Yes, we Belize it

Wednesday, May 9th.

It was going to be a mom-daughter trip to somewhere grand, like the Grand Canyon. Somehow (cheap tickets) we ended up deciding on Belize and somehow (to be our “body guard” i.e. he didn’t want to miss out on the fun) it turned into a mom-daughter-husband trip.

We were excited: the first international trip since moving back from China nearly three years before. It would also be different than previous trips because we’d be using Airbnb and renting a car in a not-first-world country. In short, we were taking my Mom which made a perfect excuse for us not to have to ride on barf-inducing buses and sleep near barfing drunk college students in youth hostels. Basically, we just try to avoid barf. But enough about that exciting topic.

The day began at 2:32am because I’d overslept my 2:15am alarm. The rest of the day pretty much followed suit: a succession of rushing and waiting as if we were incrementally making our way around a baseball diamond.

We were TSA-pre, yes! But no, in a cruel twist the TSA lady cared that one of the bottles was larger than 3.4oz even though the contents were no larger than 3.4oz.

Thinking quickly, I volunteered to squeeze the hair gel into a plastic baggie. But I had thought too quickly. The gel would not be corralled and I ended up with approximately one squeeze in the baggie and the rest of it squished out on my hands. No matter, why would a curly haired person need hair creme in a country whose weather exactly replicated a sauna? A country, further, where no one has fine, curly hair like mine and therefore no hair creme – not even for ready money. Wiping the goo on my pants, I preceded through the TSA check point a second time.

People who rely on the sun only get lost at noon…and maybe at night and possibly during inclement weather.

James and I are basically old hands at travel. This means that things like maps do not need to be carefully studied because we can rely on instinct and the sun’s position in the sky. So after landing at BZE, deplaning onto the tarmac (very small airport), and picking up a Jeep Patriot from the highly recommended Crystal Auto Rental, we headed off boldly in the wrong direction.

Like I said, we are professionals and no wrong direction outsmarts us. Using only our instincts and the GPS on my sim-less phone, we turned the wrong direction into just the right shortcut, arriving at the Western Highway in less time, no doubt, than even locals. I didn’t time it but I’m sure it saved us time while also providing the opportunity to see many more stray dogs.

There are only four major roads in Belize: the Northern Highway, Western Highway, Southern Highway, Hummingbird Highway, and the Coastal Highway. They’re all two line affairs in decent shape – except for the last one, which isn’t a highway at all. It doesn’t even go along the coast. It’s a trap meant to lure unsuspecting travelers into the jungle where they will be eaten by a giant pothole named Shelob.

We opted to take the Western Highway to the Hummingbird Highway and that down to the Southern Highway in order to reach Hopkins. On the way – a little past the Mennonite communities that immigrated over in the 1950s – I located a shop and turned in on instinct. The sign had read “chocolate and ice cream.”

The owner was a nice fellow from Cleveland who must’ve gotten tired of the jobs he’d had there because he never used the other half of the round-trip ticket he’d bought. He’d been in Belize for 5 years and after failing at four business ideas, finally landed on chocolate. And so Lamanai Chocolate was born: “The best organic chocolate in Belize processed by hand for strict quality and control. Lamanai Chocolate is produced in the old world Mayan ways,” says his website.

After explaining how the cocoa is roasted over the fire and ground by hand, the guy walked us around his complex, pointing out various plants (ginger, cashew, cardamom, etc.) and telling us how he had cured himself of various ills using the leaves. This prompted a long discussion of traditional vs modern medicine in which we all at least agreed that the latter seemed to be better at fixing catastrophic ills while the former seemed better at preventing them. “Though,” the man clarified, “we’re not sure that it’ll work in combination with a Western diet.” Something about gut bacteria and parasites followed. In any event, the jungle seemed to be helping his 92 year old mother regain some mobility.

The cocoa nibs were delicious; the raw beans were less delicious but were supposed to kick start our brains with their theobromine or “god food” (it’s a vasodilator: a blood vessel widener. Apparently it’s also a diuretic. Either way, it makes you move faster).

Meanwhile, three ambitious puppies had treed a cat on a large rock. The cat was larger than the puppies and seemed to yawn as they tumbled over themselves in a futile attempt to climb the rock.

“What’s the speed limit?” my Mom asked before we left. The guy laughed and informed us that there was no speed limit in Belize. Or at least, as we’d learn later, there weren’t enough cops in the country to care. The posted speed on the highways was 55mph and people drove more like 85mph. Needless to say, we made good time the rest of the way instead of being passed by a steady stream of pickup trucks and SUVs.

Our hosts were friendly – a lady from the States married to a man from Belize who spend half the year in Hopkins with their Airbnb and the rest in Chicago. The little cabanas were clean and tidy and the beach front was relaxing, if not burning hot.

The only odd thing about the place was the very vocal beach rooster (which had once evaded being murdered by a guest) and the two lumps of feathers that slept out every night – just sprawled out together on the open sand. Highly irregular. Were they even chickens? I asked myself, peering through the window slats of our cabana. Chickens have had their motives questions for thousands of years – and for good reason. People have only been able to speculate why they cross roads or why they crow regardless of the position of the sun. I doubt we’ll ever figure out why those two hens sleep out on the sand while Charlie the crocodile sleeps in the creek a stones throw away. The only certainty is that we can’t trust them and also that they are tasty with jerk seasoning.

*The first blog I read about Belize used the pun “unBelizable!” and I thought, cute, but you better not do that again. After arriving I found out that every mug, hat, t-shirt, and anything that can hold print is plastered with slogans such as “Can you Belize it?” or “You betta Belize it!” UnBelizable indeed.

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