Island hopping: Volume I

Back on dry land Little Corn Island seems both a long way away and very very close. I will probably have forgotten half the things I wanted to say about it because it has been a long time now. During the past couple weeks I have either had spare time or access to the internet but never both at once. So I now embarking on a mammoth effort to get this up to date.

It took me a total of two nights and three days of uncomfortable travel and bad hotels to reach Little Corn Island. Although I may have sounded quite excited about Bluefields in my last post, this enthusiasm disappeared once it got dark and the seediness ceased to be illuminated by the light. Instead the seediness lurked in corners waiting to jump out and frighten me. I was very very glad not to be by myself and to be kept company by the Pole, who was in possession of a large machete (although this probably should also have made me nervous). We tied the door of the skyblue hotel room closed with rope, and I tried to sleep while ignoring the mice on the bed and the sound of business transactions being conducted in the rooms on either side.

The ferry ride to the islands was, I think, my first time at sea outside of Cook Strait. It was kind of a test of endurance for the I-don´t-get-seasick mantra. Five hours of one and a half, two metre waves (although my imagination could be inflating this). I huddled up in a ball in the half metre of space between the bench and the side of the boat, told myself I was asleep and tried to think happy thoughts. Later I found out that I had missed seeing most of the boat throw up. Locals were not exempt; appearently they had consumed large quantities of orange Fanta. I did get to witness them cleaning the boat with hoses once we got into the port.

One very bumpy panga ride later we were in paradise. I was there for ten days, lying on the beaches under coconut palms and snorkeling in the turquoise water. Oh, the Carribean! Little Corn Island has no cars, and it sounds odd, but I didn´t realise until I was there that this meant there wouldn´t be any roads. The island was traversed by paths, only one paved, the others dirt and very narrow. Maybe it was this that reminded me of childhood, trotting around in Paekakariki. It felt like I was playing at living. Or maybe it was that the island was so perfect, like a fairytale, and that when you´re young you have no doubt that places like that exist. It´s just when you get older that you get jaded and cynical and decide that all the best places have been usurped by tourism and four-star hotels and older blondes with too much tan and bad dye jobs. Little Corn has been saved, and I think it´s due to its size. It´s so much effort to get there that only really dedicated backpackers make the journey. You can fly if you have the money, but nobody with money is going to enjoy an island where there´s only electricity after 4pm and a dodgy water supply.

While I was there I. Wished you were. Swam in the sea and couldn´t believe how beautiful it was. Got very sunburnt on my first day, am still peeling. Started to think that my blood was becoming saline and that there was salt encrusted on my bones. I didn´t comb my hair for days, and started to feel like a genuine shipwrecked soul. I collected shells on the beach and started to make jewellery, feeling like I was a kid again, out beachcombing. I walked for ages every day along the dirt paths in between shrubby trees and bitter lemons, ate coconut bread and lots of potato omelettes, enjoyed cooking for myself, got up early. Read a Tom Robbins book, visited my friends on the north side, panted in the heat. And snorkelled!

I´d never really seen coral before, or fish like this. And now I am in love. I was a little bit nervous to start with, and the first time I tried to go out by myself, the first thing I saw was a giant eagle ray floating along. Oh gosh! I got out quickly. But then I went with others, and got used to it. I went on a boat in the deeper water, and saw nurse sharks, black with round noses and meancing in a kind of friendly way, and schools of bright blue fish. And in the shallower water, the coral up close; brain and stag and others, bright and living and a perfect backdrop for the fishes. And what fishes! My favourites were the painted lady fish, which I named because it looked like an older women done up in blue eyeshadow and pink lipstick for a night at the theatre. And the crazy triangle fish, not a normal fish shape at all, like a 3d fish experiment. And the black fishes with glowing blue specks! The last day I went by myself, closer into shore. I saw a turtle! But he didn´t hang around for long; several barracuda, the only fish that still make me nervous; lots of hunks of coral filled with fish playing in the corners; three cuttlefish! They look so odd, like bizarre squid, not really fish at all, tentacles coming out of their mouths. These ones could have been a family, one big, one medium, one small. They gave me a wise look out of their eye. And I saw three seperate eagle rays, not scary anymore, just beautiful, flapping along the bottom of the sea with their backs all spotted with white, funny heads and long long whip-like tails. Oh yes, snorkeling was great, like flying over an alien world, just a breath away from real life.

I had to leave the island, I could tell. I did consider staying there for a long time, but there wasn´t any chocolate. I couldn´t live without chocolate. There was property for sale as well; if I had any kind of capital I would have considered buying it, setting up a hostel maybe, and spending some months of the year there, the rest in an urban area. Possibly some day. Oh, Little Corn Island.