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.
