Trip Start Sep 28, 2011
Trip End Ongoing

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Flag of Honduras  , Bay Islands,
Monday, November 7, 2011

Slowly but surely I'm making my way back from deaths door.  To be honest it wasn't that bad, certainly not compared to what happened to my bowels in Russia...

It affords me yet another day of doing nothing.  I wander down the one street, taking a few pictures as I go.  It really is a pretty unremarkable place.  The lack of photographs will either echo that, or the fact I've been so damn lazy.  I decide to take a stroll along to find Mike's new home.

Getting away from the dive centre nonsense isn't that hard, and you can start to at least attempt to acknowledge this is an island community in its own right.  Slightly off the beaten track you find residents homes, small churches, schools and businesses.  It makes you wonder just what the locals feel about this invasion of outsiders, constantly taking over their island.  Some perhaps thrive on the money it brings in, capitalising on tourism; while others look at you with contempt.  "Utila wasn't always like this..."

Buildings can be divided into two types.  Those that are still standing, and those that aren't.  Most are made from wood built on concrete stilts.  Every house appears raised off the ground in some way.  Many have rotted away, and are nothing more than empty shacks for the wind to whip through.  Occasionally you spot dwellings that have had substantially more money spent on them.  Is it little surprise to find American owners swinging from the porch bench?

On land, the mode of transport appears to be dominated by some kind of motorised vehicle.  By the looks of things, anything goes so long as it isn't a car.  Mopeds, quads, tuk tuks, motorbikes, golf carts, motocross name it, its tearing up and down the one street with wild abandon.  Nobody seems to bother either with age, or if you have any qualifications in driving these machines at all.  You could as well be a nine year old who won her licence in a raffle.

Quite a fair peg off the main street I find Mike's riding stable home; with Mike nowhere to be found.  Evidence he has settled is displayed by the two young children swinging in his hammock in the saddle barn, so he's probably off slaving in a field somewhere.  I linger long enough to watch two men whip the crap out of a manky old horse to try and teach it something.  I pity the poor beast and shuffle home.

Errrr.  That's about it.  Again.  Perhaps something really exciting will happen tomorrow.  Perhaps I will be able to eat more than a banana.  Perhaps I'll get hit by one of these damn motorcycle children.  Stay tuned to find out. 

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