Driving through San Pedro town felt like stepping into a painting. Pastel-colored houses leaned toward the streets as if to greet passersby. Children rode bicycles, laughter trailing in the air, while shopkeepers displayed handwoven crafts on sunlit porches. The golf cart was the perfect middle ground — not as slow as walking under the tropical sun, but not as fast as a car that would have separated me from the scene.

 

Each bump in the sandy road reminded me that this wasn’t about polished highways or traffic signals. This was about surrendering to a rhythm dictated by waves, wind, and the island’s heartbeat.

 

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