Searching for Utila’s Treasure

<< back << home

Lining the dusty street were ornate houses, decorated with elaborate gingerbread details—as if made by a whimsical baker with a selection of cookie cutters, rather than a builder with a hammer and saw. Painted in festive colors, many of the houses boast deeply shaded front porches with swings that were often inhabited by the town’s iced tea-sipping, older residents.

Nestled among the houses were the town’s shops. Random in appearance and in content, you may have to visit six of them to find everything on a simple shopping list—and then only if a delivery boat has been in port recently. Roadside restaurants and dive shops were tucked into the remaining gaps. Signs with names like “Bucket of Blood” over a bar and “Captain Morgan’s Diving” remind visitors of the island’s nefarious past.

Unlike the rest of Honduras, the language of the Bay Islands is English with a twist. Peppered with words like "steam’n" which means to go boating and "looking glass" which means mirror, the local language harks back to the era of English pirates and is a reminder of the island’s rich history.

The Bay Island’s original inhabitants were the Paya Indians who were killed when the islands became a pirate stronghold in the 1600s. In 1797, the British marooned 5,000 rebel Garifunas (black slaves) from St. Vincent on the shores of the islands. Into this mix came black and white farmers from the Cayman Islands, and, after Britain gave the island to Honduras in 1859, Spanish-speaking mainlanders. The result was a comfortable ethnic mix, which makes Utila feel surprisingly urbane.

One of the charms of Utila was that tourists and locals mixed freely. Most of the shops and restaurants are little family-run places that are just as likely to cater to their neighbors as international visitors.
Midday heat and humidity drove us out of the street and into a local bar. Locals were seated around us, and I listened to the rich texture of the island’s dialect. A waitress unhurriedly asked for our orders:

“What will ya be hav’n?”
“ Rum and orange juice, please.”
“ No juice.”
“ Rum and Coke.”
“ Out of pop.”
“ Rum and water.”
“ No rum.”
“ What do you have?
“ Beer.”
“ Salva Vida then.”
“ No Salva Vida. Until the boat she comes, all that be is Port Royal.”

“Tropical paradise” is how some visitors describe Utila. While the phrase fits the island in many ways, it doesn’t take into account how fragile paradise can be. Although it has recovered from the ravages of Hurricane Mitch, Utila has yet to weather the storm of hurricane tourism. Locals struggle with difficulties that range from a patchy infrastructure in which the island goes without supplies for extended periods, to a non-existent sewage system. Utila is experiencing the tourism predicament that affects much of Central America—the need for tourism dollars. But the risk that comes with increased tourism will destroy the very reason for which visitors travel to Utila.

Coral is what attracts most visitors to Utila. Its reef is world-renowned for its treasure trove of life, and Utila has gained fame as one of the cheapest places in the world to gain PADI scuba certification and dive for recreation. Dive masters and instructors come from all over the world to teach and train as instruction is available in dozens of languages. Selecting a shop often comes down to how far you want to walk from your hotel each morning for your 7 a.m. departure.

During my first dive in Utila, I understood what it must feel like to be a fish out of water. The dive boat rolled, throwing my awkwardly clad self against a sturdy dive master. With hoses dangling, fins flopping and getting hotter by the moment in my wetsuit, I couldn’t wait to be in the water.

Once the water hit my body, it felt both foreign and familiar. I shifted my view from above water to below and was astonished. The clear water had a nearly purple hue, and the reef was crowded with life.

Bubbles and schools of fish floated up and past as Evan and I started our descent. The dive master led us along one of the sheer walls that characterize the island’s north side. I stared intently at the fish and coral, willing myself to memorize the shapes and colors to check against identification photos later.For all of its aura of macho danger, the reality of diving is looking at pretty fish. On Utila, it is looking at a lot of pretty fish decorating spectacular coral walls, labyrinths and seamounts.

A glint caught my eye, and I immediately thought I was about to become rich. Taking measured breaths, I swam to the object and brushed away the sand. It was a golden-colored coin—could it be the treasure? Examining it closely, I disappointedly made out the design of a modern Honduran centavo.

Back on the boat there was the option of spending our surface interval pitching and rolling attached to the dive buoy or going to Pigeon Cay for the world’s best fish burgers. The fish burgers won. Pigeon Cay, one of 10 little cays at the east end of Utila, is barely above water. The hard coral mound is covered in brightly painted houses propped up on stilts and joined by rickety wooden walkways. Steam’n dories serve as transport and are the equivalent of the family car or, in Utila, the family scooter.

Exploring is a big part of visiting Utila. The island is so small it is easy to walk anywhere in just a few hours. If you are in a bigger hurry, you can rent bicycles, scooters or horses. A few enterprising individuals even offer tours of the island, but discovering the island on your own is easy. Aside from the beaches and reefs, there is the lure of the jungle. There are banana groves to find, wild mangoes to pick, parrots and other tropical birds to see, shy iguanas to follow and maybe even a treasure to locate.

Refreshed from a morning of diving, I wanted to shift my treasure hunt from the sea to the jungle. Evan and our friends, Mark and Val, had other plans. Returning from diving, they made a variety of local contacts and arranged for the delivery of ice, beer and homemade banana bread. They wanted to spend the afternoon consuming the beer and banana bread while watching the ice melt.

“Gold, emeralds and diamonds are waiting for us in the jungle!” I implored. “Just sitting there in a hidden cave on Pumpkin Hill.”

Hiking in the jungle is never as easy as I think it should be. The foliage is dense and often sharp and spiny. There are creatures that bite or at least look like they will. It is difficult to see where you are going, and soggy vegetation rises up from the ground or swings down suddenly. And it is hot; the air is so thick and sticky it requires effort just to inhale.

When I finally convinced my friends that riches were ours for the taking, we entered the jungle after walking along the road that bisects the island. We planned to head off into the tangle as we neared Pumpkin Hill, the island’s high point. The problem was that we didn’t know the exact location of Pumpkin Hill. So we set off from the road when we noticed a low mound above the foliage. The footing became difficult as we dodged the four-inch holes made by the island’s blue coconut land crabs.

Razor grass and sticky vines made us take several detours and ferocious mosquitoes nearly made us turn around completely. After traversing what seemed the entire length of the island, we finally emerged on a ridge. Breathless with excitement and fatigue, I rushed around looking for caves and gold. I only found fragrant wild orchids. My friends watched me for a bit then calmly pointed to a much higher hill, over another one ridge.

Relief from the high temperatures came each evening. The strong sea breeze chased away the sticky heat, and Utila came alive. Families gathered on their porches and called greetings as each person passed. A variation on the traditional Spanish Paseo found the island’s teenagers congregated on the main street. On crowded scooters, they would endlessly drive from one end of town to the other, flirting and catcalling to each other. Taco stands were busy serving up traditional favorites. Music escaped from various bars, and the town’s docks were crowded with tables for restaurant patrons.

Utila’s restaurants range from informal to haphazard. With only a few long-lived places, most open and close on a whim. At our hotel, I asked the owners Dean and Rene for a current recommendation and received typical island directions. Heading off down the road, my friends and I argued over at which tree we were supposed to turn and, eventually, wandered into someone’s backyard. A young Latino man popped out of a steaming kitchen and enthusiastically settled us at a table. “You’re here for dinner? This is my first night open. I have made a buffet dinner. Can I get you a plate?”

Morgan’s fortune still resides on Utila. I thought about this as our plane traversed its too short airstrip and lifted off just in time to clear a dive boat. Looking down at the island, I noticed again how tiny it was. In the early morning sun, it was glinting and golden. I hoped that the plans for a new airport and new resorts wouldn’t change the character of this island and especially her people—Utila’s real treasure.

Diane Selkirk is a freelance writer who has covered topics that range from history on the Chesapeake Bay to travel in BC’s Gulf Islands. She has stories and photos in a variety of magazines including Cruising World, Pacific Yachting and Mothering.

<< home

<< back

<< discuss article >>