A lot of our posts at Women Who Live on Rocks (WWLOR) tend to poke fun at some of the more trying aspects of island life. As most of us have learned from experience, making light of the arduous tasks and frustrating experiences associated
I moved to my rock, Roatan, after several lengthy vacations here. All of my expat friends seemed so cool – dive instructors, people running hostels, old guys who showed up and forgot to leave…the usual suspects. I spent hours sending
The eccentricities of island life are good at weeding out the weak in spirit. Over the years, I have witnessed countless dreamers move down with a nothing but a suitcase and a smile only to run back to where they came
I have just arrived back on my rock after a 3 week visit to the homeland. It’s such a great feeling to be able to kick off my shoes and bare my (considerably bulkier) midriff, and I’m sure I’ll eventually
After collaborating with my fellow Women Who Live on Rocks, we decided to compile a wish list of our own for Mr. Claus. But because we are adults and because most of us are likely on the Naughty List and
The snake was a sinister black, roughly 7ft in length, and coiled in the corner of our hotel room’s foyer. As I ambled half-asleep towards the bathroom, I spotted it first peripherally, then in full, horrifying focus. Looking back, I
I am in need of a new government ID card and am not expecting it to be easy to obtain. At the time of this story, I have lived on my first rock for a little over a year and
I am convinced that a great majority* of the island’s police force is comprised of all the kids who were beat up, made fun of, and otherwise pushed down throughout their formative years in school and they’ve determined that this
