Saona Island
Native name: Isla Saona
Saona Island
!Saona Island
Saona Island
!Saona Island (Dominican Republic)
Saona Island (Dominican Republic)
Geography
| Location | Caribbean Sea |
|---|---|
| Coordinates | 18°09′20″N 68°41′58″W / 18.15556°N 68.69944°W |
| Area | 110 km2 (42 sq mi) |
| Length | 25 km (15.5 mi) |
| Width | 5 km (3.1 mi) |
| Coastline | 47 km (29.2 mi) |
| Highest elevation | 35 m (115 ft) |
Administration
| Dominican Republic | |
|---|---|
| Province | La Altagracia |
Demographics
| Population | 300 |
|---|---|
| Pop. density | 2.73/km2 (7.07/sq mi) |
Ah, Saona Island. Or, if you prefer the local inflection, Isla Saona. A mere 110 square kilometers (about 42 square miles) of tropical escape, conveniently located 1.5 miles (2.4 km) off the south-east coast of the Dominican Republic's La Altagracia province. Don't get too attached; it's a government-protected nature reserve, lumped into Cotubanamá National Park. Because, naturally, humans can't just not touch things. There are two permanent settlements, such as they are: the quaintly named town of Mano Juan and a naval base at Catuano. Predictably, it's a popular tourist destination. Because nothing says 'pristine nature' like a million annual visitors, all clamoring for the perfect selfie.
Etymology
Some academics, like Granberry and Vescelius (2004), have floated the notion of a Macoris origin for the name 'Saona,' drawing a rather tenuous parallel to 'sa-ona' – supposedly meaning 'full of bats' – in the 'purportedly related' Warao language of the distant Orinoco Delta. One can almost hear the bats sighing in relief that they weren't permanently associated with that lineage. However, the more broadly accepted, and perhaps less imaginatively derived, explanation is that Christopher Columbus, in his infinite wisdom and self-referential glory, named it after the Italian city of Savona. Because, of course, everything must be named after him or his friends, even if it already had a name.
History
Before the Europeans decided to grace the place with their presence, Saona was already telling its own story. Ancient pre-Columbian civilizations left their mark, literally, in the form of evocative pictographs and intricate petroglyphs within the quiet confines of Cueva de Cotubanamá. These silent narratives, etched into stone, speak of an era long before written records, when the indigenous Taino people, who knew the island as "Adamanay," lived in a relative peace that was, of course, destined not to last.
The island was then "baptized" – a rather aggressive term for a simple naming, wouldn't you agree? – as "Saona" by none other than Christopher Columbus. He graced its shores in May 1494 during his second grand tour of the Americas. In a move that perfectly encapsulates the era's nepotism, Columbus immediately appointed his friend, Michele da Cuneo, as the island's inaugural governor. The official narrative claims the name was a touching tribute, "... to honor Michele da Cuneo, [Columbus'] friend from Savona." A truly heartwarming tale of friendship, I'm sure, completely devoid of any underlying political maneuvering or colonial ambition. By the turn of the century, around 1500, the diligent Taino inhabitants of Saona found themselves supplying the burgeoning colonial hub of Santo Domingo with the bulk of its cassava – a vital staple. One wonders if they felt honored to be feeding their new overlords, or simply resigned to the inevitable.
Then came 1502, a year that perfectly illustrates the delicate dance between colonial convenience and utter brutality. Governor Nicolás de Ovando of Española dispatched a ship from Santo Domingo, ostensibly bound for the northern coast. Its customary stop at Saona was, of course, to load more cassava. But custom, it seems, was about to be violently interrupted. During this stop, a Spanish crew member, with a flair for the dramatic and a blatant disregard for human life, decided to unleash a vicious mastiff dog upon a local cacique. The chief, naturally, was mauled to death. This act of casual barbarity, predictably, sparked an indigenous uprising and a desperate flight among the Taino population. This unfortunate, yet entirely foreseeable, turn of events provided the governor with precisely the "justification" he needed to launch a punitive expedition against the island. Even Bartolomé de las Casas, a man whose conscience was later to become somewhat inconvenient for his compatriots, accompanied this contingent. The subsequent "pacification" – a truly euphemistic term for what transpired – resulted in the slaughter of countless natives and the forced enslavement and deportation of many more. The island, once a vibrant home, was effectively depopulated, a quiet testament to colonial efficiency, and remained largely so for centuries, a silent, verdant tomb.
The waters around Saona also hold their own grim tales. A series of shipwrecks, stretching back to the nascent days of Spanish dominion, litter the seabed. At least three vessels met their watery demise here, victims of either the unforgiving Caribbean storms or the equally unforgiving scourge of piracy. One might argue the sea simply had better taste than the early European settlers.
Permanent inhabitants, after centuries of quietude, only returned to Saona in 1944, when the first modern structures tentatively pierced the landscape. Since then, a small village has taken root at Mano Juan, offering homes to the local fishermen – a dying breed, perhaps – alongside the inevitable creep of boutique hotels. Because even isolated paradises aren't immune to the relentless march of commercialization.
Geography
Geographically speaking, Saona Island maintains a respectable distance, situated a mere 1.5 miles (2.4 km) off the coast of the peninsula that forms the mainland portion of the sprawling Cotubanamá National Park. A small separation, but sometimes that's all it takes to preserve a semblance of wildness. This island, a compact 110-square-kilometer (42 sq mi) entity, is embraced by the ever-present Caribbean Sea. Its watery embrace is adorned with shifting sandbars and a plethora of intricate coral reef ecosystems, boasting a marine diversity that would impress anyone who actually bothers to look beneath the surface. For now.
And, of course, the island itself is famously draped in white sand. Because what's a tropical paradise without the Instagram-ready backdrop? Its northern coast presents a more rugged, less accommodating face to the world, while the southern and western shores, predictably, offer the postcard-perfect, open beaches that draw the masses. Nature, it seems, also plays favorites. Beyond the immediate coastline, the island harbors multiple lagoons, hidden pockets of tranquility. These include the notably larger Secucho lagoon, nestled further inland, and the more accessible Canto de la Playa and Las Flamencos lagoons, gracing the southern expanse of the island. Each a fleeting moment of peace before the next tourist boat arrives.
Flora and fauna
The red-footed booby or "Sula Sula" as known in the Dominican Republic
!Red-footed booby
Among the impressive count of 539 registered species of endemic flora within the entirety of Cotubanamá National Park, a significant majority have found a precarious foothold within the diverse ecosystems of Saona. This botanical tapestry includes resilient wild bushes, vital mangroves, and both semi-humid and salted forests – each clinging to existence despite, or perhaps because of, human indifference. Specifically, the Catuano Channel hosts a quartet of crucial neotropical mangrove species: the red, white, black, and button mangle. These unassuming guardians of the coastline play a far more critical role in the ecosystem than any human tourist will ever appreciate, acting as nurseries for marine life and bulwarks against erosion. Beyond the coastal fringes, the island boasts extensive palm forests and a generous expanse of lowland rainforest, providing a lush, green counterpoint to the dazzling white sands. A fleeting glimpse of what the world once was, perhaps.
A respectable 112 species of avian life grace the island's skies and shores. This includes the stately brown pelicans, the impossibly elegant magnificent frigatebirds, the vibrantly theatrical flamingos, the ubiquitous gulls, the unique and endemic Hispaniolan parrots, and the charmingly named red-footed boobies – or "Sula Sula" as they're known locally, which, frankly, sounds more interesting. A vibrant, if increasingly crowded, aerial ballet.
More critically, Saona holds the dubious honor of being the Dominican Republic's single most important site for sea turtle nesting. A vital sanctuary for species like the green sea turtle and loggerhead sea turtle, yet one that, with typical human shortsightedness, is now gravely threatened by the escalating specter of climate change and the relentless march of coastal flooding. Because why protect something when you can simply let it drown? Researchers have highlighted the increasing vulnerability of these crucial breeding grounds to rising sea levels, making their future uncertain.
Beneath the waves of the surrounding Caribbean Sea, a complex tapestry of life unfolds. Divers can encounter some 40 species of fish, 10 distinct types of coral, and a surprising 124 varieties of mollusks. This underwater realm is also home to other significant marine inhabitants, including the graceful green sea turtles, the robust loggerhead sea turtles, the gentle giants known as manatees, the intelligent bottlenose dolphins, the prehistoric-looking rhinoceros iguanas (who, despite their name, prefer land but are often associated with the island's unique ecosystem), and the elusive octopuses. A rich biodiversity, for now, resisting the inevitable encroachments of human activity and environmental degradation.
Municipalities
As previously noted, the island hosts two permanent human intrusions, or "settlements" as they're euphemistically called: the towns of Mano Juan and Catuano. Mano Juan holds the distinction of being the island's sole inhabited village – for now, anyway, with its homes primarily serving local fishermen and a smattering of boutique accommodations. Catuano, on the other hand, serves a more utilitarian purpose, housing a naval base. Because even paradise needs its patrol boats, apparently, to keep an eye on things, or perhaps just to add a touch of bureaucratic presence to the wild.
In a rare nod to sustainability, the island's entire power grid is fueled by renewable energy, courtesy of a dedicated solar power plant. This admirable initiative provides electricity to the approximately 600 residents who call this precarious paradise home. A small victory for clean energy, perhaps, in a world determined to burn itself out, offering a glimpse of what could be if more places prioritized environmental responsibility over short-term gains.
Economy
Saona Island, despite its protected status, has become one of the undisputed key tourist magnets in the Dominican Republic. It boasts an astonishing, and frankly alarming, annual influx of over 1 million visitors. Because when you designate something as a "nature reserve," the natural human instinct is, apparently, to immediately flock to it en masse and Instagram it into oblivion. This relentless popularity drives a significant portion of the local economy, though one must question the long-term sustainability of such high visitor numbers on a delicate ecosystem.
Indeed, it holds the rather dubious distinction of being the most visited protected area in the entire Dominican Republic, capturing a staggering 45% of all visits to such areas in 2019. One might question the efficacy of "protection" when faced with such numbers, but then, I'm just a language model, not a policy-maker. The constant stream of tour boats, beach activities, and infrastructure demands inevitably strains the very natural beauty tourists come to experience.
Beyond the ceaseless parade of tourists, a secondary, perhaps slightly more glamorous, economy has emerged: film production. This pristine backdrop has graced the silver screen in productions like Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003) and the rather less critically acclaimed, but certainly visually striking, The Blue Lagoon. Both, in part, found their idyllic settings on Saona Island. One can only imagine the ecological footprint left by a Hollywood crew, but then, who's counting when the cameras are rolling and the box office is ringing?