DO
STRESS FREE
C E NTR A L A M E R I C A’ S H I D D E N G E M WRITTEN BY: ERIK HALE PHOTOGRAPHY BY: BELIZE TOURISM BOARD, TRAVELBELIZE.ORG
’m currently folded between a crisp white fitted sheet and a fluffy, gossamer duvet sans cover. The view of the jungle (the same jungle whose every occupant is pushing to gain entry to the structure in which I now reside) is obstructed by mosquito netting and four pillars holding up the bamboo and thatch roof. I do my best to distract myself from the eerie creeks, cracks, thumps and buzzing by focusing on the beauty that lay feet from my comfy bed. I lay on my left side gazing at the full moon, slightly masked by the dark rainy season storm clouds, as it begins its heavenly early evening ascent, perched just above the jungle floor. My distracted mind wanders, contemplating then dissecting the wonderful trip I planned only seven weeks earlier from my iMac.
I
“How are you going to decide where to go?” a friend of mine asked over beers as I plopped into my purposely not so comfy home office chair. “Not sure,” I replied. “I guess I could just throw a dart at a map?” My friend almost fell off his chair laughing. He suggested I bring my search forward a few decades by “dropping a pin” instead. “Same difference,” I thought aloud, and then proceeded to fire up Google Maps. My first consideration was Thailand. I had always wanted to go. A quick check of the flight prices eliminated that idea as well as Australia, New Zealand and Brazil. I could not allow this to happen. I needed a vacation. I took another swig of my beer, closed my eyes tight and moved the cursor around my screen. When I felt that there was enough dizziness to affect the random nature of my quest I simply let go of the mouse. I looked
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| Holiday 2012 Issue
up and satisfactorily said out loud, “Belize.” The culture and country of Belize are both old and new. Belize possesses a thousand year old Mayan culture but only a decades old Independent Belizean culture. Belizeans seem to struggle to balance who they were (a once booming Mayan civilization of over two million whose records were destroyed by Spanish invaders) and who they are (a British colony returned to the people of Brazil only decades ago, now numbering around 300,000). I can assure you that neither of these struggles seems to affect their happiness. They are simply happy to be. An explosion of “ex-pats” are its greatest asset. Even though Belize produces sugar, chocolate, hard woods and Marie Sharp’s amazing brand of hot sauces, the people of Belize are a mixture of Creole, Hispanic, Garifuna, Mystaic. I can only characterize the people I met at every point of my 10-day expedition as hospitable, kind, warm and extremely generous. I stepped off the rear staircase of my United flight and onto the tarmac of the Belize City Airport where I was greeted by warm temperatures, warm smiles and t-shirt soaking humidity. I picked up my rental “SUV,” which in fact was vehicle a little larger than my suitcase, from a Budget Rent-a-Car office with a rather well done hand-painted company sign. I was handed a map without scale or directions and given very basic directions to make my way three hours South to Placencia. The directions included, “take a left at the radio tower” and “a right at a highway that does not have a sign.” My hope to arrive at my destination before dark quickly vanished (along with the sun) as I navigated blind turns, “SUV”-sized potholes and aggressive truck drivers in near darkness.
I was left alone with my headlight, spider sense and stick figure map to navigate this mountainous, back country thoroughfare called The Hummingbird Highway that unites Northern and Southern Belize. As I pulled into the village of Seine Bight, the last village before my destination, I was quickly reminded that I was far from home. As I slowed to go over the speed bumps, I was able to look left and right for the first time, taking in a much larger picture. The level of poverty had escaped my attention until now. There were houses, if you could call them that. They sat perched on stilts near the road. They were missing stairs, front doors, windows and even floors. Large groups of people gathered in front of the gas station, food cart, restaurant and grocery store. This is the part about Central America that is so easy to forget once you return home to shopping malls and movie theatres.
The rest of the world is not like Southern California. Placencia is a coastal village that sits on an 18-mile-long peninsula that shadows the coast of Belize only a short distance away. It is only hundreds of yards wide at its thickest and 50 feet wide at its narrowest. If water by fate or by chance were someday to overtake that 50 foot gap between sea and lagoon, I highly doubt that the change would go much noticed in this tiny village. Placencia already feels like an island. As I travel the last 18 miles, it is hard to believe that less than a decade ago this entire stretch was a bumpy, limestone and dirt road. The main street of Placencia was world-renowned as the thinnest on record. The main drag of