On our honeymoon cruise we were due to make our first port of call out of Miami at Roatan Island. For those who don’t know it, is in island off the north coast of Honduras and forms part of the Bay Islands under the governance of that country. It has a newish port / cruise terminal at its capital Coxen Hole, and as I understand it, is a new and upcoming attraction for Carnival Cruises (although we went with Norwegian Cruise Lines).
The guide book paints it as an idyllic, if little basic, Caribbean retreat which has an unappetising capital (the aforementioned Coxen Hole) but a delightful West Side where the beaches are superb. There are the warnings of sand fleas, and some quite alarming alerts regarding malaria in the Lonely Planet book, but we took our chances. As it turned out, we had no problems with mites or mossies.
Our problems were with the weather. As the Norwegian Prize Bingo called into port, Aussie Ted Bovis came over the tannoy to cheerily inform us that our marguerita and snorkel tour had been cancelled. Leaving us no time to sign up for an overpriced beach party, or for a deathslide experience, or a visit to see monkeys and iguanas or whatever, we decided to try for ourselves. How hard could it be to find the bus outside HB Warrens store in the centre of Coxen Hole, and get to West End by ourselves?
As we braved the throng of people trying to sell us excursions, we headed into town. One particularly annoying ruffian came alongside us, selling something or other, and as he walked next to me, a dog happened to walk into his path. This little f*ckwit thought it would be a grand idea to boot the mutt as hard as he could. I hate that. My beloved despises it too, and at that point I knew Roatan had lost her for good.
As we wandered down the main road, the town got more intimidating to the beloved. Personally, having been in other less “desirable” places, I wasn’t too bothered, but I don’t blame people for not knowing the score. But when we saw a dead/dying dog on the pavement, it was too much. The main shop, HB Warren, did not have a readily apparant bus stop / meeting place, and Coxen Hole was rapidly being renamed “Shit Hole” in my eyes.
We hired a taxi to take us to West End, which even had its own street map in Lonely Planet. When we got there nothing was open. The taxi driver, a decent chap who spoke sketchy English (but much better than my Spanish), then offered to take us to the beach at West Bay. For an extra $10. I tried my haggling best for a cost for the entire trip and yet it was the beloved and her dewy eyed innocence that got the reduction. Great.
West Bay and Tabyana Beach are no doubt the most lovely of spots on a hot day with a turquoise Caribbean lapping at your feet. It isn’t so beautiful, although not without distinct charm, when the wind is roaring and the see is as grey as Skegness in December, with the seaweed being chugged up on shore and only the brave going into the churning briney. The photos below show the niceness of the place, but (a) there was little evidence of any shops being open; (b) the sewage going into the sea through pipes wasn’t the most attractive feature and (c) the fact that you couldn’t sit down for too long without being sandblasted sort of went against it. A few snaps of the scenery, a purchase of a dreadful generic fridge magnet from a local merchant and another stroll braving people offering braiding services and more mysteriously “massages” and we returned to our taxi.
He took us back along the south coast sea front having navigated a road that looked like it belonged more in war-torn Grozny than an island trying to be an idyllic paradise, and past the lookout point he had stopped at on the way to West End to get his mates to flog us some tat, and past the “death slide” merchants you wouldn’t trust with your life (which is exactly what you are doing) and to our ship. We were on board by 1ish before the heaven’s opened. We wondered what the guys who paid for the beach party were thinking.
Roatan is probably good fun when the weather is nice, so it doesn’t pay to be too harsh, and every tourist spot has a seedy underbelly – as I know from Barbados – but the chief problems are that I think the port is there before the infrastructure and that’s quite important. I am glad I went there, but I won’t be hurrying back. Others rave about the place, as the beloved found out when she put her more strident views on Cruise Critic, but to me it needs a load of work. Maybe that would spoil the charm. It is a fine balance.
I will review Belize, and my experiences there, in the next instalment. Photos will precede it.
