The final stretch to Lamanai is a fifteen mile ride up the Old River.
The river reminds me of a Mazatlan boat ride and a ride down the Tortuga river in Panama. I am a city guy but get to the country as much as I can. Many city denizens know nature only when it bites them.
We are enroute to an ancient Mayan city built where the land rises higher and trees stand taller. There were many different tribes living under the Mayan umbrella. Their pyramids were built before Christ and these Lamanai ruins, saved from the jungle by British archeologists, give us glimpses of an ancient vanished past.
Without explorers and discoverers, who venture to places everyone else finds not worth the effort, our lives would be dry.
Without the world’s historians and storytellers, we would think we were the first to be here and there was nothing more here to learn.
We would be intolerable.
For most of our school days we rode big lumbering yellow school buses to big lumbering schoolhouses.
We walked to a designated bus stop and waited, in all weather, for a driver to swing open narrow doors, and then saw faces of other kids who were just as thrilled as we were to go to school, take notes, write papers, give oral book reports, and deal with cretins.
This tour to Lamanai, I get to visit school days again.
Our bus isn’t yellow but it is the same Bluebird series that we rode in with Puritan seats, windows that move up and down on metal tracks, an emergency exit in the back that meant sure death if you were caught opening it by a bus driver who meant business and had power to make you walk to school instead of ride. This bus has religious modifications but the driver is attentive and we drive north from Belize City on a roadway that is part of the Pan American Highway.
On this bus ride I don’t have Rasta music or Reggae or salsa or even Garifuna drums as traveling music. There is no radio. Wind coming through open windows cools us on a sunny morning.
Field trips were always the funnest part of school, but we didn’t have many.
School was never as fun as it should have been and riding that bus was like a prisoner going to the electric chair.
There are as many tour companies in San Pedro Town as there are bars, restaurants, or lodgings.
The day tour from San Pedro Town to the Mayan ruins at Lamanai on the Belize mainland, including drinks, transport , food, a guide and park fee is $150.00 U.S . We are gone an entire day, from 7 in the morning till six in the evening and see Belize by boat, foot and bus.
Our trip starts as a tour boat picks up guests at the end of piers where they are staying. There are twenty of us,this trip, young and old. The boat captain is Erin and our guide is Gustavo.
On the way to the mainland we get educated about mangroves, weather, ecosystems, navigating sand bars, pirates, and answers to any questions we ask.
As often is the case, guests are not asking questions but Gustavo tells us history and habits of those who live here. He makes himself available but not obnoxious. A good guide opens the book and points you to good parts, explains, but doesn’t read the words to you.
Even though this is a Sea-Rious tour we all go home, at the end of the day, smarter than we started and with smiles on our faces.
Golf carts are in, in San Pedro Town.
Some of the carts are old; others are new. New ones cost from nine to fifteen thousand U.S. dollars depending on what they have under their seat, and, while the carts aren’t complicated mechanically, mechanic shops around town are busy. Unpaved roads and cobblestone streets play hell with front ends and suspensions.
Rabbit’s cart was loaned to him by a female friend going back to the states for a month. On the way to the airport it broke down and they had to get a taxi and she missed her flight. Her mechanic towed it to his shop and when Rabbit picks it up it still doesn’t seem right. When you push the gas pedal the cart hesitates before engaging in gear.
” It’s a solenoid under the gas pedal, ” Rabbit says, and, not being a mechanic, I can’t say that isn’t the problem .
When you ride in a golf cart here, you have arrived. Knowing they are an expense, and continual problems, you are still glad to have one.
When you got wheels, women find more to recommend you
Bicycles beat walking and golf carts trump bicycles.
If this baby breaks down again, you can bet his woman friend is going to pay the bill and we are going to drink all the beer.
Ambergris Caye is not wide but it is long. From one end to the other, head to toes, is over twenty eight miles.
San Pedro Town is in the middle of the island and holds most of the business and population. The island’s one improved road, to the south and north,is functional. Once off the pavement though, small tributary roads are potholed, dirt, muddy in wet weather, often difficult to navigate.
As you walk south or north,homes become more private, isolated, and there is more open landscape between them. There are resorts all along the main road and some accommodations have ” Beware of Dogs ” signs on their front gates, security cameras and barbed wire, swimming pools, tall fences you can’r pull down or climb over. These expensive Caribbean bungalows are nestled next to bare wood shacks where a single electric pole runs twentieth century technology to seventeenth century shacks to keep a refrigerator and lights running.
Along the bike ride. I hit a place called ” Hotel California ” that makes me hum the Eagle’s top hit. There are plenty of escapees from cuckoo California in Belize. Californians like to run but they always bring their state, and it’s ideas, with them.
A sign on the Hotel California’s fence says, ” Trespassers will be shot first, and then shot again if they survive. ”
At the end of this bike ride is a knot of construction men digging a hole with shovels and a backhoe to install PVC pipe to hold electric wires that will supply electric to a future gated community for escapees from America and Europe.
In paradise, someone still has to mop floors, fix broken pipes, babysit, build, take care of the needs of people with money from abroad.
On the ride back to Chez Caribe on my borrowed bike, I visit the Marcos Gonzalez archeological site, going back thousands of years. The world has been full of people for a long time and people still don’t clean up after themselves, leaving clues behind about what they were up too. Going from this site to Hotel California is an incomprehensible leap in time and technology, lifestyle and mindset.
I hide my bike in the bushes because I don’t want it to disappear.
A bicycle in Belize is a poor man’s Cadillac and plenty of poor people would borrow this one for free if they had an opportunity.
Taking precautions might be tedious, but I don’t want to walk home and have to explain a bad outcome..
I doubt the residents of Marcos Gonzalez were any more honest than those in San Pedro town today.
There are several water taxis in Ambergris Caye. The Belize Express goes to Caye Caulker and Belize City on a two hour schedule, and Chetumal, Mexico and back once a day.
Inside the enclosed boat we are shaded from intense sun.
We follow the reef as we head north back to San Pedro Town from Caye Caulker. Sea colors are blue, green, with white crested breaking waves to our left.
When you see a moving boat coming towards you, you look at it with relief.
Looking at stillness too long changes things between your ears.
I haven’t seen many thumbs out in San Pedro Town.
There are a few people moving in the rain but most of those out this morning are laborers pedaling bicycles to work,tourists driving special golf carts, and taxi’s running people to the airport from resorts and fancy lodgings.
I want to catch a ride back to town, from the middle of nowhere, and a young man in a cart stops and asks if I want a ride.
” I’m Scott. ”
” I’m Roberto. ”
On the ride he tells me he used to be a tour guide but works for the local Department of Fisheries and has the day off. His wife works in town and he recommends Elvie’s Kitchen as a good place for local food. If I need a golf cart he can get me one for $60.00 U.S. per day and If I need a piece of land, his father in law has some for sale way out north, almost as far as you can go. Last time he went to Nicaragua he was stopped for having tattoos and had to explain he was on a Christian mission and say his prayers to stay out of jail.
It is a welcome ride and my feet thank me.
When Roberto drops me off at the gas station, a quarter block from my front door, I slip him twenty bucks.
” Take your wife to dinner, ” I suggest.
” I’ll give it to my daughter, ” he decides.
On an island with ten thousand permanent residents the chances are good you will run into everybody at least once a year whether you try to avoid them or not.
Favors, anywhere, are easy to do and not easily forgotten.
It turns out to be a good hike.
There are less than 10 walkers this morning but numbers will grow to over twenty five as tourist season picks up.
One of the most difficult tasks is learning names of the group so I make myself crutches. Dean has a goatee, Dale has a pony tail, Charlie has sand flea bites, Eric smokes a cigar, John has big glasses and likes to tell jokes, Scotty brought his dog and is sometimes called Eric, Dino walks with a limp and has to ride a golf cart, Larry has a blue baseball cap, Rabbit looks like he just came out of Alice in Wonderland. Alan is a quiet guy with a mustache.
This expedition the pace is slow, you drink at your own speed, people talk about who is on the island, who is coming to the island, who left the island. There is discussion about a man who got himself stabbed to death but it was ruled an accident, officially. Unofficially, he slept with the wrong someone. There is talk about how cold it is in Canada, appointments to get wi fi, prices paid to rent on the beach so you get a good breeze and don’t need air conditioning. Sports is covered, politics is quickly dismissed as a fool’s game, and your personal issues remain fair game even if you don’t bring them up.
We leave at eleven in the morning and don’t get back till five in the afternoon. We walk more than two miles, visit four bars, have lunch at one, and all hands are safely accounted for.
I’m going next Wednesday and will wear my official T shirt.
I don’t have to read newspapers to learn news that counts in San Pedro Town.
This ride is not smooth, but it isn’t bumpy either.
Down below us are little green islands sticking their heads above the Caribbean Sea like turtles, fishing boats, and turquoise water. I can almost see the grassy bottom of the sea from the air.
We are packed tightly in the plane and our pilot navigates by looking through his planes front window through rotating propeller blades. He has a small instrument panel and this flight is analogous to riding a city bus in the sky but it is the quickest and cheapest way to get to San Pedro Town from Belize City late in the afternoon.
Enroute, we land first at Caye Caulker, another tourist destination. We deliver a few guests, then make a U turn back to the beginning of the runway we just landed on. The pilot turns us around, again, and we take off for San Pedro Town, again. The plane’s little tires suffer from potholes but we lift off just before we reach the runway’s end and the water’s beginning.
Leaving the United States at 8:00 am and arriving in San Pedro Town at 5:10pm, on the same day,for two hundred seventy five bucks total, is a good piece of travel.
It is good to be out of New Mexico and have people ask me again where I am from.
This passport takes me to 2021, well past end of the world forecasts.
Closing in on Belize, an airline steward passes out forms to be completed in ink for Customs and Immigration Officers in Belize City. These days all travelers need a Passport and are asked to provide one as a prerequisite for International travel.
The Passport is an odd document, more legal than personal, more business than pleasure. If you really want to know about someone you shouldn’t ask for their Passport; you should ask for their diary.
These days the Passport lets me move about the world in anonymity. Governments, who can barely keep roads paved, are not going to get to know me well enough to know if they are safe from me by looking at my Passport.
I complete forms because I am told I have to.
Do people run the State, or does the State run people?
If I don’t belong to myself, to whom do I belong ?
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