Unspoiled Paradise - An extract from the book "Odyssey" Coming in Summer/Autumn 2002!

NO-STAR ACCOMMODATIONS AND OTHER DELIGHTS

© 2001 Corine J. Quarterman


The thatched roof building that passed for a terminal, was barely visible behind the profusion of yellow and orange flowers. Among the joyful relatives and friends there to meet my sixteen fellow passengers, no one was there to meet me. No problem, I knew I was heading for Agua Dulce, I'd find my way. Halfway up the steps towards the terminal, I turned back to take in the scene. This was the most idyllic introduction to a place I had seen for a long time. The perfume of the flowers hung faintly in the air, stirred only by a gentle breeze. The little airport ramp was barely large enough for the plane to turn around. Once parked, there would only be room for one more plane, that was it. The 2000 ft runway, stretching perpendicular to the ramp, was not visible beyond the dense vegetation.
After retrieving my luggage, I inquired about transportation and was directed to a pickup with wooden bench seats, the local taxi. I told the driver my destination, and that I was looking for Monica. "No problem," he said, "she be home maybe." Off we bounced down the road, towards the south end of the island and Agua Dulce, which happened to be a beach, a village of sorts, and the name of my no-star hostal. The pickup slowed down in front of a house and the driver yelled out to a young man that I was looking for Monica. "Be back in an hour," was the singsong answer. I figured I'd see her sooner or later, everybody knew each other and I'm sure, each other's affairs.
Sure enough, I had barely made it to my room, a post-and-beam cabin, or cabana, when Monica showed up. A good half head taller than myself, and easily ten years younger, we were otherwise made of the same mold and could have passed for sisters. A Swiss-born transplant, she is the only tour operator on the island and efficiency is her middle name. My brother and I were there on an exploratory visit, in preparation for an adventure promotion. We needed a boat to get around Providencia and its sister island, Santa Catalina. The islands are joined by a bridge, which at the same time, forms a most picturesque harbor in front of the town of Santa Isabel.
Boat and captain were quickly secured. We hitched a ride back to St. Isabel. In the absence of the pickup truck taxi, any car will do and locals don't pass up the opportunity to earn a few dollars. The owner, Capu, was busying himself getting the boat ready. We settled on the scope of the trip and the price and took off. My brother moved to the front of the boat while I parked myself next to Capu to find out more from this strappingly handsome man and his island. In that charming singsong dialect, he had no reservations and frankly told me a remarkable story of pride and a heritage that stretched back, all the way to the famous pirate Henry Morgan. He edged his boat into Mona bay, practically onto the beach, lest his charges would be inconvenienced. Little did he know us, but we accepted the gesture graciously and walked along the beach to the path that worked its way up to the top of the cliff. Morgan's cannons were still pointing across the bay as if an invasion was imminent.
Once back in the boat, Capu maneuvered along a rock outcropping named Morgan's Head. With some imagination, a profile of a human face was recognizable. He continued his story. An islander, he had nevertheless traveled extensively over a ten year period on a variety of ships. He admitted that his desire to get away from the island was no different from that of many youngsters looking to stretch their wings. Providencia, with a population of less than 5,000 had nothing to offer the younger Capu. So what made him decide to come back?
"I'd seen enough," he answered, "and not all of it I liked. It was time to go home. Sure I get restless once in a while, but this is my island and I need to be here." Need to? I couldn't wait to hear the rest, but Capu was momentarily occupied as we rounded the island from the west and turned into the more choppy seas on the east side of Santa Catalina. That lasted until we past the island and entered the reef protected waters of Providencia. The plateau, formed by the reefs, stretched still quite a way to the east of a group of islands, Crab Key and Tres Hermanos. The multiple shades of turquoise, azure and blue, created a color spectacle that could only be described as perfect.
Once in calmer water, Capu confirmed my guess that the depth averaged about twenty feet and it was perfectly clear all the way to the bottom. Nobody was more sorry than I that this trip did not allow for scuba diving, but that I would be back was firmly established that moment. Capu continued his story. "I'm part of a group of islanders fighting to preserve our island." He explained its history, which had seen English ownership till 1803, when it was taken over by Colombia. The islanders loyalty to the queen is still intact, be it ever so subtle, in the tenacity with which the old timers particularly, hang on to speaking their own peculiar and charming form of English. Their feelings towards Colombia range from indifferent to outright hostility. I heard more than one person tell me that the mainland did nothing for Providencia. Capu was in the latter group.
"All they want to do on the mainland is buy property here and turn it into a resort." There had been plans on the table - the islanders didn't want to have any part of it. "We're poor here," he explained. "There's no industry, and we need the tourists, but we just don't want development to take over. It's hard to explain to people that the money they may sell their land for today, may sound like a lot, but what happens next? Mega resorts that promise jobs but won't deliver. The jobs they'll have for us will be in the menial ranks, the rest of the staff they bring over from the mainland. And then when everything is up and running, and prices on this island will have skyrocketed, we, the people who own this island, can no longer afford to live here."
Now he was like a faucet that couldn't be turned off and I enjoyed his passion, his sincerity, his enthusiasm, while the underlying message intrigued me. "And when people realize that and decide they want to buy back their land, they can't afford it anymore. The group I belong to," Capu continued, "is very active in trying to educate the people who may be swayed by the dollar signs they see. It just won't work for us, not if we want to retain our identity, our heritage."
At this point he pulled the power of his engine back and steered the boat directly towards Manzanilla beach for a pit stop, a drink, and a sampling of the island's famous fish stew, the rondon. Alas, we were too late for the rondon, but sipped a coke, watching life around us: The perfect beach, framed by a palmtree grove. Small children playing in the water; a few kids bareback on horses, charging along the beach; a group of young man, casually playing music on locally made instruments. Life was good. Simple maybe, but good.
To globe trotters like my brother and I, nothing could be better; we had stumbled upon pure paradise. In search of unknown destinations, not accessible by jumbo jets, not deformed by resort tourism, Providencia was the epitome of pristine, unspoiled, authentic adventure and discovery. Reluctantly we left this scene and Capu masterfully rounded the southeast tip of the island and dropped us off on the beach of Agua Dulce. We met Monica for dinner and excitedly affirmed our enthusiasm. Everything was absolutely perfect for our purpose and what we had seen in fact, far exceeded our expectations. I knew I would be back, and not only for the execution of the adventure promotion.
Providencia is reached via San Andres, a 30-minute hop by air. The islands, located some 800 miles north of Colombia, off the coast directly east of the Nicaragua/Honduras border, are rarely mentioned in traditional guide books and often don't even show up on Caribbean maps. While San Andres is a favorite vacation destination for Colombians, Providencia has managed to escape attention. It is volcanic in origin and the interior is mountainous and unpopulated. The villages are lined along the outer perimeter, along the road that circles the island.
Its history is rich and varied. Strategically located about midway between Cartagena and Cuba, it served as a perfect hideout for buccaneers looking to intercept the treasures of the Spanish armada. Settled in 1631 by the English, it was key to British interest in the West Indies and formed the basis of their strategy in the new world, which revived old pirate activity and slave import. The Spanish recaptured the islands in 1641, then the Dutch occupied for a while, until the Spanish took over again in 1789 when land was granted to Francis Archbold to establish cotton plantations. The name Archbold is alive and well to this day, personified in Virginia Archbold, the strikingly elegant spokes person for island preservation. Whatever Capu might have missed about the islands' resistance to resort development, miss Virginia will happily fill in. She's direct, sincere and fiercely defends the islanders' rights to retain their independence and authenticity.
The few tourists Providencia sees are mainly Colombians on a day trip from San Andres. It's a fiscal trickle that contributes little to the economy but a lot to preservation. Daily activities center around fishing and farming. Until a few years ago, there was only one dive shop on the island with a casual reputation that only adventurous German tourists could endure. Two Italian partners setup shop with a brand new equipment and rigid adherence to dive protocol, making the island very attractive now to even the novice U.S. diver.
I promised myself a return visit for the diving and I was not disappointed. Parrotfish the size of groupers and groupers the size of sharks. The small population and virtually no tourists mean no pollution. The waters are perfectly clear and aquatic life did not just seem larger, it was. I was promised the works; hammerhead, shark, turtle, king-size moray's. It rained five days straight and while the morays were easily spotted, the bigger game stayed away. The oversized coral formations made up for it. The diving is the island's major attraction. Deep sea fishing, hiking, horseback riding and beach combing all vie for second position. For anyone seeking more than that, this destination is not it. No five star hotels, in fact, no stars. No casino, no nightclub, no nothing. And therein lies its charm and beauty.
Nightlife consists of leisurely dinners of strictly local fair, crashing a local party or having Monica arrange for a local band to play for entertainment. Besides the renowned rondon, crab stew and fish of the day are the most popular. One morning after a dive, I stopped to watch a fisherman unloading his catch into a wheelbarrow. Three large fish, heads and tails hanging over the ends of the wheelbarrow, looked most intriguing. If I have a tough time recognizing fish under water, on land I can only handle the supermarket fillet variety. Curious, I asked the man and what type of fish he had in the barrow. "Fish of the day," he said, grinning broadly. I asked again, thinking he was joking. He wasn't, and we both laughed out loud when he saw on my face that I got the point. On Providencia, when a restaurant serves fish-of-the-day, that's what you get - whatever came in on the wheelbarrow. Don't ask what fish, nobody may know or care.
For the not so adventurous and non-diving friends and family, there is a beach a day, all beautiful and deserted. Or there is a boat trip to Crab Cay, a rock outcropping in shallow, perfect snorkeling waters. In accommodations, my personal favorite is Agua Dulce for its beauty and authenticity. Two and four room cabanas are surrounded by manicured gardens. Meals are served on an open, thatch-covered terrace, cooled by a natural breeze. No phones or television, and credit cards only if it's MasterCard. Most accommodations on the island follow the same pattern and style, ranging from 5 to 25 rooms. Electricity is scarce and hot water or air-conditioning are hard to come by.
It all adds up to perfection, an untouched treasure in an otherwise overdeveloped Caribbean. It's not easy to get to though. Via Costa Rica or Colombia, and San Andres, it takes at least a day and a half and there are no package deals. Prices on the island are quite reasonable however, balancing out the cost of travel somewhat. The experience does not need justification. If the island's beauty won't capture the soul, the open, easy hospitality of its in habitants will linger for years. Here is one place where the absence of amenities allows the visitor to get to know this charming island and its people.