We finished our diving today with two “free fun dives” that were offered as part of our PADI Open Water course.
Fittingly, the final dive was the most enjoyable owing to the large amount of interesting coral and fishies. Choppy waves at the surface not so enjoyable, but the dramamine anti-nausea tablets worked splendidly.
I’m not in a huge rush to do any more diving just yet – it’s already starting to feel a bit “same old”, and quite a bit of effort goes into the actual prepare, boat, gear up, dive, return, clean up process. I expect after a break and a different location we’ll be keen to do it again.
So with that in mind, we’re leaving the island tomorrow morning. The group of 6 has successfully reconvened, and we’re heading South to Nicaragua. It’s probably going to be a long and painful series of buses to get there; and there doesn’t seem to be much worth stopping at along the way.
We’ll be leaving the Caribean shores to visit the Pacific coast. Should actually be some sand there, and some surfing, but the cold water might be a shock.
I still haven’t managed to shake my “in a rush” attitude toward life. If anything, around here I’d be better off deliberately killing time and drawing things out because the time supply is so plentiful, and activities in the heat of the day tiresome.
So after a couple of hours just now drinking coffee, reading books and enjoying the trade winds, I’m feeling good about keeping the pace slow. But am fully aware that I’m only pretending to not be in a rush. It’s a lifelong habit that will die hard, or perhaps not at all.
Utila is a strange place. The Hondurans who live here are in some respects immigrants in their own land. The Bay Islands (including Utila) were settled by the British who did their thing relocating / slaughtering the natives, and for a long time controlled the territory until Honduras decided it belonged to them.
The Brits made it successful enough to create jobs which encouraged Honduran “immigration” to the islands, which continues today.
The noticeable upshots are that most transactions are conducted in English, things generally work as advertised (no mean feat in Cerntral America), and backpackers dominate the culture.
No doubt it’s very easy as an anglo to spend time here – and I’m sure once the cultural and language barriers return as we proceed we’ll notice how easy things have been this week.
Now to head over to the Argentine food vendor for an authentic choripan; it takes me right back to the promenade in Puerto Madero. We’re going to BYO a pile of brocoli that we sourced last night. Nice.
Bar Babalú
Our regular night time hangout featured an “aquarium” carved out of the dock, where all manner of marine life swam in and out to entertain the drinkers.
Our favorites were the elusive colour changing octopus (“Octo”), and the somewhat scary stonefish who almost never moved, and could only be discerned by the red-eye giveaway from flash photography:
