It's your typical island beach: about ten yards of light sand, flanked by cliffs, with palm trees and wet green hills climbing to fog-covered mountains.
I saw two kayaks under a palm tree. After some short negotiations, Tyler and I rented them for two hours.
I love being on the water. We were up near the short cliffs, where little gray and red crabs scrambled away as we paddled by. Close to the cliffs, when the incoming and outgoing waves coincided, we could rise or fall five feet almost instantly. Kinda scary, very cool.
We paddled across the bay to the other side. What looked like an assortment of pretty buildings turned out to be like the poor neighborhoods I've seen in other parts of Central and South America: shelters slapped together with lamina and scrap wood.
Right next to the resort. And I noticed that all the windows facing the poor barrio were closed up.
Ojos que no ven, corazón que no siente.