On arrival in Chetumal we were greeted by a man who looked like a member
of Homer Simpson’s bowling team and who may or may not be affiliated with “The
Dude” his taxi was playing badly made 70’s disco, the kind where the beat could
be easily reproduced with a baby’s piano synth toy, his Nissan proudly wore the
name Lucy in Memphis style lettering and even the Eeyore swinging precariously
from the rear view mirror had a mullet. Disco Stu, Lucy and Eeyore dropped us
safely at the hotel in a matter of minutes. The border town is rundown and
poor, concrete shops boast tax free fashion and perfume and the hot supermarkets
are stocked with packet food. The dirty river warns passers by of random
attacks from badly drawn crocodiles and other unrecognisable swamp dwellers,
whilst children practise disco Christmas dances on an elaborate band stand in a
near by square, everything about Christmas is big and decorated with cone party
hats, tin foil and more cone hats.
The night in Chetumal was followed by a morning at the port waiting for
the only boat to Belize that we were aware of that left at 3:30, check out was
at 11, we walked the length of the town in the sun and the only spectacular
thing to note is despite illustrated warnings we did so unscathed by
crocodiles. The highlight of Chetumal was the small store at the port that
opened around a mid-day where an old Belizean lady played hard-core disco
intros and Britany Spears through the tannoy system whilst shot calling the
various tuck-shop deals like she was announcing the next ride at the “The May
Fair”, each time you entered the price of beer differed slightly and each
handful of change was decorated with a quick shout of the words “Happy Hour”.
My beer trips seemed to continue to dip in price where Nacho’s took a steady
climb.
Arrival at the San Pedro Dock is not unlike been thrown into a boot
camp, laden with heavy bags, no visible escape route and a harsh military mama
shouting at you to line up and behave. I quite liked it! Outside the docks we
encountered 2 bent metal tables constituting a market of electric kitchen goods
from the early 80s and day-glow yellow sign that boasted in marker pen “new
stock!”. Supressing the urge to a microwave big enough to sleep in, we opted
instead to ask for directions, the guys on the stall sorted us out with a lift
to the hotel immediately. People here are friendly and funny, everything’s a
bit slower and a bit louder and all sentences and sprinkled with a laugh
ranging form mild to fog horn, depending on how much they amuse themselves,
it’s fantastic!
The streets are full of golf carts, women drive one handed whilst
children sleep in their lap and the local youth ride schools of bikes shouting
and laughing in Creole English. The roads (of which there are 3) are cobbled or
dirt, lined with puddles and potholes, thin and straight with all manner of traffic
and debris. Houses, bars and banks are wooden or breeze blocks with hand
painted signs and sprayed concrete. The water is turquoise, the air is hot and
sweet, it looks, smells and feels like the Caribbean.
That night we drank piña coladas on the beach in a
slight rain at a beautiful rickety American Caribbean beach bar called Crazy
Canucks and witnessed our first ever crab race. We bet on number 69 (Nacho
choose the numbers). The race was over in a matter of seconds. Crab 69 aka
“Nacho Man” wasn’t the athlete we’d dreamed he’d be but on an island in the
Caribbean sipping rum who can blame him? no-ones is in a rush out here. 
Belize money is a dollar which can be exchanged with American at a rate
of 2 for 1, it’s weird seeing the picture of the Queen printed next to the word
dollar. It’s not a modern version of her Maj at all. It’s the Lizzy that back
in the day it wouldn’t have taken you much more than 5 pints, a battered
sausage and a get out jail free card and you’d be sneaking her back to your Travel
Lodge. Cheeky how she never ages on colonies money, I wonder if she keeps a few
dollars on the dresser to cheer her up. “Charlie one’s feeling rather bloody
glum, pass me a 20 make Mummy feel better, one from the Islands, something in a
hot pink.”
We swapped a few pictures of a pink flushed youthful Liz for a dive trip
for Nacho and snorkel for me. The islands boast over 400 dive spots and one of
the most impressive reefs in the world. Nacho went off to the big boys side of
the reef with his dive gear like a regular merman whilst I got on the babies
boat with a beautiful French girl who’d been left by her Mexican boyfriend of 5
years and arrived on the island alone 4 days ago to realise no-one accepted
pesos and her card didn’t work. Poor Matilda had been alone, heartbroken and
penniless until yesterday. She was surprisingly upbeat, the 5 happy hungover
New Zealanders lathered in thick white sunscreen were too.
The boat skipped a short distance of topaz waters under clear skies to
the Hol Chan national reserve, the white waves breaking horizontally in middle of the
ocean skimming the top of the coral beneath. A small circle of battered boats
with clever names in peeled paint anchored to drop happy sun reddened tourists
over the edge like tipping lobster nets back in the ocean.
I plunged off the boat proudly and bravely feet first only to discover
the water to be about neck high and deliciously warm. The corals are out of
this world, stag coral, brain coral, purples oranges and earth browns in small
and large formations some hundreds of years old. One housing the many spiked
Lion fish from the infamous scene in “Naked Gun” where he accidently harpoons
the precious Lion fish with a ball point pen.
Later we were greeted by an array
of colours from Peacock Flounders, Spanish hug fish, spotted sting rays, Groupers
and more. In shallow waters of about 5 feet deep we stumbled upon Antony the
sea turtle, who if you kept a healthy distance and still, will eventually
approach you. Antony surfaced for water centimetres away from my face and then
went on about his business.
With Antony long gone we paddle on until one of the Kiwi’s surfaced and
shouting a safety word I’d heard them discussing not too quietly earlier
“Bruce! Bruce, f****** Bruce!” an unbreakable code they’d devised for alerting
each other to Sharks and making shark jokes without worrying the group. (We
never found Nemo in Europe.) And there
sure enough a few feet away was Bruce, a handsome reef shark, moving with snake
like ease and efficiency on the sea bed. Bruce being rather aloof couldn’t have
given 2 hoots about any of us and so on we swam, to the edge of the reef and
then off into the dark abyss.
An abyss which turned out to be just a deeper bit of ocean with some
darker coral but still, there’s something quite magical about the process of
swimming off the ledge into the unknown, like teetering off the edge of the
Earth itself. Once in the deep, the water fell from green to deep blue and you
could feel the swirling currents change around you the slightly colder waters
tickling your body as you kicked across the open channel.
After crossing the channel, (that’s right baby I swam a channel today, JUICE PLUS BABY! IN YOUR FACE CFS!) we hopped back onto the boat and off again at “Shark &
Ray bay”, where we dropped in to a shallows circle of nurse sharked that danced
hungry circles with smaller fish always sheltered in their underbellies as the
Michael the boat man fed them crabs and fish bits. Some of the sharks were the
length of your arm, where most were larger. A nurse shark is perfectly friendly
docile creature and other than the odd thump from drifting in too close to
their tail you were in no danger of becoming lunch. The final shark to approach
was more like a sofa than a human arm and admittedly I backed off from that
particular lady. She was so graceful, docile, elegant and bloody massive it was
an honour to be in her back garden.
The rays remained low for the most part until the sharks had taken their
turn. One large ray came up to feed a little, majestic and simultaneously clumsy
like a flapping like sombrero or a flannel that a toddler had drawn a smiley
face on. The 3 feet wide beauty bumped
about the group, whilst above one young seagull with wall nuts for balls, glide
above the boat making the odd dive down to tackle the sharks for their lunch. I
liked that bird!
Our boat driver Michael was kind hearted happy local, with a wonderful
temperament and a great sense of humour, he’d been diver for years, our snorkel
guide “The President” wore the proud swollen belly of happy taco and rice
filled man, he was wonderful diver and a great guide, we couldn’t have asked
for a better trip, he was however slightly lacking as a human being (it’s not
hard to tell an offensive or racist in comment in Creole English, it’s not
Japanese after all). When you peel back the lable of paradise the ingredients
on the reverse include the occasional racist undercurrent fed by both sides of
the fence, some trickled over the border along side Tex-Mex and Harley muscle
T’s, excluding locals from certain areas, perpetuating The President’s views in
a self fulfilling cycle. Michael and The
President had a handful of well rehearsed jokes and compliments that really
were crowd pleasers as the boat thumped up and down and the waves splashed we
all laughed together eating sea splashed tacos and salsa quickly spare one Kiwi
who’s rum repeated on him in the heat and the waves.
We walked home hand in hand on white sands under the blistering sun,
breathing in the sights and smells happily and deeply enjoying everything the
island has to offer. I couldn’t be more blessed. I have a wonderful job and the
pleasure of working with 2 incredibly beautiful people to go back to in summer
and to have a man who works as hard as Nacho does so we can afford to do things
like a long holiday and a big wedding is
truly a blessing, it’s even more so to be doing all of this with your best
friend. (even if he isn't quite as good/ keen at word games as Bella and his marmot has zero stick to it!) I’m so very much in love with him and with life and amongst all this
humbling beauty I’m absorbing everything Mother Earth has to offer with a heart
full of gratitude. Growing old is such a
privilege and one I wont waste! My friend Sean from Canada, somewhat of a rock
star with cerebral palsy teaches me this often. I don’t see why so many of us
fear aging, to have to opportunity to go through all of life’s seasons is
something many of use wont get. Life is for living and living a life of
adventure whilst we do is something I’ll never take for granted.
MERRY CHRISTMAS BITCHES!
We love you all.
Sat Nam. Wahe Guru.
