Holy Saturday was a study in contrasts with the tourist mob scene on West Bay Beach on Good Friday. Saturday was all about a lazy day on the beach with family and friends.
Roatan is a long, narrow island – about 32 miles long and 2 miles wide, with a spine of mountains and single road winding along the crest. The 25 mile, 90 minute drive from west to east might not seem such a big physical journey, but it is a huge transition through time and culture.
On the west end… West Bay Beach – the most heavily developed tourist destination on the island… thousands of tourists staying in hotels and rentals and more thousands coming on cruise ships for the day. On the east end, a few miles of bad dirt road past the end of the pavement… small villages built on the water, people living simple lives based on fishing and agriculture, speaking a language far removed from modern Spanish and English.
And at the end of the road - Camp Bay… two miles of remote and lightly-used sand and reef.
Semana Santa revolves around family. The villages on the east end of the island are remote and employment opportunities are scarce. Like rural villages everywhere, young people often have to leave for jobs. But for Semana Santa, many come back to celebrate with their families. For several days, up and down Camp Bay beach, extended multigenerational clans enjoy the air, sand, and water, lounging and eating under the seagrape trees.
The Idiots have visited Roatan many times over the past ten years or so. They’ve spent, in total, about a half year on the island. They initially came for the climate and the snorkeling. The main reason they return now is for family.
An important aspect of “Idiot Travel” [trademark pending] is embracing one’s inner idiot. When they were younger the Idiots tried to travel “smart.” They wanted to do things “right.” They didn’t want to appear ignorant, or even worse – foolish. But time and experience taught them that when entering new situations and cultures, a traveler will always be an idiot. No matter how hard you try you will not really understand and you will do and say foolish things.
The Idiots found that many of their best experiences grew from having foolish experiences and letting local people help them. Many years ago a young family on Roatan recognized that the Idiots were willing to admit their ignorance and to accept assistance with open hearts. The Idiots became adopted family.
The Idiots have a dilemma. They want to share the beauty of their Roatan family and they want to respect their privacy. So… a compromise. They will share pictures… but the people will be identified by generalizations. So… Dad, Mom, Son 1, Son 2, Son 3, etc.
The Idiots’ Roatan family consists of Dad from South America, Mom from the island from a small village off the pavement on the east end, and three sons. Over the years they have shared joy and sadness… much laughter and a few tears… and more than a few beers and pieces of key lime pie.
The Idiots have been humbled by the openness and generosity of their Roatan family. It was a great honor to be invited to share Holy Saturday with the extended family on Camp Bay Beach.
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Temporary shelters and food stands pop up for a few days each year to support the family gatherings at Camp Bay.
Upon arrival, Mom is swept away in family greetings… her mother and sister and sister-in-law, who are all cooking up a storm… and her father who is supervising from his hammock… and a bewildering range of siblings and cousins and childhood friends. Mom is one of ten children, so the names soon became overwhelming for the Idiots.
Beachball soccer crosses all age barriers!
Son 3 meets his mother’s first great niece for the first time, which the Idiots think makes her his first cousin, once removed. And is that not a face destined to break hearts?!
Whatever… they were playmates for the rest of the day.
When the time came to raise another hammock, the family deferred to the experience of the patriarch. Few people nowadays know the fine arts of splicing and whipping ropes, but years of skill flowed through his hands in a process that was as much art as practicality. After the ropes were just right, one of his sons became his ladder for installation!
After labor comes rest. The patriarch and his grandson and great-grandaughter.
Dad and Son 3 enjoy the hammock.
The universal look of a kid eating a handful of Cheerios…
The universal look of a kid getting his hands on mom’s hat and walking blind…
Food is part of any good beach party – but it doesn’t always include rich, delicious iguana… a holiday treat!
Lounging in the shade was punctuated with swimming, kayaking, kite surfing, and games…
When you feed your family and make your living fishing, there are no days off…
Where there are rocks and cliffs, there will be boys to jump off them. In this case, the always active Son 2 was captured by telephoto. He brought back a “prize” for Idiot She. It joins a collection of ocean items at La Casa Azul– it is illegal to remove shells and coral from the island.
Some folks are concerned when they hear the Idiots are going to Honduras. Honduras has a certain infamy as “the murder capital of the world.” Roatan is a world apart from the violence of the mainland. There is crime, as there will be anywhere where the “haves” come to vacation surrounded by so many who “have not.” But he locals and the government know what an important role tourist dollars make in the economy of the country, so they are committed to making tourist locations reasonably safe. Beach patrols by local officers are supplemented by regular army during busy periods like Semana Santa. Not exactly comfortable beach attire when it is 90 in the shade!
Speaking of safety… if you are going to the beach, it makes sense to bring a life preserver… maybe even a case of life preservers – Salva Vida, a local beer.
The trees have the beauty of survivors, weathered by wind and rain and the occasional termite mound…
As the day gets long, cousins seek out shade and quieter games in the sand.
One more universal family pose. Tired young son and adopted auntie Idiot She doze during the long drive home. Anybody else remember the old song “Teddy Bear’s Picnic”? At six o’clock their mommies and daddies will take them home to bed, because they’re tired little Teddy Bears…”
