Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Little Corn Island


As the elastic fingers of globalization continue to reach further and further away from the United States, and each day we come closer to the day when McDonald's and Starbucks will be commonplace in Bangladeshi villages and on Ecuadorian hillsides, it's refreshing to discover a place that's still undeveloped.

This is the charm of Little Corn Island. It's located in the Caribbean Sea, 45 miles off the eastern coast of Nicaragua. Getting there involves first taking a boat or small plane to Big Corn Island and then transfering to a small panga (motorboat) for a 20 mile ride. The island is inhabited by fewer than 1000 people, mostly of African descent who speak a Creole language that's a mixture of English, Spanish, and Miskito (a Native Indian language). There are no cars. Just boats. Most islanders make their living catching fish and lobster.

Little Corn Island has beautiful beaches. White sand. Turquose water. Lots of palm trees. But there's no fancy beach resort here. No Club Med. Just simple beachside cabins.

I spent my days swimming in the 80 degree water, reading books, exploring the island on foot, learning to SCUBA dive, and eating delicious seafood.

The food was delicious. Of course there was seafood....On my first night I had garlic lobster which was fantastic. Miss Martha runs a little restaurant with excellent fried fish and beef tacos. But there was good food besides seafood, too. There's a Cuban couple who serve some of the tastiest grilled beef and chicken. One of the biggest surprises was the incredible Italian dinner I had at the home of an Italian woman named Paola who moved to the island from Rome over 10 years ago. To start off she cooked up penne pasta with brocolli and parmesian, then she brought out a freshly baked calzone made of imported mozerella. And dessert consisted of cream custard with cherry sauce. We accompanied the meal with a bottle of Italian wine. She buys all of her supplies from an Italian food importer in Managua (so to stock up on wine and cheese she has to take a 45 minute panga boat ride to Big Corn Island and then an hour-and-a-half flight to Managua).

The SCUBA diving was great fun. I was a bit nervious about it, but the four day course that I took was very comprehensive, and my instructor Audrey was an excellent teacher. After learning how to assemble SCUBA equipment, I practiced using the tank in the shallow water of the bay in front of the dive shop (most people do these skills in a swimming pool, but there are no swimming pools on little corn island). Then after mastering the necessary skills, I did four open water dives on the coral reef surrounding the island. The highlights included seeing many nurse sharks, sting rays, eagle rays, and even a hawkback sea turtle. Now that I'm certified, I can go SCUBA diving anywhere in the world.

4 Comments:

At 4:17 PM, Blogger whoami123 said...

.

We work like a horse.
We eat like a pig.
We like to play chicken.
You can get someone's goat.
We can be as slippery as a snake.
We get dog tired.
We can be as quiet as a mouse.
We can be as quick as a cat.
Some of us are as strong as an ox.
People try to buffalo others.
Some are as ugly as a toad.
We can be as gentle as a lamb.
Sometimes we are as happy as a lark.
Some of us drink like a fish.
We can be as proud as a peacock.
A few of us are as hairy as a gorilla.
You can get a frog in your throat.
We can be a lone wolf.
But I'm having a whale of a time!

You have a riveting web log
and undoubtedly must have
atypical & quiescent potential
for your intended readership.
May I suggest that you do
everything in your power to
honor your encyclopedic/omniscient
Designer/Architect as well
as your revering audience.
As soon as we acknowledge
this Supreme Designer/Architect,
Who has erected the beauteous
fabric of the universe, our minds
must necessarily be ravished with
wonder at this infinate goodness,
wisdom and power.

Please remember to never
restrict anyone's opportunities
for ascertaining uninterrupted
existence for their quintessence.

There is a time for everything,
a season for every activity
under heaven. A time to be
born and a time to die. A
time to plant and a time to
harvest. A time to kill and
a time to heal. A time to
tear down and a time to
rebuild. A time to cry and
a time to laugh. A time to
grieve and a time to dance.
A time to scatter stones
and a time to gather stones.
A time to embrace and a
time to turn away. A time to
search and a time to lose.
A time to keep and a time to
throw away. A time to tear
and a time to mend. A time
to be quiet and a time to
speak up. A time to love
and a time to hate. A time
for war and a time for peace.

Best wishes for continued ascendancy,
Dr. Whoami

P.S. One thing of which I am sure is
that the common culture of my youth
is gone for good. It was hollowed out
by the rise of ethnic "identity politics,"
then splintered beyond hope of repair
by the emergence of the web-based
technologies that so maximized and
facilitated cultural choice as to make
the broad-based offerings of the old
mass media look bland and unchallenging
by comparison."

 
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