Goodbye For Now, Until Things Change

Goodbye for Now, Until Things Change

The decision to leave one home for another due to the political direction of their country, some expatriates in Honduras find a new community floating in the Caribbean.

Politics have the tendency of bringing people together even as they push them apart. Dinner parties unconsciously arranged to include friends of similar political views are suddenly split when someone introduces a significantly different point of view. “Us” and “them” are soon realized when the host rises to clean the dishes, accompanied by close friends, who busily whisper incredulities above the dishwater. At the same time, the insurrectionist receives a short, surreptitious nod from a confederate seated across the table. I’m with you. Sorbet, thank you very much, and have a nice evening.

For communities of expatriates all around the world, there are myriad reasons for leaving one country for another, from broken homes to bankruptcy, but very often politics is the foundation for the split from their past. Many of the transplanted left their country and formed groups nested within global communities that share their ideals. Some live in Jordan to surround themselves in a community that opposes the USA’s position of support for Israel. Missionaries in Uganda are drawn by the strong Pentecostalism as a base for turning hearts to Christianity. For Roatan and Utila, small caribbean islands located off the northern coast of Honduras, political differences seem to be the foundation upon which stands the commonly declared “living the dream” motif of island life.

Most of the islands’ population share the mainland Honduran and Central American view of the Capitalist American focused on materialism and power. An interesting compromise of capitalism, many of the expatriates of Roatan and Utila are all too willing to agree that the capitalist system is broken, despite figuratively sailing beneath its colors. Many will even ride their five-thousand dollar dingies from their one-hundred thousand dollar yachts to shore to grab a beer and agree with the locals–the Western system is broken. In the paradisiacal caribbean waters off the coast of Honduras, one is tempted to subscribe to this mentality, iif disliking a political system means life this nice and a breeze this gentle.

A weathered man named Doug was sitting at the dock in the mainland city of La Ceiba, Honduras, waiting for a friend to arrive from Utila.

“You can’t really get right from Utila to Roatan anymore–got to take the ferry to the mainland, and then the ferry to the other island.” He said, reclining against a wood slat bench in the dock station. “I’ve known this guy for years, so it’s worth the effort, though.”

He wore black shorts and a light blue collared shirt that appeared to be cut specifically to be unbuttoned at the top, revealing his salt and pepper chest hair blooming atop heavily suntanned skin, which creased prominently in Doug’s laugh lines. He wore his bucket hat with the side flaps pulled up, allowing his course, salt washed hair to reach out and down from his cap at wild angles. He was energetic and liked to interject a quick laugh into nearly finished thoughts. The entire presentation gave him the presence of a man anywhere between 45 and 60 years of age.

Originally from a picturesque small town in Montana 100 miles from the Canadian border, Doug conceded that he had more or less traded one paradise for another when he moved to Roatan. “I figure why bother living in hell while I am alive when I’m going to be headed there soon enough.” he said with a raspy laugh.

Doug explained that In the years following World War II, Americans lost sight of what is important and started focusing on material wealth. He explained that the last president he could tolerate was Jimmy Carter, mainly because of his emphasis on contentment.

“He had the idea that nobody would have enough until Americans realized what enough was.” Doug said. But by the time of his presidency, the Doug had already made up his mind to leave the country.

“I had been thinking about doing it for a while” he said with an island induced languor that turned to a flick of anger, “but as soon as Ronny Fucking Reagan took office, I was out of there.” So he packed few possessions, and moved to Roatan, bought a sailboat, and has been living on it for the past 15 years, sailing around the Caribbean.

“I still love America. I go back there every year, when the hurricanes come around.” he lets slip a burst of laughter. ” I see my kids and family. But here I don’t have be be a part of the system. It’s all about things up there. Here, so many of us don’t worry about getting more than we need.

“And I really hope things get better in America. I’m happy here, though. And my son just turned 18, so he’ll be coming down to live and sail with me for a year. We get all of our food from the sea and from uncharted islands. I couldn’t ask for more.”

He stood and went to meet his friend, on the way passing a younger man who immediately took Doug’s place on the bench. Wearing a tattoo on the outside of his left calf of a spear fisherman in the old diving bell outfit, he advertised his love for the sea even before mentioning it.

“I’ve been diving and spearfishing for my entire life. My whole family is full of mechanics and spear fishermen like me.” he said, commenting on the slightly patinated artwork.

Raised just outside of New Orleans, 24-year Andrew Leleux embodied the big easy feeling, complete with an effortless smile and a ready laugh. His bright aquamarine eyes cased a playfulness common to ‘Nawlins. A boat mechanic for the past 8 years, he has been constantly involved in water based activities for almost his entire life, going now to Utila to become a SCUBA diving instructor.

“I used to spend a lot of time in the Gulf of Mexico free diving for food. An afternoon of fish is plenty for the whole family. And when I lived in St. Croix, I would go spear fishing just about everyday. Catch me some big ‘ol Snappers.” he said, smoothing out syllables with a bayou cadence. “Just decided that I should become a SCUBA instructor so I can work a job that lets me travel and that I like.”

Other than spending some time in the Pacific Northwest, Andrew had lived most of his life in New Orleans. His brief jaunt to the British Virgin Island of St. Croix a year ago was spurred by his discontent with the way the USA represented to him greedy capitalism. But he was equally disgusted by the abusive fishing and diving practices, as well as the hate between the native St. Crucians and the business owners, so Andrew moved back to the USA after one year. He quickly found that he was still looking to escape what he saw as greed of the political system in the USA. He decided to work day and night to get back out of the States.

“It wasn’t easy, y’know? I mean, my family and I are really tight-knit. My mom called to say goodbye, and just cried it out through the phone. Had to be quick like that, because it was so hard. But I just can’t be in the states right now. I guess it is just everything with the war, but also the constant stress on buying things. I fish to feed myself, not to drive an industry.”

When informed about Doug, Andrew smiled. “Man, I wish I would have met him. He sounds like a really cool guy. Maybe I’ll run into him sometime.”

In the small island communities such as Roatan and Utila, it is likely that Doug and Andrew will run into each other and be able to discuss their own specific politick of departing the USA. Doug, sagacious and experienced, and Andrew, the apprentice taking up the mantel for future generations of kindred spirits scattered from their countries’ political ideals, coming together while they wait for things in the USA to get better.