Tela – Day 3: The Promised Punta Sal
TELA
Day 3: The Promised Punta Sal
November 09, 2022
The second day… Oh boy. The second day was friggin’ stressful. It was supposed to include a visit to Punta Sal National Park. Turns out, it didn’t.
I had booked the tour the previous day, so I felt confident that all I had to do was get up and wait for the tour van. Only the guy never showed up. I waited for a couple of hours in vain. The hotel manager was kind enough to drop me off at the pier where the boats to Punta Sal usually depart, only they had all left – and by then it was too late to find another boat as the tide was too high.
All conflicted and wondering whether it’d be worth extending my stay, I decided to make the best of the day and explore Tela’s beaches. Once again, I was free to run into the sea without a care in the world – no time constraints, no worries. That didn’t last long – a random guy comes up to me and asks if I’d be interested in joining his boat tour to Punta Sal. “Hell yeah!” I said, incredulous at the coincidence. I asked him how the tour was still on despite the tide, and he reassuringly replied that I should leave the logistics up to them.
After waiting for what felt like eons, the same guy had finally scrounged up a few more tourists, and off we went – the sky overcast and the sea choppier than ever. But I didn’t care. One way or another, I was getting to Punta Sal – a crescent-shaped coastal area with the most azure waters, surrounded by lush tropical forests and mangroves, and teeming with wildlife.
Déjà Vu, Drumbeats and Deception
The captain, all fired up after finally departing, said we’d stop at a beach near La Ensenada for snorkelling and a glimpse of Tela’s spectacular marine life.
As soon as we got there, all finned and goggled up, I jumped straight into the water. The view? Disappointing at best – grey, dying coral and a few sergeant major fish swimming across the white sandy floor. After about three minutes, the captain could tell we were unimpressed – bored, even – and told us to hop back onboard so we could continue. Admittedly, just being on a boat out at sea – surrounded by nothing but open water and the lush, overgrown, wild shoreline – always manages to lift my spirits. And knowing we’d soon be stopping at a proper wildlife haven had me sky high.
And the next stop? It was none other than… Wait for it… Nope – not Punta Sal. We stopped at La Ensenada – AGAIN. I might’ve been excited to go there, had I not visited the town just the day before. I figured there wasn’t much I could do about it, and, if there’s something I learned while travelling, it’s that I’d probably get to see something new and exciting regardless. And I did. We docked by a beach bar run by a local family – and there I had the loveliest time chatting with them.
They told me they make traditional Garifuna instruments used to play Punta music – big wooden drums decorated with carvings or vibrant textiles. Leo, the owner and patriarch, had lived his entire life in the village and he inherited the business from his father. He spends most of his days here alone, but that day his daughter Melanie was visiting from San Pedro Sula with her three sons, who were outside playing football. They begged me to join, and though I was clumsy as ever, we had a blast.
After lunch, the captain announced we’d stop at yet another beach instead of Punta Sal, because – surprise, surprise – the tide was still too high. I was fuming.
I had specifically asked the guy about the conditions when I booked the tour, and he assured me it’d be fine. Yet here I was, being told otherwise. It was just a ploy to get me on the boat and go along whatever they deemed fit for just another gringo on holiday. If there was one thing I hate about being a tourist, it was this. Being expendable to the tourism industry. While I am 100% aware of my privilege, I am also aware of the time and effort I had to invest to be able to afford such a trip, not to mention all the meticulous planning and fine-tuning that went into creating an itinerary that would have me make the most of my time.
Meanwhile, the other tourists onboard the boat were totally unfazed and just wanted to chill. Of course, we’d still have to pay the full amount, despite not seeing the one place we signed up for. Still, I tried not to make a fuss. I’d enjoyed the beach and meeting that local family, also the food was good. All in all, it was still a good day. Could’ve been better, though. Hmph.
The Flip-Flop Tragedy
After the boat dropped us off at the same beach we’d departed from, I went looking for my flip-flops, which I’d left behind – and found nothing. Someone had actually stolen them. I could finally sympathise with Cristina Yang…
My white-turned-brown flip-flops that had travelled with me through rivers, floods, mud and more. Those flip-flops had seen things, nay, lived things. They were well past their prime, practically decomposing – but apparently, someone thought they had enough life in them to service yet another pair of feet…
Heartbroken, I accepted the loss of one of my oldest travelling companions and set off to find a replacement pair. A noble goal – though seemingly futile in the area around the beach, which is quite ironic. Of course, the universe wasn’t done. Within minutes, it started raining tigers and wolves. Drenched and barefoot, I walked all the way into Tela’s centre – seeing the city properly for the first time. I eventually found the ugliest Adidas knockoffs for next to nothing, temporarily ditching my “Always Nike, never Adidas” mantra.
And so, having lost both my chance to visit Punta Sal and my trusty flip-flops, I dejectedly returned to the hotel devoid of any semblance of life. I spent the rest of the day sulking and trying to see if upending my whole itinerary to fit Punta Sal would be worth my time. In the end, I decided I’d move on. Another place added to the “maybe next time.” list.