utila, day 1

the ferry to the carribean island of utila is not a lot of fun.

many of the tourists, myself included, sit out front to enjoy the rare sunny weather.

the crew knows what is about to happen, but they say nothing.

the seas become rough, and waves start crashing across the front, soaking all of us.

the crew laughs, as we all rush inside. that´s when they start handing out the vomit bags.

and they chuckle at us some more.

and so i finally arrive at my island destination, slightly worse for wear.

before we are allowed to get off the boat, a drug sniffing dog gives me and my bags the once over. this is done simply to extort money from
backpackers, since there is no international border and anybody could easily drive a boat full of cocaine up to any point on the island. bastards.

i find a the perfect hotel in a quiet, beautiful location. $6 a night.

it is warm and sunny. i am happy.

i decide to wander. first i go the iguana station, a home for rescued and endangered iguanas.
i see lots of disabled reptiles. they charge me $2, which they will use to convince the locals to stop eating delicious endagnered iguanas.

then i head into the jungle to see them in the wild. i have no idea where i´m going.
the mood changes from lightheared island trek to descent into the heart of darkness.

some way in, a sickly stench fills the air. thousands of flies are swarming. the trail runs red with blood.

a dog proudly scampers by with what looks like entrails hanging from his mouth.
he has the largest testicles i have ever seen on a dog. the testicles and entrails bob and swing in unison.

i start thinking about dr. moreau and his unholy island experiments.
though i cannot see the logic in creating creatures with giant balls.

finally i see the origin of the river of blood. i see the guts and hide of a cow--everything else has been hauled off.
i am slightly relieved, but only slightly. and only momentarily.

because suddenly two youngish white guys appear on the trail--a big burly one and a small one.
they don´t really walk toward me as much as lumber.
there is a dullness to their inbred, slackjawed stares.
they are covered up to their waists in mud.
the large one is brandishing a machete, which he holds up as he walks as if he might need to strike at any moment.

in that "deliverance" moment, i pray that they don´t find me "purdy", and simply kill me quickly.

i decide to take a friendly approach. i greet them and ask them where the trail goes.

they respond slowly and with considerable effort.

they turn out to be friendly mormons, of all things, on the island on their mission. it´s their day off and they decided to hack their way through the swamps to the other side of the island.

not having a machete, and being eaten alive by mosquitoes, i dedide to head back, once the mormons disappear from sight.

it is a good day. and i do see a giant iguana in a tree on the way back.