Honduran Hideout

I awoke at 5:30 this morning at my home in Austin, Texas after about three hours of fitful sleep. By 1:30 p.m. I had arrived on the island of Roatan in Honduras, and even had three seats to myself on the plane, so I was able to rest for about an hour and a half. I skated through immigration into the heat and humidity and the throng of taxi drivers clamoring for passengers.

My driver spoke no English, which was cool, because it forced me to speak Spanish (however lamely), so I had my first lesson in the cab on the way to my guest house. It's clean, quiet, very peaceful and tranquillo with a hammock and a deck that overlooks a beautiful inlet....and is definitely a contrast to the busy touristy area nearby.

As soon as I unpacked, I walked down the beach in search of food and ate big meal of seafood paella washed down with 3 ice cold beers. I struck up a conversation with a woman sitting nearby....an African American tax attorney New York who quit her job and is traveling the world. She looked to be about my age, and we talked about everything under the sun, from Barack Obama to the chain of laundromats/pool halls called "Bull City Suds" she owns back in her hometown of Durham, North Carolina . Like me, she’s trying to decide what she wants to be when she grows up too.

We took a water taxi home at dusk, and when the driver dropped me off, I had to jump off the bow into surf in the dark...turns out the water was only about 2 feet deep, but it was kind of a weird sensation and a literal leap of faith. A great metaphor for this journey.

Even weirder was the fact that right where I came ashore was a British flag flying and a huge outdoor screen and projector with bunch of people sitting in plastic chairs watching Rod Stewart who was wearing a coat and tails and singing jazz standards. Wacky.

The only hitch so far is that NONE of the locals I’ve spoken to know where the Central American Spanish School is that I’ve paid a deposit to, nor have they ever heard of it.

Me: Donde esta la Centro-Americano Escuela de Español?
Them: I don't know

That must mean it's very exclusive...or non-existent. If they persuade even one sucker like me per month to send in their deposit, they can maintain their very impressive website...and spend the rest on beer. Ironically there’s a guest house right next door to mine that teaches Spanish.

Came back to my room at 7 p.m. and slept HARD for about 4 hours and had strange dreams. Now it’s nearly 3 a.m. and I’m wide awake.

Buenas Noches!