Saturday, February 28, 2009

A Rock and a Hard Place


An inventory of the parts of my body that are currently in pain includes, but is not limited to:
1. The soles of both feet
2. The big toe on my left foot
3. The instep of my left foot
4. Both ankles
5. Both knees
6. Both butt cheeks
7. My tail bone
8. My left kidney
9. My spleen
10. My left elbow
11. My right shoulder
12. My left temple
13. The crown of my head

“Why?” you might ask. Believe me, I’m asking myself that same question.

When I checked in to my new digs earlier today, everyone was out doing healthy, invigorating blood-pumping adventure activities, so I sat at the empty bar and ordered a coupla fried empanadas. No sooner did I sit down than I noticed a couple of white water rafting guides who were drinking rum punch on their day off.

These guys are the embodiment of cool….young, handsome, lean, muscular, rugged, unshaven and sporting exotic tattoos and whale bone necklaces awarded by Maori elders to only the bravest of warriors in a sacred, secret ceremony handed down through the millenia.

I was thinking about taking a dip in the pool when I overheard them talking about a swimming hole....
“Is there another pool somewhere?” I inquired casually.
“Yeah, we’re going on a little hike….wanna come?”
I was instantly stricken with panic that I wouldn’t be able to cut the mustard with these young bucks who eat fear for breakfast and wash it down with tequila.
“Sure….why not?” I heard myself say.

Our "hike" followed a circuitous route through waterfalls and caves, clambering over moss-covered rocks and eventually descending to an idyllic pool shaded by a canopy of trees. Adam and Eve were really slumming it in the Garden of Eden compared to this spot.

Just as I was beginning to relax in the cool water, these guys were ready to move on...darting off in their flip flops with me bringing up the rear, over slippery rocks the size of softballs and boulders bigger than some apartment complexes I've lived in, swimming 25 yards across the unbelievably swift river which left me 30 yards downstream, jumping twice into that same current from the top of a 40 foot boulder, diving into rapids and swimming to the bottom to watch pebbles churning in Mother Nature's blender, then sitting atop a sun-baked boulder watching the rafts of tourists go by and joking about the possibility of "carnage".

Somehow I managed to survive all of this without serious injury, and we were almost home, twisting and turning our way through a series of crevices while being pummeled from above by a waterfall. I was thinking to myself “What was I worried about?….I may be a little out of breath, but I’ve done a pretty good job keeping up with these two youngsters."

As the saying goes "Pride goeth before a fall". Just then my feet slipped out from under me and I fell backwards, bashing my temple against a boulder and tumbling downhill, on my back, head first towards the river. When I finally stopped bouncing, it felt like I had fallen down a flight of stairs. I was certain I had a skull fracture, a ruptured spleen, and at least 2 gashes on my head requiring stitches, and wondered how a helicopter was gonna land there.

I lay there for a few seconds, as dazed as if I’d gone 3 rounds with Muhammed Ali, then ran my hands through my hair to check for blood, and to my amazement, I was not in any way seriously injured. Battered and banged up for sure, with plenty of bumps and scrapes, but no broken bones or cuts. The biggest bruise I sustained was to my ego. Ah...how the gods love hubris!

A few minutes later, we were standing under yet another waterfall enjoying the cold water pounding our bodies, and I confessed that in two weeks I will be 50 years old. In his Australian accent, one of the guys looked at me with a deadpan expression and said, “You’re a youthful character, aren’t ya?”

We arrived back at the lodge, and I decided to take a dip in the pool as originally planned.
Walking towards it, weary and wounded, I stepped on a slick spot and both feet went out from under me and I landed right on my tailbone, which hurt worse (and still does) than any of my self-inflicted injuries from less than half an hour earlier .

As I sat at the bar downing a frosty one, my body relatively intact but my pride shattered, I felt completely alive, and even the pain gave me a surge of appreciation for life. I chuckled to myself as I thought about the tattoos I had seen on the guy's feet who clambered down the rocks to see if I had survived the fall. On his right foot, in tiny type, were the words “I’M ALIVE!” And on his left foot “I AM TOO!”

Footnote: While writing this, I burned my tongue on a cup of hot coffee.

Home Sweet Hut


Today I moved to an adventure/jungle/eco-lodge located adjacent to the stunningly beautiful Rio Cangrejal. Boulders the size of houses are scattered up and down the river liket the remnants from some slingshot shoot-out amongst giants.

When I checked in at noon today it was not without a few concerns. And by “checked in” I mean the owner led me up the path into the jungle, handed me the key to my little creek cabin and called “Bye!” over her shoulder, without giving me a clue as to where the shower or the bathroom are, 'cause they're sure not anywhere near my room! The accommodations here are much more spartan than the other places I’ve stayed on this trip. $30.00 a night gets you a bed and a bulb. So I signed up for this to see if I could still hack it…rustic accommodations and hard physical activity with people half my age.

My cabin straddles a babbling creek, there’s a porch with a hammock, and from every vantage point the view is lush jungle, banana trees, brilliant red ginger blossoms and hibiscus flowers. The roof is tin, so the single room dwelling is as hot and humid as a....um...a building with a tin roof in the middle of the jungle.

When things fall out of the sky onto the roof, which they do periodically….I don’t know if it’s fruit or sticks or maybe just the joints of the roof expanding in the heat, it makes a REALLY loud bang like .38 caliber pistol. So it’s kind of like trying to sleep on a firing range.

Turns out there’s an outdoor/cold water shower and the communal bathroom is a short hike across the property and through the dining room. I don’t know about you, but the words “communal bathroom” always bring to mind the time I had to wade ankle deep into a public restroom in the Dominican Republic. It still gives me bad dreams.

The main reason for my trepidation, however, was that I imagined the other guests to be young, hard-bodied triathletes like the couple I had dinner with last night. He’s a personal trainer about to enter dental school and she’s a former collegiate lacrosse player turned yoga instructor who looks like a super model. Their total body fat combined is 3%. I took note of this as I slathered butter all over my second piece of bread, right before I ordered ice cream for dessert.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

¿Habla Español?

Utila Sunset

Today I took the ferry from the island of Utila to the port of La Ceiba on the mainland of Honduras. From there I caught a cab up to the mountains outside of town to the banks of the rushing Rio Cangrejal, which sounds so much more appealing than its English equivalent, "Crab River".

The 30 minute drive over bumpy, rocky, rutted, pot-hole infested, washboard roads with oncoming traffic careening into our lane was pretty uneventful, except for the bobble-headed dogs on the dashboard popping loose from their duct tape and falling into my lap one by one. My cervical spine felt like it needed some duct tape by the time we arrived.

While the deafening commentary of a soccer match blared from the radio, my fillings rattled in my teeth as my spleen underwent the rigors of a General Motors test dummy and the cab driver deftly dodged livestock and kids on bikes. It's hard to beat a laugh-in-the-face-of-the-Grim-Reaper joy ride on the razor's edge between life and death, and have your internal furniture rearranged, all for just $20.00 including tip.

Meanwhile the following exchange took place:

Cab driver: ¿Americano?
Me: (feeling very cocky having just taken 20 hours of Spanish lessons last week) Si!
Cab driver: Barracubana?
Me: (Thinking he's seen my diving gear and is asking if I've seen a Honduran barracuda)¿Que?
Cab driver: Bar a Cubana!
Me: (Thinking he wants to go to a Cuban bar to celebrate the closing of Guantanamo Bay) ¿Que?
Cab driver: Barack Obama!!
Me: (Feeling like the village idiot) Oh!...Barack Obama!  Si ...Es un hombre muy intelegente!
Cab driver: Gracias!....Gracias!

What the .....?

In my feeble attempt to speak like a native, I had very cleverly omitted the pronoun"he", which I thought was obvious from the context, but unfortunately the conjugation of the verb "to be" is the same for "he" as it is for the polite form of "you", so my cab driver assumed that that I was complimenting him on his intelligence in the middle of a conversation about el Presidente de Los Estados Unidos.

Oh well...so much for my career as a translator for the United Nations.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish


Two of the main reasons I wanted to come to Honduras were to scuba dive and learn how to take photographs underwater. I've done 12 dives in the past 14 days, several of them at a depth of around 90 feet, and am learning a lot about buoyancy and breathing....two skills that come in handy when I'm NOT diving as well!


I got to do three fantastic dives today with the staff of Utopia Dive Village. We saw an incredible and surreal variety of flora and fauna including a very annoyed moray eel who did not like having his picture taken. That thing makes Beelzebub look like Casper the Friendly Ghost!


Check out this video of some of the caves we swam through...I bonked my head a few times looking through the camera instead of where I was going. Do not be alarmed by the sound of me hyper-ventilating in the background...the good news about peeing in your wetsuit is that nobody notices, and you get that warm, reassuring feeling right when you need it most.

There's a special bonus feature at the end where the dive master does his underwater impersonation of Michael Jackson.

Kids do NOT try this at home!

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Captain Vern's Magical Mystery Tour

Today I bid farewell to the beautiful island of Roatan after stopping by the dive shop to close out my tab. Included on the bill was $42.oo for a weight belt which came unbuckled at the beginning of a dive and sank 130 feet to the bottom of the ocean. Thankfully it didn't fall on one of the divers below....I think they charge even more for that!

I did manage to find the weight belt, by the way, lying right beside the shipwreck where we were diving, but getting it to the surface proved somewhat problematic. Coincidentally, that's what the captain of the shipwreck said too. Speaking of ship captains, my journey from Roatan to Utila was aboard a catamaran skippered by Captain Vern, a colorful character who plies the waters between the two islands, ferrying tourists and divers back and forth.

He's knowledgeable about all things nautical and is extremely skilled at handling the double-hulled craft. For example, he keeps a cooler of cold beers on board, as well as a varied assortment of music. During the four hour crossing we heard everything from Jingle Bells to Joe Walsh. And while we're on the topic of Joe Walsh, Captain Vern is a dead ringer for the legendary guitarist...dontcha think?


Captain Vern


Joe Walsh

No sooner were we under way than I began to feel queasy. Four hours is a LONG time to be seasick, but I quickly got up front (I think Captain Vern called it the bow) with my eyes fixed on the horizon and a breeze in my face. The sea-sickness soon subsided to a manageable level...somewhat akin to how I usually feel on New Year's Day.

Others were not so fortunate, however, and before the voyage was over, there was vomit all over the back of the boat...Captain Vern was very stern about not puking upwind from the rest of the passengers. It was really fun to try to guess who was gonna up-chuck next, and in the process get to know my fellow travelers:



He looks a little like the writer Hunter S. Thompson, dontcha think?

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Washed Ashore


scorching sun
shimmering sand
swaying shadows
sultry señoritas
smiling from stairwells
scavenging strays
lazy days
dirt roads jammed with cars
noisy bars
filled with refugees
escapees
wanna be's
washed ashore
searching for serenity

It's Chippy's World....We Just Live in It.


"Mad Dogs and Englishmen go out in the noon day sun."

Noel Coward hadn't been to Honduras when he penned those lyrics, but they certainly describe one of the wackier characters here in Roatan. He's a British ex-pat named Paul Cleveland, better known as "Chippy".

Paul is a congenial, amiable and likeable fellow who strolls around town shaking hands with everyone he meets, asking "How's your evening going?" or "Stop by later and have a beer".

His alter-ego, Chippy, on the other hand, is a cantankerous, crotchety curmudgeon who guzzles beer like there's no tomorrow and whose every sentence is sponsored by the letter "F". It's quite amazing, really, to hear the word "f**k" used as a noun, verb, adjective, interrogative and declarative statement all in the same paragraph.

That said, Chippy really is quite amusing and engaging, that is if you don't mind listening to a lengthy soliloquy about his various achievements, travels, ex-wives, offspring, business endeavors, humanitarian efforts and his brother, who, according to Chippy, wrote "Stairway to Heaven."

On Wednesday nights, Chippy projects DVD's of concerts by The Who, The Stones, Rod Stewart and Queen onto the side of his trailer. Needless to say, this creates quite a spectacle, and the sound is so loud that the Argentinian restaurant across the street has to shut down for the evening.

Although Chippy's outdoor movie theater is in the middle of a public beach, he doesn't hesitate to run off anyone who isn't a paying customer, or whose assessment of his musical tastes is anything less than superlative. Or...if he just doesn't like the looks of them.

I don't know if his brother wrote the most requested song in the history of American radio, but of this I am certain: Chippy is equal parts raconteur, bon vivant, Dr. Feelgood, court jester, entrepreuner, Captain Chaos, shameless self-promoter, purveyor of food and beverage, Emperor of Entertainment and self-appointed Mayor of Mayhem.

Monday, February 16, 2009

The Beach Boys


Yesterday I went to meet my new neighbors, an Italian couple named Ilaria and Gerardo, at the beautiful white sand beach at West Bay here in Roatan.

I decided to avoid the 2+ mile hike and catch a water taxi. It makes good sense that the operators of these boats try to round up as many passengers as possible for each trip, so as to maximize their profit. After telling me "5 more minutes" for about half an hour while waiting for two alleged passengers who said they'd be right back, the skipper finally decided to shove off without them.

It was looking like I was going to be the only one on board as we set out under the blazing mid-day sun, but we'd been under way less than a minute when another guy flagged us down from the shore. By the time he boarded, I was about 30 minutes late for my rendez-vous, and then we pulled over yet again, where a group of about 15 people was waiting.

The boat in which I was traveling was about as sea-worthy as a dug-out canoe with an engine, so I was curious to see how more than a dozen people, half of them with beers in their hands and no telling how many beers inside them, as well a stroller and an infant were gonna fit in this vessel, much less get in without capsizing it.

A lengthy negotiation in Spanish ensued, with the self-appointed and least intoxicated member of the group arguing in favor of a group discount. The boat owner finally relented, and thus began the precarious process of boarding. I was handed a soccer ball, and then a 4 year old, and then the rest of the crowd descended from the pier, which was about 4 feet above the top of the boat.

Once everybody was settled, we set off on our merry way, while I attempted to converse in my lame español. With a little help from the guy who boarded right after me, I learned that our fellow passengers were construction workers (except for the 4 year old and the infant) on vacation from the mainland. I jokingly asked "Quien tiene las cervezas?" and was promptly handed a frosty cold beer. Maybe my Spanish isn't so lame after all.

Upon our arrival at the beach, I tried out the new underwater housing for my camera. Here's a short video I wrote, directed, produced and starred in. And I did all my own stunts.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

The Plot Thickens

Tonite I’m going to dinner with the Italian couple who’s staying next door to me. Her name is Ilaria and his is Gerardo....we’ve been “talking” to each other on our back decks. She speaks some English, he speaks none. So using a combination of Italian, English, Spanish and French, we somehow agreed to meet at 7 p.m. They want to go for Italian food at a place called “Pinnochio’s”. In Honduras! Hilarious!

By the way, they run a place called 007 Beach in Italy but neither one of them swims, and they haven’t been in the water yet, despite the fact that our rooms are 30 feet from the crystal blue ocean that is the temperature of bath water.


Meanwhile, I met a Palestinian woman last night who was sitting at the table next to mine at the Argentinian grill where I had dinner. She invited herself to join me and shared her dessert with me. She was born in Peru and grew up Columbia. When I introduced myself, she said “John Langford...that’s a nice name”. I guess it sounds pretty exotic to someone named Danitza Amashta. So she’s joining us for dinner as well. And she speaks Italian, so we’re covered.

To make things interesting, a buddy of mine from from Austin knows a guy here in Roatan named Sean Garrity and told me to look up him up while I’m in town, but I don’t have his phone number, and he hasn’t responded to e-mails, so I’ve decided to make a game out of finding him. I’ve asked around and have met three people so far who know him, including one drunk British guy who told me that Sean hangs out in a bar called "Rick's", and later that night I bumped into three guys I’ve been diving with and asked them if they knew where “Rick’s” was. 

Apparently "Rick’s" is no more, but the dive masters (who were pretty tanked despite the fact that they were leading a dive at 6:30 this morning...I decided to skip that one!) directed me to a bar called “Sueno del Mar” which translates to “Dreams of the Sea”. Appropriate, because this was starting to feel like a dream.

Per their directions, I walk down this dirt path where there are no street lights, then ssee this hotel disguised as a construction site, turn down an alleyway, and then I’m in a bar on the beach, where five obvious regulars are the only customers there. You can almost hear the needle scratching across the record as their conversation stops abruptly and everyone turns to look at me.

I did my best Humphrey Bogart impersonation and sauntered up to the bar and announced “I'm looking for Sean Garrity”. The guy next to me at the bar, who I halfway expected to put a gun to my head, said “You just missed him”.

I’ll let you know how things unfold.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Bait and Switch


I jumped off the pier 30 ft. from my back door at the guest house where I'm staying and swam over to the dive shop next door, called SeaGrape. Aptly named, it turns out, as it’s run by two curvaceous and comely sisters named Rachel and Rhonda.

Rachel gave me the tour of the dive shop, which was ship-shape. The floors were squeaky clean and the dive gear neatly stacked. Frankly, if she’d handed me a cinder block and a length of garden hose, I still would have signed up for the afternoon dive. Jason and the Argonauts wouldn’t have stood a chance against these sexy Sirens.

When I returned a couple of hours later, Rachel and Rhonda were smiling seductively as they to took my money and waved goodbye as we pulled away from the dock. I can't remember when I've been so sad to say goodbye. On board were a young couple, myself, the dive master Juan, the skipper Kiran and the first mate whose name I didn’t catch because he didn’t respond when I introduced myself. Turns out he’s deaf.

Before we donned our gear, I determined that the regulator I had rented from the shapely sisters leaked badly, and made a loud hissing sound when I opened the valve on my tank. Once we were in the water, it became obvious that I hadn’t added enough weight to my belt to counter-act the very sleek but extremely buoyant full length wet suit I bought for the trip.

I look like a super hero when I wear it, but it gets so hot under my clothes that I was eager to try it out in the water. After bobbing around just beneath the surface, hissing like punctured bicycle tire, I eventually decided that breathing wasn’t really an option and exhaled all my air and sank to the bottom.

This proved to be only a temporary solution, however, because as the dive progressed and I consumed the air from my tank, it became lighter and therefore more buoyant...kind of like having a giant helium balloon strapped to your back. So I was continually having to fight my tendency to rocket to the surface. Taking the express elevator to the boat from a depth of 60 feet is ill-advised if you want to dive in the future.

I thought the outing went surprisingly well. Tomorrow, Friday the 13th, we’re diving at a place called “Spooky Channel”. I think I’ll take a cinder block and a garden hose.

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!

Sunday, February 8, 2009

The Best Job In the World


I don't know if you've heard, but the Department of Tourism in Queensland, Australia is taking applications from anyone on the planet who wants to live on Hamilton Island in the Great Barrier Reef, live in a tricked-out three bedroom house which overlooks the ocean. Other amenities include a pool, a spa, a state-of -the-art entertainment system and a golf cart in which to tool around the island .

Job responsibilities include snorkeling, diving, relaxing, sun-bathing and.....here's the tough part....keeping a blog. Oh yeah...the gig pays $100,000 for six months. You can check it out at www.islandreefjob.com.

Here's the video I submitted as part of my application for the job....click anywhere on the image to view it. And if you think I'm the man for the job, please vote for me....hopefully by July 1st I'll be blogging from down unda!

Thursday, February 5, 2009

25 Random Things About Me


All of the following are true except one:
1. I’ve worked as a roustabout on an off-shore oil rig, funeral home attendant, waiter, TV news reporter, disc jockey, pizza delivery guy, marketing manager for an international publishing company, car rental agent and an extra in a Jackie Chan film.
2. I’ve received at least 20 speeding tickets in my life, 2 of which were on the same day!
3. I saw former Vice President of the United States Spiro Agnew in a bar in Thailand.
4. I spent a week in a thatched hut on a remote island and woke up one night to find a huge cockroach crawling on my face.
5. I was born with an extra toe on my left foot. I had it removed, but it keeps growing back.
6. I’ve completed a marathon and 2 half marathons.
7. I visited my high school art teacher in jail and served communion with him to the congregation of a gay church all in the same weekend.
8. I’m terrified of heights…and I’ve jumped out of an airplane at 11,000 feet.
9. I’ve crossed the equator 6 times.
10. I once interviewed the singer Tom Jones.
11. I’ve photographed 4 governors of Texas as well as the princesses of Morocco.
12. I had a very strange encounter with Miles Davis.
13. One of my worst fears is dancing in public...complete strangers have made fun of me!
14. My favorite band is Earth, Wind & Fire.
15. Within the last month I shoplifted 2 packs of gum from the grocery store because I didn’t want to wait in line.
16. I’ve been knocked unconscious, fallen off a ladder while holding a running chain saw, had stitches in my head 6 times, dislocated my jaw, broken my nose, fractured my skull and had surgery but have never spent the night in a hospital.
17. None of these injuries were received as a result of the 4 motorcycle accidents and at least 10 car accidents in which I've been involved. I once rolled a car upside down in a ditch and walked away without a scratch.
18. The person I’d most like to have dinner with is James Taylor
19. My legs are embarassingly skinny...I don't know how they hold me up!
20. I have vomited underwater while scuba diving
21. In my high school graduating class of 100 people was a guy who survived the terrorist bombings in Bali, a woman who is a well-known children’s author, the brother of the first blind mountaineer to summit Mt. Everest, and the woman who played the the mom in “Home Alone 3”.
22. I've never met an Australian i didn't like.
23. I wish I went bowling more often.
24. While waiting for a bus in Hong Kong, some tourists asked me for directions. As it turned out, one of them was born in the tiny town of Ruston, Louisiana where my uncle Carl was an obstetrician. He delivered her.
25. I don’t like beets, but I try them about once every 5 years to make sure that’s still the case. It is.