What’s Spanish for brakes?

The alarm went off at stupid o’clock, unaffectionately known as 4am. Thanks to our trip to the grocery store we had some cereal for breakfast and then dragged our butts to reception carrying just our day packs with just enough stuff for our two night getaway. There was another couple waiting whom I recognized from a few days ago before they had had to relocate to a nearby hotel when they forgot to reserve their room for enough nights. There was also a group of Israelis ready to head out too. Downstairs there were two white 4x4s waiting for us one driven by a super energetic lady named Judy. She hustled Adrian and I into her jeep and then drove off with the other driver claiming that we were his.

We got about a block away when Judy got a phone call that made her do a crazy u-turn and head back to the hostel.
“I’m sorry I don’t what is going on. I’m the driver for your island but you have to go with the other guy.” She said to us via the rearview mirror, while talking in the cell phone, steering and shifting at the same time.

I was kind of glad we were going with the other driver as Judy scared me. But this didn’t bode well for the beginning of our journey (although I was too tired to care). In the new SUV I was lucky enough to get the front seat while Adrian was squeezed into the back with the gaggle of Israelis. My relief at being with a sane driver disappeared when he shot off and barreled down the dark streets of Panama then on to the expressway east in record time.

I was amazed that even at this stupid early hour there were long lineups of locals waiting for buses at the side of the road. The day really does begin and end with the sunrise and sunset for these folks. I drifted off to sleep and woke up about an hour later when we pulled up to a little fonda (no not bridget or jane, but a hole in the wall shack café on the side of the highway) for some coffee. Then it was back on the highway that soon dwindled into a pothole-ridded road. And by potholes, I mean giant pits, which our driver preferred to swerve around without slowing down. That meant a lot of flying back and forth inside the vehicle but amazingly none of us got car sick.

We turned off the highway onto a gravel road that slowly (well fastly, at the speed our driver was going) turned into a dirt road and then mud road as me headed up and over the mountains of Panama’s continental divide. The road was very twisty and treacherous but our driver’s preferred technique for handling it was going as fast as possible downhill so he could use the momentum to get up the next hill. At one point there was a truck in front of us that couldn’t make it up a hill and we almost rear-ended it. Our driver reversed at full speed to give the other driver room. It was just as scary as any roller coaster and I wished I knew how to ask “where are the brakes” in Spanish.

The road became worse the further we went. But we got to catch our breath when we stopped to pay our Kuna tax of $6 each as we entered the Kuna Yala territory. Then it was back on the death road through the jungle for another hour and half ride which even involved driving across a river. I was relieved when the road suddenly became paved only to realize we were now on a runway of a small airport that looked like it hadn’t been used in years, except perhaps by drug runners. We pulled up to the small terminal at the end of the runway where lots of other travelers were waiting all looking similarly green in the face after their ride in. The terminal apparently was now the dock for the boat transfers to the island.

As we waited for our boat to whisk us away to Iron (ee-rone), our driver told us that he had to take us to another port further in the jungle. So we reluctantly got back in the truck. The trek was a short one to the banks of a river where a few boats and about 15 other travelers were waiting including the American couple from this morning. Judy was also there yelling instructions – I don’t know what coffee she drinks in the morning, actually I do so I can avoid it. She came up to us and once again apologized for the confusion. Our boat was there but the Americans’ luggage wasn’t; it was still making the trek on another SUV. Eventually after an hour of farting about it arrived and we got on the small 12 person lancha with 10 other folks. Most got off at the stops along the way, leaving just us and the American couple who were also headed to Iron which apparently was the furthest west of all the islands.

We flew across the water, eventually slowing down as we approached a tiny palm tree covered island with a handful of huts dotted on the white sand. As the boat curved around to the other side, the Kuna family living on the island ran out to greet us. The women wore red skirts, and what looked like leg warmers until I realized that they were beaded leg wrappings. We learned that Iron was the name of the owner and the older woman greeting us was Oneida (spelling a guess)his wife. There were also countless kids and other members of the extended family who lived in the huts we had seen on the other side of the island. On this side was where they housed us visitors. There were four huts, all basic but with a comfy bed and wooden floor. Woohoo. The bathroom was a toilet in a hut that had to be flushed by pouring water down the bowl, and the shower, well the shower was something we didn’t get introduced to. No worries we changed into our bathing suits and jumped in the water just steps from our hut. From the water we got a clear view of the rest of island including another grouping of basic huts where we spotted Matt from the Canal bus stop. He told us the accommodation at that end was really basic – sand floors and no bedding. But he didn’t care it was cheap and the view (photo above) was priceless.

Soon we were called for lunch where Adrian and I met the other 4 people staying with us. The American couple were Nick and Arianne from Portland. And the two others already on the island were Britt and Gunn two girls from Norway. While chowing on our rice and fish, Ricardo introduced himself to us. He was Iron’s best friend (and brother-in-law) and looking after us while Iron was in Panama City. He also formally introduced us to our boat captain, Negro who told us he was going to take us out tomorrow on a boat tour to some other islands. We all asked for a good snorkeling place and he told us he know the best place that has a barco escondito – or sunken boat. It sounded amazing we just hoped we didn’t mean an old lancha on a sand bar.

After lunch we went back in the water but soon the weather changed and the clouds looked quite fierce so we decided to read. Well I decided to read. Adrian went nosing around the island and found out that Oneida’s daughters had two kittens in one of the hut which he immediately demanded that he play with. They were pretty darn cute and we cooed like idiots as we held them and posed for pictures with them until dinner.

At exactly 6:30 we were served dinner which was hot dogs and rice. Good thing we had a box of sangria with us. We shared it with the 4 others - it was my postponed birthday after all - and enjoyed the evening sitting at the table chatting by candlelight. Britt and Gunn had arrived the day before and assured us the food had been better. But they also warn us about the cockroaches that come out after dark. I wasn’t really bothered – unlike sand flies and mosquitos they don’t bite me. But Arianne was freaked out. To make her feel better, Nick decided to give the cockroaches a name. From now on we were to call all of them Frank. Well Frank (or one of his many children all named Frankie or Francesca) popped up on the thatch roof near the picnic table as well as in the toilets. However as it became pitch black we lost sight of Frank and every one chilled until 10pm when we decided to pack it all in for the night. After the crazy trip out here, we had finally found the brakes.

I love diving.

Today was the day we put all our book learning to the test. But of course there was some more learning to do. We watched the final two videos. Well we started to but then the power went off. So we read the accompanying chapters - they were full of scary things like nitrous poisoning, contaminated air, the bends and other diving disasters. And when the power came back on the videos didn’t do much to make me feel much more comfortable. It’s not really what you want to see before you go underwater for the first time. But that was just me – the videos got Adrian all excited about continuing on to do the advanced diving course. I told Itamar I was really nervous and he once again assured me it would be all clear and easy once we were in the water.

We broke briefly for lunch and then it was time for the equipment briefing. Ita was now accompanied by two assistants Carmel and Avishai, who were doing their divemaster course. The equipment was very intimidating and I was sure I was going to forget something very important – like, um, I don’t know, how about air? In fact it felt rather rushed and I ended up with fins that were too big for me. I asked for another pair but was told they’d be fine. I was given a pair of fins that were too big but was told they were fine. The next time we have to assemble our equipment I know I’ll have to ask for a slower refresher.

Ita had disappeared while we were waiting to get on the dive boat. Nico came over and introduced himself to us – he’s the head instructor and the guy who enthusiastically answered all my email questions. I thought he was being super polite until he explained that he ws stepping in for Ita. Apparently, while we were getting all our equipment together someone broke into his place. She was caught with $1500, his ipod and computer. But now Ita had to go to the police to press charges. Poor him, but glad that the thief was caught.

The chaos continued on the dive boat. There were 20+ other people and all their gear (photo above). I didn’t know where to go or what I was doing. And although there was a routine and protocol I wasn’t clear what that was. Before I could figure it out, we arrived at the dive site. And suddenly, it was time to jump in the water. Just like that? I wasn’t convinced I would float with the very heavy gear on so I made Adrian go in first. Not out of self-preservation (okay maybe a little bit) but because he had no fear or at least no visible fear. He made it so now it was my turn. I hesitated and hemmed and hawed at the platform edge as long as possible, making sure my floatation device was completely filled then jumped in. Although my weights were lopsided and my fins were much too big, I was floating. Woohoo! Step one achieved.

Then it was time to swim to the shallows. It was awkward but easy, actually easier than I thought. But then the hard stuff started – the skills. Skills are the basic tasks you need to be able to do in order to get your certification. Kinda like a swimming test. Including clearing water out of your mask, clearing water out of your regulator, and how to recover a regulator that’s come out of your mouth. All while underwater. Those were easy. Although the wonky weights had me tilting and falling all over the place. Nico was a super instructor. Giving Adrian and I enthusiastic thumbs up and high fives whenever we did one of the skills. The last skill was the one I’d heard was the worst – taking the mask off. Doesn’t sound like a big deal. That is until you realize that your mask is what let’s you see and what keeps the water out of your nose, throat and lungs. But Nico showed us step by step how to do it and it was a piece of cake. We celebrated down below with a happy dance - well more of a happy wobble since my weights prevented any sort of graceful movement.

Mission accomplished it was time to swim back to the boat. My feet started to cramp as I tried to keep my ginormous fins on. And it took me forever to get on the boat with all the weights they’d made me carry. But with the help of Carmel, Avishai and a couple of divemasters I got my fins and then my gear off and was on the boat. On the way to the next dive site, we saw a sea turtle and Nico found a smaller pair of fins for me that I hoped would prevent my feet from cramping again.

The second time in the water was even better. Jumping in was a piece of cake. And this time there were no skills. It was our first real open water dive. And immediately we saw fish and coral and it was amazing. I got the hang of it pretty quick, in fact most of the stuff I was worried about just seemed to take care of itself. I equalized my ears without thinking. I cleared water out of my mask no problem. And was able to control my buoyancy in the water just by breathing in and out. I got so confident that when my mask fogged up (not enough spit, i was told) Carmel motioned to me to fill it with water then clear it – and I did without hesitating. Immediately, my vision improved a hundred fold. We played with these cool umbrellas things on brain coral – when we snapped our fingers near them and they closed and disappeared inside the coral. There were big fish and little fish. Solitary fish and huge schools. There was even a giant crab or lobster thingy. (sorry, no pictures. my camera is not water resistant) I got so engrossed I realized I had no glue where, how deep or how long we were. But I was aware that Adrian wasn’t having as easy a time and probably spent more time on the surface than down with the rest of us. Then it was time to go back up. This time I took my weight belt off before attempted to get on the boat – much easier.

Our first day in the water was awesome. And I couldn’t believe I was ever scared and was now thinking we should do the advanced course. But first we had to finish that last part of our reading. Adrian, had already lost some of his enthusiasm thanks to his inability to equalize his ears or stay down underwater consistently. And the last chapter full of maths, formulas and tables didn’t help. But it was the last chapter and tomorrow we’d be going back in the water. I couldn’t wait.

Four towns, one very long day.

I have mixed feelings about travel days. On one hand they are exciting – they signify a new destination and new possibilities. But on the other hand, they’re usually long and often full of frustration, especially when they require more than one mode of transportation. Today was going to be one of those days so my only hope was that we’d get to Antigua before dark since the lack of internet over the last four days meant we had no reservations lined up.

We started out at 7am by grabbing breakfast and hiking down to the ferry dock. We got the last two seats up at the front with all the luggage and hoped that the front would mean a smoother drier ride than our trip from Rio Dulce. The trip took us past the Caribbean coast, dotted with large luxury homes, a shock considering the modest farms we’d seen on along the river. Then it was out to the open sea but it was a relatively smooth ride. We rounded a small peninsula into Puerto Barrios (photo above), Guatemala’s largest shipping port which was filled with huge transatlantic tankers from all over the globe.

When we got off the boat I looked at the time and realized that we only had 15 minutes to make our 10am bus to Guatemala City. This meant we were at the mercy of the taxi drivers who were all too aware of the bus schedules and our urgency. I managed to negotiate a bit of money off the price they were initially asking but not enough to feel good. But when we started driving away I realized that the bus station was a lot further than I thought and the price wasn’t that bad after all.

The bus was sitting there fully loaded when we pulled up. I left Adrian to deal with the driver while I ran in to buy our tickets. Or so I thought. I was just about to jump on the bus when the taxi driver came running up to me – apparently Adrian had taken off and hadn’t paid the driver. Grr… where was he? Oh right having a cigarette. I yanked him on the bus that was waiting for us. But instead of the air-conditioned luxury we were greeting by a wall of hot and humid air. The air conditioning was broken so we sweated for the 6-hour ride to Guatemala City, stopping once at a roadside bus station/restaurant for cool drinks.

We pulled into Guatemala City catching small glimpses through the dusty tinted window. It didn’t look as bad as I thought. However, the bus station appeared to be in a sketchy part of town. Now we had a choice: we could either take a taxi to another bus station across town to catch an Antigua chicken bus or wait 2 hours for the luxury coach from our current location. If we waited we’d be getting into Antigua after dark. But if we took the chicken bus there was, um, well, let’s just say a certain amount of danger involved. Recently the news had been full of stories of drivers and ayudantes of local buses being gunned down in the streets of Guatemala City. And it was serious enough that these stories had been picked up internationally. Now, these were probably routes running through bad parts of town but I had no idea if those parts were en route to the other station or part of the Antigua route. You can call us whimps but erring on the side of caution, we decided to stay put. Plus, there was the promise of another comfy bus perhaps, this time with real air conditioning.

Of course when it came time to leave, it wasn’t a bus but a cramped mini van already full of very loud travelers speaking another language (that shall remain nameless) who refused to change their seats so that Adrian and I could sit together. They continued to yell over us for the entire 1.5 hour uncomfortable ride to Antigua. It should have been half as long but rush hour traffic slowed us down.

Just after dark we got into Antigua. I couldn’t see the town but I knew that it was all cobbled streets because my butt felt every one of them. The driver stopped in the main square and told us he’d drive us all to our hostels for another 5Q each. That seemed like a good idea, except we didn’t have a reservation. I consulted Lonely Planet and picked the favourite and hoped that it still existed and had a room for us.

All the other passengers got off before us and when we arrived at the Yellow House hostel, we discovered that one of them had taken Adrian’s pack instead of their own. Adrian went off with the driver to track down his pack while I went in to arrange a place to stay. The hostel only had a three -bed dorm available so I took all the beds in it. Meanwhile one of the loud girls arrived by tuktuk and said you have my bag – notice she didn’t say she’d taken the wrong bag nor did she apologize. And of course, she didn’t bring Adrian’s bag because “it was too heavy”. So not only was she loud she was stupid and rude too. I told her that Adrian had gone with the driver to look for his bag and asked her perhaps she’d like to wait until he returned. She waited silently and I could feel her glaring at me – even though it was her fault. Wow. And when Adrian arrived with his bag, she left without saying thank you or offering extra money to pay the driver who had driver Adrian around in search of her and the bag. I hope there is such a thing as travel karma because it needs to bite her in the ass.

Thankfully the Yellow House was clean and comfy and around the corner from a café where we could get forget about her over dinner and a drink. Then it was time to collapse in bed after 12 hours, 4 towns, 1 boat, 1 taxi, 1 bus, 1 minivan, 1 lost bag and zero air conditioning.

The end of the honeymoon.

Travelling together with your partner is a real way to test your relationship. Luckily Adrian and I have been married for more than 10 years so we have a pretty good idea of our best and worst. Even still, 24 hours a day with one person is a lot. Today was the day we would test this togetherness by going kayaking in search of some nearby waterfalls.

Understand first of all, that Adrian has never kayaked and I hadn’t canoed since I was in high school and I wasn’t very good at it then. But it started out well, thanks to Douglas who helped us get the kayak in the water and Aska who made sure we had a packed lunch, plenty of water and a map of where we were going that she drew for us. But once we got into the water, the day became very long. We couldn’t figure out how to keep the kayak going in a straight line and instead went from one side of the river to the other, running into some low hanging trees more than a couple of times and managing to fill up the kayak with water. But thankfully never sinking it. 

As the sun got hotter and higher in the sky, our tempers got equally heated until we passed a field full of dozens of cows. I don’t know whether it was our arguing or diagonal paddling, but the cows all stopped chewing their cud to just watch us until we passed. It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone. No scratch that. It was like that episode of South Park. And it would have been spooky until I remembered that Douglas had mentioned passing them on his way to the waterfalls. So seeing them ,we were relieved – at least we knew we were heading in the right direction but it was taking us a lot longer than the hour everyone said it would. Perhaps because we were traveling twice as far as we continued to go from one bank to the other although less than we had at the beginning.

Eventually, we got to the end of the river. We pulled the kayak up on the bank and ate our lunch and guzzled some water before beginning our hike along the path to the water falls. Armed with the map Aska had drawn for us, we followed the path certain we’d reach our destination which would make up for the horrible kayaking. Unfortunately, and I’m not blaming here just observing, I wasn’t with Adrian when Aska drew up and explained the map so I wasn’t sure what certain things meant and Adrian couldn’t remember. He did remember that if we took the wrong turn we would be walking for 3 hours and never get anywhere. Well, after an hour and a half of walking we got to little bridge. Not seeing this mentioned anywhere on the map or remembering it from any descriptions, I told Adrian we should give up. He decided to walk ahead for a bit “just to see”. And in 10 minutes he was back. I could hear him before I could see him. Adrian was speaking very loud emphatic English trying to communicate with someone who obviously only spoke Spanish. “Water. Fall.” “Shhhhhh.Water.” This was followed by a rapid response in Spanish and some laughter. As Adrian came around the bend I saw that he was accompanied by a young guy who was trying to explain something to Adrian. I decided to step in with my limited Spanish and learned that we couldn’t get to the waterfalls the way we were going. In fact we couldn’t get anywhere the way we were going. The kid had met Adrian on his way back to school after looking after some cows.

“Where are the cows?” I asked.

The lad motioned violently with his walking stick and I realized he had been slaughtering them on his lunch break. I was in shock by his non-chalance but he didn't notice. He was relieved that I understood him. Especially since Adrian continued to try to jump into the conversation with repeted “Water. Fall. Shhhh” while waterfall gestures with his hands.

“Su esposo no entiende nada.”
“Nada” I repeated for emphasis.

The lad walked us back to our river bank and then asked if he could get a lift. But when I pointed to the kayak he realized that wasn’t going to work. And he wouldn’t have asked if he’d seen us paddling in.

Now time for the trip back and it seems any skills Adrian and I had acquired on our way out to the waterfalls we’d lost during the hike. Our arguing was worse than before and only resolved when I stopped paddling and let know-it-all Adrian do all the work. It worked in that we no longer fought but didn’t work because his shoulders were exhausted by the time we got back to Hotelito Perdido. Douglas was there to welcome us back and help put the kayak back on the rack. He was getting ready to go out and search for us since we’d been gone about twice as long as we should have been. When he saw our scowls, he tried to lighten our moods by changing the subject.

“So how were the falls?” he asked.

It was then that we had to admit despite all our effort, we hadn’t found them. When I mentioned that we turned back when we got to the bridge. He, Chris and Aska, were all confused – none of them knew what bridge we were talking about. Oops, we’d obviously taken a very wrong turn. Over another delicious dinner, Aska told us that she and Chris call kayaks, honeymoon boats, because using them ends many honeymoons. How true. But no need to worry we were laughing about it by the time the dishes were cleared.

Unannounced visitors – namely, us.

The reason for coming to this part of Guatemala was to visit a jungle eco lodge on the Rio Dulce. But contacting one to set up arrangements was proving to be a little more difficult than we had hoped – the wireless at the hostel didn’t work so sending out emails relied on getting online for the public (free) computers. I’d found a couple of places in my research during the last year. One was a big established one and the other a smaller place that looked pretty fancy on their website yet completely reasonable in price. I found some pretty awesome reviews on trip advisor for the small one and not so good ones for the big one which helped make up my mind. However, my email inquiry to the small one, Hotelito Perdido, was immediately replied to with an automatic “we only check email once a week. You should phone with any urgent inquiries” but I hate the telephone and using a phone in a country where you don’t speak the language was a challenge I wasn’t up for. I decided we’d chance it and just show up on the dock of the lodge.

We booked the boat at the desk of the hostel and the boat would pick us up from the hostel dock which meant no need to go into town or over the bridge. The boat even arrived early and we were the only people on it (picture above). I was hopeful but when I asked the captain just laughed and shook his head and then headed to the dock on the other side of the river where dozens of people were waiting so many that the group was split into two half full boats. But all the space was filled up as the boat pulled into other hotels, guest houses and lodges to fill out the empty spaces. Soon the boat was full and the luggage was piled high. We continued with the trip getting a tour of the Lago de Izabel and Rio Dulce, including the old fort, small creeks. It was a tour we hadn’t really wanted when the water got really rough once we pulled out of the city. The captain pulled out tarps for us to sit under, too late for some of the passengers – the guys behind us were sopping wet.

We traveled from the Rio to the Golfete passing indigenous folks fishing from small boats. They were Mayans who don’t like getting their picture. Unfortunately, the French couple in front of us didn’t get the message even when every Mayan kept shielding their faces when they pulled the camera out. Thankfully, the French women was soon distracted by the numerous birds in the trees. She was trying to use a super zoom on the very bumpy boat ride while her husband kept pointing out other ones. I’m sure their shots consisted of a lot of waves and sky maybe even a few thumbs but few birds.

We were only on the boat for an hour but it already felt like a full day. Thankfully, the Hotelito Perdido was halfway along the boat route (leaving the rest of the folks having to sit for another hour to Livingstone). And we pulled up to small dock where a Captain Jack lookalike and bearded tall man sat. As Adrian got out two dogs appeared to happily licked my face as I got off the boat. The dogs were followed by a petite woman who greeted us.

“Hi, we hope you have room because we’d like to stay here tonight. Surprise.” I announced once I was on the dock.

Luckily they did. They were Captain Jack, I mean, Chris, a guy from East London. And the woman, Aska his girfriend from Poland. The dogs – Bernie and Bali. Together they ran Hotelito Perdido. And it really was a Hotelito. Only 4 rooms/cabins. And two were already taken – one by Douglas, the tall man from the dock. I know realized that I should have phoned ahead. Gulp. But Chris and Aska were super nice and accommodating. And the accommodations were as great as the pictures. Unfortunately, they had people coming in a few days so our stay would be limited to two nights. Oh well. Some time better than no time.

The Hotelito was more like Chris and Aska’s cottage and dinner was not at in a restaurant but at a big communal table served and made by Aska. Joining us at dinner were Douglas, and two Spanish girls, Belen and Elena, that I recognized from our shuttle to and from Tikal, and volunteers from the clinic across the river, Jessie from the US, and Anna and Brem from belgium. Dinner was delicious and vegetarian but so good that Adrian said “I don’t even miss the meat.” (his ultimate culinary compliment) I’m surprised our systems didn’t go into shock or at least cry from the blessed sight of vegetables.

Dinner was awesome not just because of the food but because of the company. Despite arriving unannounced, we immediately felt welcome and part of the small group. We learned a lot about politics in the country. Basically, the war has never ended in Guatemala. Only 14 families still own all of Guatemala (including the government, the banks, and business) and run it like the mafia. These 14 families are proud of their Spanish blood and don’t mix with the largely indigenous population of the country. In fact they are still actively working to repress the Mayan population. There are still some revolutionary forces in action. Recently some agitators nearby burnt some villages in protest and so we were advised to stay away from the manatee reserve until Chris and Aska could figure out if it was safe for tourists or at least arrange for a local guide. They assured us we were never in danger (both the government and the revolutionaries want tourism in the country – for different reasons) but they didn’t want us to stumble into the middle of any local trouble if they could avoid it. As I’d been beginning to suspect, my images of shiny happy Guatemala was a bit of an illusion.

One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish

As the tourist brochures proudly proclaim, the second largest coral reef in the world (and growing) lies off the coast of Belize. So watch out Australia. It was now within a stone’s throw from our cabin porch tempting us from the moment we arrived on Tobacco Caye.

After our communal breakfast, we all headed out with Blinkie to explore it. Joining us on the tour were two more Canadians (this was getting ridiculous) from Vancouver Island. Adrian stared hesitantly at the boat, remembering yesterday’s rough ride. But the seats today actually had backs and cushions and the sea was calm. So he was convinced to get in. Well, that and the snorkeling.

Our first stop was the manatee reserve to look for these large so-ugly-they’re-cute water mammals affectionately known as sea cows. It was mating and birthing season so we were told we couldn’t snorkel but we had a 90% chance of seeing one from the boat. However, seeing was a misnomer. Manatees only pop up for air for a moment or two before going back underwater. Plus they hate boats. Propellers are the number one killer of manatees – I’d hate them too. In an hour we spotted two lumps and trusted they were manatees. Hopefully our sea life spotting odds would improve while snorkeling.

On the way to the reef, we passed by Man o’ War Caye known locally as Bird Island. It was roughly the same size as Tobacco Caye but covered in thousands of birds instead of Canadians, making me feel like I was Tippi Hedren in a Hitchcock movie. But we didn’t have to worry about bird attacks as they were too busy mating and babysitting. We did have to worry about one thing.

“This is the only place in Belize that it snows,” Blinkie said with a smile. Immediately we all pulled our arms in under the boat’s awning.

Unscathed we headed to a spot on the reef, geared up and jumped in the water. Adrian was a little unnerved about jumping into deep water so far from shore so Blinkie lead him to a shallow in the reef. I followed him. Good thing because my snorkel did not fit well so every third breath I was getting a mouth full of sea water which kinda defeats the purpose of a snorkel. Adrian and I switched. That fixed the problem and soon we were both feeling comfortable enough to join the rest of the group.

It was great floating around the sea, looking down on schools of fish in a rainbow of colours. Blinkie pointed out three different types of rays hiding amongst the coral and under the sand. He even swam down and coaxed them out. They swam, erm flapped, um glided away. Even when the fishes thinned out the coral was spectacular, big round brain corals, purple stuff like trees and the rocky main reef. I was so entranced that I didn’t notice a wave pushing me over the coral cutting my thigh. Good thing we hadn’t spotted any sharks nearby.

We spent an hour and a half floating around before heading back to the boat. Getting in everyone grimaced at the blood coming out of my cut – it looked worse than it was. So I pressed my hat up against the cut to stop the bleeding while we headed back to the Caye only 2 minutes away, just in time for the lunch bell.

At $25 US the tour was a bit pricey but well worth it. We signed out the gear until the next day and spent the afternoon exploring the reef around the Caye. The fishes and coral weren’t as spectacular but there was enough to make it worthwhile. It was about this time that I realized that I’d missed putting sun screen on the back of my thighs – there’s always one spot I miss. So I went to hide under some shade and left Adrian. While I caught up on my journal (the blog would have to wait until we had internet access again), Adrian attempted to swim around the entire Caye. He had to give up when it got to shallow on the east side.

Over dinner we compared our list of underwater spottings. Apparently, I’d missed puffer fish, barracudas and starfish. But since we had barracuda for dinner, I’d say I only missed two out of the three.

Don’t pay the ferryman ‘til he gets you to the other side.

I knew little about Tobacco Caye. Our Lonely Planet was woefully out of date (at least 5 years) and had only a passing mention. But thanks to a friend’s reco and some quick internet searching, I’d managed to piece together that it was a tiny key about 30 minutes offshore right on the barrier reef, great for snorkeling and diving and very chill. I expected it to be like Caye Calker but the minute we got to the dock I knew just how off the comparison was. This was no terminal. There was no ticket desk. There was just a guy named Bernard and a boat. A small boat.

We agreed on a price. But before we got onboard, Adrian needed breakfast. Or rather lunch. Because the only thing open was a small shack selling chicken, rice and beans. This time we mixed it up and got the beans and rice. Not quite a full English but after two days of gas station and convenience store cuisine it was delicious and cheap too. With full stomachs it was time to get on the boat. It was just three benches and Bernard soon filled them up. Meaning I ended up sitting in the middle which started out uncomfortable but became excruciating as soon as we pulled out of Dangriga. The boat should have planed smoothly over the water but a combination of a full load and lots of waves had us slamming down as if the water was concrete. Not only was my butt getting bruised but my lower back killing me.

With nothing but sea in sight, I had nothing to distract me from the pain made worse by that stupid song kept playing in my head on repeat. “Don’t pay the ferryman don’t even say the price. Don’t pay the ferryman until he gets you to the other side.” Finally, a strip of land dotted with cabanas and deluxe huts came into view on the horizon. Yay we’re here. But as we got close to it, the boat turned away to a break in the caye and kept going further out towards a tiny spec that didn’t get much bigger as we headed towards it. This was Tobacco Caye, five square acres of land on the edge of the Central American barrier reef.

We pulled up to a dock. We had made it to the other side (barely) so I paid our ferryman. But our journey wasn’t over. We still didn’t have a place to stay. And without a map or roads to follow we just started walking. Tobacco Caye was a bump in the ocean scattered with guest houses and cabanas. We weaved through them getting a little bit lost until I recognized some of the cabanas from the pictures Andrew had sent me.

“Excuse me?” I asked a guy lying in a hammock, “Where’s the office?”
“Don’t know. I was met at the dock,” he replied, “but try over there by the restaurant”
As I rounded the corner, I ran into a woman.
“Are you Elaine?” she asked me.
“No. Elizabeth. Are you Karen?”
“No Barbara.”
Oh maybe this wasn’t the place from the photographs. But it looked nice and I was sick of carrying our backpacks. 
“Oh. Do you have room for two?”

She did. And as Adrian painstakingly assessed and compared the two available cabins, she and I continued talking. Soon realized we were indeed the people we had been looking, we were just both bad with names. She was Barbara, friend of Andrew and transplanted Canadian who’d arrived a year ago on the Caye and hadn’t looked back. And this was the Tobacco Caye Lodge I’d seen in the photos.

We settled into our lime green cabana with a big comfy bed, a private bathroom and three square meals a day. This was luxury. Finally we’d discovered what Belize had to offer. Beach. Sun. And chilling.

Next door to us was another Canadian, Craig (Hi Craig). He was traveling from Cancun through Belize but had bypassed the north and Belize City in favour of San Ignacio. He liked it so much that he stayed there for 10 days – a strong second recommendation for a town we originally weren’t going to get to. Then the dinner bell rang and we continued our conversation in the communal dining room. The other guests, two Swiss gentlemen were already there. Blinkie, the lodge’s guide, told us he was doing a snorkeling tour the next day and we all signed.

Night had fallen suddenly while we were eating and when we were done it was pitch black outside except for the bazillions of stars. It didn’t leave much to do so Adrian and I went back to the cabin and watched more episodes of Dexter. Outside we heard drumming and singing so we turned off the computer and headed towards the music. At the tiny beach bar a bunch of Garifuna guys were playing a bunch of unique percussion instruments (marimbas, turtle shells, etc) while a bunch of people from the Raggamuffin tour boat drank and danced around them. The tour group was on Tobacco Caye for the night as they sailed from Caye Calker to Placencia stopping at small islands like this on the way – a much better boat ride to Tobacco Caye than ours.