Rum Punch - A Breakfast Drink

In my last post, I tried to convey - unsuccessfully - just how beautiful Roatan was. The water was glassy and crystal clear. The beaches were pristine and lined with palm trees. The jungle was lush and vibrant. Close your eyes and imagine the beauty, the serenity... now imagine the exact opposite and you will have a perfect picture of Costa Maya, Mexico. Don't get me wrong, I'd move there in a second because it is, after all, on the Caribbean but it certainly paled in comparison to Roatan. Let's just say that International House Hunters is unlikely to show up in Costa Maya anytime soon.

Daphne - or was it Carol... I can't keep Dale's women straight anymore - had reserved a spot for us at the Maya Chan beach resort for the day so we piled into a cab with a twelve year old cab driver and away we went. We passed through downtown Costa Maya and then drove along quite possibly the worst road in the western hemisphere for what seemed like hours as we bounced around the interior of the cab. We started to get a little worried that we were being taken to the middle of nowhere because all we saw was the ocean on one side and what was formerly a mangrove forest on the other. The mangrove forest, along with most all of Costa Maya, was destroyed by a hurricane several years ago and it definitely shows. Occasionally, we would see a shack, a tent or a van in a small clearing in the mangrove wreckage or right out by the beach. Clothes lines, lawn chairs and the occasional toy were strewn around these "houses" to show that people were living there. I began to feel bad for these folks until I remembered who was living on the beach and who wasn't.

We finally arrived at Maya Chan and after a few minor spinal readjustments were led to our palapa. As we walked through the grounds we noticed that Maya Chan was breathtaking. The grounds were meticulously maintained (they even raked the sand) and the trees and shrubs were beautiful. Under our palapa, we found three lounge chairs and a beach mattress along with a spectacular view of the ocean. A bar and dining area were arranged under a big thatched roof to our left and more palapas and beach mattresses were arranged along the beach. When I build my Tiki Bar, I hope it looks half as good as Maya Chan.

The staff was just as wonderful as the scenery. As soon as we arrived (around 9 a.m.), we were served rum punches - anything that contains orange juice, such as rum punch, is technically a breakfast drink - and fruit cups. Not long after we had finished the punches, our waiter for the day, Zach, arrived and introduced himself. Zach had led an interesting life, to say the least. He had moved with his parents from California to Cancun and grew up there. His parents died in an accident when Zach was twelve so he found himself on his own. He ended up in Costa Maya giving city tours to the tourists and sleeping in the pier area. When he was older, he became the manager of the largest marina in Costa Maya. The hurricane wiped out the marina and wiped Zach out of a job. He went back to Cancun and worked for a while before one of his former employees at the marina offered him a job at Maya Chan. Anyway, Zach begged and begged for Dale and I to order a drink so we decided that Pacifico was a suitable pre-lunch beer.

One of the dangers of cruising in the wintertime is that the weather may not be as nice as you would like. In Costa Maya, the wind was blowing at about 20 mph and it was a little chilly. Since the weather was not suitable for being in the water, we spent most of our morning relaxing in the palapa. While we were relaxing, two ladies set up massage tables right in front of us and started trolling for tourists. The first tourist to agree to a massage was a middle aged lady. She climbed up on the massage table and laid down on her front. The masseuse untied her swim suit top and started shoving it down in the back. The lady on the table sat up to help with this process and quicker than you could say "Please, noooo...." the masseuse pushed her entire top down around her waist while the Tiki Gal and I watched in horror. Yes, we saw it all.

Have I mentioned before that anytime I've ever been involved with stranger nudity that I always wish I hadn't? Well, this was another one of those times. I immediately doused my eyes with Pacifico and tried not to think about vintage crack.

Luckily, I was able to distract myself on a guided bike tour with Zach and then with lunch. The "chef" at Maya Chan grills chicken, beef and fish on an outdoor grill beside the bar and then serves the meats with tortillas, cheese, pico de gayo, and beans. The food was really good. Also, as we stood in line to get our food a drunk woman used me to remain upright. How do I get so lucky?

After lunch, Dale and I were feeling adventurous so we took the glass bottom kayaks out into the pounding surf. We saw some fish and coral formations but mostly we tried to keep the surf from hurling us back up onto the shore. We paddled around for a little while and then started back for the beach. As we got closer, we found Daphne waiting for us with our afternoon beer of choice, Negra Modelo

Daphne and the Tiki Gal had been hanging out at the bar while we were kayaking so we joined them there. They had ordered red wine so Zach served it to them in tall Collins glasses instead of wine glasses. They were as happy as clams with their 32 oz. glasses of wine but the bartender / owner of Maya Chan did not seem as amused. He needs to lighten up if he's going to be a bartender, I think. Also, his mixed drinks were not the best we've had. He was a little skimpy with the alcohol, to say the least. We heard from other cruisers later in the week that the owner must have been filling in the day we were there because the regular bartender made really good drinks. Not that it bothered us. We put quite a dent in their Negra Modelo stock that day.

As we left Maya Chan that day with to-go cups full of red wine, we took a last look at the beautiful beach resort. It was difficult to keep that image in mind as we bounced from shoulder to shoulder on Pothole Street while looking at mangrove stumps and one room houses as we rode back to the ship, but we tried our best.

Speedy Stew

I was convinced from the beginning that Roatan, Honduras was going to be a horrible place to visit. As anyone who has read this blog knows, I am the Charlie Brown of vacation experiences. Just like Chuck, if something can go wrong on a vacation, it is going to go wrong on me. On Roatan, our dear departed friend Carol had arranged for us to go horseback riding and to visit monkeys and iguanas. I just knew that if a horse didn’t trample me to death, I would certainly be dragged off into the jungle by a pack of monkeys and never seen again. It was with this dark cloud of forbearing hanging over my head that I crossed the gangway onto the pier in Roatan.

My first impression of the island, earlier that morning while still safe on the balcony on the Voyager, was that it was very beautiful. Like Jamaica, Roatan is mountainous and very green. Unlike Jamaica, however, Roatan is not overly developed. Very few houses dotted the lush vegetation climbing the hills. Most of the buildings seemed to be concentrated along the coast line. It was interesting to see that the houses near the beaches weren’t the typical multimillion dollar mansions I’d seen on other islands that only professional basketball players and mid-level politicians could afford. The houses near the beaches in Roatan appeared to be just regular houses – houses the locals might actually live in. I was also amazed at the stillness of the water near the pier. If I didn’t know we were in the Caribbean Sea, I could have been convinced we were sitting in a small, protected pond with no waves to disturb the morning. Of course, we were on a boat with five-thousand people so it would have to be a really big pond.

We walked along the pier until we found our guide for the day, Rony of Rony’s Independent Tours. Rony was younger and spoke much better English than I expected. Rony led us to his van and off we went. As we drove, Rony commented on many of the sights and answered all of our numerous questions about Roatan and life on the island. He also told us the story of Speedy.

There are many wild iguanas on Roatan and some of the locals grow up hunting and eating them. Rony explained that if you grow up eating iguana, after a while it becomes like an addiction. You must have iguana every so often or you really start craving it. Usually, when Rony gets a craving for iguana, he takes his hunting dog out and they catch one for dinner. A few years ago, however, Roatan experienced heavy rains and Rony couldn’t get out to go hunting. It just so happened that Rony was house-sitting for a friend, George, – a friend that grew up in Canada – who had a pet iguana named Speedy. Rony said that as his craving got stronger, he kept thinking about Speedy just sitting there in his cage. The rain kept pouring and Rony’s craving kept getting growing. He knew that George would be really mad if he ate Speedy so he tried to resist. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore and turned Speedy into stew. George was not happy about this development, to say the least, and Rony did feel really bad. He replaced Speedy with a new iguana and George eventually forgave him. I don’t think Rony gets to house sit for George anymore, though.

As we drove along roads lined by lush vegetation, I would catch glimpses of the sea through openings in the palm trees. I cannot adequately describe how beautiful Roatan was. Everywhere you turned a flower or a tree or a stretch of beach looked like something you would see on a calendar. We’ve been to quite a few islands now and Roatan ranks right at the top as far as natural, unspoiled beauty goes.

We arrived at the ranch and Rony introduced us to the ranch owner, Sharky. Sharky sized us up and picked out horses for each of us. Daphne rode a horse named Black Boy. The Tiki Gal was on Skip. Dale rode Snowflake and I got a horse named Tangerine. I grew a little nervous because of all the horses, Tangerine was the only one that had to be held while Sharky worked on my saddle. Also, Rony looked more nervous than I felt when Sharky asked him to hold on to Tangerine. I was already wondering which side would be the best to dive off of when Tangerine decided to see if the gringo could fly.

Snowflake and Skip

I’m happy to say that my fears were completely unwarranted. We rode along the road to the West End beach and then down another road to the coast. Sharky showed us the dead coral that protects the island from the waves. He said the coral wasn’t pretty but it kept Roatan from eroding into the sea. Sharky also showed us many plants and told us how they could be used for medicine and in at least one case, to make explosives. We then rode right down the beach to a rocky outcropping where we stopped to rest and to take pictures.

Sharky said that when he was a boy, he could walk out into the ocean and choose any size lobster he wanted to take home for dinner. Now, the lobsters are gone. He also showed us a big area of beach front property that is owned by an old lady. He said that when she dies, her son would sell the land so he could have a better car and someone would likely build a resort or a bar. Sharky was sad to see the changes that were happening to his island. His stories made me think much differently about the places we’ve visited. I love visiting these beautiful islands but I hate what the tourism industry is doing to them at the same time. Roatan is still relatively unspoiled but it is just a matter of time before Sharky won’t be able to ride his horses along the beach anymore… all because some kid wants a better car and the tourists will pay to give him one. The worst part is I can’t blame anyone. The locals want a better life and there aren’t many employment options on the islands. The tourists want to experience something that they can’t at home and they do provide income to the locals. As always, the land pays the price. Where’s the Lorax when you need him?

Sharky

Next, we went to see the monkeys and I’m happy to report that I survived the experience. However, if you travel to Roatan, I can’t recommend the monkey exhibit. It consists of a few pens with monkeys, parrots, and other birds and animals. You pay a “guide” who walks you around the backyard sized area and takes you inside a few of the pens. The monkeys are all too happy to jump on your back and walk around on your shoulders. They are also happy to reach in your pockets and unzip your zippers. Rony had warned us that the monkeys were trained to pick your pockets but I didn’t really believe him at the time. I certainly do now.

Our next stop was at an iguana farm. We told Rony he had to behave himself because we didn’t want to get kicked out because he got hungry. He agreed and we soon found ourselves surrounded by hundreds of iguanas. We fed the iguanas trumpet flower leaves and, at least in my case, a hunk out of a finger. You have to keep an eye on those iguanas because they will sneak up from behind you while you are taking pictures of their buddies and chomp down on any appendage they can reach. I blame the whole thing on Rony because the iguana was just following the law of the jungle. Eat or be eaten.

We had lunch at the Half Moon Bay resort and then went snorkeling right off the beach. We were surprised to find beautiful coral formations and a bunch of tropical fish within a few yards of the beach. Snorkeling in Roatan was as good as anywhere we’ve been. Poor Dale was bitten on the knee by a rare coral-gator, however, and will forever have the scar to show for it.

After snorkeling, Rony completed our tour of the island and dropped us back at the pier. He had spent the whole day driving us around, holding an agitated horse, telling us stories about his life on the island, resisting the temptations at the iguana farm and making sure our day was as wonderful as he could make it. For all of that, he only charged us $25 per person. If you ever find yourself on Roatan, I can’t recommend Rony’s Independent Tours highly enough. We will definitely be using Rony again in the future.

Our visit to Roatan couldn’t have been more different than I expected. We had a great day full of new experiences and beautiful scenery and we were all sad to be stepping back onto the Voyager. We hurried up onto the pool deck so we could wave goodbye to our new favorite island as the ship pulled away from the pier. The sun was setting over the mountains, the weather was warm, and we had experienced it all with our wonderful friends.

The Secret

The first two days of our cruise were… educational. We learned things about ourselves and about our fellow cruisers. We learned that we aren’t tough enough to win at music trivia. We learned that you can put anything at all on a lanyard and wear it around your neck. We learned that we take the party wherever we go. We learned that the Tiki Gal has a convincing British accent. And most importantly, we learned a secret that has been hidden from us by our Caribbean neighbors… the secret of the turtle.

As Dale, Daphne, the Tiki Gal and I boarded the Voyager of the Seas we noticed something quite different about our fellow cruisers. They were old. Really old. “Who left the door to the nursing home open?” old. We’d only been on summertime cruises before and, apparently, summertime is when people under the age of 85 cruise. On this cruise we would be bringing the average age down by about 30 years. A bonus of this was that we got to check out all the new walker models so we’ll know what brand to choose in the future.

The Voyager of the Seas

Once on board, we set about having a good time. The Voyager of the Seas was once the largest cruise ship in the world so we wandered around a bit to get our bearings. It is amazing to think that you can walk down the middle of a street with shops on both sides and be on a boat. Once we knew where everything was, we went up on deck to watch the ship sail out of port. Unfortunately, it was still winter in Galveston so it was a wee bit chilly to be standing in the open air for long. We spotted the pool bar right away and were lucky enough to find one of the most important elements of a cruise on our first day: the entertaining bartender. His name was Dosrell but, according to Dale, he liked to be called Dorgsell. Dorgsell made the girls rum punches and made big boy margaritas for Dale and me. We knew immediately that Dorgsell was our guy because he made excellent drinks and he was really friendly. Also, anyone who keeps pouring rum in the Tiki Gal’s drink whenever it starts to get low is a man after my own heart.

The "street" in the middle of the Voyager

We were at sea those first two days so we got to know quite a few of our fellow cruisers. At breakfast on Monday morning, we met a couple whose daughter, Dee Dee, worked on the rock wall on the ship. Dee Dee’s mom told us a story about the time she and Dee Dee and her other daughter went on safari in Kenya and a wildebeest trumpeted right outside their tent and scared them to death. She then told us about waiting for an hour and a half to watch lions mate and when they finally did, it took about 10 seconds and then it was over. I have to admit, this story secretly made me happy. After the safari, they climbed Mount Kilimanjaro.

We had no idea at the time but Daphne has quite a mischievous streak. She thought it would be funny to go up to the rock wall and mess with Dee Dee, so we did. As we walked up to the desk to check out our climbing gear, Daphne asked Dee Dee if she remembered us from the safari in Kenya. Dee Dee was trying to be polite but was definitely looking puzzled. Then Daphne asked if Dee Dee remembered when that wildebeest trumpeted outside the tents and scared everyone. Dee Dee was definitely looking uncomfortable now but she was still trying to smile. Dee Dee finally caught on when Daphne started talking about climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. Dee Dee said “Have you been talking to my mother?” We all had a good laugh at that. Even though Dee Dee seemed to be a good sport about it, I’m glad she wasn’t holding my rope while I climbed the rock wall.

We also met some of our fellow cruisers at a Latin dance class. Dale and I were pleasantly surprised to learn we are not the worst dancers in the world, no matter what Daphne and the Tiki Gal think. During the dance class, I was demonstrating a dance that we saw a deranged man do at a benefit concert and the girls were taking pictures. Afterwards, a lady said we looked like we were having fun and the Tiki Gal said “we take the party wherever we go.” That statement was never truer than on this cruise.

We met a man who was extremely happy and extremely drunk. We heard him coming down a hallway singing “Got Patron in my cup! Got Patron in my cup!” He told us that he had just won $3000 playing craps. We also saw a young guy in a plaid shirt who was clearly conflicted. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to be one of the girls or one of the guys. From our standpoint, he was obviously one of the girls. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

Not all of our encounters with our fellow cruisers were quite so enjoyable, however. We ate breakfast with a couple of Silver Serenaders who nearly started a riot over some missing granola. We played music trivia with a few people that obviously don’t take the party wherever they go. The Tiki Gal nearly started a shopping frenzy when she announced in a convincing British accent “Everything on this table is $9.99.” And worst of all, on formal night Dale and I saw some things we’ll never be able to unsee.

We had just taken pictures in our fancy clothes and were waiting outside the dining room for our seating to start. As we were waiting, minding our own business, an older lady walked by in a dress that can best be described as, um, well… see through. This wouldn’t have been so bad if she had been wearing a slip. Or underwear. As she walked away, Daphne said “Well, that was some vintage crack.” I was fortunate to only see her from behind. Poor Dale got the full frontal view as well. He started to sweat and tears were pouring uncontrollably from his eyes. We rushed him into the dining room and quickly ordered some wine. After two bottles, we finally got him back into shape and had a nice dinner. After dessert, we were headed back to our cabins to change clothes. Just as we rounded the corner and started up the stairs, Dale and I came face to breast with another horror show – a tramp stamp right on the side of a mostly exposed trailer-trash boob. I’m sure this lady thought she was looking hot but she couldn’t have been more wrong. She looked like she had a couple of half-deflated balloons in her dress. Dale and I needed another bottle of wine to flush out our eyes. Sadly, this was just the beginning of the stranger nudity we would be exposed to on our trip. All you guys don’t get excited out there, however. If I’ve learned one thing in all my years, it is that any stranger nudity you are likely to be exposed to is not stranger nudity you would choose to look at for any reason. Just shoot me now.

The most important thing we learned during our first two days started out innocently enough. We were sitting at the pool bar with Dorgsell when he asked what we were going to do on Roatan. We told him we were going to see the iguanas and he told us that they taste like chicken. We didn’t believe him, of course, so he called over Oldemar, a bartender from Costa Rica, who agreed that iguana tastes like chicken. We started talking about the strange things they eat in the Caribbean when Oldemar looked around like he was making sure no one was listening, and told us The Secret. He told us that in the Caribbean, to get ready for the honeymoon, a man will cook up a male turtle’s manly part, dry it out, scrape it into some wine or rum and drink it down. He said it makes a man strong in bed - really strong in bed. Poor Dorgsell was blushing fourteen shades of red at this point and trying to hide in the farthest corner of the bar. Daphne and the Tiki Gal were really interested in The Secret, however, and kept asking questions. Oldemar called over another guy from the Caribbean and asked him to tell them about the turtle. That poor guy couldn’t get away fast enough. He practically jumped overboard so he wouldn’t have to talk about the turtle.

As you might imagine, the turtle became the guiding force of the remainder of the cruise for us. Our stateroom attendant, Stanley, was from Roatan so we asked him where we could find turtles while we were on the island. He turned fourteen shades of red just like Dorgsell and then got really serious. “You don’t want to be messin’ wit’ the turtle, now,” he told us. “Promise me you’ll stay away from the turtle.” Wow. This guy who didn’t know us at all seemed really concerned about our welfare if we went chasing the turtle. There must be something to this turtle thing. Something powerful. Something mysterious.

My question is: why did Oldemar pick us out of all the people on the cruise to tell The Secret? Do Dale and I look like we need help? Do Daphne and the Tiki Gal look like we need help? Of course, after seeing the vintage crack and the trailer-trash boob, we might actually need help. Bring on the turtle.