Roatan! Home of the never ending golden hour. The humidity curled my hair into huge fluffy waves and, to combat sand fleas, I was constantly coated in a sheen of Chuby brand baby oil. Chuby has become a go-to word to describe just about anything now. Eating barbeque pork on the beach, wandering the only street in town, visiting the stunning property where Lori and her husband plan to build their home and sunsets on our deck– “Would you like the kitchen suite room or the ocean view room?” “Well, we don’t really need a kitchen… but we DO need an ocean view.”

Here’s the truth about Roatan: the best part about the island wasn’t the beach, the sunshine, the cheap Salva Vidas or the friendly locals. It was the DOGS! Here’s some facts about Island Dogs. They generally come in two categories, Island Brown Dog (ie. mutts) or purebreeds that are hugely inappropriate for a tropical climate (ie. huskies). They get to run around everywhere, people feed ‘em scraps at beachside barbeques and they swim in the ocean whenever they want. They also poop everywhere, but hey, just kick some sand over it and everything will be cool.

Sundowners Beach Bar was prime dog watching. One girl took her little dog suppin’ every night (that’s stand up surfing) — the little chuby just hopped onto the surfboard and sat between her legs as they paddled into the sunset. Another guy went swimming with his puppy and it was probably the cutest thing ever watching them romp in the surf.

Puppy (on the left) was the sweetest dog we met, but her story is sad. She was meant to be a dog for our friend but when we met her, she was a sick little pup. We spent an afternoon with our friend as she cuddled Puppy and combed out her fleas. Sadly, we found out Puppy died the following day. Such is life on an island where emergency vet care simply isn’t available (and often unaffordable). Luckily many people rescue and care for puppies on Roatan, like the dogs at Chillies (with Jordy, right). Milo, Bubbles and Mushroom were super sweet and greeted us every time we came home.

Of course, the cutest bitches on Roatan were these ones right here.

For those unfamiliar, the Golden Half is a fun little toy camera that allows for two shots on one frame. It was a great camera to take traveling– small, light, and discreet. The above photo is my favourite from the trip. Our delighted, shit-eating grins really sums up our time on Roatan. Here’s some pictures from around West Bay and the West End.

When Jordy and I felt like living it up we would take a water taxi from the West End to West Bay. West Bay is home to a good chunk of Roatan’s resorts. As far as I could tell, beyond the wall of stucco all-inclusives and open air bars lining the beach, there wasn’t much else to the place. The beach is the main attraction and it was pretty great. Fine sand, warm water, a nearby reef for snorkeling adventures, big umbrellas and all the DVDs, CDs, hemp jewelry and cotton dresses you could ever want at the snap of a finger. The night before our first trip to West Bay, we crashed the dance party taking place on the porch of the house next to our cabin. The local girls were listening to some sweet tunes (and teaching a three year old how to wine it, no joke, she was amazing) and they identified one gem of a song as “soca”.  My pal Aimee had requested a reggae mix so, armed with my newfound knowledge, I bought a soca CD for her from one of the beach vendors. See? Total convenience. When I listened to the CD later it sounded like the whole thing was one dude and his casio keyboard.

The first day we went to West Bay, I was so sick with a cold (no doubt contracted while flying in a metal tube with 100 strangers). It was a very strange feeling lying on that beach in the heat and humidity while drowning in a short lasting but intense illness. Periodically I would go for a swim and my head would clear for a moment and I would think I was feeling better, but as soon as I hit that lounger it was like functioning from within a ball of cotton. I even tried snorting salt water in a poor imitation of a neti pot but my nose was too congested. The ensuing congestion also dashed any pathetic enthusiasm I possessed for scuba diving. Let’s face it, three days of open water certification was far too much effort for a vacation running on our chills per minute.

How fun would it be to rent this place with a group of friends? It’s worth mentioning that West Bay beach was sparsely populated when we went on a Saturday and, during a weekday, practically empty. Apparently it fills up whenever a cruise ship is in town, but since the ship schedules are online, it’s easy to avoid the crush. May seemed to be an ideal mix of great weather with low season crowds. The food around the beach was pretty mediocre and expensive but there was a decent sandwich shop if you were willing to stray from the sand.

The second trip I felt much better and thus was able to appreciate the sweeping ocean view, endless white sand and surprisingly entertaining antics of The Prospector. Jordy and I spent a good portion of our vacation just learning about other people. We really like sitting and talking and just asking questions about people’s lives.The Prospector was elusive, so Jordy and I had to do a lot of speculating from our Mayan Princess lounge chairs. Safely shielded from the heat by an umbrella, we watched The Prospector sweep his metal detector under water, walking up and down the beach until at times he was submerged up to his neck. Suddenly, to our great delight, ANOTHER prospector came around and started asking The Prospector all the questions we had been pondering! We learned that this fellow was prospecting from one end of the beach to the other. His wife was there with him but he did this activity all day. All he had found so far was a Colombian peso. The other prospector claimed his best haul was a diamond ring in the Cayman Islands and that was in 10 years of prospecting. It’s kinda crazy to think this guy came all the way to Honduras and spent his holiday staring at the ground. I guess everyone needs a hobby.

We spent our first five nights at Hotel Chillies in the West End on Roatan. I had read great things about it in both guidebooks and online so we booked a private cabin with two beds and a “rustic” but perfectly functional and clean bathroom, located away from the noise of the street in a lush garden. Of course, we spent most of our time hanging out on the porch, so the interior didn’t matter much in the end. The Jackson family runs Chillies, as well Native Sons, the dive shop located on the property. They were very friendly, and their commitment to sustainable tourism and reef conservation was impressive. We especially enjoyed the various pets that ran freely throughout the property and learned their names and stories.

Mama Cat earned her name by having three litters before she was fixed. Mushroom (above, with Jordy), or Mushie, as she was more commonly known, was found as a starving puppy amongst some trash cans. The family took her in and she’s a now loyal guard dog.

It took us no time at all to establish a rhythm to our days on the island. Wake up with the sun and all the animals too (birds singing, roosters crowing, dogs barking), laze about until we were too hungry to continue lazing about, find breakfast or brunch or lunch (depending on the time), complete some sort of significant activity for the day (anything from snorkeling to a private boat tour of the island), seek out dinner, contemplate bedtime, force ourselves to stay awake (usually with a walk) and then pass out at 9:00pm. Yes, 9:00pm. Something about the combination of heat, the 6:00pm sunset and just being so goddamn relaxed all the time meant Jordy and I were ready to hit the hay every night at an hour usually reserved for the elderly. We had a few late nights, but by god, for most of the trip we were a well-rested pair.

Jordy and I arrived on Roatan mid-day on May 5th. We were still adjusting to the sluggish wall of heat that had enveloped us as we stepped off the plane in El Salvador and by the time the sun went down at the alarmingly early time of 6:00pm, we gladly allowed our travel-weary bodies an early night’s rest.

Waking up to the sound of rain spattering the lush greenery surrounding our tiny cabin at Hotel Chillies in the West End was not how I imagined our Honduras beach vacation starting. Luckily the rain only lasted a few hours, and gave us the opportunity to meet some travelers in neighbouring cabins. Elisha was a frail blonde with a confident manner and wry sense of humour, traveling with handsome Olivier, a patient and soft-spoken Austrian doctor. The two had spent the last few months working at at a girl’s school on an isolated river in Guatemala. Eating mangos plucked from the grounds around the cabin, they showed us photos of their living area, an open air cabin on stilts directly over the river. Olivier told us how the girls often came to him with afflictions brought on by great passion; when speaking about love or romance, the girls often became flushed, with rapid heartbeat and rising temperature. I suggested that he might be the cause of their symptoms.