Lily is spending a week in Honduras, and then moving on to Nicaragua where she has a cousin with whom she’ll be traveling. She and her friends spent their last day on Roatan, the island off the coast of Honduras.
Seeing Lily in the water is encouraging. She grew up in the village at a time when a lot of the men made their living fishing in small boats. Nobody much, then or now, counted swimming among their survival skills, nor did the fisherman carry life jackets — too expensive to buy. They were lucky to have money to buy gas to take the boat out. When a fisherman went overboard in rough seas, he typically drowned, his body either lost or washed up on shore days later in terrible condition. Most villagers think fearsome things lurk just beneath the surface of the ocean, and they go in up to their ankles and no more. Even wealthier Panamanians who come to Buenaventura, whose lives are more similar to wealthy people in our country, prefer the pool. On any given day there will be maybe a half dozen people in and out of the ocean all day, and lots more in and around the pools.
Lily did not, however, go snorkeling. She thought that a bridge too far, although her friends went. She loved the dolphin show. And she left her mark in the sand on a Roatan beach, no doubt soon to be erased by incoming tides.