21
February
On the way out we drove up that causeway to the Northern
Highway and it seemed like a long way even in a pickup truck. We could have shared a car for BZ$70 into
Belize City but chose to get the bus for BZ$6, so after half an hour we flagged
one down and away we went back to town.
I’m drifting back a little here but crossing a border by
land always has a frisson of excitement about it even though one side often
looks much like the other. Not here, where
the difference is immediate, particularly in the ethnicity of the people. On the
Guatemalan side, it’s European/Mayan and from what we’ve seen here in Belize
it’s Black and definitely Caribbean. The
country appears to be poor but not as poor as Guatemala. Here
there is mechanisation and despite what we’d read we had amazingly not picked
up that it’s English speaking. I’d always thought that from the southern US
border right down to Tierra del Fuego was Spanish speaking apart from Brazil
being Portuguese. Now I wonder about the old British, Dutch and
French Guiana and what they speak in Guyana, Suriname and French Guiana now.
Due to some complex historical reasons Guatemala claims that
Belize is its eastern province, a view which does not receive universal
acceptance in Belize. I was told by one
Belizian that the Guatemala Pacific coast is not attractive and that they covet
the Caribbean coast that Belize has. That plus an apparent oil deposit makes
Belize with only a 300,000 or so population an attractive place to Guatemala with
15 million plus. Belize is holding a
referendum to decide whether to go to the International Court of Justice for a
ruling.
So far we’ve been mercifully clear of insect bites but have
been surprised at other traveller’s attitudes to Malaria because we make sure
we’re covered for the strain of it in the area we’re going and we stick to the
dosage. It seems that lots of people
don’t bother because they don’t like the tablets or something similar. One woman told us she would start taking them
if she developed symptoms, which really is shutting the stable door after the
horse has bolted because the tabs are a preventative, not a cure. Unless we’ve got it wrong. Perhaps they don’t realise how bad Malaria
is. It is a killer but generally of the
weak or children but as a healthy adult it isn’t ever cured and symptoms can
return at any time.
So, we get to the dump that is Belize City, described to us
as Belize Shitty by one of the locals and walk from the bus station via an ATM
to the water taxi dock. This is our exit
onto the Caribbean and the famous Cayes, strings of islands inside what is the
second largest barrier reef in the world.
While waiting H looked at the guide book to find that we have just
walked through the area to keep away from even in the daytime. It all seemed very friendly to us. We also saw one of the three or four
attractions listed in our book for the city.
It was the swing bridge which is about fifty feet long and it was behind
us before we’d really noticed it.
Ambergris Caye is the really
expensive one but we’re headed for Caye Caulker which everyone says is great. Well a lot of the other travellers we meet who
are mostly in their twenties or thereabouts say so. The incoming ferry docks and amongst the passengers are a young
Danish couple we crossed the border with about 5 days ago. We greet each like long lost friends. Caye Caulker is only going to be an
overnight for us because we leave in the morning for three days sailing south
to Placencia. In the local lingo it’s a
laid back sort of place with a cool vibe,
which actually means that it’s an overdeveloped sandspit which was
probably idyllic thirty years ago. As we
walk along to get a hotel because we arrived without a booking, we pass on the
beguilingly named Dirty McNasty’s Hostel and The Real McCaw Hotel. We walk straight past Panchos Villas and the
Ink Sanity Tattoo shop. You see the
style of humour and I haven’t even mentioned
‘Guatever’ and ‘you’ll never Belize it’. We finally book into a hotel that’s not a
lot of pun and go for lunch.
It’s busy so we share a table with a young American woman
from Las Vegas who’s on holiday volunteering for a local animal charity, The
Humane Society. This charity provides inoculations, adoptions, neutering and advice
for owners of cats and dogs. All the
usual chit-chat with a stranger at lunch.
What do you do, one of us asks “I’m a fire artist”, almost imperceptible
pause “topless”. Oh, we both say. So we have a chat about fire eating and
setting your arms alight and so on with La Rue McClean which she feels bound to
explain is her ‘professional’ name.
Fortunately I’d chosen shrimp and not flame charred breast of chicken
for my lunch.
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