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All the ways this island has tried to kill me (so far)

Sunset in Half Moon Bay Roatan

I’m realizing there’s a trend happening here. In no uncertain terms, Roatan is trying to kill me. Here’s my evidence so far…

Example 1: I got a staph infection. While fairly common especially in tropical areas, staph is basically just horrible. If you’ve never had it, congratulations. If you have, you feel my pain. It’s a bacterial infection in your skin that causes incredible pain and suffering. I had it on my face…UGH.

But I survived!

Example 2: I got Phytophotodermatitis. I mean really. Who gets second-degree burns making ceviche on the beach?! Welp, that would be me. Thankfully, Vitamin E exists.

So I survived!

Example 3: I got Dengue Fever. Ok, again, fairly common in tropical areas because mosquitoes are basically the most hellish little creatures ever. One little jerk got me infected with Dengue, which was essentially the flu on crack. Exactly one week of writhing in pain and feeling too weak to breathe left me wondering why I was still living here.

But I survived!

Example 4: I crashed my scooter after hitting an enormous pothole. Yeah, that was partly my fault, but these potholes are absurd around here! I think the island just wants to mess with us a little more so she punches holes all over our roads to laugh as we slalom our way around.

But I still survived!

Oh, and then there was that other time I dropped a bar door on my face, breaking my nose again. And that time my parents visited and rented a small car that couldn’t make it up the hill so we got stuck between two hills and had to do a 42-point turn on a small bridge in a manual rental car. That was fun, right, Mom?

I’m kind of getting to the point where I’m wondering if Roatan has it out for me. Except here’s the thing: this place is still paradise and I can’t imagine leaving any time soon. So, my dear Roatan, can we call a truce for the rest of 2015? I promise I’ll keep writing all about how wonderful you are in exchange for a reprieve. Deal? Deal.

Although to be fair, I could’ve gotten sick anywhere, I’ve broken bones elsewhere, and I’ve been in accidents elsewhere…so maybe it’s me, not that Roatan tried to kill me. I guess maybe I should go put myself into a protective bubble like my mom always wanted. Maybe next year!