Decision time in Dangriga

“So where are you going?” Norma asked as she poured out the coffee.
“well, ,were going to head to Dangriga to see if we can catch the Garifuna festival,” I replied.
“Hmph” Norma’s lack of reaction didn’t bode well.
In desperation I added, “Maybe we’ll head to Tobacco Caye.”
“Oh, good. It’s nice there.”

Actually, Adrian and I hadn’t decided. Belize was depressing us only because we couldn’t do anything. We’d already walked around and seen all there was to see. And we’d done the day trip to Caye Calker. But until everything reopened on Tuesday that was all there was. Our decisions were made worse by the lack of internet cafes with their access to bus schedules and accommodations.

However, the tourist brochure in the hotel promised the rich Garifuna culture of Dangriga so we thought we’d head there. The Garifuna are a descendants of African slaves and the Caribe people; they have there own language and music that links then more with the Caribbean than with Latin America. Dangriga was home to the Garifuna museum and a festival. Plus it’s also the place where you can catch a boat to Tobacco Caye or a bus to the beach town of Placencia if we found ourselves still searching for life in Belize.

Loaded up with our big backpacks on our backs, day packs on our front and bags over our shoulders we walked to the bus station which didn’t look any better than the day we arrived. An employee near the entrance, let us know that unfortunately we’d just missed the bus to Dangriga. Our hearts sank.
“When’s the next one?” I crossed my fingers and hoped it was less than four hours.
“18 minutes,” he replied. Yay!
And in exactly 18 minutes a school bus pulled up and we got on. It was full until the police pulled off 3 guys sitting at the back. Don’t know why but they were taken to the police truck and thoroughly searched while the bus pulled out of the station.

The bus drove directly to the capital city of Belmopan. And I’m glad we didn’t go there. There was nothing there. And I mean nothing. So thank you Andrew for warning us. Then it was another hour to Dangriga.

If we thought Corozal had been in a coma, well it looked like they’d pulled the plug on Dangriga. Once again every window and door was shuttered in the rundown little town. We headed towards the shore where there was a group of cabanas, hotels and b&bs and started inquiring. No vacancy. No vacancy. Too expensive. No vacancy. Finally we found a place. At first they offered us a room for $50US but then mentioned that they had basic rooms for $14US including free wifi. Woohoo! We’ll take it. How basic could it be? Very basic. It was a bed and fan and a shared cold water shower that looked like it belonged in a camp ground. So for the first time I pulled out my silk sleep sheet just to make sure that I wasn’t sharing my bed with any 6-legged friends.

I took advantage of the internet access to upload photos and send out some email inquiries (it didn’t look like we’d be staying in Dangriga) while Adrian went out in search of food. He came back with the best in gas station cuisine – chips, ice cream, bread and cheese. Oh well. At least it wasn’t mystery meat again.

As we ate our sandwiches, a French couple arrived and took the room next to ours. They had just returned from Tobacco Caye where they had to spend $75US for one night (the only room available) and then rent a tent for their last night. Not a good sign. But the more I thought about it the more I realized that we were not enjoying Belize and perhaps it was time to just pay the high price. Maybe then we’d start having a good time.

Ronan and Celine assured us we’d have more accommodation choices on Tobacco Caye now that Easter was coming to an end. My friend Andrew had recommended a place where he knew the manager so at the very least we’d be assured of a friendly face. Plus the accommodations there included food which meant we might finally eat real food again. Anything was better than our dingy cabin and gas station menu. I hoped.

My first key, I mean, Caye Party.

Santa Semana had really thrown a wrench into our Belize plans. And Saturday morning it was no different. Everything was shut up tight including restaurants and corner shops. Breakfast was apples and hot cross buns bought from a street vendor – slim pickings but appropriate for the holiday. And with nothing keeping us in the city we hopped on the packed water taxi to Caye Calker.

The trip across the bay took an hour and when we pulled up to Caye Calker we were in a completely different world. I felt like Dorothy waking up in Oz. Belize City had been grey and brown but the Caye was vibrant technicolour. We walked the length of the sandy main road avoiding the golf carts used as taxis, past lobster traps, pastel hotels, and crazy boats. The town was full of people, apparently this is where Belize City’s population had disappeared to. Yet it didn’t feel crowded. There were stalls and stores and restaurants selling BBQ or burritos or seafood (yay, real food) as well as kite-surfing and boat tours. Finally there was life in Belize.

In Cuba, we’d tried snorkeling. I loved it but Adrian’s lack of contacts meant he saw nothing and didn’t. Before we left, I bought him some contacts so he could try again. We went into one of the dive shops rented some gear for the day and set out to the Split – the small channel created by Hurricane Mitch that turned Caye Calker into two islands rather than one. However, there was no real beach it was more like beige concrete – a sprinkling of sand over the coral that made up the Caye so we set up under a bush where I sat looking after our bags while Adrian clumsily walked in his flippers into the water. Immediately, he was loved it, popping up every few minutes to tell me about another fish he saw. I took a dip but the water was murky and there was a lot of bottles and trash along the bottom so I got out and let Adrian spend the day exploring underwater while I took pictures.

Eventually, it was time to get food. And for the first time since we’d been in Belize, the problem was once of choice not availability. We stopped at a stall and got a mound of BBQ chicken, potato salad and rice and beans. Satisfied, we walked over to the remains of a concrete pier where Adrian jumped in to do more snorkeling. Once again there was no place to safely stash our stuff so I let him have the fun while I read. But I finally yanked him out at 3:30 so we could catch the second last water taxi back and hopefully avoid the end of day rush but not before stopping for a tasty chicken burrito which Adrian passed on (silly man) thinking there’d be stuff open now in the city.

Alas we got back to Belize City and the only thing open (barely) was a convenience store where we tried to piece together something to eat. I grabbed the only loaf of bread and some mystery sandwich meat and headed back to the hotel. We walked out on the patio overlooking the river and discovered a young guy sitting in our spot. We were surprised only because he was our friend Crazy Tony reincarnated – he looked like him but even weirder he acted like him (yes same crazy attitude towards life). Adrian called him Tony a few times until he introduced himself as Gary from Bern Switzerland. Luckily Gary had already had a few beers and didn’t mind. While Gary talked to Adrian about the wife and daughter he left while behind to take a sabbatical from his architecture job, I talked to Jerry who’d now come out. Actually Jerry did the talking and I listened. Then it was time for Adrian and I to escape to our room to watch Dexter while the two characters continued their party on the patio.

Even gangs need a vacation

No one has anything good to say about Belize City but everyone ends up there eventually as they travel through Belize. Most travelers avoid staying here, fearing the gang violence they’ve heard about. We might have done the same if it weren’t Santa Semana and we’d been able to find a place to stay elsewhere. However we were in for a pleasant surprise.

We boarded the noon bus and for the first time we were really roughing it in our transportation. Not that we had a choice. There is only one type of bus in Belize and that type is 30 year old school bus. I’ll tell you they’re even more uncomfortable than you remember. But it being Easter, we were lucky to get a bus and even luckier to get a seat. The bus sped along the Norther Highway, the driver blowing the loud truck horn to warn oncoming traffic, animals and pedestrians that it was not stopping. And as promised at exactly 2pm we were in Belize City.

The area around the bus station lived up to everyone’s descriptions. It was a hole: the canal reeked of sewage, there was trash everywhere, but there weren’t many people and certainly no gangs throwing grenades.

Jumping into a cab which may have been just a guy looking to make $6Bz for a 2 minute ride to the Belcove Hotel. I’d sent an email to them the day before but had yet to get a reply from them. But they had plenty of rooms available so we opted for the cheapest one – a clean double with shared bath and access to the patio overlooking the river (photo above) which thankfully didn’t smell like sewage. All for $56Bz. Not a bargain but nowhere near Tulum prices.

The lovely manager, Norma, recommended a place around the corner not just because it was open but because she said the food was delicious and cheap. My favourite combination. Marva’s did indeed have good cheap Belizean food. Our choices were interesting. Fish or chicken and either rice and beans or beans and rice. No, I’m not kidding. We both chose the rice and beans while Adrian had the fish and I had the chicken. I made the mistake of helping myself to the pot of pickled peppers on the table and just about died. They were scotch bonnets and they were the hottest thing I’ve ever tasted. I made Adrian touch one to his tongue and he immediately chugged his coke to ease the burn. We laughed at our mistake then stopped and watched in awe as other customers heaped spoonfuls on their plates – and ate them. Wow.

After lunch we decided to walk around the dangerous streets of Belize City. Everything was shuttered and we saw only a handful of people in the four hours we were out. The first was a guy dressed in palm leaves and coconuts and carrying bongos who approached us as we crossed the rusty swing bridge.
“Take a picture of me. I know you want to” he said
“I do but I have no money to give you if I do.” I replied.
“It’s alright take a picture and show everyone how fabulous I am.
I did and made sure he approved of the shot. The fact that he didn’t want money made him pretty fabulous in my opinion.

We continued walking in the Fort George area. It was a mix of rundown and colonial. It was also home to the cruise ship terminal but without any cruise ships in the harbour it was empty. And a lone jewelry seller begged us to buy something so he’d have at least one sale. Sorry my friend, we need our pennies. Belize is expensive. So expensive, I can’t imagine who the billboards advertising islands for sale were geared to considering the poverty in the town.

Back over the swing bridge, we walked through the commercial centre home to the Supreme Court and the House of Culture – both closed tight for the holidays – as well as St. John’s Cathedral which was just emptying out after Good Friday’s service. After a quick peek inside we headed back to the hotel wondering what we were going to do for dinner, or breakfast and lunch for that matter, in a town that was shut up tight for the next three days.

Norma had been replaced by Julio, the night clerk. He helped us out with the food ordering Chinese delivery for us. He was also super friendly and more American than Belize having spent a few years there. He and Adrian talked about their favourite PSP games, and he and I talked about what Adrian and I should do tomorrow. He convinced us to do a day trip to Caye Caulker which he said we’d enjoy. But the best advice he gave us was that our watches were wrong. Apparently, Belize doesn’t have Daylight Savings Time so for the last three days we’d been an hour ahead. Whoops.

We were joined by Jerry a middle-aged man from Toronto who’d been coming to Belize off and on for the last ten years. He has a character to say the least and recovering from what he first described as a police mugging. But as the truth came out it was more of a bribe to get him out of jail for being drunk and resisting the police who’d tried to get him out of the cab he’d passed out in.

The gangs of Belize may take a vacation but the expat drunks never do.

Time for plan b, c or d

this picture has nothing to do with the post other than it's the only one I took on this day

6 months before taking off, I mapped out a rough route of where to go and what to see but a combination of things was about to change all that. First it was almost Easter or Santa Semana as they call it in Central America. That meant everything was about to shut down and accommodations were about to fill up with people taking advantage of two week holiday. The second was an email I had received from a friend back in Toronto (hi Andrew). Andrew’s family is Belizean and he’d been all over the country; he’d also been all over my Belizean itinerary. His verdict was blunt and too the point: Corozal – quiet; Orange Walk – nothing to see there; Belize City – a hole; Belmopan – really nothing to see there; Placencia – really touristy. In a handful of words we’d decimated my plans. Since he was bang on about Corozal, I took his advice to heart especially after talking to Gwynn and another expat staying at the Hotel who’d lived in Belize City for the last 20 years and ran a site on the transportation links. Both of their verdicts were similar. So what to do?

We sat on the balcony of the hotel, whipped out the computer and began our quest. Orange Walk supposedly had tours into some nature reserves and awesome ruins. So despite everyone’s words of wisdom we thought we’d give it a try. I emailed our hotel of choice (in terms of price and comfort) but they were full. Our second choice only had a room for $50US. Well, that settled it. No Orange Walk. What next? So there was a boat from Corozal to San Pedro in the Cayes. Once again I sent emails and once again the only thing available was a cold water hut on a beach for $50US. Been there didn’t enjoy it. Oh and there was no boat tomorrow because it was Good Friday. Scratch that. Maybe we’d stay in Corozal. No go. Gwynn was booked solid. That left the dreaded Belize City.

We asked Bill for some recos. All he could do was hesitantly say “it’s interesting”. Great and he lived there. Gwynn however was more blunt.
“My advice? Don’t go. Latest news is that they’re now throwing grenades instead of shooting bullets” he said.
“Well that’s less accurate than guns,” I tried to joke.
But Gwynn wasn’t joking.

Adrian however was determined. Armed with a 5-year old Lonely Planet which said “it’s not as bad as soon doomsayers will tell you”, he decided that where we were going. At least we knew we’d be able to get a bus there on Good Friday and there’d be more room options (particularly if everyone was getting the same advice as us). Plus, Adrian was convinced that there would be plenty to see.

That settled (or in my case unsettled) we spent the remaining part of the day hanging out (the photo above) and taking to Gwynn and the other guests that now filled up the place. There was an Irish couple just starting off on their own RTW adventure passing through on their way to Tikal in Guatemala, and an couple from Texas who were just finishing up 6 months in Mexico before heading to Alaska to work for the summer and of course Gwynn, who was full of interesting stories from his years of living in Central America, some funny and some sad. But before we all got too tipsy chatting away over beers, we dispersed preparing for our early morning departures.

A town so sleepy, coma is better description.

After our rough cold night, Adrian and I wanted to leave as soon as possible. So quickly in fact that Adrian agreed to go without breakfast. Arriving at the bus station, I asked for tickets on the next bus to the border town of Chetumal. The attendant told me there was a cheap second-class bus leaving in 10 minutes but we weren’t guaranteed seats. When Adrian heard that he decided we could wait for the next first-class bus leaving in one and a half hours.

“Plus, then we can get breakfast” he added. The breakfast sacrifice could only last so long, I guess.

So I bought the first class tickets and then watched the empty second-class bus pull into and out of the station. Oh well, time for breakfast. I wasn’t expecting much after our first attempt at food in the town, but the restaurant next to the bus station proved me wrong. It was tasty, and a lot less than what we had been paying at Papaya Playa and it had bathroom signage that amused Adrian. Too bad we hadn’t found it our first time around.

We were soon on the bus to Chetumal and after two and a half hours in the bustling border town. The frequent buses to Belize leave from another bus station but I thought I’d at least check if there was one leaving soon-ish from the station we were in. I waited in the slowest moving line for almost 30 minutes only to be directed to another empty line at a tiny kiosk. Then it was time to change speeds. The next bus was leaving… now. I handed a bunch of money (probably too much) over and grabbed the tickets and ran off to find Adrian who has outside smoking. Oh course, I forgot that this was Mexican time and right now is more like in the next 20 minutes so breathless and sweaty we got on the bus and waited.

Before the bus left I changed most of our pesos into Belizean dollars with an on board blackmarket money changer, holding on to some just in case there was an exit fee. I’d read conflicting reports about the Mexican exit fee a) since I’d arrived by plane it had been included in my plane fare b) there was none c) there was only one to get my tourist card stamped for double entry d) that I’d have to pay $20 each. I’m still not quite sure which it is because I paid the $20 each, got my tourist card double stamped and then had to run back to hand it back in since we weren’t coming back.

The border was interesting. It was out of town yet it was it’s its own town. You see, there’s a gap between the Mexican and Belizean borders known as the free zone. In that strip is a mini Las Vegas: casinos, neon lights, shopping malls and all sorts of tackiness. If the bus hadn’t of been waiting it would have been interesting to walk through the decadence. But the bus only paused long enough for everyone to pay their money and get their passports stamped before driving us 1km to the Belizean border station. Here we passed through a cheerful immigration line-up and a cranky customs line-up then back on the bus for the 20 minute ride to Corozal.

I was suspicious when we were the only people that got off and it didn’t take long to figure out why. Situated on Corozal Bay (photo above), a briny semi-circle of water, Corozal is a small town a world away from Mexico. There was a distinctly Caribbean flair here, not just because of the accented English (yes, English!) being spoken but instead of the concrete housing blocks we passed weather-beaten clapboard buildings on stilts as we walked from the bus station to the hotel.

The Seabreeze was located on the bay and even had a dock right outside the front door but best of all it was only $25 US (everything is quoted in US dollars here since the Belizean $ is pegged at two to one) and had a private bathroom with hot non-salty water and a tv with English channels. After 4 days in the twig hut on the beach it was a welcome change.

We showered and spent some time uploading photos, actually a lot of time since the connection was turtle speed (the usual for Belize we were about to find out), before heading out to find some dinner. We hadn’t seen much open on our walk in but Gwyn, the expat owner of the Seabreeze, directed us to Paddi’s around the corner and it was a good reco: delicious sea food, and okay prices.

After dinner we walked from one end of town to the other, accidentally, as we looked for an open shop. It was unsettling that everything was closed up tight but we shook it off as culture shock. Mexico was always bustling and Belize was known for it’s chill laidback feeling. How wrong we were.

Fancy meeting you here.

When traveling with a Lonely Planet guide (actually any guide book), you often run into the same people over and over again. It was therefore a pleasant non-surprise to see the Aussie girl from the Palenque bus station sitting at the table next to ours the next morning. But the reunion was a bit bittersweet. Terry (that’s her name) told us that they were robbed that night on the bus. It wasn’t banditos but someone less obvious. While they slept on the bus someone had taken their bags from between there legs and carefully rifled through them, taking all their cash, credit cards, her bank card, some lip sticks, and an ancient mobile but leaving the other bank cards, cameras and lip glosses. And it was a sizeable wad the thief or thieves had gotten from them. Thanks to generous and helpful hostel owner in Merida they were able to report it and get everything cancelled. And since two out of the three of them still had their bank cards they were able to continue their trip. But after one night at Papaya Playa they felt like they were being robbed again. And when I heard they were being charged $75 US for their three-bed twig hut on the beach, I agreed with them. So they were checking moving into town until their flight to Cuba.

Adrian and I said goodbye and shook off the heebie-jeebies with a day at the beach. It was our last day in Tulum so where better to spend it. We alternated swimming with reading, breaking up the nothing with a cheap lunch of tortilla chips and salsa purchased at the grocery store the day before, and of course, happy hour mojitos and pina coladas. And don’t worry, a healthy slathering of sunscreen prevented any burns.

The weather got quite cold that evening (relatively speaking) requiring Adrian and I to wear our sweaters and long pants to bed in our well-ventilated twig hut. But also making us quite happy to move on from Tulum after 4 days.

Palenque will ruin you

Some people think that once you’ve seen one ruin you’ve seen them all. That’s not quite true. They’re all different in some way. However, I will admit that once you’ve seen one that’s particularly beautiful or spectacular (like we’d seen in Palenque and Teotihuacan) the rest can suffer in comparison. But known for it’s pyramid that casts a shadow in the shape of a snake every equinox, Chichen Itza is one of those must-sees and we were looking forward to our tour.

After our past tour experience, we weren’t expecting much especially when our meeting point was a parking lot in front of the supermarket on the town limits. When a deluxe air-conditionned bus pulled up we were pleasantly surprised. When we were handed a packed breakfast we were doubly surprised even though we’d already grabbed stuff to eat from the supermarket. Something for later I guess.

The bus took us through the ugly jungle scrub which even the guide (yes an actual guide) admitted was nothing to look at. We had a pit stop at a souvenir stand (go figure) which gave Adrian and I plenty of time to try on huge sombreros. I don’t know who buys this stuff but someone must since you see it everywhere in Mexico. Then it was back on the bus.

In just over two hours we arrived at Chichen Itza where the bus was separated into groups based on language given free ice cold bottled water for the tour (pleasant surprise #3) and then taken around the site. By now it was after 11am and the sun was so hot that you could fry an egg on the sidewalk – if there had been sidewalks or eggs. There was very little shade but the excellent guide was great at finding trees where he would stop and gather us around while explaining stuff.

Chichen Itzen means people of the mouth of the water cave and was important for it’s location over huge cenotes or underground cave that contained fresh water – very important for this hot barren land. Water was so important that sacrifices were made to the water god to insure that there would always be enough for the people. And in Chichen Itza a lot of sacrifices were made, and I began to scan the crowd for someone to throw into one of the pits if it went relief from the sun.

Walking from shady spot to shady spot, the guide pointed out residences, observatories, tombs and sacrificial stones before taking us into the biggest ball court in the world where the Mayans played a game with very simple rules – get the ball through the ring and you win. But did you want to win? The prize was having your head cut off and your heart ripped out as a sacrifice to the gods. Frankly, that would have made me proud to be the Maple Leafs of the Mayan sports world.

The final stop on our tour was the famous pyramid, although we’d been able to see it for most of the tour. Here up to 50,000 have gathered on the equinox to witness the shadow. Really, the snake shadow is more impressive than it sounds. Why? Well, the pyramid is actually a super large and intricate calendar; each of the four sides was 91 steps that lead to a large platform. 4 sides for 4 season. 4x91+1=365 days of the year. And the pyramid was built on exactly the right access to catch the sun on the equinox. The steps cast the shadow and a large stone snake head marks the spot where it ends, twice a year, every year for the past 1000 years. And the acoustics are so precise that one person clapping at the bottom will have the sound echo through out the plaza. All this without calculators or the wheel. Told you it was impressive. After more than two hours, that’s were our tour ended. We were given 30 minutes to wander around at our leisure but Adrian and I (as well as many others from the bus) used the time to cool off in the shade.

Next stop was the promised lunch. It was the typical tourist buffet but with bottle dancers – dancers who did a soft she with bottles or full trays balanced perfectly on their heads. Unfortunately for them people were more interested in the food than the entertainment. We digested our food during the bus ride to a cenote – one of the thousands of underground caves full of fresh cool water. The Mayans had once revered them but now it was the tourists who flocked to them to cool off. It was about 100 feet underground through the limestone and into a giant cavern. The bottom was a small pond (photo above) and at the top a whole from which tree roots dangled all the way to the bottom. Adrian went jumping into the water but with only 30 minutes allowed here (and 15 used up waiting in line) I passed.

Finally, it was time to head back but there was one last quick stop in Valladolid, a pretty little colonial town. It’s claim to famed is something to do with the start of the Mexican Revolution. It’s felt like an underrated little town and probably much cheaper than the coastal towns. Unfortunately, we only stopped long enough to see the main plaza and church before herded back on the bus so I could be totally wrong.

An hour later we were dropped off at the supermarket parking lot where our day began. The tour was one of the better ones, if only for the air conditioned bus. Because in the end it was the heat that almost ruined us.