Our Own Private Island

"Would you like your own private island?" asked the man at the airport landing strip in Guanaja, Honduras. We hesitated. "Sure," we thought, "How likely is that?"

But that's where we stayed, on one of the small cayes just inside of one of Guanaja's reefs. The first day Frances and I walked around with big smiles on our faces. We were dreaming, weren't we?

No, this was our reality for five days and five nights. We lived in a multimillion dollar house and property; caretaker's small house and dock at one end of the island and spacious, airy, comfy, two-bedroom, two-bath "Big Boss" house on the other. The entire house had wooden slat louvered doors and windows (mahogany) that allowed it to open up into a breezy shelter that invited the sound of waves and the whoosh of sea breeze to circulate throughout. No screens. Just wide open doors.

The wooden deck straddled the sea on cement-filled plastic plumbing pipes. A combination cement/rock/coral reef sea wall stood along one end and side of this tiny island that took less than five minutes to walk around.

This was a genuinely magnificent spot to idle away hours watching sunrise, moonrise, stars, heavy rainstorms, and sea creatures as they swam and floated and meandered through the shallow waters that surrounded us.

We rested in the hammock, snorkled right off the shore, wrote, cooked, read reef and fish identification books and even finished one novel each on a rainy day. Right in front of "our" house men walked out in the ten inch high water and fly cast for fish that pushed their dorsal fins out of the water as they played and fed in groups.

We were startled to see creatures that were invisible in their surroundings but appeared in front of us for one moment before blending back into turtle grass and white sand, invisible again right before our eyes. Dozens of small crabs, a striped eel, bone fish, sting rays. All of these performed their disappearing acts as we strained to follow their paths in water that was clear like air. That reminded Frances of schools of fish we saw in Roatan, visible only because we saw their shadows in the sand; their bodies were transparent.

The waves hitting the reef roared constantly. While the sound made it through to us (Frances commented that she had to raise her voice louder just to be heard), the waves themselves were calmed.

We left our island paradise on Saturday. Today we're spending our last night in Honduras in Omoa, then back to Belize via water taxi. We'll wend our way slowly toward Cancun in order to catch our return flight in just two short weeks.