Outta Here
The Belize Zoo was a treat. It’s small and comfortable, well-shaded, and filled with animals native to Belize that you might never see otherwise. And best of all, you get really close to them. We watched spider monkeys eating from 2 feet away. Sarah had a Baird’s tapir come up and sniff her hand, and they are supposedly shy creatures. The tapir, by the way, apparently is a relative of the rhinoceros and horse. Weird looking thing. We also fed some river otters. I now know (sort of) what it’s like having a jaguar bounding toward you. Granted, the big cat was behind a fence, but it was a heart-stopping moment anyway.
We leave this afternoon for New Orleans, and we’re going to a wedding tomorrow (and maybe a bachelor party tonight, if I make it back in time). Congratulations, Ryan & Kristy!
Anyway, thanks again for reading these past two weeks. I’m going to take a rest from writing for a few days. We’re going to Europe next month, where we’ll tool around for four weeks. Staying true to our philosophy of flying by the seat of our pants, we don’t know yet where our destination will be. Portugal maybe. Or maybe Amsterdam and Germany. Or Switzerland. It will probably end up being whatever is cheapest. So catch up with me again around April 4. And hopefully I’ll remember to file my taxes before we leave.
Welcome to Disneyland, Sort Of
San Pedro is like an amusement park version of the rest of Belize. Almost everyone is American here, there are mammoth jungle-themed restaurants and luxury hotels, you’ll pay outrageous prices for subpar food, and everyone drives a golf cart, which makes for a nerve-wracking walk through the narrow, crowded streets. Souvenir shops and “adventure tour” promotions abound, but sometimes even they are drowned out by all the other signs advertising this-or-that on the island. It’s all a bit much.
But honestly, we can’t complain because our trip has been so wonderful. We do wonder, however, just how many people come only to San Pedro and think that this is the entirety of the Belize experience.
Tonight we witnessed, and participated in, the world-famous Chicken Drop at the Pier Lounge. Here’s how the chicken drop works: You place a wager and receive a number from 1 to 100. A chicken is placed on a grid of 100 squares. Whichever square the chicken poops on first wins.
Yes, you read that right, a bet on where a chicken will poop.
Sounds harmless enough (and ridiculous, too), so we gave it a try.
These things work best when the chicken goes immediately. But what happened during our chicken drop was that our fine feathered friend refused to relieve himself. The crowd screamed and cheered and waved their hands in front of the poor chicken, who really just wanted to cower in the corner.
This chicken was literally scared shitless.
Finally, about 10 minutes later, the shit hit the fan, er, square. Our number did not win. That was actually lucky for us, because in addition to the cash prize, the winner got the privilege of wiping up the gooey mess.
It was all quite a sight, but in the end, we left with a fowl taste in our mouths.
We’re getting out of San Pedro tomorrow (Thursday) morning. The water taxi leaves for Belize City at 9:30 a.m., and we plan a quick trip to the national zoo in the evening. Then guess what? We’re boarding a plane to fly back to New Orleans on Friday.
Sometimes I Use My Brain
This morning, I had the foresight to avoid possible electrocution.
The shower in our latest in a long line of rented rooms featured a suspicious device that was intended to ensure hot water for bathing. There were six exposed electric wires leading to the showerhead, and the device had three settings: hot, medium or cold.
“Hmmm,” I thought, turning the showerhead to the hot setting. “Might as well give it a try. Kind of tired of cold showers.”
The device coughed a little, and the light bulb in the room started flickering wildly, looking like a desperate Morse code message. I looked down, where the tepid water was puddling at my feet. Then I glanced up again at the red, blue and green wires that were wrapped around the showerhead with black tape.
I turned off the shower and leaped out of the water.
I’d rather be dirty all day than to be reminded the hard way that water and electricity don’t mix.
My parents would be proud.
Apparently I’m Not a Jungle Kind of Guy
With 98,000 acres of lush jungle, the Cockscomb Basin Wildlife Sanctuary is a prime place for viewing wildlife in Belize. Almost 300 species of tropical birds call it home. Ditto any number of black howler monkeys, anteaters, armadillos, Baird’s tapirs, deer, otters and even a few “deadly poisonous” snakes. Sarah and I could live our whole lives without seeing those deadly snakes up close, as far as we’re concerned. No, what we wanted to spot was one of the eight jaguars that roam the basin, searching for their next meal.
Sounds fun, right?
The bus dropped us off on the main highway but not the park entrance, which was still six miles away on a lonely dirt road. We had no choice but to hike for two hours in the sweltering afternoon heat.
“This will make us stronger,” Sarah would suggest now and then as I rung out sweat from my shirt. “It’ll build character.”
Nonsense! “I was building lots of character at that bar in Placencia last night,” I’d shout back, reminding her once again of the seaside paradise we had left behind.
We bid the beach farewell from our little window on the bus earlier that morning, naively surmising that “what we need now is a little turf to go with our surf.” Now here we were in the middle of nowhere, swatting hopelessly at mosquitos that could easily carry us away if we hadn’t been weighted down by our backpacks.
We were finally able to breath a sigh of relief when we spotted the visitor’s center in the distance. We made our arrangements for the night in what the park brochure very carefully and very gently called the “rustic” cabin. It had no electricity and single bunk beds. No mosquito netting, but we had brought our own, good enough to cover one mattress, but not both. “We’ll just sleep in the same bed,” Sarah said, eyeing the cracker-sized mattress.
We showered in the dark with cold water, then got dressed and lit a kerosene latern so we could get in a game or two of Uno, our new favorite card game. A couple of Canadian travelers joined us for a game, then taught us a thoughtful card game they called Yennev. One of them learned it in Thailand from a guy with that very name.
After that, we settled in for the night in the bottom bunk. That was just about when the chorus of jungle birds decided it would be a good time to serenade us. Plus, the park brochure didn’t explain that the rustic cabins came with “rustic” sheets that smelled like ass. So as I lay there on my side, hanging off the bed, scratching at my various bug bites, the bird calls reaching a frightening crescendo, I began to realize I would not get any sleep. After an eternity, the bird calls began to sound like words in my mind. “Kill her,” the birds ordered. “Kill! Kill! Kill!”
I just put my fingers in my ears and tried to go to sleep.
Sarah, equally tired and frustrated, eventually threw in the rustic towel and climbed to the top bunk. “I can’t sleep like this,” she said, deciding to fend off the mosquitoes without the net in order to try to get some sleep.
I was awake when the alarm clock went off at 5 in the morning. We had decided to get up extra early for our jaguar hunt, because the big cats are nocturnal creatures.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEEEEEP!
Sarah forgot she was in the top bunk and drowsily rolled over to shut off the clock.
Uuumph!
She hit the concrete floor on her side, uttering a number of expletives in the dark. She had fallen a rustic 5 feet.
We keep waiting for bruises to appear, but so far she seems to have escaped the fall unscathed. “Builds character,” I snickered later.
We hit the trail an hour later as daylight was starting to break through the jungle canopy. We walked as quietly as we could manage, keeping an eye out for those snakes I mentioned before.
Every now and then we’d hear a rustling sound, but it always turned out to be a bird of some sort. I know our feathered friends are exciting to some people, but I can’t get worked up over them. I say: show me the monkey!
But no monkey. No jaguar, either. The closest thing we saw was a lizard. We did better during our hike to the entrance of the park, spotting an iguana sprinting into some grass on the side of the dusty road.
When we got back to the room, we threw our water bottles onto the mattress and took a long look around. “Let’s get out of here,” one of us said. I don’t remember whether Sarah said it or I said it, but we were in a taxi on our way out of the park an hour later.
We’re back on the beach tonight. It took a daylong bus ride, and I’m really getting sick of bus rides, but we are in San Pedro, a touristy resort town on one of the islands (called cayes, pronounced “keys”) in northern Belize. It’s a change of pace for us because we’ve been to places without the crowds, but here it’s one big tourist trap. But the beach is beautiful. And it looks even more beautiful when you realize you’re just not a jungle kind of guy.
Nobody Understands My Delirious Sense of Irony
When I discovered in a New Orleans thrift store a red shirt with a logo proclaiming, “New Orleans Waste Management Safety Achiever,” I thought it was hilarious, and quickly purchased it. After the Hurricane Katrina debacle, I declared that my favorite shirt had taken on renewed irony.
What I have found, however, is that nobody understands my delirious sense of irony.
What I get, even here in Belize, is a few stares at the logo, some quiet whispers to a husband. People, I think, are generally assuming that (A) I deal with sewage for a living; and (B) I am proud of it. One store owner said, “Well, well, a safety achiever on the premises.”
Come on, folks, this is shirt should be laughed at openly, and I should receive a knowing nod of congratulations for finding such a deliriously ironic piece of clothing.
Here’s where I add a little smiley face thing, letting you know that this is just me being silly.
Aaaaaaaanyway, long night last night in Placencia. I had a few too many rum drinks, and may have said something bad about the French. Sorry! I also apparently licked our room key, and I can’t even begin to fathom why I would do such a thing, but my source is reliable enough.
Placencia has been a blast, and we really don’t want to leave, but, alas, we push out this afternoon. We managed to squeeze in some snorkeling yesterday, and it was a lot of fun. It took an hour to get out to the reef, and we spent all day out there. We stopped at a tiny remote island for lunch, then went snorkeling again. We were out there for seven hours, and, yes, we got quite a bit of sun. Thank goodness for that blue sunburn gel stuff.
We are going to Cockscomb Wildlife Basin next, where we will be hiking and swimming in some waterfalls. And picnicking. Not to be confused with tick picking.
