Belize: The Middle Days

For the past week or so, Chuck and I have frequently discussed how to describe this part of our trip on the blog. It’s not an easy task. On one hand, there are lovely, exciting things about Belize. Wonderful surprises, neat connections made, moments of real discovery and joy. And on the other hand, there’s a real sense of dismay, at how people are living, at the utter failure of the Belizean economy, at the broken down infrastructure, at the small-time political infighting about issues I thought were mostly beyond at least public dispute. And, on a smaller scale, at being stuck here waiting for our package, at the sandflies, at the sewage/mud, and at the other minor inconveniences known and fully expected on this trip. So, rather than make any grand statement about the country, it might be best simply to describe – by necessity leaving most things out -- what we’ve been up to.  No wrap-up statements required.

The Border


We had gotten used to Mexico: to our sad attempts to communicate in Spanish, to the wonderful snacks sold roadside, to the topes, to the tolls, and to our routine.  So crossing into Belize was a shock.  English!  Two of the guys offering to help us with customs (we declined) had spent time in LA.  The customs building was shiny and empty and the border officials spoke English and listened to loudly playing American country music. Lena's paperwork was waiting for us, and we were on our way within 30 minutes.

We thought the country music was a fluke, a one-time thing.  Nope.  Almost everywhere, there is country music playing.  Being unashamed fans of even the most ridiculous modern country pop, as well as possessors of some good older stuff, we've taken to driving around with windows down, pretending to be cowboys.  (It's interesting, actually, how music can set the mood on this trip.  During one of our only tense moments in Mexico, driving via a construction detour in Mazatlan through what was clearly a rough neighborhood, we blasted gangsta rap.  Somehow it gave us confidence.  There was Scottish fiddling that seemed entirely appropriate in the Yucatan, and there are other natural if odd pairings as well: reggeaton for crossing the border into Mexico, bluegrass for much of the Mexican desert, the Beatles and Rolling Stones for energy and sing-along.  A little bit of 90s grunge when we're feeling angsty.)  


Crossing the border into Belize was anticlimactic.  We had set that border crossing as our goal from the beginning, due to Lena's paperwork, and so we rushed through Mexico with Belize in mind.  We drove hours each day.  I think we had driven 2600 miles when we finally arrived at the border.  And then, suddenly, the road trip part of the trip was stalled, and we had a sense of, "what now?"  It turns out a destination can be a fun and helpful thing.

Hopkins

My last blog post was about dread tropical diseases (real or imagined), birthdays, and rain.  So when I left off, we were splitting time between the mosquito den and our wet rattlevan, slightly miserable but mostly just feeling sorry for ourselves.  The neighbor kids' continuous affection for fireworks meant that Lena was feeling more sorry for herself than any of the rest of us.  

Perfection

But there were upsides, too. We took ocean baths among minnows.  Chuck learned some Garifuna words from the firework-lovin' kids next door.  Our gracious landlord, Barry,  brought us a bunch of those little "apple bananas" and fresh oranges.  We recuperated. 

Still, we split town the moment we were able.  

See ya, Hopkins

That wasn't, of course, the plan.  The plan had been to stay in Hopkins for a couple of weeks, receive our package, enjoy the beach, write novels, practice yoga, etc. etc.  That was what we told folks we met in Hopkins that first day, including the first person we met, Danny.  We had no sooner than pulled into town when Danny's pickup pulled up beside us.  With a huge grin, he welcomed us to town and told us we could park our camper in his parking lot, no problem. We chatted to him about apartments, and he said he would keep his ear to the ground.  So when we ditched town, it was without checking back on any of our apartment leads, including Danny's.

Later, in a little covered restaurant a 2.5 hours drive from Hopkins -- and literally the only restaurant (or any business, really) for a 15 mile stretch -- we somehow ran into Danny again.  Strange and excellent stuff.  Turns out, he had found us the exact apartment we sought: on stilts, on the beach, $100ish per month.  But by then our hearts were elsewhere and Hopkins didn't stand a chance.

Hummingbird Highway

The road between Hopkins and Belmopan is completely beautiful.  

We ended up stopping to camp at a place along the Hummingbird Highway - a cool little eco-farm/jungle lodge surrounded on three sides by an amazing river.  We thoroughly enjoyed pretending to be afraid of jaguars and snakes.

Hummingbird Haven

I got all geared up for a hike one day before I realized I couldn't just strap on boots and a camelback and set out.  Our hosts, jungle-saavy, impressed upon me the need for a guide, and I set out to take my walk on the paved-ish road instead.

   

The awesome swimming hole (8 feet deep, reportedly) called our names fiercely even though it was cold out.  It was worth it.

Mudpuppy

Junglebath

And Jaime, one of the dudes at the farm/lodge, picked Chuck some herbs to steep for tea.

Both nights we camped at this place, it poured rain.  But during both days, the sun shone, and it was lovely.  The books were good, too.

 Belmopan/Spanish Lookout

We have errands. More errands than you might imagine for two people entirely on vacation.  Errands involving quiet rooms and landlines for important phone calls.  Involving car parts, and groceries.  In other words, we couldn't stay in the jungle forever.  Even if no such thing as a sandfly existed.  (That is definitely not the case.)

So, we set out for Belize's capital, Belmopan, home to lots of international development workers, government workers, and -- by some accounts, anyway -- not much else.

We stopped in a cafe for wifi and to check the status of our package.  It was here that we also checked out two Belizean newspapers.  Really charming little rags, full of election information (and bias) and other bits of news.  And lots, and lots, and lots, of opinion articles about the evils of homosexuality.  Really repugnant stuff.   Apparently some human rights groups are trying to decriminalize sodomy in Belize at the moment, and there is a very, very, vocal sentiment against such a move.  Almost every third article in these papers, and at least every other op-ed, was full of the most old-fashioned type of hate-speech.  And that doesn't even get into the essentially pro-rape op-ed published in one of the leading papers.  Ug.

Business handled in Belmopan, we set out for "Spanish Lookout," apparently home of the best car parts and therefore shocks.  But Chuck will tell that part of the story.  Mennonites!

Hotels and More Hotels


Driving in Belize is rewarding, not just because it's easy and quick to get from point A to point B -- there are only a few roads, labeled "Western Highway," "Northern Highway," and so on -- but because it is so incredibly lovely.

Dragonfruit Eater

And then there are the really wonderful things about being on such a relaxed trip, one with so few deadlines.  For example, we're able to stop for a picnic lunch in just a simple city park in a city most visitors bypass (without feeling, as I frequently do on shorter trips, like there's something else we "should" be doing). Schoolgirls getting caught and scolded for hanging out behind an outbuilding.  Lena performing tricks on the playground equipment.  Cheerful, brightly colored benches.

And then, literally as I write this, I get warned that a tarantula is crawling under our table toward my feet.  And so he is.

Handsome

 For the past two nights -- one near San Ignacio and one in Belmopan -- we've slept in hotels, luxuriating in the hot showers, clean sheets, and air conditioning.  We sneak Lena in at night.  But tonight it's back on the road and back in the rattlevan, and that's actually a good thing.

Next up, probably: Guatemala!