What a difference a day makes.
This morning I was lying on a floating dock beneath a blazing sun in just swim trunks. Tonight, I am sitting in my bedroom waiting for my space heater to kick in.
This morning, it was 85°. Tonight, it is 8°.
This morning I was wearing shorts and flip flops. Tonight, I am wearing a sweater, grey hoodie, fleece jacket and stocking cap.
This morning, I was subsisting on rice, beans, fresh fish and Salva Vida (La Cerveza Nacional de Honduras). Tonight, I’m eating Rold Gold pretzels and drinking a Sam Adams.
This morning I was in Roatan, Honduras. Tonight, I am home in New York City.
Roatan, Honduras. For a week. Wow. What can I tell you? Where to begin?
I can’t possibly do the trip justice in one post, and especially not at one o’clock in the morning after ten hours of air travel.
Suffice, for now, to say that the last eight days and seven nights were the most restful, exciting, and beautiful of recent memory, if not all times. I slipped quickly from the relentless cycles of the city to the patient rhythm of nature. I woke to a symphony birds and breeze, rose with the sun, swam with fish, then turned in as the moon peeked over the mountains.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think it had all been a dream. But I have photographic evidence, so I’m pretty sure it all really happened. And I’m pretty sure I’ll have it with me now forever and ever.