(excerpt from my personal travel journal)

…Roatan is beautiful, serene, relaxing, and idyllic! Lush vegetation, white sandy beaches, crystal blue water welcome you after you arrive at the Coxenhole, where the ferry dock is. After a 15-minute around-the-kitchen-drainpipe ride, we arrive at the West End, a locale replete with summering Europeans working dive shops, restaurants and bars along the main strip. Food is abundant here, thanks to a largely international latin flavor–you have your local Hondureno eats, Italian, Mexican, even Arginentean (there is a parrilla–steakhouse at the end of the road).

Roatan, along with its sister island, Utila, is one of the cheapest places in the world you can obtain a PADI scuba-diving license. I didn’t get to do this, but that makes for a reason to return someday in the future!

The first night, after we all went out to the West Bay and enjoyed an afternoon in the warm waters, and a futile attempt in trying to inhale a colossal burrito de camaron (shrimp) that would put Chipotle to shame, we went to the Purple Turtle bar. Tonight was a packed night–full of locals, visitors and journeypeople. The bar is constructed entirely of wood; the “cement du jour” of Roatan. We came across a group of divers that recognized us on the ferry ride earlier. After exchanging pleasantries, one of the divers asked for my name and I gave her my D.C. driver’s license so that she could read off it–after doing so she returned my license, and during the transition process from her hand to mine, she DROPPED it! My eyes followed the rapid descent of my license all the way down to its resting place on the sand…

AFTER it shimmied its way through a sliver between the wooden planks!

I thought it would just be a simple task of reaching under the desk and getting my license back…to no avail; the deck was completely sealed off to prevent any wandering animal finding a respite for the night there.

With promises from some locals that the owner would be present the next morning to pry off some plans and procure my license, I proceeded to enjoy the rest of the night. After all, it wasn’t like it was my PASSPORT or anything!

The diver gal apologized profusely and took care of my drinks for the evening despite my reassurances that there were more important things to worry about–and repeating that it wasn’t my passport. The next day, I’m greeted by the owner, who has just finished constructing a ruddy wooden TV set for his flat-screen tv so that folks can enjoy the early stages of Wimbledon or a few games of the World Cup (envision this: 100% wood. The beach. Hot weather. Cold drinks. And a top-of-the-line flat-screen tv–about 51 inches or so–encased IN wood. With cable and satellite wires spaghettied-out of an opening.) He seemed to be nonchalant when approached about possibly removing one of the planks to get my license. I didn’t really push it, ending our conversation with a “thanks for your trouble, mate” and left.

Two days later, on my last morning, I’m approached by the same local who promised that the bar owner would get my license for me. She said these magical words:

“I’ve just left your license at the front desk of your hotel–I dropped by after work (midnight last night) with a hammer and took care of it for you.” And she did this with a smile on her face. My cousin Patty, who did her residency on Roatan, was shocked–she said Hondurenos are not exactly known for their kindness or generosity…the local just continued on her way, waving off my offers for restitution of her kindness and said:

“No worries…pura vida!” (”pure life” is a saying they use–much like our “don’t worry; be happy”)

Talk about kindness! Only if everyone had the generosity and warm smile as that local…what would our daily lives be like?

(end excerpt)