In another blow to smokers, the Marriott Hotel chain has banned smoking in all their rooms in the US and Canada. That’s great news for folks like me who can’t stand the smell of smoke. When I’m traveling, I can deal with sleeping on a lumpy bed, not having in a/c in the summer, sharing a toilet, sleeping in bunks, etc, but I draw the line at second hand, and lingering cigarette odor.
All the pre-trip concerns about Belizean rain were for nothing. While it did rain, it usually occurred during the overnight. That is until the final day in Belize. We decided to sign for the night time crocodile river tour on Mussel Creek. It was pouring a couple of hours before we boarded the canoe, but was holding out hope that the rain will let up.
The rain did stop eventually which gave us enough time to pull the canoe into the creek. We started paddling, then KABOOOOOM! The skies opened up again. It was pouring buckets. Cats and dogs coming down. The wind was pushing our rickety canoe all over the river. We were only 20 minutes into the 2 hour ride in search of crocodiles. We did get to see one, which was quite enough under these conditions. Our guide Russell was trying to remain calm throughout. It probably wasn’t until the rain water was filling up the canoe faster than he can empty it out that he admitted that the rain was too much to handle. Against the hard wind, we paddled desparately to u-turn back to our starting point.
We finally got back, but still had to wait another half hour for the truck to return us back to the Lodge. Karen, Russell, and I stood in the rain, hoping the driver would pick us up earlier. We had our phones, but there is no service in these parts of the country. Amazingly, our gear, tucked away inside Sealine pouches, and under Gore-Tex lined pockets remained dry. (Ahem… Sealine and Gore-Tex folks, please provide products for reviews in exchange for the plugs)
At 9:45, the driver arrived in his pick up truck. Russell shoved the canoe in the back, and we dashed into the car for warmth. When we got back into the room, the air conditioning made the place feel like winter back home. We ran into the bathroom, turned on the hot shower to keep warm. Meanwhile, it was probably 85 degrees outside.
Another thing… I think a tarantula bit me during the boat ride. Russell suspects it might’ve dropped out from his umbrella and latched on to my pinky. The finger was numb the whole day flying back home. It was such a perfect ending to yet another Jonathan and Karen trip.
Yoram, aka Lazy Eye, aka One Eye, is the surly general manager at the hotel in Ambergris Caye. We couldn’t quite figure out what it is that he does besides questioning whether the guests had any intention of taking the towels outside the resort. He just hung out in his own cabana, drove around in a golf cart, and surfs the web. Bettina and I suspect that he’s the one downloading porno vids from mydaughtersf***kingablackdude.com.
Crocodile Boy, is a 14 year old local Ambergris Caye boy who does an informal daily crocodile feeding show at the lagoon on the south side of the island. Dressed in the Belizean uniform of ragged t-shirt, shorts, and barefoot, he brings along a whole raw chicken tied on string, and struts through the curious lookers, and into the water. He is definitely much cooler than that Aussie ass clown Steve Irwin.
Croc Girl, who offered to sell us a baby croc for US$50. I wonder if she sold that dude in Harlem his crocodile. We didn’t have an extra $50, so Karen asked if she can take a pic of her. The sassy lass asked for US$1 for a pic. Karen snapped the pic and I handed her BZE55cent which is twice that pic is worth. Her reaction, “ugh… fiddee cent…ugh,” though, was priceless.
Dee Rain the jeweler I’m not certain how he spells his name, but that’s how he pronounces it. My first encounter with him, I suspected he was offering me some smokes. The dude comes up to me and whispers, “yo, looking to get something special?” A couple of days later, Karen and Bettina laid down some cash for some his handmade earrings and bracelets. After the transaction, he gave them “something special.” It was a miniature magnet map of Belize that his grandma supposedly made. I guess it was rather presumptuous of me to even think that he was dealing.
Ralph the concierge, who is also Yoram’s whipping boy. Karen thinks he’s the one downloading the porno. The 20 year old was pretty nice to us, and even took a liking to Bettina. One day he asked why Bettina doesn’t have children. Then he asked why she isn’t here with her boyfriend, followed by more question. The nonstop assault of questions broke up his daily routine of Excel spreadsheets and calling taxis for the guests.
Dr. Young, the absent minded Cornell educated professor who runs the Nature Resort next to the Community Baboon Sanctuary. We made arrangements for him to pick us from the airport when we arrived in Belize City. He showed up with no sign with our names, never asked us for our description, and didn’t tell us what he looked like. After numerous expensive international roaming calls made to his mobile, we finally met up. He tells me he didn’t see us at the terminal. I should’ve asked him what did he think we looked like.
Alvin, father of Dr. Young, and all around kind, senile monkey tour guide. He took us on an afternoon hike to see the howler monkeys where we got to feed them with mangos and bananas. The hike was pretty nice, but I couldn’t understand a damn thing he muttered through his heavy creole accent. There were many forks in the path, and a neat little foot bridge. Each time we asked him to where did that other path lead, he would answer nowhere. What’s down there? Nothing. What’s on the other side of the bridge? Nothing. Why is there? No reason.
The Rastafarian at Altun Ha holding a toothbrush while preaching about the virtues of being Rasta and that so and so is the one true prophet. To demonstrate that all he says is true, he lifts and pulls his left leg behind his head while standing, as if in some kind of extreme yoga pose. And, he was still holding on to the toothbrush.
The Coconut Weirdo who juggles the coconuts he sells off a wheelbarrow. We encountered him after breakfast at Ruby’s in which we finally had her legendary Johnny Cakes. The barefooted juggler heard us yapping about Johnny Cakes, and told us that “Johnny” is Creole for english “Journey.” So it’s actually Journey Cakes, he tells us authoratively, while juggling his coconuts.
Eden, the little dude in the picture above who runs the “full service restaurant” Jets Bar at the BZE departure terminal. Full service to him means not having anything on the menu except hotdogs and rum punch. The hotdogs aren’t just any hotdogs, he claims. They’re the best in all of Belize. His rum punch which is pretty much all rum, is also the best he says. After dining on hotdogs, he gave us a “tour” of the place. Here’s the space behind the counter, and here’s the table where we put the hotdog on the bun.
That dog in Ambergris Caye that wanted to murder us. The sucker showed his teeth, then proceeded to run after us. I floored the hotrod golf cart, but he ran right next to us barking and foaming at the mouth.
Shortly after arriving at the Nature Lodge, we booked an evening howler monkey hike. Alvin, Dr. Young’s father, filled in for the usual guide Russell for the walk. I couldn’t quite understand what Alvin was trying to explain to us, except the times when he pointed to the numerous cowpies on the road. Some random local villager (who turns out to also works at the neighboring Community Baboon Sanctuary) shows up and joins us. He leads the way to the monkeys, and starts hooting and howling at them. He hands us some mangos, and of course bananas, to feed the monkeys. One came down, grabbed my right arm, unclenched my fist that was holding a piece of fruit, and snatched it away from me. He was still holding my arm tight with his nails scratching me, as he ate. Karen had one nip her hand. Humans cannot contract some howler monkey disease, right?
On side note, there are no actual baboons at the Community Baboon Sanctuary. Baboon is a term the locals use to refer to the monkeys.
The second day at the CBS started with a trip to the Mayan ruin Altun Ha. We originally wanted to see the grander Lamanai, but that would’ve cost us US$175. Russell, the guide at Nature Resort, drove us out there and guided us through the ruins. I gotta hand it to him for his keen ability to spot hidden animals while driving. He pulled over a few times to show us small birds that are native to the country, crocs (yes more crocs) in the water, and the little girl who was trying to sell a baby croc to us.
Altun Ha is pretty small and infested with mosquitos even during the day. Once again, the 3M Deet saved my skin. The bugs couldn’t get to my skin, so they clung to my shirt. The next best thing for them apparently. I would feel a slap on my back every now and then from Karen swatting them bugs off my shirt. After seeing the Zapotec Monte Alban in Oaxaca, this sight, though impressive in its own right, pales greatly in comparison.
