Before you read any more, know this: Everything is fine on Roatan. Please keep coming to our island! “They arrested the President.” I stop, nearly slipping on the wet tiles of the dive shop, and lower the scuba cylinders hoisted in each hand. My skin still glistens with sea salt and sweat, my mind lost in its mental menagerie of groupers, snappers, barracudas, and jacks encountered on the previous dive. The cacophony of banging tanks and bustling interns fades into the background. “Army moved in this morning. Two-hundred guys surrounded his house and arrested him. Dragged him out in his pajamas.” The Boss points to the computer monitor. I quickly scan the displayed website. My gut twists. Fifteen minutes earlier, » read more «

Tonight is Friday. In many parts of the Western World, Friday is a special night of the week reserved for mischief and mayhem. After languishing for five days at the office, monotonously battling the personal demons deviously conspiring unleash their tequila-fueled furor upon the week’s conclusion, five o’clock finally arrives. As the sun sets, a new weekend rises. For this one night, mere anarchy is loosed upon the world. (Then Saturday comes— recovery; and Sunday— repentance). On Roatan, mere anarchy is a pervasive state of mind. How else can one rest comfortably in a Third World country while the government undergoes a miniature coup? Oh, wait, that’s right: on the beach with a glass of rum and pineapple. I’m showering » read more «

Welcome back to surreality! This is just a quick update to explain my lack of updates over the last week. It’s not that I haven’t had material to write about. I have, and that is the problem. For those eager for the next update in the adventures of TheScubaGeek, I offer this list of events in my life. Each of these items warrants a proper follow-up article (and I swear I’ll get them done), but for now, this is the best I can manage at 1am on Honduran highspeed…. Pete found a juvenile lionfish at 38ft near Dixie’s Place. We captured the bugger and brought him to the surface, where he survived for three days on a diet of rum » read more «

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” she says. “And I’m not drinking tonight,” I reply, tipping my half-full glass of rum and pineapple towards her. “To the lies of Roatan!” A clink of glasses and we drink. The soft glow of Christmas lights encircling a palm tree casts her face in a stunning juxtaposition of gold and shadows. My eyes trace the contour of her face, mentally absorbing the image of her delicate features, willing my mind to embalm this moment in the timeless formaldehyde of memory. Our gazes lock. The glimmer of the beachside bonfire dances in her dark eyes. In a glance, we tacitly acknowledge the waning hours. Say ‘goodbye’, I remind myself.