Belize

FEBRUARY 2006
We step off the plane in Belize City in the middle of the afternoon. The air is intoxicatingly sticky and sweet, a far cry from the dry frozen tundra of New England. We notice that someone is talking on his cell phone and holding a white sign with our names on it. Wow - we feel important. In the interest of making the most of our short time here, we have forsaken the public bus and arranged for Roberto to drive us to San Ignacio. We breath in deep the smell of something burning, the smell that brings us right back to Africa. Except this isn't the Africa we've lived in. It's too green here. Except that it reminds us all too fondly of places in Africa we've gone to and loved. We both think of Mozambique immediately. Is this really Central America? Yes - there is a thick underbrush and colorful flowers. Yes - the houses are equally as colorful. Yet we see many people of African descent with the darkest skin. These are the Garifuna people, and would come to represent one hue of the many cultures in Belize.

The streets are quiet driving out of the largest city in Belize. It's Sunday and it's lovely. We drive past palm, cashew, papaya, mango, cahune nut, coconut, and even pine trees, as Roberto tells his story. He was born in San Ignacio and went to Michigan where he studied electrical engineering. He is doing some engineering in town, but picks up the occasional tourist as a side business. In talking with Roberto, we fall into a slower speech pattern and an even slower pace. As I take my watch off, we step into Belize (like Africa) time.

We continue passing concrete buildings with tin roofs, internet cafes, and small shops. We breeze past the capital of Belmopan which apparently no one likes living in. Roberto tells us that there are 21 speed bumps from Belmopan to San Ignacio. As we climb in elevation, the forest becomes denser, interrupted by clearings for cattle and large Mennonite farms.

We arrive on the hill overlooking the town to spend the night at the Cahal Pech Village. It is dusk and we're hungry. We order off the gringo menu and ask for the local dish - rice and beans with stew chicken. Washed down by a couple of Belikan brews, it's delicious. However, one would think in a former British colony, there would be a better beer. Nevertheless, it's cold. We ease into our thatched cabana and listen to the soft pattering of rain and the chirp of the geckos before dozing off.

Our days are blissfully lazy. Our breakfasts consist of sausage (Made by local Mennonite farmers), eggs, fry jacks, fresh fruit, and papaya juice. By the time we finished, the fog has lifted and we know it will be a hot day. We take a taxi out to San Jose Succotz, a town about 10 km to the east of San Ignacio. It drops us off at the river's edge and we wait for the hand ferry to come back to our side of the Macal River. The small village established an art and craft cooperative, and we find some unusual jewelry made from guanacaste seeds. Talking to the woman who makes the jewelry, we find out that the cruise ships bring people up here 2-3 times a week, and that makes up the bulk of their business. But there are none right now, and that is ok with us.

Once the ferry drops us off on the other side of the river, it is a mile hike up the hill to Xunatunich. It is a particularly hot day, and we do not have the cloud cover that we've been blessed with on the previous three days. It is still air, and the locusts that lived with us in Africa are here too with their incessant buzz.

Xunatunich is a completely different Mayan site than Tikal. The architecture seems to be shorter and wider than the towering temples in Guatemala. Xunatunich is a classic to post -classic period ceremonial center, and the name itself means "stone woman". There is a detailed visitor's center, offering a wealth of historical information, not to mention shade. It is impressive to climb to the top of El Castillo, and look out to the Guatemalan highlands. not to mention get an up close look at two refurbished friezes.

We take our time, pacing ourselves, walking barefoot across the plaza's lawn. And then it's a long walk down the hill again to the ferry to catch the public bus back to San Ignacio, and up the steep hill to our thatched hut. We are exhausted but in the best possible way.

After a jump in the pool, a long cool orange juice, and short siesta, we walk five minutes over to Cahal Pech, a combination of Yucatec and Mopan names meaning "Place of the Ticks". It dates from the pre-classic to middle classic periods (1000 BC to 800 AD) This site was just excavated in the 1980s and 90s. The museum boasts an amazing collection of artifacts: obsidian instruments, pottery, shells, and figurines. It is quiet. Like the other two sites we have visited, there are not many people around, and we seem to have this one in particular to ourselves. Again, the architecture is completely different than what we have seen before.

We are hungry, and head down the hill and east on the highway towards a sign we saw earlier in the day advertising authentic Mexican food. We are not disappointed. Rolson's cafe is owned by a couple from Belize who lived in Chicago for 26 years and just recently returned. Fantastic authentic menu from the Yucatan. We dive into chicken salbutes, pork enchiladas, and beef ganaches. The salsa is outstanding. Not having eaten at lunchtime, we stuff ourselves with the delicious home cooked fare, and yet manage to keep room for pastel tres leches. After talking with the owner Orlando after dinner, he graciously gives us a ride back to the top of the hill.

As I take off the sandals from my tired feet, I notice that I have a "teva tan". Always a good sign that you are truly on vacation.

Our days in Caye Caulker blend into each other. When we are hungry, we eat. When we are hot, we walk down to the water. When we are sleepy, we take a nap. There is a certain routine to that. Every morning we walk to the leeward side of the island and have a leisurely breakfast at Glenda's, with fresh orange juice, warm cinnamon rolls, and Creole bread with cheese and ham. With a view of the ocean, we recline in Adirondack chairs and read New Yorker mags, National Geographics, and the "Mountains beyond Mountains" book that was our friend Bob Kyte gave us the day before we left. We live in our swimsuits no matter where we go or what we do, drink fresh (pineapple, mango, papaya, orange, watermelon) juices throughout the day, and listen to reggae, Cuban, and punta rock music.

One day we went snorkeling out on the reef. The sand is soft, the water warm, green, and clear, and the underwater coral gardens are amazing. Probably most exciting is swimming with stingrays and nurse sharks. While conscious of the fact that they will probably not eat us, there is a certain wildness about the experience.

There is a small nature reserve close by, with indigenous plants and flowers, which provide a shady place to walk during the heat of the day. Further still are the mangroves. But just walking the streets or beach during the morning or evening is a pleasant activity unto itself. Everyone walks or rides a bike. I have only seen half a dozen golf carts, and 2 vehicles, one belonging to the police.

There is always a breeze. Sometimes it's downright windy. It brings relief from the incredibly intense equatorial sun.

We eat more stew chicken, rice and beans. I try grilled conch, a Belizean favorite, one evening. More rum punch. There are quite a few street vendors. Like the interior though, there is not much in the way of greens, and we both know that a salad is the first thing we will eat when we get back home.

Our flight is late in the afternoon, so we have the entire morning to continue what we have been doing the past three days - utterly nothing. The boat trip back to Belize City is not crowded. Once we arrive at the Marine Terminal, we take a 40 minutes taxi ride through the quiet Sunday streets to the airport, which to our surprise is air conditioned. We spend the last of our Belizean dollars at duty-free and then board the half-full plane to Atlanta. I put my watch back on as we head to the place where we'll need it. The long trip home is anticlimatic and we reach Dalton around 3 am on Monday morning. It has truly been a restful week (always a good sign when you don't feel like you need a vacation from your vacation).