Utila - the New Beer Mecca of Central America
The bar top is is a well worn shade of sea green mixed with devil red and one spot even displays stoplight yellow. Gaps exist throughout the woodwork in the bar top where local geckos have taken up strategic positions to attack the flies which are locked in a flight pattern above many o’ rum and fruit juice refreshment. A pirate’s skull n cross-bones flag hangs above the doorway and Neil Young, the Doors, Grateful Dead, and CCR plays on their XM radio. I’m in a bar I avoided for my first couple days in Utila. From the outside it looks like much of the rest of Utila - rough around the edges and not well kept. I didn’t know what I was missing on the inside.
I arrived to Utila with a renewed sense of happiness. For this island, literally lost in the middle of no where, is now stocked with Franziskaner beer. Now I’m not saying I traveled to Utila for German beer, but beer with me (sorry, had to). There really isn’t much to this place so simple things like beer can be life changers.
I arrived at Mango Inn and promptly consumed all their Franziskaner. Mind you this was the second place I drank out of beer for the week. The small Eco-lodge in the mountains of Honduras called Omega and owned by Hans, a full-blooded German, was the first victim of my consumption. Thankfully I ended their supply on my last night. How Hans got Franziskaner to the Pico Bonito Mountains I haven’t a clue but he is my new hero.
At Mango Inn I wasn’t so lucky. It bills itself as a high-end resort on this low-end island, but in reality they aren’t any better than the rest of the places here. I’ll return for the beer on my next trip, but not much else. With Mango Inn no longer able to meet my demands, I was off in search of this island for more German beer.
Evelyn’s Grill was my next victim. Evelyn is quite the host - owner, waitress, cashier, baker, and just about everything else. Except grill lady. For the grill she employs an ex-pat who sits with a cig in his hand, watches a TV, drinks beer, feeds stray dogs, harasses the local drunks as they pass by, and cooks our freshly caught seafood to perfection. I was trying to leave her a little inventory to last the rest of my stay. That was until 26 German divers showed up on my afternoon dive. They just arrived on the island and they look thirsty.
Traditionally, I’m one to share. As a friend of mine you are welcome to just about anything I have. But I don’t know these guys. They may share my heritage, but not my nationality. They posed a threat to my beer supply. Game on.
So not long thereafter Evelyn’s was out of Franziskaner. I made sure of this. Evey, that’s what I call her now, was kind-hearted enough to inform me Tranquilla Bar was also stocking my preferred refreshment. Their supply lasted less than 24 hours at that point, much to the demise of my fellow German divers.
With 5 days left and my beer supply presumably hopeless, I’m tossed a bone. “Check out Skid Row,” I’m told. So I did. Slightly nervous, slightly fucked up, I pass through their entry. I stumble as I enter. Partially from the copious amounts of rum in me (remember beer supply was dismal at this point) and partially because the bar designed a hidden step at the entrance. Personally I think that is more for their personal enjoyment than any architectural benefit, but I digress.
Inside Skid Row it appears my original impressions aren’t far off. It is just as dirty as the rest of the places on this island and employs the same exact Salva Vida refrigerator as the rest of Central America. A few differences do exist here, however. For one, for the first time in a long time, I’m pretty sure I’ve done less drugs than anyone that surrounds me. This place is a haven for American ex-pats dressed in Grateful Dead t-shirts. At 34 I’m likely 20+ years their junior as well. I’m pretty sure the bar patrons moved here after Jerry died and not before. I re-create the “long, strange trip,” while they lived it. Secondly, with less than 16 hours before I leave it doesn’t look good for me killing off the beer supply of a 4th establishment. Leave it to an ex-pat hippie bar to understand the desire for a quality brew and stock accordingly. Finally, they seemingly have the only maintainable internet connnection in all of Central America. I mean, who can be without streaming music of the Doobie Brothers?
Any single of the above 3 factors is enough to warrant my patronage for the legnth of my stay. Now combined, I’m left wondering why I’m leaving.
