I'm Back... And As A Bonus, I'm Alive!

At least, I hope that can be qualified as a bonus.

Anyway, as you can imagine, I am more than pleased to report that not only have I made it back alive from Honduras (notwithstanding my boss' apparent doubts on the liklihood of that happening), I am also completely and totally in one piece--in spite of the rather alarming prevalence of public displays of machetes. Honduras really could be the Machete Capital of the world. They are an indispensable accessory in Honduras, the "new black," if you will, of criminal fashion.

Not that I'm saying every man who carries a machete is a criminal, because I'm sure they aren't. They just have a disturbing tendency to look like they might be criminals. Potentially. Someday, when they have nothing better to do.

Which, in Honduras, could be pretty much any day, by all appearances.

My brother helpfully educated me about the social and criminal climate in his currently adopted country during our travels, which included a trip to the Mayan ruins of Copan (where my brother was nearly attacked by a large scarlet macaw carrying a machete), and Jewel Cays, a tiny island off of Utila, which is in turn a small island off the mainland's east coast where pirates used to run around with machetes killing each other as they searched for buried treasure. Treasure they had buried themselves, I think, only they forgot where because of drinking so much rum.

But seriously, Jewel Cays was quite a paradise, and our hotel was right on the pier, so we would get up in the morning, walk outside, and jump right into the 80-degree (F) water.

"Hey, want to learn something?" my brother said one day, as we swam around in the Caribbean blue.

"Sure," I said. Last I checked, learning was supposed to be a good thing. But as it turns out, there are some things you really don't need to learn, and once you have, you'll wish you hadn't.

"This," said my brother, holding up a stick with what looked like a hollow rubber rocket on the end of it, "is what drug smugglers use to smuggle drugs. They put the drugs in and shove it up their butts. Unless they get cavity-searched, no one will ever know! Then they pull it out later, and sell it for $25,000."

How interesting. My life has been so enriched with this new knowledge. And if I had $25,000, you can bet I wouldn't spend it on anything that had been buried in somebody's rear end for who knows how long.

But maybe that's just me.

Aside from lessons in drug trafficking, my brother also introduced me to the incredibly diverse marine life beneath the surface of the ocean, which took a bit of effort on his part, because I am frightened of deep water. Well, it's not so much the water, as what's in it. Like Jaws, for instance. I mean, just as one, slightly terrifying, example.

So snorkeling was a really quite a big step for me.

We swam through glinting forests of needlefish, which sound sharp and pointy, but which are actually perfectly harmless--a fact for which I was very grateful. We also saw an octopus, which was nothing like I had imagined--for one thing, it was not the size of a ship, nor was it busily swallowing one while holding various screaming people in its vastly waving tentacles, which octopi always seem to be doing in fanciful pictures I've seen of them. Instead, this octopus just looked like a largish colorful rock on the ground, with some little arms. I was disappointed, but in a relieved sort of way.

We saw a giant sea turtle, which was pretty cool and rather calming. I began to relax and enjoy exploring this strange new aquatic world. Then, right after we watched the turtle swim away, my brother gestured me to the surface and said something quite funny.

"Let's dive down and look under that big crop of coral, and see if we can spot a serpent," he said. "You know, a sea snake."

"Haha," I said. "Could you say that again please? That was so humorous!"

"I'm serious," he said.

"Bhwrtwtehwetweht," I said, which was the sound of water coming out my nose as I tried not to drown from laughing.

Eventually, he did persuade me to take my fear in both hands and throttle it... or at least, gently put my hands over its big mouth. I dove down, and looked under the coral. No snake. No serpent.

Just a giant, single eye. Staring at me. In what appeared to be a tremendously huge head.

I was at the surface faster than you could say "Moby Dick." And if I were any good at teleportation, I'd have been right back on the pier--but I'm not very good at teleportation.

Yet.

Anyway, turns out the giant eye was attached to a gargantuan fish, not a sea snake, but I didn't care. Anything that big could probably eat me, and I wasn't going to hang around to find out whether or not it would. I mean hey, sharks supposedly don't like eating people, either, but tell that to Roy Sheider.

Oh, and speaking of sharks, we did see one. On the day we left the island. Thankfully, we didn't see it in the water. Some fishermen had caught it, and had hauled it onto a neighboring pier. As our ferry left the dock, we were treated to the sight of the men cutting off the shark's fins with their machetes.

You know, I never thought I would have occasion to use the word "survival" when talking about my vacation experiences. But I guess it's kind of cool that I can.