Following my little side trip to Guatemala, I hurried back to Belize City to pack up my belongings and vacate my apartment.
What a job! I carted most of my clothes to the Red Cross, sold some of my household chattels and gave the rest to my regular taxi driver, and still found I couldn't get everything into my case and two rucksacks. Oh dear.
I moved with my luggage into a hotel in the tourist area of the city, and went to collect Brian from the airport. Luckily, he had brought a spare suitcase full of children's clothing to donate, so off to the Red Cross again and I had room for the rest of my stuff.
After spending a night in the city, and the next morning doing a whistlestop tour to meet some of my new friends and colleagues, we whizzed down to Placencia for nine nights of blissful vegging by the sea.
Our apartment was right on the beach, and I could watch the sun rise without getting out of the kingsize bed.
It was so hot, every day, that we spent most of our time swimming in the sea or lying in hammocks on our verandah.
One day we dragged ourselves to the harbour and took a sailing trip so we could swim and snorkel out at sea. Needless to say, Brian got sunburnt despite 60SPF cream and sitting in the shade.
A couple of days later, we took a trip on a speed boat up the Monkey River where we saw lots of impressive birds, crocodiles, manatees, and, as you might expect, monkeys.
Our only other outing was to visit Francis Ford Coppola's resort, Turtle Inn, which was fabulous without making us wish we were staying there.
Our holiday was over all too soon, and we were soon heading home via Atlanta. The journey was remarkably pain free, with no hold-ups, and we even had time to visit the Aquarium before catching our flight home.
It seems like this will be the last post from vivinbelize, so thank you for reading my blog; I've enjoyed telling you about my adventures.
Love
Viv x
Tuesday, 11 March 2008
Monday, 18 February 2008
You Tarzan, me not exactly Jane
How to follow Tikal?
The day after my wander round the Mundo Perdido I decided to be adventurous and set off to explore the private jungle reserve of Ixpanpajul. I caught the chicken bus to a crossroads, then walked the three kilometers to Ixpanpajul.
No-one else was there, so I had the jungle to myself. I took a three kilometer self-guided trail that led ever upwards to a mirador which looked out across Lago Peten Itza, and, it seemed, most of Guatemala.
The walk was criss-crossed by a (for me) fearsome network of six suspension bridges which wobbled precariously as I tiptoed over them. Another personal challenge confronted and overcome!
I was exhausted and breathing heavily by the time I got to the mirador. By some miracle, there was a palapa at the top complete with a row of hammocks. An obliging young man (a warden with not much to do) rocked my hammock while I lay with my eyes closed, getting my breath back.
After walking back down to the visitor centre, I negotiated a lift to Flores with a van driver - it's amazing how I'm managing to communicate without a common language!
Following lunch in Flores by the captivating lake (a lovely green today), I decided to take a tuk-tuk across the causeway to noisy, dirty, chaotic Santa Elena, Flores' rowdy neighbouring town.
Santa Elena was interesting in a rough and ready sort of way, but not really a shoppers' paradise. I went to the bus terminal to see if I could make my way back to El Remate and La Casa de Don David.
The way public transport in Guatemala works is this: you walk up and down the row of empty mini-buses (called collectivos) and ask each driver if he is going to El Remate. When you say to them "El Remate?" they shake their head and point their finger down the line. You eventually find a driver who nods "yes" to your question, and get on his bus. You sit there for fifteen minutes, then he jumps on and speeds you to the local market, which is totally crowded, crazy, and teeming with people, animals, stalls, and noise. A bit like a Central American Marrakesh.
The driver pulls up in an incredibly small space, gets out,and starts to shout "El Remate, El Remate!" , trying to implore people to get on his bus. In the meantime, a host of traders selling everything from doughnuts, drinks, tacos, fruit, vegetables, you name it, they've got it, board the bus.
To my delight a woman sat next to me with a live chicken. Remembering she had forgotten to buy something, she asked me to mind it while she popped out. No trouble! Eventually, when the bus is crammed to the hilt, we set off on our journey back to El Remate. The whole process has taken an hour and a half. Free entertainment, the real Guatemala, fascinating.
The day after my wander round the Mundo Perdido I decided to be adventurous and set off to explore the private jungle reserve of Ixpanpajul. I caught the chicken bus to a crossroads, then walked the three kilometers to Ixpanpajul.
No-one else was there, so I had the jungle to myself. I took a three kilometer self-guided trail that led ever upwards to a mirador which looked out across Lago Peten Itza, and, it seemed, most of Guatemala.
The walk was criss-crossed by a (for me) fearsome network of six suspension bridges which wobbled precariously as I tiptoed over them. Another personal challenge confronted and overcome!
I was exhausted and breathing heavily by the time I got to the mirador. By some miracle, there was a palapa at the top complete with a row of hammocks. An obliging young man (a warden with not much to do) rocked my hammock while I lay with my eyes closed, getting my breath back.
After walking back down to the visitor centre, I negotiated a lift to Flores with a van driver - it's amazing how I'm managing to communicate without a common language!
Following lunch in Flores by the captivating lake (a lovely green today), I decided to take a tuk-tuk across the causeway to noisy, dirty, chaotic Santa Elena, Flores' rowdy neighbouring town.
Santa Elena was interesting in a rough and ready sort of way, but not really a shoppers' paradise. I went to the bus terminal to see if I could make my way back to El Remate and La Casa de Don David.
The way public transport in Guatemala works is this: you walk up and down the row of empty mini-buses (called collectivos) and ask each driver if he is going to El Remate. When you say to them "El Remate?" they shake their head and point their finger down the line. You eventually find a driver who nods "yes" to your question, and get on his bus. You sit there for fifteen minutes, then he jumps on and speeds you to the local market, which is totally crowded, crazy, and teeming with people, animals, stalls, and noise. A bit like a Central American Marrakesh.
The driver pulls up in an incredibly small space, gets out,and starts to shout "El Remate, El Remate!" , trying to implore people to get on his bus. In the meantime, a host of traders selling everything from doughnuts, drinks, tacos, fruit, vegetables, you name it, they've got it, board the bus.
To my delight a woman sat next to me with a live chicken. Remembering she had forgotten to buy something, she asked me to mind it while she popped out. No trouble! Eventually, when the bus is crammed to the hilt, we set off on our journey back to El Remate. The whole process has taken an hour and a half. Free entertainment, the real Guatemala, fascinating.
Mundo Perdido (The Lost World)
The main purpose of my trip to Guatemala was to visit the ruins of the ancient city of Tikal. Somewhere between 5ooAD and 900BC Tikal was a thriving city of, if I remember the facts correctly, 150,000 inhabitants.
Mystery surrounds the collapse of the Mayan civilization, and after its demise the jungle swallowed up the abandoned city of Tikal and concealed it for centuries.
Through the eyes of our wonderful guide, Juan, we saw the daily life of these cultured and scientifically advanced people, and in the five hours we spent with him I was in turn amazed and astonished by the facts and figures and most of all the stunning temples that have been excavated. Juan was like a walking encyclopaedia, and kept us spellbound with tales of the Mayan knowledge of the stars, the seasons, and their understanding of the universe.
The temples rise from the jungle, some of them only partly excavated, with just their top layer visible above the trees. At Juan's insistence I climbed the highest, which is 65 metres, although we could only climb to a level of 40 metres. The view from the top was awesome, and it was intriguing to wonder how many more of the peaks concealed long lost temples.
The jungle setting was a bonus; we saw howler and spider monkeys, turtles, and keel billed toucans amongst other creatures, and Juan was a mine of information when it came to information about wildlife and nature.
As I recall I've now visited five Mayan sites on this trip to Central America, all of them very different and with its own charm, but Tikal was the hands down winner.
Mystery surrounds the collapse of the Mayan civilization, and after its demise the jungle swallowed up the abandoned city of Tikal and concealed it for centuries.
Through the eyes of our wonderful guide, Juan, we saw the daily life of these cultured and scientifically advanced people, and in the five hours we spent with him I was in turn amazed and astonished by the facts and figures and most of all the stunning temples that have been excavated. Juan was like a walking encyclopaedia, and kept us spellbound with tales of the Mayan knowledge of the stars, the seasons, and their understanding of the universe.
The temples rise from the jungle, some of them only partly excavated, with just their top layer visible above the trees. At Juan's insistence I climbed the highest, which is 65 metres, although we could only climb to a level of 40 metres. The view from the top was awesome, and it was intriguing to wonder how many more of the peaks concealed long lost temples.
The jungle setting was a bonus; we saw howler and spider monkeys, turtles, and keel billed toucans amongst other creatures, and Juan was a mine of information when it came to information about wildlife and nature.
As I recall I've now visited five Mayan sites on this trip to Central America, all of them very different and with its own charm, but Tikal was the hands down winner.
Thursday, 14 February 2008
vivinguatemala
It felt quite strange not going to work at CARE-Belize on Monday morning. Instead I caught the Mundo Maya express bus to Guatemala and checked into La Casa de Don David at El Remate five hours later. It felt good to leave the grime and crime of mad bad Belize City behind and exchange it for the open countryside.
La Casa de Don David is right on the Lago de Peten Itza, and my little cabana is very comfortable with hot water in the bathroom (bliss), a hammock on the verandah (very civilized), good food (always welcome), and decent affordable wine (hurrah!)
I spent the first afternoon wandering along the lake shore, watching the local children swimming while their mothers waded out waste deep to do the weekly wash on the nearest rocks.
The next day I flagged down a minibus and got a ride to Flores, the capital of the El Peten region, which is situated about 30 kilometers from El Remate, and actually on the lake (you reach it via a causeway).
Flores is a pretty and sedate town, full of interesting souvenir shops and little bars and restaurants tucked on to narrow cobbled streets.
The lake surrounding the town is truly blue and I sat happily just gazing at its beauty for quite a long time.
The Guatemalan people in this area are mostly of Mayan descent, with not much evidence of Spanish blood. English isn´t widely spoken amongst the people I come into contact with, though their broken English is invariably better than my broken Spanish.
Interestingly (to me, anyway), I´m taller than most Guatemalans, men as well as women. I feels quite strange to look down at someone for a change.
La Casa de Don David is right on the Lago de Peten Itza, and my little cabana is very comfortable with hot water in the bathroom (bliss), a hammock on the verandah (very civilized), good food (always welcome), and decent affordable wine (hurrah!)
I spent the first afternoon wandering along the lake shore, watching the local children swimming while their mothers waded out waste deep to do the weekly wash on the nearest rocks.
The next day I flagged down a minibus and got a ride to Flores, the capital of the El Peten region, which is situated about 30 kilometers from El Remate, and actually on the lake (you reach it via a causeway).
Flores is a pretty and sedate town, full of interesting souvenir shops and little bars and restaurants tucked on to narrow cobbled streets.
The lake surrounding the town is truly blue and I sat happily just gazing at its beauty for quite a long time.
The Guatemalan people in this area are mostly of Mayan descent, with not much evidence of Spanish blood. English isn´t widely spoken amongst the people I come into contact with, though their broken English is invariably better than my broken Spanish.
Interestingly (to me, anyway), I´m taller than most Guatemalans, men as well as women. I feels quite strange to look down at someone for a change.
Tuesday, 12 February 2008
Mission Accomplished
Well, the title sounds a bit pretentious, but I ought to keep you up to date with my work activities, and last Friday, 8 February, was my last day at work.
I did what I set out to do three months ago - I developed a strategic plan for CARE-Belize, together with a detailed action programme so everybody knows what they have to do to achieve the plan's objectives.
I held an implementation workshop for all the staff so that they all feel comfortable with the plan, and CARE now has a new Board with appointed officers and a schedule of meetings for 2008.
I'm optimistic that CARE now has a solid structure with achievable objectives, and a plan that can be used to guide, monitor and evaluate progress. It can also be used as evidence to show potential funders that the organisation is sustainable and worthwhile.
In my last few days, I looked into some fundraising ideas. I spent a day in Tourist Village, where all the cruise ships dock and spill out their passengers for a day's sightseeing in Belize.
My friend and colleague Sister Bev helped, and by selling silicone wristbands and asking for donations of loose change we raised US$337. It may not sound much by English standards, but to put it into perspective, it's enough to buy a pair of leg braces for Doris, a child with spina bifida who can't walk until money to pay for the braces can be found; it's enough to pay CARE's fuel bill for a month; and it's almost a month's wages for a CARE Rehabilitation Field Officer.
The best thing is, cruise ships come in at least twice a week, always with a new set of passengers. Sister Bev is now busy recruiting volunteers to make this a regular fundraising event.
My reward for finishing my project on time is a few days 'r and r' in Guatemala, so my next post will be sent from Lago El Peten.
I did what I set out to do three months ago - I developed a strategic plan for CARE-Belize, together with a detailed action programme so everybody knows what they have to do to achieve the plan's objectives.
I held an implementation workshop for all the staff so that they all feel comfortable with the plan, and CARE now has a new Board with appointed officers and a schedule of meetings for 2008.
I'm optimistic that CARE now has a solid structure with achievable objectives, and a plan that can be used to guide, monitor and evaluate progress. It can also be used as evidence to show potential funders that the organisation is sustainable and worthwhile.
In my last few days, I looked into some fundraising ideas. I spent a day in Tourist Village, where all the cruise ships dock and spill out their passengers for a day's sightseeing in Belize.
My friend and colleague Sister Bev helped, and by selling silicone wristbands and asking for donations of loose change we raised US$337. It may not sound much by English standards, but to put it into perspective, it's enough to buy a pair of leg braces for Doris, a child with spina bifida who can't walk until money to pay for the braces can be found; it's enough to pay CARE's fuel bill for a month; and it's almost a month's wages for a CARE Rehabilitation Field Officer.
The best thing is, cruise ships come in at least twice a week, always with a new set of passengers. Sister Bev is now busy recruiting volunteers to make this a regular fundraising event.
My reward for finishing my project on time is a few days 'r and r' in Guatemala, so my next post will be sent from Lago El Peten.
Saturday, 9 February 2008
Take me Home!
Just a quick post though I'm almost too shocked to write.
Last night, to celebrate my last day at work, I went out with friends and some of us ended up at the Putt Putt Club. The music was loud and local, the dancing was outrageous, and everybody was having a great time, all Belizeans except for three of us English.
There was a great atmosphere, and the place was still rocking when we left at 2am.
Now I've just heard this morning that at 2.30am several masked gunmen burst into the club and started shooting. 16 people were injured and two girls were killed. Bloody hell!
It's like the Wild West here - I'm not going out again till I get back to Kneesall.
Last night, to celebrate my last day at work, I went out with friends and some of us ended up at the Putt Putt Club. The music was loud and local, the dancing was outrageous, and everybody was having a great time, all Belizeans except for three of us English.
There was a great atmosphere, and the place was still rocking when we left at 2am.
Now I've just heard this morning that at 2.30am several masked gunmen burst into the club and started shooting. 16 people were injured and two girls were killed. Bloody hell!
It's like the Wild West here - I'm not going out again till I get back to Kneesall.
Saturday, 2 February 2008
Extreme Sports
My Danish friend, Kristina, arranged last weekend's visit to Caves Branch Jungle Lodge, and all I had to do was turn up at the bus station by 5.50am on Saturday morning. As someone who is safety conscious and never goes out on foot after dark, it seemed ironic that I was happily walking to the bus station in the pitch dark first thing in the morning. A few voices murmured from the shadows to ask if I needed escorting to the bus stop, but I declined and arrived safely on my own.
Five of us had decided to make a weekend of it. The Rough Guide glows with praise for the adventure activities available at Caves Branch, also mentioning that the food is good and the showers have hot water. This all sounded promising, and we left Kristina to choose which of the extreme sports on offer we would try. I secretly hoped it wouldn't be rapelling (like abseiling, but without a solid wall), or horseriding through the jungle, or spelunking (I don't even know what that is but it sounds painful). Other activities on offer included climbing up waterfalls then leaping 15 feet from the top into a pool below, or abseiling 80 feet down a black hole into a river cave.
Anyway, at 8.30am we were introduced to our guide, Pablo, who told us what fun we were going to have cave tubing. Pablo led us to the Caves Branch River, and gave us all a lifejacket and a large inner tube and told us to get in the water. I was first in, and foolishly got inside the tube like a lifebelt. Pablo patiently explained that I should recline on the tube, as I was going to paddle, not walk or swim, in the river.
When we were all set, Pablo showed us how to guide the tube with our arms, and told us at all costs to steer clear of the banks, especially where the bamboo was growing, and off we went.
Immediately Kristina and her tube were drawn like a magnet to the bamboo on the nearest bank, and she promptly capsized. Kristina can't swim, but amazingly she didn't panic. I was closest to her, and Pablo called out to me to grab her arm while he rescued the tube. We soon had her back on board her vessel, and off we went again, this time sticking like glue to Pablo.
The rapids were fun, and OK they weren't big deal white water rapids like in the Rocky Mountains, but they were fast enough and swirly enough for beginners like us.
After a couple of miles, we came to a pebbly beach and Pablo instructed us to leave the water. We then carried our tubes through the jungle for about half an hour before re-entering the water at the mouth of the first cave.
This was the first time on the trip I felt a little apprehensive. Did I really want to lie on an inner tube and let the fast flowing water take me into the pitch black darkness, where, according to Pablo, we would see not only stalactites, stalagmites, and crystal formations, but vampire bats and large spiders?
Before I got in the water at the start of the journey I had extracted a guarantee from Pablo that there would be no snakes or crocodiles, so I decided not to mention now my reservations about the dark, the bats and the spiders, and just get on with it.
We all put on our headlamps, and ventured into the cave. Kristina and I never strayed from the ever patient Pablo, who looked after us like we were babies. Nikki , Mark's Belizean girlfriend, mostly stuck with our little nursery group, though occasionally she was brave enough to go it alone with Mark and Antro, who of course showed how macho they were by forging ahead.
Unfortunately Mark was far enough ahead not to hear Pablo's instructions of 'stay away from the rocks on the left' - we realised this when we heard the splash and the cursing. Another man overboard!
We spent the next couple of hours gliding or hurtling - depending on whether or not there were rapids - through a spectacular system of caves. Some were so low we had to lay flat to avoid scraping our heads on the ceilings; some opened out into huge cathedral-like caverns with wonderful formations of stalactites and stalagmites and glittering crystal walls. At times in the rapids the water was so shallow we were touching the pebbly river bed, and desperately tried to arch our backs as we painfully bumped along.
My favourite part was the 'windows'; the breaks in the cave walls that exposed the jungle foliage and the steep river banks, letting in the bright sunshine and creating wonderful dramatic scenery.
Eventually, we emerged from our final cave on to a wide pebbly beach, and like a magician Pablo was suddenly laying a white linen tablecloth on the ground, and piling it with a delicious picnic of floury tortillas, fresh salads, cheeses and cooked meats.
We tucked into the food as if we hadn't eaten for days, then laid on the warm stones, replete, to rest our weary bones.
Pablo then explained that we had to climb a little way up the cliff on the opposite river bank, and trek through the jungle for the final leg of our journey. From nowhere, without warning, a tropical downpour began, and although we were wet from tubing, we were suddenly totally drenched, discovering that we could get even wetter.
All this rain made the jungle paths treacherously slippery, and I was the one who fell flat on my back in the mud. I was now soaking wet and coated in mud from head to toe. Not to worry, a good deal of the mud was washed off on our last dash by tube down the river.
After getting out of the water for the last time, we had a short walk to where the Caves Branch Lodge bus was waiting for us, complete with piles of fluffy dry towels.
We were all grateful to get back to the Lodge, shower, and re-group for Happy Hour in the bar. Dinner was good, and our jungle bungalow was simple luxury, with comfy beds and huge uncurtained windows which meant we could see and hear the sights and sounds of the jungle without getting up and going outside. Hammocks on our verandah completed this idyll.
After dinner, a member of staff came to ask what activity we'd like to do on Sunday. Without hesitation, I put my name down for the aromatherapy massage, and Kristina and Nikki followed suit.
Five of us had decided to make a weekend of it. The Rough Guide glows with praise for the adventure activities available at Caves Branch, also mentioning that the food is good and the showers have hot water. This all sounded promising, and we left Kristina to choose which of the extreme sports on offer we would try. I secretly hoped it wouldn't be rapelling (like abseiling, but without a solid wall), or horseriding through the jungle, or spelunking (I don't even know what that is but it sounds painful). Other activities on offer included climbing up waterfalls then leaping 15 feet from the top into a pool below, or abseiling 80 feet down a black hole into a river cave.
Anyway, at 8.30am we were introduced to our guide, Pablo, who told us what fun we were going to have cave tubing. Pablo led us to the Caves Branch River, and gave us all a lifejacket and a large inner tube and told us to get in the water. I was first in, and foolishly got inside the tube like a lifebelt. Pablo patiently explained that I should recline on the tube, as I was going to paddle, not walk or swim, in the river.
When we were all set, Pablo showed us how to guide the tube with our arms, and told us at all costs to steer clear of the banks, especially where the bamboo was growing, and off we went.
Immediately Kristina and her tube were drawn like a magnet to the bamboo on the nearest bank, and she promptly capsized. Kristina can't swim, but amazingly she didn't panic. I was closest to her, and Pablo called out to me to grab her arm while he rescued the tube. We soon had her back on board her vessel, and off we went again, this time sticking like glue to Pablo.
The rapids were fun, and OK they weren't big deal white water rapids like in the Rocky Mountains, but they were fast enough and swirly enough for beginners like us.
After a couple of miles, we came to a pebbly beach and Pablo instructed us to leave the water. We then carried our tubes through the jungle for about half an hour before re-entering the water at the mouth of the first cave.
This was the first time on the trip I felt a little apprehensive. Did I really want to lie on an inner tube and let the fast flowing water take me into the pitch black darkness, where, according to Pablo, we would see not only stalactites, stalagmites, and crystal formations, but vampire bats and large spiders?
Before I got in the water at the start of the journey I had extracted a guarantee from Pablo that there would be no snakes or crocodiles, so I decided not to mention now my reservations about the dark, the bats and the spiders, and just get on with it.
We all put on our headlamps, and ventured into the cave. Kristina and I never strayed from the ever patient Pablo, who looked after us like we were babies. Nikki , Mark's Belizean girlfriend, mostly stuck with our little nursery group, though occasionally she was brave enough to go it alone with Mark and Antro, who of course showed how macho they were by forging ahead.
Unfortunately Mark was far enough ahead not to hear Pablo's instructions of 'stay away from the rocks on the left' - we realised this when we heard the splash and the cursing. Another man overboard!
We spent the next couple of hours gliding or hurtling - depending on whether or not there were rapids - through a spectacular system of caves. Some were so low we had to lay flat to avoid scraping our heads on the ceilings; some opened out into huge cathedral-like caverns with wonderful formations of stalactites and stalagmites and glittering crystal walls. At times in the rapids the water was so shallow we were touching the pebbly river bed, and desperately tried to arch our backs as we painfully bumped along.
My favourite part was the 'windows'; the breaks in the cave walls that exposed the jungle foliage and the steep river banks, letting in the bright sunshine and creating wonderful dramatic scenery.
Eventually, we emerged from our final cave on to a wide pebbly beach, and like a magician Pablo was suddenly laying a white linen tablecloth on the ground, and piling it with a delicious picnic of floury tortillas, fresh salads, cheeses and cooked meats.
We tucked into the food as if we hadn't eaten for days, then laid on the warm stones, replete, to rest our weary bones.
Pablo then explained that we had to climb a little way up the cliff on the opposite river bank, and trek through the jungle for the final leg of our journey. From nowhere, without warning, a tropical downpour began, and although we were wet from tubing, we were suddenly totally drenched, discovering that we could get even wetter.
All this rain made the jungle paths treacherously slippery, and I was the one who fell flat on my back in the mud. I was now soaking wet and coated in mud from head to toe. Not to worry, a good deal of the mud was washed off on our last dash by tube down the river.
After getting out of the water for the last time, we had a short walk to where the Caves Branch Lodge bus was waiting for us, complete with piles of fluffy dry towels.
We were all grateful to get back to the Lodge, shower, and re-group for Happy Hour in the bar. Dinner was good, and our jungle bungalow was simple luxury, with comfy beds and huge uncurtained windows which meant we could see and hear the sights and sounds of the jungle without getting up and going outside. Hammocks on our verandah completed this idyll.
After dinner, a member of staff came to ask what activity we'd like to do on Sunday. Without hesitation, I put my name down for the aromatherapy massage, and Kristina and Nikki followed suit.
Tuesday, 29 January 2008
Weekend Bliss
Two Saturdays ago on a beautiful morning six of us boarded our little motorboat, the White Top, and sped off with Captain Chico to look for manatees.
Manatees are huge underwater mammals, elusive because of their shy nature. Allison, an American volunteer who was coming to the end of her placement with CARE, was disappointed because she hadn't managed to see a manatee in all her six months in Belize.
We were heading for Swallow Caye, a known habitat of manatees, when Captain Chico decided to take a look at the mouth of the Belize River first.
Lo and behold! After only about two minutes we were rewarded with the first of several sightings of these massive creatures. The ones we saw were about 1500 1bs according to our trusty captain. First we saw a silhouette under the water gradually rising to the surface, then we saw a huge snout poking out of the water for a deep breath before it disappeared out of sight.
Apparently they feed on the seagrass on the ocean bed. Captain Chico told us lots of stories about manatees, one being that the manatee gave rise to the mermaid legend because it lives deep in the sea and has a cry like a human.
I didn't really accept this, as mermaids in my mind are graceful, beautiful long-haired temptresses on the top half of their bodies, with fish tails for the bottom half.
Anyway, we watched them and photographed them till Allison was sated, then we whizzed off across the sparkling ocean, skirting lots of beautiful uninhabited cayes and attracting a crowd of playful bottle nosed dolphins who accompanied our boat.
Our destination was Goff's Caye, a perfect white sand desert island of 1.2 acres, and we were lucky enough to have it all to ourselves.
Captain Chico unpacked our picnic, and when we'd eaten he insisted on us lazing in the hot sun or under the shade of a gently swaying palm tree for 25 minutes (in the interests of good digestion you understand).
After resting we took our snorkelling gear and walked into the water, at liberty to swim out and explore the surrounding waters at our own pace.
Because I now have an abiding aversion to coral I stayed in the clear water, limiting myself to looking at the brightly coloured fish. Some of my companions were more adventurpus, and swam off to investigate the coral reefs, spotting bigger fish and squid on their travels.
All in all, it was a perfect way to spend a hot Saturday, and we were sad to leave at the end of the afternoon.
In case you're wondering, although it was a desert island, some kind soul had anchored a floating portaloo to the small dock where we had tied up our boat, so we had all mod cons in paradise.
Manatees are huge underwater mammals, elusive because of their shy nature. Allison, an American volunteer who was coming to the end of her placement with CARE, was disappointed because she hadn't managed to see a manatee in all her six months in Belize.
We were heading for Swallow Caye, a known habitat of manatees, when Captain Chico decided to take a look at the mouth of the Belize River first.
Lo and behold! After only about two minutes we were rewarded with the first of several sightings of these massive creatures. The ones we saw were about 1500 1bs according to our trusty captain. First we saw a silhouette under the water gradually rising to the surface, then we saw a huge snout poking out of the water for a deep breath before it disappeared out of sight.
Apparently they feed on the seagrass on the ocean bed. Captain Chico told us lots of stories about manatees, one being that the manatee gave rise to the mermaid legend because it lives deep in the sea and has a cry like a human.
I didn't really accept this, as mermaids in my mind are graceful, beautiful long-haired temptresses on the top half of their bodies, with fish tails for the bottom half.
Anyway, we watched them and photographed them till Allison was sated, then we whizzed off across the sparkling ocean, skirting lots of beautiful uninhabited cayes and attracting a crowd of playful bottle nosed dolphins who accompanied our boat.
Our destination was Goff's Caye, a perfect white sand desert island of 1.2 acres, and we were lucky enough to have it all to ourselves.
Captain Chico unpacked our picnic, and when we'd eaten he insisted on us lazing in the hot sun or under the shade of a gently swaying palm tree for 25 minutes (in the interests of good digestion you understand).
After resting we took our snorkelling gear and walked into the water, at liberty to swim out and explore the surrounding waters at our own pace.
Because I now have an abiding aversion to coral I stayed in the clear water, limiting myself to looking at the brightly coloured fish. Some of my companions were more adventurpus, and swam off to investigate the coral reefs, spotting bigger fish and squid on their travels.
All in all, it was a perfect way to spend a hot Saturday, and we were sad to leave at the end of the afternoon.
In case you're wondering, although it was a desert island, some kind soul had anchored a floating portaloo to the small dock where we had tied up our boat, so we had all mod cons in paradise.
R.I.P.
Despite all the goodwill and power of prayer poor Andy didn't make it - he slipped away just a couple of hours after the Mass for his speedy recovery.
A State funeral in his home village of Barranco was arranged for the following Saturday, and hundreds if not thousands of supporters made the long journey south to pay their final respects.
On Friday night it seemed like those of us left in Belize City all attended the open air tribute concert in his memory. Several acts played early in the evening before Andy's band, the Garifuna Collective, gave a wonderful three hour performance of punta rock. With terrific energy and amazing music they gave the leader who had been their inspiration a fabulous and fitting send off.
What a blow for Belize to lose such a talented role model and respected ambassador.
A State funeral in his home village of Barranco was arranged for the following Saturday, and hundreds if not thousands of supporters made the long journey south to pay their final respects.
On Friday night it seemed like those of us left in Belize City all attended the open air tribute concert in his memory. Several acts played early in the evening before Andy's band, the Garifuna Collective, gave a wonderful three hour performance of punta rock. With terrific energy and amazing music they gave the leader who had been their inspiration a fabulous and fitting send off.
What a blow for Belize to lose such a talented role model and respected ambassador.
Thursday, 24 January 2008
Praise the Lord!
Last Thursday my friend and colleague Sister Bev invited me to the convent where she lives to see a performance of music and dance by a Garifuna band.
The Garifuna, an ethnic group whose ancestors ( slaves who were shipwrecked on their way to the West Indies), are enjoying a revival of interest in their heritage.
Apart from the nuns and two of the CARE volunteers, the audience consisted of a large extended family of Americans from Arkansas, who were in Belize for one week to build a house for the poor. The materials are provided by a charity, Hand in Hand Ministry, which arranges for volunteers to come out and construct new homes for poor people.
Anyway, the show was very colourful, loud and entertaining, and predictably we all ended up being dragged on to the dance floor (which was the flat roof of the convent) to make fools of ourselves dancing to the punta music.
The master of ceremonies, Sab, explained that the band was feeling down because a dear friend, Andy Palacio, was desperately ill in hospital in Belize City. Andy Palacio, very famous in Belize and considerably well-known wordwide for leading the revival of punta music, has become a Garifuna role model, and was also designated cultural ambassador for Belize last year.
Sab told us that a special Mass to pray for Andy's speedy recovery would be held at St Martin's Church on Saturday. He invited us all to turn up and join in.
On Saturday afternoon, on a whim, I decided to take a walk up to St Martin's and look in on the Mass, which was due to start at 5pm.
I arrived at 4.50pm, by which time the large church was filling up rapidly. When all the seats were full, and there was no more room even for standing, the latecomers gathered outside the open doors in a huge gazebo which gave some shelter from the sun.
What followed was just the most amazing church service I have ever been to.
First of all, the Garifuna choir; maybe 40 ladies dressed in traditional outfits of brightly patterned yellow and brown flounced cotton skirts and blouses, with their matching headscarves tied in a variety of ways. Then there was the Garifuna band; a big assembly of small drums, large drums, and medium sized drums, together with a group of musicians playing 'shakers', and finally, a brass section.
At the start of the service the members of the choir sang and danced their way down the aisle before taking their place next to the altar. The service was largely musical, and the congregation stood up and joined in the hymns whenever they felt like it. From time to time, the choir again left their place to weave down the aisle, waving palm branches, holding large bibles aloft, all the time singing along.
At one point, all of us in the congregation were on our feet, hands and arms linked right across the aisle, singing and swaying in time to the music. I kept forgetting I was in a church, until an occasional waft of incense reminded me.
There were only two white faces in the audience; mine and that of the youngish American priest who conducted the service. The priest was excellent - he didn't lose momentum in the prayers and gave a warm address about his experience of Andy Palacio's talent.
An elderly Belizean Bishop rounded up the proceedings with a short speech and a final prayer for Andy's recovery. Mercifully, the Prime Minister, who was also there, kept schtum.
At the end, we all shook hands with everyone else, as per the usual Catholic custom, before filing outside for modest refreshments of juice and biscuits. Someone leaving the church sat on a crate and started tapping a drum; someone else stood behind him and began playing the shakers, another drummer joined in and hey! we suddenly had a party in the parking lot.
What a fabulous event - I was buzzing for the rest of the evening, and I never had even a sniff of alcohol!
The Garifuna, an ethnic group whose ancestors ( slaves who were shipwrecked on their way to the West Indies), are enjoying a revival of interest in their heritage.
Apart from the nuns and two of the CARE volunteers, the audience consisted of a large extended family of Americans from Arkansas, who were in Belize for one week to build a house for the poor. The materials are provided by a charity, Hand in Hand Ministry, which arranges for volunteers to come out and construct new homes for poor people.
Anyway, the show was very colourful, loud and entertaining, and predictably we all ended up being dragged on to the dance floor (which was the flat roof of the convent) to make fools of ourselves dancing to the punta music.
The master of ceremonies, Sab, explained that the band was feeling down because a dear friend, Andy Palacio, was desperately ill in hospital in Belize City. Andy Palacio, very famous in Belize and considerably well-known wordwide for leading the revival of punta music, has become a Garifuna role model, and was also designated cultural ambassador for Belize last year.
Sab told us that a special Mass to pray for Andy's speedy recovery would be held at St Martin's Church on Saturday. He invited us all to turn up and join in.
On Saturday afternoon, on a whim, I decided to take a walk up to St Martin's and look in on the Mass, which was due to start at 5pm.
I arrived at 4.50pm, by which time the large church was filling up rapidly. When all the seats were full, and there was no more room even for standing, the latecomers gathered outside the open doors in a huge gazebo which gave some shelter from the sun.
What followed was just the most amazing church service I have ever been to.
First of all, the Garifuna choir; maybe 40 ladies dressed in traditional outfits of brightly patterned yellow and brown flounced cotton skirts and blouses, with their matching headscarves tied in a variety of ways. Then there was the Garifuna band; a big assembly of small drums, large drums, and medium sized drums, together with a group of musicians playing 'shakers', and finally, a brass section.
At the start of the service the members of the choir sang and danced their way down the aisle before taking their place next to the altar. The service was largely musical, and the congregation stood up and joined in the hymns whenever they felt like it. From time to time, the choir again left their place to weave down the aisle, waving palm branches, holding large bibles aloft, all the time singing along.
At one point, all of us in the congregation were on our feet, hands and arms linked right across the aisle, singing and swaying in time to the music. I kept forgetting I was in a church, until an occasional waft of incense reminded me.
There were only two white faces in the audience; mine and that of the youngish American priest who conducted the service. The priest was excellent - he didn't lose momentum in the prayers and gave a warm address about his experience of Andy Palacio's talent.
An elderly Belizean Bishop rounded up the proceedings with a short speech and a final prayer for Andy's recovery. Mercifully, the Prime Minister, who was also there, kept schtum.
At the end, we all shook hands with everyone else, as per the usual Catholic custom, before filing outside for modest refreshments of juice and biscuits. Someone leaving the church sat on a crate and started tapping a drum; someone else stood behind him and began playing the shakers, another drummer joined in and hey! we suddenly had a party in the parking lot.
What a fabulous event - I was buzzing for the rest of the evening, and I never had even a sniff of alcohol!
Friday, 18 January 2008
Election Fever!
Well, after weeks of expectation from the general public, the date for the general election has been announced and all of a sudden laid-back Belize is buzzing with excitement as it prepares for the polls on 7 February.
There are two main parties; the People's United Party (PUP) and the United Democratic Party (UDP). The PUP is slightly to the left of Fidel Castro, and the UDP is slightly to the right of Atila the Hun. OK, I'm joking, but you get the idea. Confusingly, the colours are reversed, with the PUP wearing blue and the UDP in red. The poor people of Belize, although I'm sure they are incorruptible, are happy to wear a tshirt of any colour with any slogan as long as it's free, so there are some interesting party supporters around.
The parties rely not so much on manifestos as maligning each other, and the mud-slinging is great fun. Tales of weapons of mass corruption abound (eg, a $20 donation to the Belize government from the President of Venezuela, said to be for buying votes) and feathering nests (politicians' relatives being stopped at airport security with suitcases full of American dollars).
No holds are barred in the newspapers, and again confusingly, the Times is the mouthpiece of the socialist PUP while the Guardian supports the conservative UDP. Both papers make lurid and outrageous claims about the other which makes for entertaining reading.
I'm quite happy because the City Council (UDP) has been busily filling in the huge craters on Racoon Street and my taxi driver has stopped grumbling about the state of the road (at least until it rains, when all the sand and earth they've used will turn to mud). There's also been an influx of dodgy looking Council workers, who are busying themselves painting the fences around public parks, and clearing the weeds from the open culverts that line every street.
Last Friday afternoon there was a public display of might when what seemed like the entire Belize City Police Force marched across the Swing Bridge accompanied a brass band. Unfortunately though, there was an incident in my local, the Riverside Tavern, that night. The bouncers couldn't cope with the huge fight that broke out, and the police arrived and promptly shot two of the protagonists. (I heard they survived, and agreed to pay for the damage to the Tavern, so it turned out all right in the end).
You'll be relieved to know that I was safe at home and didn't go out last Friday night.
There are two main parties; the People's United Party (PUP) and the United Democratic Party (UDP). The PUP is slightly to the left of Fidel Castro, and the UDP is slightly to the right of Atila the Hun. OK, I'm joking, but you get the idea. Confusingly, the colours are reversed, with the PUP wearing blue and the UDP in red. The poor people of Belize, although I'm sure they are incorruptible, are happy to wear a tshirt of any colour with any slogan as long as it's free, so there are some interesting party supporters around.
The parties rely not so much on manifestos as maligning each other, and the mud-slinging is great fun. Tales of weapons of mass corruption abound (eg, a $20 donation to the Belize government from the President of Venezuela, said to be for buying votes) and feathering nests (politicians' relatives being stopped at airport security with suitcases full of American dollars).
No holds are barred in the newspapers, and again confusingly, the Times is the mouthpiece of the socialist PUP while the Guardian supports the conservative UDP. Both papers make lurid and outrageous claims about the other which makes for entertaining reading.
I'm quite happy because the City Council (UDP) has been busily filling in the huge craters on Racoon Street and my taxi driver has stopped grumbling about the state of the road (at least until it rains, when all the sand and earth they've used will turn to mud). There's also been an influx of dodgy looking Council workers, who are busying themselves painting the fences around public parks, and clearing the weeds from the open culverts that line every street.
Last Friday afternoon there was a public display of might when what seemed like the entire Belize City Police Force marched across the Swing Bridge accompanied a brass band. Unfortunately though, there was an incident in my local, the Riverside Tavern, that night. The bouncers couldn't cope with the huge fight that broke out, and the police arrived and promptly shot two of the protagonists. (I heard they survived, and agreed to pay for the damage to the Tavern, so it turned out all right in the end).
You'll be relieved to know that I was safe at home and didn't go out last Friday night.
Friday, 11 January 2008
Getting from A to B
Just remembered I said I'd tell you a little about transport in Belize, and after seven weeks here I've got a few observations to make.
Let's talk about getting around the country first. In a land roughly the size of Wales, there are only four main roads; the Western Highway, the Northern Highway, the Southern Highway, and the Hummingbird Highway (how magic is that name? it's just as pretty as it sounds as well).
The term 'Highway' is used loosely here. Don't think 'motorway', or 'autobahn', or even 'A' road - a road is awarded the name 'Highway' simply because it has a tarmac surface. So, these main arteries crossing the length and breadth of the country are just wide enough for two vehicles, have no pavements, hard shoulders, white lines, street lights, cat's eyes or anything else that would help make a journey easier and safer.
What they do have though is speed bumps, usually in places where you'd least expect them. If you see one too late you can either slam your brakes on in an effort to stop yourself being airborne, or hit it at speed and risk ripping off your undercarriage.
Most of the other roads in Belize, the ones that filter off the main highways into the towns and villages, are like the surface of the moon - rocky and bumpy, pitted and pot-holed, often waterlogged.
Given the state of the roads, it's surprising how many people make it their business to travel up and down the country on a regular basis. Not many ordinary people have the luxury of their own vehicle, and they depend on fleets of buses to get them around.
The buses are mostly worn out and decrepit old American school buses, sometimes cunningly re-painted to disguise their previous life. Imagine travelling on such a tatty bus, long past its sell-by date with no suspension to speak of and no seat springs, along the lunar roads with their holes and bumps; not a good combination if you have any respect for your spine.
Old American buses also provide the public transport around Belize City. This city of 75,000 people has just three sets of traffic lights, and no other traffic control to speak of, so you can imagine the chaos in the rush hour. Basically, it's just a free for all, with the biggest vehicles taking precedence and a fair amount of colourful language called out between drivers.
Bikes and dogs are a complete menace on the city's roads and streets. Both weave freely and unpredictably in and out the vehicles, give no signals, and frequently change direction with no warning.
Taking all this into account, you'll not be surprised that my preferred method of getting to work is on Shanks's Pony.
However, if I really don't feel like walking the two miles, I can take the metro for $1Bze (25p). The metro is a mini decrepit American school bus - designed no doubt for 16 first graders but used in Belize for as many commuters as can inhumanly be packed on. The record number I've counted on the metro so far is 48.
Taxis ply the city day and night, but it's $6Bze for a cab, so I try to use them only after dark. Needless to say, the taxis are also a joke when it comes to comfort, condition and roadworthiness. Most of them have enormous cracks in their windscreens and multiple dents on their bodywork. Some have tears in the upholstery, and some are indescribably filthy.
I try to use the same taxi for all my journeys - I count myself lucky that I have the acquaintance of possibly the only cabbie in Belize who actually uses his aircon. He also cleans his cab every day before he starts work.
Anyway, I shouldn't grumble about the roads, the vehicles or the traffic; it won't be long before I'm back in Blighty and joining the traffic congestion I've almost forgotten about.
Let's talk about getting around the country first. In a land roughly the size of Wales, there are only four main roads; the Western Highway, the Northern Highway, the Southern Highway, and the Hummingbird Highway (how magic is that name? it's just as pretty as it sounds as well).
The term 'Highway' is used loosely here. Don't think 'motorway', or 'autobahn', or even 'A' road - a road is awarded the name 'Highway' simply because it has a tarmac surface. So, these main arteries crossing the length and breadth of the country are just wide enough for two vehicles, have no pavements, hard shoulders, white lines, street lights, cat's eyes or anything else that would help make a journey easier and safer.
What they do have though is speed bumps, usually in places where you'd least expect them. If you see one too late you can either slam your brakes on in an effort to stop yourself being airborne, or hit it at speed and risk ripping off your undercarriage.
Most of the other roads in Belize, the ones that filter off the main highways into the towns and villages, are like the surface of the moon - rocky and bumpy, pitted and pot-holed, often waterlogged.
Given the state of the roads, it's surprising how many people make it their business to travel up and down the country on a regular basis. Not many ordinary people have the luxury of their own vehicle, and they depend on fleets of buses to get them around.
The buses are mostly worn out and decrepit old American school buses, sometimes cunningly re-painted to disguise their previous life. Imagine travelling on such a tatty bus, long past its sell-by date with no suspension to speak of and no seat springs, along the lunar roads with their holes and bumps; not a good combination if you have any respect for your spine.
Old American buses also provide the public transport around Belize City. This city of 75,000 people has just three sets of traffic lights, and no other traffic control to speak of, so you can imagine the chaos in the rush hour. Basically, it's just a free for all, with the biggest vehicles taking precedence and a fair amount of colourful language called out between drivers.
Bikes and dogs are a complete menace on the city's roads and streets. Both weave freely and unpredictably in and out the vehicles, give no signals, and frequently change direction with no warning.
Taking all this into account, you'll not be surprised that my preferred method of getting to work is on Shanks's Pony.
However, if I really don't feel like walking the two miles, I can take the metro for $1Bze (25p). The metro is a mini decrepit American school bus - designed no doubt for 16 first graders but used in Belize for as many commuters as can inhumanly be packed on. The record number I've counted on the metro so far is 48.
Taxis ply the city day and night, but it's $6Bze for a cab, so I try to use them only after dark. Needless to say, the taxis are also a joke when it comes to comfort, condition and roadworthiness. Most of them have enormous cracks in their windscreens and multiple dents on their bodywork. Some have tears in the upholstery, and some are indescribably filthy.
I try to use the same taxi for all my journeys - I count myself lucky that I have the acquaintance of possibly the only cabbie in Belize who actually uses his aircon. He also cleans his cab every day before he starts work.
Anyway, I shouldn't grumble about the roads, the vehicles or the traffic; it won't be long before I'm back in Blighty and joining the traffic congestion I've almost forgotten about.
Saturday, 5 January 2008
My Alternative New Year
On 28 December I caught the ferry to San Pedro to spend a few days over New Year with my new American friends Kath and Cullen.
They picked me up at the dock in their boat to travel the few miles to where they live on Coco Beach, and on arrival I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. A beautiful apartment, just a stone's throw across the sand to the sea, my own gorgeous room with a six foot bed and a bathroom with constant hot water.
It was hard to do anything the first day except just sit on the verandah in a rocking chair, feeling the warmth of the sun tempered by a mild breeze, and gazing at the hypnotic turquoise water with the white surf breaking gently on the Barrier Reef. Truly God's own country.
The next few days were spent lazily on the beach enjoying the lovely weather, good company, reading, watching tv, a bit of retail therapy and generally being spoilt and pampered by a wonderful couple whose mission in life seemed to be attending to my every need.
Every silver lining has a cloud though, and on 31 December Kath and Cullen took me to San Mateo, the village just three miles away where local people live in poverty and squalor on the swampy filth-ridden edges of the lagoon. Most houses don't have electricity; those that do might have a single light bulb dangling from the ceiling of the 12 x 12 one room box on stilts they call home. There are no roads between the houses - just a collection of rickety planks forming precarious bridges over the swamp to connect each house to the dirt path which leads to the main road. We chatted to some of CARE's clients as we walked around, and it was hard not to feel despair for these people who lived without sanitation,clean water,decent food and proper shelter.
We went to see the school that had been built by the Anglican Church of America and was heavily subsidised by Americans on the island and their friends in the USA. In just a couple of years the school has been built from scratch , complete with a special needs unit, and now educates over 400 children who previously didn't go to school. Each child is also provided with two cooked meals a day.
That night, we walked a few hundred yards along the beach to a lovely restaurant where we ate sublime stuffed grouper cooked Belizean style by a local lady. Afterwards we strolled back to watch a fireworks display just out to sea on a barge, thoughtfully provided by another restaurant owner.
Not for the first time since I arrived in Belize, I pondered on how lucky I have been in life, and felt sorrow for the vast numbers of people in the world who have no way out of the extreme poverty they have been born into.
I caught the early ferry (10.30am) back to Belize City on New Year's Day, and particularly enjoyed the trip because for once there were very few passengers. As the boat sped through the water, faster than usual, the spray from the wake turned to a fine mist and created a rainbow on the turquoise water. It was amazingly pretty, and I saw it as a good omen.
They picked me up at the dock in their boat to travel the few miles to where they live on Coco Beach, and on arrival I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. A beautiful apartment, just a stone's throw across the sand to the sea, my own gorgeous room with a six foot bed and a bathroom with constant hot water.
It was hard to do anything the first day except just sit on the verandah in a rocking chair, feeling the warmth of the sun tempered by a mild breeze, and gazing at the hypnotic turquoise water with the white surf breaking gently on the Barrier Reef. Truly God's own country.
The next few days were spent lazily on the beach enjoying the lovely weather, good company, reading, watching tv, a bit of retail therapy and generally being spoilt and pampered by a wonderful couple whose mission in life seemed to be attending to my every need.
Every silver lining has a cloud though, and on 31 December Kath and Cullen took me to San Mateo, the village just three miles away where local people live in poverty and squalor on the swampy filth-ridden edges of the lagoon. Most houses don't have electricity; those that do might have a single light bulb dangling from the ceiling of the 12 x 12 one room box on stilts they call home. There are no roads between the houses - just a collection of rickety planks forming precarious bridges over the swamp to connect each house to the dirt path which leads to the main road. We chatted to some of CARE's clients as we walked around, and it was hard not to feel despair for these people who lived without sanitation,clean water,decent food and proper shelter.
We went to see the school that had been built by the Anglican Church of America and was heavily subsidised by Americans on the island and their friends in the USA. In just a couple of years the school has been built from scratch , complete with a special needs unit, and now educates over 400 children who previously didn't go to school. Each child is also provided with two cooked meals a day.
That night, we walked a few hundred yards along the beach to a lovely restaurant where we ate sublime stuffed grouper cooked Belizean style by a local lady. Afterwards we strolled back to watch a fireworks display just out to sea on a barge, thoughtfully provided by another restaurant owner.
Not for the first time since I arrived in Belize, I pondered on how lucky I have been in life, and felt sorrow for the vast numbers of people in the world who have no way out of the extreme poverty they have been born into.
I caught the early ferry (10.30am) back to Belize City on New Year's Day, and particularly enjoyed the trip because for once there were very few passengers. As the boat sped through the water, faster than usual, the spray from the wake turned to a fine mist and created a rainbow on the turquoise water. It was amazingly pretty, and I saw it as a good omen.
Another Shitty Day in Paradise
It's 3pm on a Saturday, my precious personal time, and torrential rain has been pouring with hardly a break since 2.30am, causing me to put my plans for the day on hold.
When it rains in Belize City it's like the end of the world. As the City lies three feet below sea level the streets are quickly awash if not completely flooded. I take back every bad thing I've ever said about Crocs being ugly and ungainly, and now accept that when God in his wisdom invented them he had Belize City in the rain in mind.
I started my day by doing my housework (15 minutes) and sorting my laundry (5 minutes). After an hour doing Sudokus, I realised the rain might not stop today, so I turned up my trouser bottoms, put on my Crocs and my full length plastic coat, and set off in the rain.
I walked the two miles into town, sloshing through the puddles resigned to the constant downpour, and by chance wandered down a street I'd never noticed before. I eventually came to a place advertising itself as Bird Island, with restaurant and bar. What a treat it was! The restaurant was open sided under a palapa (large thatched roof), and looked out directly over the sea. Although the Caribbean was grey and choppy today instead of its usual tranquil turquoise, those of us who had braved the weather were entertained by the sight of huge pelicans fishing from the deck together with herons and egrets.
My delicious lunch of barbecue baby back ribs, beans, mashed potato, coleslaw and tortillas, washed down by two large rum and cokes, cost six pounds - my extravagance for the week.
I'm at the internet cafe now posting my blog, aware that although I scrubbed my face with a napkin I may have traces of barbecue sauce from ear to ear. But hey, I don't care - don't worry be happy!
When it rains in Belize City it's like the end of the world. As the City lies three feet below sea level the streets are quickly awash if not completely flooded. I take back every bad thing I've ever said about Crocs being ugly and ungainly, and now accept that when God in his wisdom invented them he had Belize City in the rain in mind.
I started my day by doing my housework (15 minutes) and sorting my laundry (5 minutes). After an hour doing Sudokus, I realised the rain might not stop today, so I turned up my trouser bottoms, put on my Crocs and my full length plastic coat, and set off in the rain.
I walked the two miles into town, sloshing through the puddles resigned to the constant downpour, and by chance wandered down a street I'd never noticed before. I eventually came to a place advertising itself as Bird Island, with restaurant and bar. What a treat it was! The restaurant was open sided under a palapa (large thatched roof), and looked out directly over the sea. Although the Caribbean was grey and choppy today instead of its usual tranquil turquoise, those of us who had braved the weather were entertained by the sight of huge pelicans fishing from the deck together with herons and egrets.
My delicious lunch of barbecue baby back ribs, beans, mashed potato, coleslaw and tortillas, washed down by two large rum and cokes, cost six pounds - my extravagance for the week.
I'm at the internet cafe now posting my blog, aware that although I scrubbed my face with a napkin I may have traces of barbecue sauce from ear to ear. But hey, I don't care - don't worry be happy!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
