8. Bonito

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Bonito is beautiful. The dust roads stretch through town like an Oxfam advertisement, yet the local economy is booming thanks to the diamond-clear idyllic waters flowing in scenic forest nearby. We stumbled off the night-bus, knackered.

Travelling is exceptionally tiring anyway, and especially so on a budget where one’s feet are the primary method of transportation and map-reading suffers due to disturbed sleep in noisy dorm rooms. When time is tight, the urge to fill every waking hour with activity is so strong that the traveller eventually finds themselves so completely knackered that there is no option but to do nothing. Like in school, too much learning causes lethargy, and without a break it becomes a chore rather than an activity.


But then you stumble upon a place like Bonito. So charming and relaxing that nothing could be better or more welcome. We spent three full days in or beside the water. Karen and Quentin kept us company, and we bumped into Matt again, though didn’t get a chance to write down his email address before he was spotted leaving town on the back of a motorbike. And he was so desperate for the picture we took of him ‘with’ the alligator...


For two days we fed and jumped at giant dorado fish in the piercing sunlight, and for the other we floated downstream on inflatable rings, staring serenely through almost invisible water.


We felt so lucky to be where we were. With a combined age of under forty we were experiencing things that many people at home never got the chance to. We had the summer which never comes in England. The kind that you wait expectantly for only to discover that it is now October, and the wait must begin again. We were lucky, too, to be from where we were. Without being British we may never have gone anywhere. We had an exchange rate which allowed us to do practically anything our heart desired, and enough Portuguese to ask for beer and ice cream. Who could ask for more?

Bonito was refreshingly untouristed, though that looked set to change. The town was just starting to be featured in guides, and word of mouth was spreading. When we were there only the main commercial drag was paved, but movements towards the spread of tarmac were already in operation. That seemed like a shame at the time, but looking back, I wonder why. The increased wealth of the area was no bad thing for anybody, surely. Other travellers talked of the ‘Westernisation of paradise’, but what exactly does that mean? Is tarmac a cultural symbol or an achievement of practicality?

I wonder if a part of travelling for some people is the reassurance of their own home comforts. Certainly we met some backpackers and travellers in general who visit poor countries to see how the other half lives. Maybe what these people need is a reason to settle down and accept life as it is for them at home. Real possibilities elsewhere and the prospect of radically changing one’s own life are often more terrifying than exciting.

Much like us, many young people feel dissatisfied with their lives in their hometowns. There seems to be such a big world full of possibilities out there, and so few at home. I suppose for some the realisation that so much has to be sacrificed to live somewhere more exotic is the catalyst for accepting home as home; which is perhaps a suppressed desire from the start anyway.

Maybe we fall into that bracket too, but if so then we are yet to come to terms with it. Settling down is an inevitability, but England is so drab and flaccid that at times it seems like the very worst option. Bleats of ‘mortgage’ and ‘jobs’ from family and friends only serve to solidify the desire to do something original, something outstanding.

I’m sure this all sounds idealistic to many. But sometimes I am overcome with the urge to jump to my feet and just say “Fuck this world, I have so much more to give than this.” So much achievement and progress is limited by the prevalent social order. I want to contribute something worthwhile, why is that so hard to achieve or for others to accept? Maybe I’m still too young to know any better, or maybe I am just what I am. Maybe this is me and will continue to be me for ever, regardless of what other people thing. I don’t want to abandon my life and civilisation like some people do, but I do want to live out my own existence. Rich or poor, happy is me. Unhappy me is a pain in the arse. That's the way it is.


I think my point is that for some people travelling is entertainment and a temporary diversion, whereas for me, and I hope for Laura as well, it is a process of self-rationalisation. It is learning how to be a reasonable person, how not to take anything for granted, and how to truly appreciate diversity. Through experience, people get better.

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