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Thrown to the Sharks – Belize City to San Ignacio

Arriving in Belize was a definite change in gear from Mexico. The housing rougher, made mostly from corrugated iron, the buses of vintage quality and lacking suspension (my 'deluxe express' from Chetumal reached as far as the border and was replaced by the decrepit old bone-shaker I found myself on). Things had taken on a definite run down feeling since the relative affluence of Mexico's Yucatan coastline. Belize (formerly British Honduras) only gained its' independence from the UK in 1981 and the subsequent withdrawal of most of the British army and financial support has caused a slump in the Belizean economy ever since.

Of course, the other main factor giving Belize a different feel was the fact that the people are largely descended from freed African slaves and keep their distinctive Afro-Caribbean culture. English is the official language - at least a form of it – and is the first choice in almost all parts. I didn't recognise the English at first, it was only when I realised that it wasn't Spanish being spoken and listened carefully that I could begin to pick out words here and there. Imagine a strong pidgin-creole spoken with an accent twice as thick as Jamaican and you begin to get the idea. I heard on the radio about a woman who had escaped from her house which had caught up on fire – "She had to get up go quick now mon". It took me a full week before I could understand people …

Belize City has an infamous reputation as being one of the dodgiest cities there are. In hindsight I'm not sure it deserves that status although it definitely ranks up there somewhere. I arrived in the fortress like bus station at dusk hoping to catch a boat straight out to the cays and avoid staying in town. The last boat had left taking that option with it. I noticed the armed guard posted in the sentry-like observation tower and had the feeling I was in some sort of prison, only the walls, barbed wire and guard were there to protect the inmates. I decided shelling out $2 for a taxi would be a better option than walking. En route, the taxi driver warned me not to be out on the streets after 9pm. This was the time the police stopped work for the day apparently, after which the safety of the streets was turned over to 'gangs of youths and crack addicts'. "It can't that bad surely," I noted, "after all, you'll be out working tonight right?". "Absolutely not! I'll be locked in my compound with my car off the street!". Hmm … nice existence.

Later, I went out to dinner with a Spanish girl I had met on the way down. We were given strict instructions on how to reach the nearest restaurant – I wasn't too keen on venturing further than that after all the warnings. By the time we left the restaurant, large groups of sketchy looking teenagers had gathered on a nearby intersection. We were greeted by hisses and propositions of drugs to me and plenty of propositions of a different nature to my companion. As we walked quickly through the crowd I could feel dozens of eyes bearing down on us and the hairs on the back of my neck stand out in warning. It may have just been adolescent posturing, but we were glad to be in and safely locked behind a 10 foot gate.

In the morning I caught an early ferry out of town. More of a 15 metre jet propelled flat sandal crammed with 40 nervous looking passengers, we slapped and bounced our way through narrow channels of mangrove cays at breakneck speed, eventually arriving at Caye Caulker. Given that the speed of life in Belize is somewhere between dead slow and comatose, it baffles me why anyone would want to get anywhere in such a hurry – it strikes me Belizeans spend approximately two-thirds of their waking hours swinging in a hammock or reclining on a rocking chair on their front porch. The other third seems to be spent gossiping. Sometimes these activities even overlap. The curious thing is that if everyone is spending all their time lounging and gossiping, what are they finding to gossip about?

Caye Caulker is a two kilometre long coral outcrop sitting on the reef that extends from Honduras all the way up to the Yucatan Peninsula. Activities revolve around snorkeling, diving, hammock filling, watching sunset from the reggae beach bar and avoiding stoned Rastafarians who feel you should make a contribution to their marijuana addiction. So it was that I passed the next week, taking a day trip out to Turneffe Atoll diving with turtles, another day trip out onto the reef to snorkel with a mass of sharks and rays. Other days relaxing in the warm shallow turquoise waters, swinging in the breeze and catching the sunset with a cold beer at the end of the day. Not a bad way to spend the week.

Returning to Belize city on the wave-slapping sandal, I caught a bus inland towards Guatemala, to the border town of San Ignacio (or Cayo, depending on who you talk to) to explore the mountains nearby on a day trip: Huge limestone tunnels thick with bat droppings, lush rainforest and picturesque waterfalls great for swimming. Back in town in a bar that night, I noticed the rump end of something large, hairy and unmistakably rodent poking out from under the bar. Closer inspection revealed a thick coarse hairless rats tail … I decided to have a discrete word with the owner, an ex-English army expat. "Ahh … no … " he said when I pointed it out, " … that's … uh … a Belizean possum". A bit like a Siberian hamster then?

Also close to town were the small Mayan ruins of Xunantunich, nice to climb for some great views of the sun swinging low over the jungle at the end of the day.

That was it for my adventures in Belize. The next morning I hopped on a bus bound for Flores, Guatemala to start new adventures there …

Published February 22, 2006 based on travels in 2005

Subscribe to TravelBlogs Posted by Richard Allen on February 22nd, 2006 in Articles.