As a child when I would get upset with my parents I would defiantly tell my mother "I run away!" Then I would walk out the front door and hide under the porch until it was apparent that nobody was going to come find me and I would walk back in the house in time for dinner. The next time I ran away from home was in June 1984. I
wasn’t so much running away from home as I was running away to home.
In the aftermath of an acrimonious and unwanted divorce I needed to change my attitude and I did so by changing my latitude. Rather than stay in North Dakota that I thoroughly loved, I switched jobs and ran off to the Bahamas. The first time I saw an island other than one I camped on in Voyageurs National Park on the Canadian border in June 1973, was on June 4, 1984, as I peered out the window of a gigantic Delta Airlines L-1011 on its final approach to the Nassau airport in the Bahamas.
I went to Nassau to meet government officials
before beginning a research effort on an endangered species of bird that nests
in Michigan and spends its winters in the Bahamas and the Turks and Caicos
Islands. The bird’s population was not
increasing despite our best thought out management efforts and as was common at
the time many people were convinced the key to the species survival was on its
winter range. This came at a time of
heightened awareness (finally) about the plight of tropical rainforests and
even though there are no rainforests in the Bahamas, pointing our biological fingers
at the tropics and winter habitats was not only sexy but vogue and off I went
to the Bahamas.
Our plan was to spend the
winter traveling the Bahamas and Turks and Caicos Islands looking for
Kirtland’s Warbler. Many short term
efforts in the past resulted in one or two random sightings in far flung
reaches of the archipelago. We would
search one island for a few days and then move on to another island and
continue that process until we discovered where most of the 500 or so remaining
warblers spent the winter. Then we would focus on them on that island and learn
everything we needed to know about Kirtland’s Warbler in the winter and
ultimately save the species from extinction.
The best laid plans of
biologists aren’t always the plans that work out and after spending the first
winter traveling from the northern tip of Little Abaco island to the border of
Haiti and the Dominican Republic on the north shore of Hispaniola we discovered
an amazing 10 different birds and we learned a great deal about them in the
fleeting observations we made of nine of those 10 birds. As we traveled the islands I kept track of
which ones I had visited and by the end of the first winter I had been on 12 of
the 700 or so islands in the Bahamas and two of the seven in the Turks and
Caicos Island. I’d also visited my first
Spanish-speaking county other than Mexico and came within inches of needing to
learn how to parlez vous francais if I ever wanted to go to Haiti.
We returned a second winter and
I focused my attention on Grand Turk island where the year before we found four
Kirtland’s warblers in an area near the airport that has now been set aside as
a National Park (because of the birds).
During that second winter I started fantasizing about other islands in
the islands and there certainly were many of them. My home on Grand Turk was a house on Governor’s
Beach that was very close to an abandoned US Air Force base known locally as
“South Base.” On South Base the Federal
Aviation Administration maintained a navigational beacon to assist pilots
flying to San Juan and beyond in the Caribbean.
The signal from that beacon was so strong that by simply turning on my
radio I could sit in my home and listen to air traffic controllers in Miami
directing Pan Am flights from Miami to Barbados as they sped through the giant
air routes overhead.
I heard them say “Pan Am 386,
turn right on heading 160 and switch to frequency 28 for San Juan control. San Juan will guide you to Barbados” every
day about noon. Somewhere up there 35,000 feet over my head, a Pan American
Airways 727 was streaking along at 500 miles an hour bound for Bridgetown,
Barbados. I fantasized about what
Barbados looked like. At the time about
the only thing I knew about Barbados was contained in Jimmy Buffett’s song “Presents to Send You” where he sings
“Yeah I thought I might sail down to Bridgetown. Spend some time in the
Barbados sun. But my plans took a skid when I smoked a whole lid. Wound up
where I began.”
Another Pan Am flight would
pass over Grand Turk on its way to Fort-de-France, Martinique. Mention of Martinique reminded me of another
Buffett song called “Migration” that
contains a verse that quickly became my life’s goal. It goes, “Now if I ever live to be an old man
I’m going to sail down to Martinique. Gonna buy me a sweat stained Bogart suit
and an African parakeet. Well then I’ll stick him on my shoulder and open up my
crusty old mind. I’m gonna teach him how to cuss and teach him how to fuss and
pull the cork out of a bottle of wine.”
A Caribbean travel book I
bought in the Miami airport once told me that Barbados was flat as a pancake
but that Martinique was rather mountainous.
Both had a reef that surrounded the island and the people on Martinique
spoke French. There was one species of bird that lived nowhere else on earth
but Martinique and Barbados was as far away from my pain as I could possibly
have hoped for in those days.
Tropical forests such as this one on Roatan typically drip with birds and especially in winter when millions of North American nesting songbirds funnel south to escape the relentless cold.
Along with the birds I was
seeing I made it a goal to personally view every bird species in the West
Indies that occurs on a single island or in a single nation. To do so would require me to travel from San
Andres off the coast of Nicaragua to Barbuda to Grenada, the island of spices
just north of the coast of South America.
I needed to travel to at least 16 islands in 15 nations if I wanted to
see them all and in doing so I would see more islands than I ever dreamed
possible.
First there was a trip to the
Dominican Republic and then one to Haiti and after it I went to Puerto
Rico. A stroke of luck in the Klamath
Falls, Oregon, airport just before Thanksgiving one year resulted with me receiving
a voucher for $700 off a future trip on American Airlines and with that voucher
I called the airline and asked how much it would cost to fly to Guadeloupe and
then Dominica and to return home from Martinique. American said the total cost would be $699
and a month later I was on a plane to those islands with a dollar left over
from American’s good will. Later some
strings were pulled and some politics played and soon I had permission from the
US Department of the Treasury to travel legally to Cuba and after that I went
to the Cayman Islands on a day trip and then to Jamaica and soon to Barbados
and St. Lucia and St. Vincent and Grenada.
It wasn’t long before my goal of seeing all of those endemic birds was
close to being realized.
As I closed in on my goal I
also realized that I was absolutely enthralled with the islands of the islands
and as of today I am one species shy of having seen them all. The missing culprit still lives (hopefully at
least) in one wetland in central Cuba and as soon as I get back to the island I
want to search for it again.
Jimmy Buffett says in another
classic song “Through all of the islands and all of the highlands, if we
couldn’t laugh we would all go insane.”
At one point after my divorce I was convinced that I would go insane but
then I learned how to laugh and it all went away. All of that laughing occurred through all of
the islands and all of their highlands and lowlands and as of before my trip to
Roatan I had visited 75 islands in the islands.
Much of the exploration was for birds and much was for self-improvement
and unknown to me at the time much of it also was directed at finding the
perfect island. It would be the place
where I could hang out a shingle saying “Gone coconut hunting” and never look
back.
Through all of those islands I
definitely had my favorites. Dominica
with its volcanic black sand beaches was right near the top and so was Tobago
with its snow-white beaches. The tourism
board for Anguilla in the Windward Islands markets the island as “tranquility
wrapped in blue” and once you have been there you realize that there is no
finer marketing motto for the country than the one they have chosen. Cayman Brac in the Cayman Islands also ranked
right up there among the favorites for many reasons most importantly its
isolation and that fact that condominium developers have for some unexplainable
reason not found and defiled Cayman Brac.
I wish I was there right now
I was convinced after 31 years
of island-hopping that anyone of those four island could easily be “the one” if
I ever had to pick among them for the ultimate escape. Then one day the Carnival Pride slipped into
Mahogany Bay harbour on Roatan, one of the Bay Islands of Honduras, and my
entire outlook on what island was best had to be completely re-examined.
From the moment I first saw it
off the starboard rail on deck 5 I loved Roatan. Even before touching its soil I could tell it
was for me. Long and sinuous like Anguilla but with tropical rainforest that
dripped with birds and wallowed in uniqueness and just begged me to explore it. Then there was the impeccably clean roads,
the lack of rampant deforestation, the almost total lack of condo commandos
raping the countryside for personal gain and then there were the reefs. My partner is a diver and she has convinced
me to learn how to SCUBA which is next on my list of priority actions I need to
take to keep my partner happy with me.
She returned from her dives on the north shore of the island and said
that among the 80 dives she had made in her life the two best were the first
and second dives she made that day off Roatan.
My first Honduran sunrise in 20 years was this one on the coast of Roatan on February 26, 2015. Given that I don't have 20 more years left I need to return there sooner rather than later. Tomorrow wouldn't be soon enough.
I spent a day walking around
Roatan talking to the locals and getting a feel for the place. One particular annoying tout refused to take
the hint and leave me alone as I explained to him that I wasn’t interested in a
ferry ride to La Ceiba, and I didn’t want to go parasailing, and the last thing
I was interested in was paying him $100 for an hour of sex with his sixteen
year old sister who, miraculously, was apparently still a virgin. What I wanted to do was be alone and soak in
his island. Eventually he took my
increasingly loud and forceful hints and apologized saying “I’m sorry for the
harassment but this is how we have to make a living here.” A sad reality of the islands.
Roatan, the largest of the Bay Islands, lies just a stones throw off the coast of Honduras. Jimmy Buffett once said that his fictional Margaritaville was "anywhere you want it to be." On my first trip to Honduras I thought I found mine about a mile down the coast from Tela. Now I wonder if I wasn't about 50 miles too far south.
Honduras is one of the poorest
of several very poor countries in Central America. It’s annual per capita
income in 2013 was slightly more than $4,848 which is considerably less than I
make after taxes in one month from my retirement account. Not far away from Honduras in resource rich
Costa Rica the per capita income is about $8,923 annually or almost twice that
of Honduras. Despite the abysmal
economic picture in Honduras the country and especially the Bay Islands have
become Mecca for retired Americans, Canadians, and Europeans seeking a cheap
place to extend the benefits of their annuities. A look at Roatan real estate shows that
houses in the $250,000 range are common and some sell for as much as $1
million. A one-quarter million dollar
house owned by some gringo represents the sum of the per capita income of 60
Hondurans. Clearly the economic divide
here is abundantly obvious. Yet you
can’t tell that by talking to Hondurans.
Those I met that day except for
the sister-selling tout were very proud of their Honduran heritage, fiercely
protective of their island, and oh-so-happy to not be living on the mainland.
Humberto, a server in a
beachside bar where I stopped for lunch and a bottle of Salva Vida, explained
why he lived on Roatan. “I come from
Tegucigalpa originally. My family comes
to Rotan for a one week vacation and then extended it to two weeks and then
three weeks and here we are 12 years later still extending our vacation one
year at a time.”
My previous experiences with
Tegucigalpa, the capital city of Honduras, were reinforced by what Humberto
said next.
“Here in Roatan it is safer,
cleaner, more things to do and the women are hotter. As far as I’m concerned there is no reason to
ever go back to the mainland.”
Humberto was surprised that I
had been to Honduras four times earlier, each trip to the mainland, but he
understood more clearly when I talked about birds and about Jimmy Buffett.
I asked why Honduras and
especially San Pedro Sula had become so dangerous it took him less than a
nanosecond to say “drug dealers.”
It’s a very sad reality that
many law enforcement authorities now rank San Pedro Sula as the most dangerous
city in the world. Its murder rate of 40
per 100,000 residents exceeds any other city in Central and South America and
the level of drug-related violence is almost impossible to quantify. No longer are perennial favorites like
Sa’ana, Yemen or Kabul Afghanistan or Karachi Pakistan or even Kingston Jamaica
the most dangerous places on earth. Now that honor goes to formerly laid back
San Pedro Sula, Honduras and it’s all because of drugs.
Sometimes I wonder if the
answer to all of this craziness is just to give up and give in and call the
failed “War on Drugs” the failure that it is and start over. The United States alone has spent hundreds of
billions of dollars fighting a “war” on drugs that has been won from the start
and continues to be won today by the people we are at war with. If drugs were legalized and they were sold
and taxed by governments there would no longer be a need to spend billions on
the DEA and no longer a reason for families to be torn apart by drug
violence. And very likely there would no
longer be a reason for San Pedro Sula to be the most dangerous city in the
world. However I’m not president and I
never will be and legalizing drugs no matter how smart it is would never fly
with the religious fanatics who control the media and control the message.
Mahogany Bay on Roatan is one of the most beautiful places I have seen in the West Indies. Who wouldn't want to be there right now?
As we boarded the ship to leave
Roatan it was firmly planted in my brain that the 76th island I have
visited in the islands is number 1 in my mind. There
are so many things about it that putting them all down on paper would be time
consuming and probably cost at least two trees their lives. Suffice it to say that I could very easily
live there for any number of reasons and I could live there tomorrow if I
could. Now I’m going to run down to the
local 7-11 and buy five lottery tickets and if I win I’m on the next plane
headed south and I’m only buying a one-way ticket.
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ReplyDeleteThis is a great article and really encourages me about Roatan. We are due to sail there as part of a 7-day cruise next Feb/March 2018. it is so mountainous and beautiful we cannot wait!
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