Even though our trip lasted but 8 days, it was amazing how many stories one hears about people coming to Belize for a visit, and then finding an excuse and a way (sometime subsistence-level) to stay for a lifetime. Belize makes Costa Rica look manic. And while maybe my view is Pollyanna, it seems that Belize has solved the race issue. All flavors of humanity seem to interact without any concern for differences. My world view and hope is that someday everyone will be so ethnically mixed that everyone will cease to care.
We left Belize City early to go to a 5,000-acre private lodge and Inn in the highlands of the Cayo district. This land was ceded to a Brit in the 60’s in return for him logging and supplying wood to rebuild hurricane ravaged Belize City and to build the current capitol, Belmopan.
On the way to the Inn we stopped and saw an institute where 5 Mayan sisters had revived an indigenous arts program. During lunch at the institute everyone introduced themselves, and the process of getting to know each other started.
I was surprised that all of the Backroads participants were American. True, Backroads is an American company, but with the Internet one would guess that there would be some Europeans.
As well-traveled a group that comprised our other 13 companions, not all had glommed onto the FF highlife, and some were mildly awed and amazed when Craig recounted my LatinPass adventures. "I always thought that it was too much trouble, and not worth the effort”, said one Boxster driving CFO proffering her view of accumulating miles and points. And of course, it can be pretty annoying telling people how you got free stuff and they didn’t. Note to all: evangelical Flyertalk-ism may be killer boring to the uninitiated
There weren’t as many couples on the trip as I expected. Interestingly, some of people on the trip initially thought that Craig6z and I were a gay couple, gossiping that were both wearing wedding rings. I appreciated the gay aura, as it proved that I wasn't too fat and that my resort clothes were pretty hip. It was a trip running joke as to who was whose ......
The young women who were the Backroads’ leaders are traveling nomads, moving from assignment to assignment, not making much money, but in for the adventure and generally as an interlude prior to graduate school.
Our internal guide, Izzy, or Isreal for long, when he isn’t guiding, goes up to the US to pick up junkers loaded with consumerables, and drives thru Mexico to Belize. He had some hairy stories about being hassled by Mexican authorities. The hustle that he shows is remarkable. Izzy made a total of eight trips to the US last year. He ended up once in Colorado with only shorts and a tee-shirt, not knowing how cold Denver is in the Winter, and had to wait 5 hours in the airport for someone to bring him a coat.
THE JUNGLE
Hidden Valley Lodge served our base of operations for two days; the first day bike-riding the grounds and swimming in waterfall fed pools; the second day riding to our lunch stop, before canoeing to the Inn at Cha Creek.
The first day of riding was, unexpectedly, thru a pine forest. The waterfalls and vistas were superb. While the second day of riding was 21 miles, and somewhat technical, it was mostly downhill. The ride alternated between light jungle and orchards and farmland. My riding partner, an engineer/patent attorney and I visited with locals along the way. First with the four room school (eight rooms if you include the sheets that separated the big rooms). The kids were killer-cute, all with uniforms and smiles to die for. We saw and listened to a howler monkey and we stopped and chatted with a farmer in our bad Spanish, (BTW, almost every tractor was a John Deere)
From Cha Creek we rode to a hand-pulled ferry and then walked to a Maya temple. However, the most intimate and pristine experience during our jungle phase was half crawling around a cave full of Maya artifacts in situ. Jungle-laden Belize is still only partially explored. We were at waterfalls only discovered a few years ago. And, similarly, our cave was only discovered 10 years ago when guide William’s dog went underground to chase a rodent. William realized that there was a Maya cave under his property and brought a flashlight the next day and was rewarded with pottery and a Maya alter at the bottom (360 meters) of the cave which had not been seen in a thousand years. The circle of rock and stele in the middle seemed timeless and holy.
After caving we lazily inter-tubed down the Mopal river. Sue, the landscaper designer who brought her daughter, lost her specs going over a minor rapid.
THE BEACH/PLACENCIA
The final two days were at the Inn at Robert's Grove (built by a NY couple) and were mostly water related. A group snorkel on the reef and then, after the trip had officially ended, I arranged a blue hole scuba dive with one of the hanger-oners. Diving the wall was everything that was promised, at least for a journeyman diver such as myself.
Based on Craig's research, Placencia boasts the smallest street in the world, really no more that a two and a half foot wide sidewalk. Sleepy little Placencia has touristic aspirations, and a one bedroom, 600-odd ft condo on the beach approaches a quarter million US $. But, the infrastructure is just not there: one dirt road thru the peninsula; ramshackle shops that combine tours, gifts and acupuncture; an airstrip that only allowed 5 feet of wiggle room for our 14 seat single-engine Cessna Carravan; uneven restaurants. All in all, some charm but they have a way to go!
In retrospect, Craig6z got all the type A personality in the family, and he led the bike pack and other physical activities. Craig apparently put the bike down twice, once a header that resulted in a shoulder cherry and a black eye. At least that’s the story he tells; I'm guessing his 25-year-old woman-riding partner slapped the heck out of him for reason yet untold. Of course, it’s only funny because he’s OK, the branch that attacked him potentially could have displaced the rest of the trip with a hospital visit.
Anyway, back to the competition, toward the end of the trip, as we had more time to ourselves, Craig and I and two of the women on the trip took out a couple of double-seated kayaks. We toured the coast, got a little lost in the mangroves while I freaked my rowing partner by poking jellyfish with my finger. We were the more experienced kayakers, and we were determined to end Craig’s uninterrupted streak of coming in first. I encouraged my church-going rowing partner by saying that the meek shall inherit the earth, which caused her to crack up, costing us valuable momentum, but vengeance was ours in the end.
I would highly recommend Backroads, although Craig said it was not the best of the trips that he has taken with the company. Craig raved about the food before I signed up. We had chicken and beans, beans and rice, chicken and beans. Belize is apparently less gourmet than many other places Backroads goes.
Even the minor disappointments turned out to be funny. A few of us signed up for a "creatures of the night walk", with the net result of a few spiders. Only after checking out of the hotel did I realize that the cost came to about 4 bucks a spider; or 50 cents per leg.
One occurrence of interest in Placencia: sitting in the Robert's Grove Jacuzzi on the roof of the resort, we saw the most eerie light which darted back, forward, up, down with dizzying speed in a manner that could not be logically explained. I don't believe in UFO's or conspiracies, but I could see how this could have made the X files. We chatted about SETI, and wondered if we should keep a low profile (Humans: crunchy on the outside, chewy on the inside).
As the trip came to a close, my longing for my wife and daughters grew stronger, and the "Ditsey factor” of some of my co-Backroaders became increasingly intolerable, causing my bar bill and sardonic comment quotient to increase logarithmically. Craig could at least run, but my running shoes were left in the Jungle (at the Cha Creek lodge). My wife has previously remarked that if I didn’t travel I would never throw away clothes.
I've been told, by those wiser than I, that in any travel group there is always one idiot, and if not, then it must be you. Not that I travel often in groups, but I have been left to ponder about this in the past. This trip, however, there was no doubt, with the prize going to a hard-drinking, albeit bad booze-holding, executive who was going to take her massage therapist on the trip cause she was, “richer than God” (I too am richer than God but sadly my god is of the mendicant variety, wandering the earth with an empty alms bowl). This woman continually called her office, complained about her staff, and did an Irish jig when the “little-dicked” COO got fired. For some kind of cellular executive, Craig and I chortled that she hadn’t figured out calling cards, but who are we to criticize?
On the way back, we noted that the airport in San Salvador had sustained considerable damage since the outward part of our trip due to the recent earthquake. Windows broken, staff rattled, ceiling panels down and superstructure twisted. I wasn't sure if $6 for a bottle of Teacher's Scotch Whiskey was the regular price, or if the Duty Free wanted to move 'em out before the next aftershock wiped out the inventory. Was I over my booze allotment? That’s between my wandering god and me. Out