Well, the result is that I've made the point. The problem is that I imagine all travellers just pay it, given that it's only 3 bucks. If only everyone just refused to pay...
So we arrived at La Lima, the town closest to the airport near San Pedro Sula in Northwest Honduras, where Tori was flying out from the next morning. Damian took her to the airport in the morning, after swapping photos. I must add that she deserves credit for a few of the last bunch of photos too. Far from the boring nightmare I tagged her with earlier, she was fun to travel with, we had a good gas about plenty of meaningful and meaningless things.
Sunday, after stopping off at the airport for a coffee and a crap and narrowly missing the 15 minute free parking, we drove through lush Honduran countryside northeast to La Ceiba, the access port for the Bay Islands. Not fancying the hotelhunt very much, we stayed at Hotel Amsterdam 2001, camping for 30L (£1) for the night. La Ceiba was a strange town, a tourist platform to the Bay Islands with prices to match. We did nosh this amazing seafood stew, a Sunday Special, for dinner.
Monday morning we got food supplies for the week, being well equipped between the four of us in terms of actual equipment and outdoor cooking skills. Jordan says he cooks most of his meals on a fire. Meanwhile, Jordan and I set out to find a secure cheap place to leave the car on the mainland. We settled on this lady's house 20 minutes walk from the port, who had a driveway with a lockable gate and no car, agreeing to give her 200L then and another 150L on our return.
While waiting for the others to return from their last minute missions, I talked my way out of a parking fine largely due to my ability to speak Spanish. All 3 of the others took their goddamn time while I sat sweating about how we were missing the boat. We hightailed it to the port out of the East end of town, and dropped the others and our stuff off while I drove back to the lady's place, gave her the 200L, and sprinted the 2km to the boat. That was the furthest I'd run in a very long time.
Luckily the boat wasn't leaving at 4 on the dot, and after getting there at 4.05 the boat didn't leave for another 25 minutes anyway. The crossing took about an hour, for 425L, heading for a speck in the Caribbean distance to an averagely spectacular sunset.
On arrival at the dock, we got mobbed in classic fashion with offers for staying at dive schools for $2 for the first night. We went to the one with girl who liked Damian... Altons Dive Centre, down the East road, on the back of the Altons pickup truck. The place was pretty nice, but as soon as we said we were not interested in diving (yet) the English management couple lost all their nicety and interest in us. Added, we got told off for fishing off the end of their dock ("this is a dive centre you know"). Anyhow, we made up for it by topping up our cooking oil supply and some maple syrup out of the kitchen.
The next day we moved to Paradise Dive Centre, a locally owned place just off the main dock. The landlady, Rosa, was chilled and welcoming with a rather unusual Irish accent, being a 4th or 5th generation settler. We got a room for 4 for 50L each, but slept in hammocks anyway. This time, we thought better than presenting ourselves as uninterested in diving, and ended up actually convincing ourselves that it would be a good thing to ask our relatives for as Christmas presents. Now, on Boxing Day having heard nothing back from them, I think it's probably quite cheeky really, to ask for a bit of money to have yet more adventures.
There was a nice dock, used by a lot of locals. The best part was Zorro, the local fisherman who came daily with his catch of fresh tuna. Outwardly mad as a hatter, hands like an ogre's, and sunbleached body hair, his disregard for 'environmentally sustainable' fishing practices (like not fishing sharks) was interesting. He had clearly been doing this all his life, since when fish were plentiful. So because big-scale commercial fisheries have drained the oceans, why should he change his practices - if not for the commercial fisheries a local and sustainable way?
Wednesday was Christmas Eve, a night usually spent in my local pub at home getting drunk with my old friends. This was probably my best Christmas Eve (sorry guys)... dinner was a painstakingly sourced 14lb ham on the bone (not all for dinner!), then we got drunk in Treetanic aka the Tree House, the most beautifully decorated bar I have ever seen.
Until now, I've realised more and more that overplaying the beauty of something leads others that see it to be disappointed. With this, there's nothing I can say that would leave a future visitor disappointed. The painstakingly designed and constructed garden of multiple level areas and walkways, all inlayed by ceramic and glass collaged sculptures must have taken years to collect the materials and build. I really hope Jordan sends me those pictures... Afterwards, we stayed up all night, the first time I'd seen the morning through since... back home I guess, not even Burning Man. The other 2 dockside bars, the next 2 docks over from Paradise (our dock), saw us into the morning. Obviously our own clandestine supplies of rum made the whole night a little more affordable.
So yesterday saw in Christmas Day, at 32 degrees, with a dive into the Caribbean of our dock a pleasant interruption. And no presents for or from anyone. A nice change from the norm. Well, not such a short post after all...
This is going to be a short one, I don't think anyone wants to waste too much time reading about Christmas in Caribbean paradise. Also, all of us left our cameras in La Ceiba, on mainland Honduras, whilst we are on Utila, the middle sized of the 3 Bay Islands, about 30km off the North coast of Honduras. So no pics :-(( until Jordan gets his disposable camera developed and sends me the jpgs, which I fear will take a good while, if at all.
So where I left off last we were in Antigua Guatemala. We crossed the border into Honduras on Saturday near Copán on the CA-10. This was a rather painful crossing, it being hot, and 3pm on a Saturday. The girl at the Customs desk (immigration for people, customs "aduana" for the car) was resting her eyes and head in her arms when I arrived, and not too pleased to be awoken. We needed US$29.80 - L580 - for the car. However, there was no explanation of a breakdown of this, and the Form 9A, the permit/certificate said "Value: 135L" at the top. The accompanying receipt said "Form 9A: 430L". So to be asked for the total of these seemed strange, particularly when there was no sign nor documentation to explain this. The large roadsign indicated a much lower amount, along with the instruction to refuse to pay more than this. Anyways, I put up a good fight but my girlfriend told me to shut up and paid.
The next thing was the $3 immigration tax. This was odd, as here the Foreign and Commonwealth Office advise me that the CA-4 agreement of 2003, to which Honduras is party, states that UK residents need not even register with immigration to travel inside the CA4. I again argued until blue in the face, the chap behind the desk not too keen that I knew the law. The problem was that he had my passport, and some of the above details I didn't find out until afterwards.
Well, the result is that I've made the point. The problem is that I imagine all travellers just pay it, given that it's only 3 bucks. If only everyone just refused to pay...
So we arrived at La Lima, the town closest to the airport near San Pedro Sula in Northwest Honduras, where Tori was flying out from the next morning. Damian took her to the airport in the morning, after swapping photos. I must add that she deserves credit for a few of the last bunch of photos too. Far from the boring nightmare I tagged her with earlier, she was fun to travel with, we had a good gas about plenty of meaningful and meaningless things.
Sunday, after stopping off at the airport for a coffee and a crap and narrowly missing the 15 minute free parking, we drove through lush Honduran countryside northeast to La Ceiba, the access port for the Bay Islands. Not fancying the hotelhunt very much, we stayed at Hotel Amsterdam 2001, camping for 30L (£1) for the night. La Ceiba was a strange town, a tourist platform to the Bay Islands with prices to match. We did nosh this amazing seafood stew, a Sunday Special, for dinner.
Monday morning we got food supplies for the week, being well equipped between the four of us in terms of actual equipment and outdoor cooking skills. Jordan says he cooks most of his meals on a fire. Meanwhile, Jordan and I set out to find a secure cheap place to leave the car on the mainland. We settled on this lady's house 20 minutes walk from the port, who had a driveway with a lockable gate and no car, agreeing to give her 200L then and another 150L on our return.
While waiting for the others to return from their last minute missions, I talked my way out of a parking fine largely due to my ability to speak Spanish. All 3 of the others took their goddamn time while I sat sweating about how we were missing the boat. We hightailed it to the port out of the East end of town, and dropped the others and our stuff off while I drove back to the lady's place, gave her the 200L, and sprinted the 2km to the boat. That was the furthest I'd run in a very long time.
Luckily the boat wasn't leaving at 4 on the dot, and after getting there at 4.05 the boat didn't leave for another 25 minutes anyway. The crossing took about an hour, for 425L, heading for a speck in the Caribbean distance to an averagely spectacular sunset.
On arrival at the dock, we got mobbed in classic fashion with offers for staying at dive schools for $2 for the first night. We went to the one with girl who liked Damian... Altons Dive Centre, down the East road, on the back of the Altons pickup truck. The place was pretty nice, but as soon as we said we were not interested in diving (yet) the English management couple lost all their nicety and interest in us. Added, we got told off for fishing off the end of their dock ("this is a dive centre you know"). Anyhow, we made up for it by topping up our cooking oil supply and some maple syrup out of the kitchen.
The next day we moved to Paradise Dive Centre, a locally owned place just off the main dock. The landlady, Rosa, was chilled and welcoming with a rather unusual Irish accent, being a 4th or 5th generation settler. We got a room for 4 for 50L each, but slept in hammocks anyway. This time, we thought better than presenting ourselves as uninterested in diving, and ended up actually convincing ourselves that it would be a good thing to ask our relatives for as Christmas presents. Now, on Boxing Day having heard nothing back from them, I think it's probably quite cheeky really, to ask for a bit of money to have yet more adventures.
There was a nice dock, used by a lot of locals. The best part was Zorro, the local fisherman who came daily with his catch of fresh tuna. Outwardly mad as a hatter, hands like an ogre's, and sunbleached body hair, his disregard for 'environmentally sustainable' fishing practices (like not fishing sharks) was interesting. He had clearly been doing this all his life, since when fish were plentiful. So because big-scale commercial fisheries have drained the oceans, why should he change his practices - if not for the commercial fisheries a local and sustainable way?
Wednesday was Christmas Eve, a night usually spent in my local pub at home getting drunk with my old friends. This was probably my best Christmas Eve (sorry guys)... dinner was a painstakingly sourced 14lb ham on the bone (not all for dinner!), then we got drunk in Treetanic aka the Tree House, the most beautifully decorated bar I have ever seen.
Until now, I've realised more and more that overplaying the beauty of something leads others that see it to be disappointed. With this, there's nothing I can say that would leave a future visitor disappointed. The painstakingly designed and constructed garden of multiple level areas and walkways, all inlayed by ceramic and glass collaged sculptures must have taken years to collect the materials and build. I really hope Jordan sends me those pictures... Afterwards, we stayed up all night, the first time I'd seen the morning through since... back home I guess, not even Burning Man. The other 2 dockside bars, the next 2 docks over from Paradise (our dock), saw us into the morning. Obviously our own clandestine supplies of rum made the whole night a little more affordable.
So yesterday saw in Christmas Day, at 32 degrees, with a dive into the Caribbean of our dock a pleasant interruption. And no presents for or from anyone. A nice change from the norm. Well, not such a short post after all...
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