bocas, day three

Wednesday!

Awakened to kids screaming! Right outside our door! Evidently, they were playing a game called, "Run and Scream." This was followed by an even more enthusiastic round of, "Animal Noises."

We packed up our stuff and took off to Tio Tom's Cabin, which means, Uncle Tom's Cabin. Ironic? It is run by a German couple, Ina and Tom, who moved to Isla Bastimentos back in 1996. The place is charming and impeccable-- wooden deck perched over the water, hammocks under an overhang, cabin with windows propped open by wooden poles, plenty of hooks and lines on which to hang things, lots of maps and information about the island, shelves of books and games to play with, and a family dinner every evening with the hosts. Our room was airy with three windows and cozy with a rocker and a cabin bed.

Isla Bastimentos is not nearly as touristy as Isla Colon. Though there are several hostels and restaurants that cater to travelers, the majority of inhabitants in their Old Bank area are Caribbean (Black). They speak English and a patois called Guari Guari. When you listen to this dialect, you are certain it is English until you've been straining to understand for several sentences and still cannot make out a single clause. It is charming to hear after a week of Spanish.

Nadiv and I took a walk around the point of the island, past where the sidewalk ends-- there are no roads on Bastimentos-- and into a scattered neighborhood in the jungle. The ocean waves were strong and hitting right up to the shore. Many houses we partly built or partly falling down. Some looks completely deserted and others looked like a grand place for a romantic tryst. There was construction going on somewhere and workers kept passing us in their galoshes.

When we came to the end of the dirt path, we doubled back and ate lunch in town at a place called Roots. It was recommended by Sonia, the cook at Tio Tom's. We had to follow two guys in dreads carrying roosters to get there. (Just another ordinary day.) Roots had a sprawling deck with a bazillion tables and chairs made out of tree stumps. The food was legit and tasty. I got coconut rice and beans and grilled vegetables in "Caribbean sauce." Nadiv got chicken in creole sauce and fries. We shared a banana/papaya shake. We pronounced this our first good meal in the country.

With our bellies full, we decided to take a "quick look" at the organic chocolate farm up the hill from Old Bank. The chocolate place turned out to be a twenty minute trek up a muddy, muddy mountain. But it was all worth it in the end because the truffles we ordered were TO DIE FOR. I know at times this blog delves into food porn territory, but allow me to pontificate here since the food thus far has been tedious and unworthy.

We ordered three chocolate truffles and a lemonade. The day was hot and humid and we had just hiked up the entire southern side of the island. There were mosquitoes about. The chocolate place afforded us a shady porch and surprisingly comfortable wooden deck chairs. We smelled a bunch of their lotions and Nadiv admired some more man jewelry.

Our truffles arrived in an oblong wooden dish, three golf-ball sized peas in a pod. Two were covered in coconut flakes and one was rolled in cocoa powder. They were chilled to harden. Inside, there was creamy chocolate mixed with chewy chocolate mixed with graham crackers. The lemonade was cold and tart with just the right amount of sugar. It balanced out the sweetness explosion of the chocolate truffles.

There. I'm done.

As we left, I vowed to come back again. That night.