Part 1 - Belize
DRIFTING TO HONDURAS
Many of our friends and family thought we were crazy when we decided to drive from Northern California to Belize by way of Mexico, Guatemala, and Honduras. It was a drive some of our peers made in the early 70’s, but when civil war and horror story violence broke out in Guatemala, that country fell off the tourist map for Americans. By 1992, things had calmed down, so Gene and I decided to make the longest road trip of our lives. Our youngest child, Gino, would accompany us. He would celebrate his first teenage birthday on the road. Our friend, Michael of Venice, would meet us at the great archeological ruin of Tikal and continue traveling with us through Belize.
When my sister, Barbara, and her husband, Phlete, drove the same route to Tikal, back in the day, the road was not paved. A black panther ran across the road in front of them. After all those years, the road still is not paved, but there were no panther sightings. We were warned that the road was not safe, but the dangers were guerillas or army. It was too late to turn back. It was illegal to sell the car in Guatemala, Honduras, or Mexico. We wanted and needed to get it to Belize. We decided, if someone tried to stop us, we would floor-board it and get away from them as fast as possible. The plan was concocted before we crossed the Rio Dulce and said adios to any hint of pavement. Things got so much slower then that an able bodied adult could run as fast as Azul Grande, our vehicle, and if they wanted trouble, trouble there would be.
A flat tire turned out to be our only problem, and we were successful in getting a room for four at the Jungle Lodge, right at the archeological site of Tikal. Our guide book said all the lodgings at the site were over priced, but we wanted to be there for the birds at sunrise and sunset.
This was not the first time we’d met up with Mike at an exotic location, and it was not to be the last. We’ve had foreign rendezvous with others, too, and it is always exciting. Whatever Mike lacks in physical dexterity, he makes up for with a flexible frame of mind and
a sense of adventure. We climbed to the top of Mundo Perdido at daybreak and were rewarded with amazing wildlife sightings from this flat top pyramid. We didn’t see the elusive jaguar, but we saw monkeys, toucans, macaws, coatamundi’s, oh so much. We wandered around the huge site the rest of the day in an archeological ecstasy. We could have spent much longer, but Belize beckoned. It was a new country with more archeological ruins, wildlife, and snorkeling.
We found the mainland community of Placencia, Belize, at the end of a peninsula. On the approach, there is a laguna on one side of the road and the Caribbean on the other with only a few palm trees in between. The road runs behind the community but not through it. The main thorough fares are narrow sidewalks and pathways in the sand. One must get out of the car and walk around to find a place to stay or eat. From one end of town to the other is no more than half a mile.
We were told by two travelers we met elsewhere to eat at Bren
da’s. It turned out to be next to where we were staying – all three tables. They sat directly on the sand, under a thatched roof, looking through hibiscus and palms to the water. Brenda was a huge black woman. Her menu was a small chalkboard which listed, “fish, shrimp, conch.” I ordered shrimp, and she said, “No shrimp.” So, two of us got fish, the other two conch. Conch is very much like abalone in taste and texture. Both come out of beautiful though dissimilar shells and need to be pounded to be tender. The fish and conch were accompanied, as practically every meal in Belize is, by coleslaw and Belizean rice and beans. The rice is cooked with coconut. Sometimes it is mixed with the beans; other times they’re served separately. It was all excellent.
Before we were through, two men from England arrived and asked if they could share our table since there was no place else to sit. We agreed, and Brenda promptly brought them plates of shrimp. “What’s your secret?” I asked.
“We ordered earlier,” was the reply.
“You want shrimp tomorrow?” asked Brenda. “No problem man. Anything you want, just tell me man.”
“Could you make up conch fritters?” I asked.
“No problem man! I’ll have some conch fritters and shrimp for you guys tomorrow night.”
On the short walk back to our lodging, it amused me to think we were walking to paradise. That was the name of the place we were staying – paradise. It wasn’t a hotel, motel, Bed and Breakfast, and it sure wasn’t paradise. Our two rooms were basic Belizean – mismatched, tattered bed linens, no closet, trash can, TV. The shared bath was in a separate building out back. A deep screened-in porch across the front faced the Caribbean. Brenda’s was next door, and at the end of a pier in front was an open air, thatched roof bar. I always want to be right on the beach, to go to sleep and wake up to the sound of the surf, to zone out just watching the waves come in and the waves go out. Between our porch, the bar, Brenda’s, and the picturesque community of Placencia, maybe it was paradise after all?
We weren’t able to get out on the water the next day because the weather was stormy, so we explored the village and played many games of Triominos which our daughter, Fawn, had given us for the trip. Gino did some of his independent study homework. Finally it was time for dinner at Brenda’s, and it great.
In no time at all, everyone knows what you’re up to in Placencia. Brenda asked, “You guys want some breakfast before you go snorkeling tomorrow? I’ll make you some sandwiches to take too.”
Morning broke clear and bright. We were excited that we got to make our snorkeling trip. Although Belize has the second longest barrier reef in the world, you can’t reach it from the mainland shore. A boat ride is required, or you need to be staying on an island.
After breakfast, we go down to the pier with our gear and the bag lunches Brenda prepared for us. The sandwiches were scrambled eggs, bacon, and tomato, a Caribbean specialty. We would have breakfast again for lunch.
The two guys who shared our table the first night were going out on the boat with us. The captain of the boat, Franklin, might not look any older than Gino if he didn’t have a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Gino is actually taller than Franklin, but he is also now taller than his Dad by a fraction. We just noticed this a few days ago, and Gino declared it the happiest day of his life. The previous happiest day of his life was also on this trip when he and Gene found a copy of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue on sale on one of our many stops in Mexico. Gene was tactful enough not to admit to such elation himself.
So here I am, not magazine material, but still looking pretty good in a bathing suit and feeling even better at the prospect of a boat ride, seeing some beautiful fish, and having a picnic lunch on a little tropical island.
Franklin takes us to an island inhabited only by palm trees. It is so close to th
e reef that getting into the water without getting cut by coral is tricky, but the fish are plentiful, varied, and beautiful. When we get out to rest and have lunch, Mike gets a nasty coral cut on his shin.
No sooner had we finished our picnic than a sudden, torrential rain descended. When it let up a bit, Franklin said, “We head back now.” None of us argued with him.
At first, everything was fine out on the water in the boat, but then the sky and the water became an identical silver gray. There was no horizon, no differentiating between the sky and the water. Franklin turned off the motor. “I’ll save the gas for when I can see to get us home,” he said.
Now I realized how deserving we were of the name of our group of friends from college days – The Fools. Fools do not concern themselves with whether the boat they are going out on has a two way radio, flares, lights, extra gas, paddles, or buckets for bailing. We hadn’t insisted on life vests, and there were none. We started off with food, but we’d already eaten that. We hadn’t even demanded an adult to captain the boat. Gino was the only one on board younger than our captain. – Our very nervous captain.
The dad, the Boy Scout, the adult in Gene kicked in, and he leaned in close to the young man. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Everything is going to be alright.”
Franklin nodded.
Gene asked, “If the wind keeps going in this direction, where will be end up?”
Franklin said, “Honduras.”
So: we’re drifting to Honduras. We’ve already been to Honduras, but we drove rather than drifted. It was a long dirt road from Guatemala to Copan, Honduras. There are many major roads in Central and South America that are unpaved. Traveling them is almost as slow as drifting, but drifting to Honduras is not as scary as drifting out to sea. I don’t think they have sharks in the Caribbean, and I’m not going to ask. The party atmosphere has dissolved onboard, but nobody is panicked. We are cold but only in an uncomfortable way, not a life threatening manner.
“Does anyone have water?” asks Michael.
Before anyone answers, Gino calls out, “Look! There’s an island!”
Franklin starts the boat right up and heads for the island. “I know this place. We are not far from home.” There is a one room cabin on the island that we all crowd into. We barely fit. Franklin lights a cigarette. Everyone but Gino bums a smoke from him. We haven’t smoked in years, but this seems like a good occasion to make an exception. We probably wouldn’t object if Gino had one. Within half an hour, the weather clears. It isn’t blue skies and sunny, but it is clear enough for Franklin to steer a course back to Placencia.
As we walk past Brenda’s on our way back to Paradise, she calls out to us, “Hey, man! I’m barbequing chicken tonight.”
“Sounds good. Count us in.”
After getting into dry clothes, we walk out to the thatched bar at the end of the pier in front of Paradise. We drink and play Triominos until time for dinner. Tomorrow we leave Placencia for another adventure.
DRIFTING TO HONDURAS
Many of our friends and family thought we were crazy when we decided to drive from Northern California to Belize by way of Mexico, Guatemala, and Honduras. It was a drive some of our peers made in the early 70’s, but when civil war and horror story violence broke out in Guatemala, that country fell off the tourist map for Americans. By 1992, things had calmed down, so Gene and I decided to make the longest road trip of our lives. Our youngest child, Gino, would accompany us. He would celebrate his first teenage birthday on the road. Our friend, Michael of Venice, would meet us at the great archeological ruin of Tikal and continue traveling with us through Belize.
When my sister, Barbara, and her husband, Phlete, drove the same route to Tikal, back in the day, the road was not paved. A black panther ran across the road in front of them. After all those years, the road still is not paved, but there were no panther sightings. We were warned that the road was not safe, but the dangers were guerillas or army. It was too late to turn back. It was illegal to sell the car in Guatemala, Honduras, or Mexico. We wanted and needed to get it to Belize. We decided, if someone tried to stop us, we would floor-board it and get away from them as fast as possible. The plan was concocted before we crossed the Rio Dulce and said adios to any hint of pavement. Things got so much slower then that an able bodied adult could run as fast as Azul Grande, our vehicle, and if they wanted trouble, trouble there would be.
A flat tire turned out to be our only problem, and we were successful in getting a room for four at the Jungle Lodge, right at the archeological site of Tikal. Our guide book said all the lodgings at the site were over priced, but we wanted to be there for the birds at sunrise and sunset.
This was not the first time we’d met up with Mike at an exotic location, and it was not to be the last. We’ve had foreign rendezvous with others, too, and it is always exciting. Whatever Mike lacks in physical dexterity, he makes up for with a flexible frame of mind and
a sense of adventure. We climbed to the top of Mundo Perdido at daybreak and were rewarded with amazing wildlife sightings from this flat top pyramid. We didn’t see the elusive jaguar, but we saw monkeys, toucans, macaws, coatamundi’s, oh so much. We wandered around the huge site the rest of the day in an archeological ecstasy. We could have spent much longer, but Belize beckoned. It was a new country with more archeological ruins, wildlife, and snorkeling.
We found the mainland community of Placencia, Belize, at the end of a peninsula. On the approach, there is a laguna on one side of the road and the Caribbean on the other with only a few palm trees in between. The road runs behind the community but not through it. The main thorough fares are narrow sidewalks and pathways in the sand. One must get out of the car and walk around to find a place to stay or eat. From one end of town to the other is no more than half a mile.
We were told by two travelers we met elsewhere to eat at Bren
da’s. It turned out to be next to where we were staying – all three tables. They sat directly on the sand, under a thatched roof, looking through hibiscus and palms to the water. Brenda was a huge black woman. Her menu was a small chalkboard which listed, “fish, shrimp, conch.” I ordered shrimp, and she said, “No shrimp.” So, two of us got fish, the other two conch. Conch is very much like abalone in taste and texture. Both come out of beautiful though dissimilar shells and need to be pounded to be tender. The fish and conch were accompanied, as practically every meal in Belize is, by coleslaw and Belizean rice and beans. The rice is cooked with coconut. Sometimes it is mixed with the beans; other times they’re served separately. It was all excellent.Before we were through, two men from England arrived and asked if they could share our table since there was no place else to sit. We agreed, and Brenda promptly brought them plates of shrimp. “What’s your secret?” I asked.
“We ordered earlier,” was the reply.
“You want shrimp tomorrow?” asked Brenda. “No problem man. Anything you want, just tell me man.”
“Could you make up conch fritters?” I asked.
“No problem man! I’ll have some conch fritters and shrimp for you guys tomorrow night.”
On the short walk back to our lodging, it amused me to think we were walking to paradise. That was the name of the place we were staying – paradise. It wasn’t a hotel, motel, Bed and Breakfast, and it sure wasn’t paradise. Our two rooms were basic Belizean – mismatched, tattered bed linens, no closet, trash can, TV. The shared bath was in a separate building out back. A deep screened-in porch across the front faced the Caribbean. Brenda’s was next door, and at the end of a pier in front was an open air, thatched roof bar. I always want to be right on the beach, to go to sleep and wake up to the sound of the surf, to zone out just watching the waves come in and the waves go out. Between our porch, the bar, Brenda’s, and the picturesque community of Placencia, maybe it was paradise after all?
We weren’t able to get out on the water the next day because the weather was stormy, so we explored the village and played many games of Triominos which our daughter, Fawn, had given us for the trip. Gino did some of his independent study homework. Finally it was time for dinner at Brenda’s, and it great.
In no time at all, everyone knows what you’re up to in Placencia. Brenda asked, “You guys want some breakfast before you go snorkeling tomorrow? I’ll make you some sandwiches to take too.”
Morning broke clear and bright. We were excited that we got to make our snorkeling trip. Although Belize has the second longest barrier reef in the world, you can’t reach it from the mainland shore. A boat ride is required, or you need to be staying on an island.
After breakfast, we go down to the pier with our gear and the bag lunches Brenda prepared for us. The sandwiches were scrambled eggs, bacon, and tomato, a Caribbean specialty. We would have breakfast again for lunch.
The two guys who shared our table the first night were going out on the boat with us. The captain of the boat, Franklin, might not look any older than Gino if he didn’t have a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Gino is actually taller than Franklin, but he is also now taller than his Dad by a fraction. We just noticed this a few days ago, and Gino declared it the happiest day of his life. The previous happiest day of his life was also on this trip when he and Gene found a copy of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue on sale on one of our many stops in Mexico. Gene was tactful enough not to admit to such elation himself.
So here I am, not magazine material, but still looking pretty good in a bathing suit and feeling even better at the prospect of a boat ride, seeing some beautiful fish, and having a picnic lunch on a little tropical island.
Franklin takes us to an island inhabited only by palm trees. It is so close to th
e reef that getting into the water without getting cut by coral is tricky, but the fish are plentiful, varied, and beautiful. When we get out to rest and have lunch, Mike gets a nasty coral cut on his shin.No sooner had we finished our picnic than a sudden, torrential rain descended. When it let up a bit, Franklin said, “We head back now.” None of us argued with him.
At first, everything was fine out on the water in the boat, but then the sky and the water became an identical silver gray. There was no horizon, no differentiating between the sky and the water. Franklin turned off the motor. “I’ll save the gas for when I can see to get us home,” he said.
Now I realized how deserving we were of the name of our group of friends from college days – The Fools. Fools do not concern themselves with whether the boat they are going out on has a two way radio, flares, lights, extra gas, paddles, or buckets for bailing. We hadn’t insisted on life vests, and there were none. We started off with food, but we’d already eaten that. We hadn’t even demanded an adult to captain the boat. Gino was the only one on board younger than our captain. – Our very nervous captain.
The dad, the Boy Scout, the adult in Gene kicked in, and he leaned in close to the young man. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Everything is going to be alright.”
Franklin nodded.
Gene asked, “If the wind keeps going in this direction, where will be end up?”
Franklin said, “Honduras.”
So: we’re drifting to Honduras. We’ve already been to Honduras, but we drove rather than drifted. It was a long dirt road from Guatemala to Copan, Honduras. There are many major roads in Central and South America that are unpaved. Traveling them is almost as slow as drifting, but drifting to Honduras is not as scary as drifting out to sea. I don’t think they have sharks in the Caribbean, and I’m not going to ask. The party atmosphere has dissolved onboard, but nobody is panicked. We are cold but only in an uncomfortable way, not a life threatening manner.
“Does anyone have water?” asks Michael.
Before anyone answers, Gino calls out, “Look! There’s an island!”
Franklin starts the boat right up and heads for the island. “I know this place. We are not far from home.” There is a one room cabin on the island that we all crowd into. We barely fit. Franklin lights a cigarette. Everyone but Gino bums a smoke from him. We haven’t smoked in years, but this seems like a good occasion to make an exception. We probably wouldn’t object if Gino had one. Within half an hour, the weather clears. It isn’t blue skies and sunny, but it is clear enough for Franklin to steer a course back to Placencia.
As we walk past Brenda’s on our way back to Paradise, she calls out to us, “Hey, man! I’m barbequing chicken tonight.”
“Sounds good. Count us in.”
After getting into dry clothes, we walk out to the thatched bar at the end of the pier in front of Paradise. We drink and play Triominos until time for dinner. Tomorrow we leave Placencia for another adventure.
photos: #1 - Gene & friend atop Mundo Perdido, Tikal. #2 - Gene, Mike, & Gino in front of Temple 5, Tikal. #3 - partial map of Placencia. #4 - islet off Placencia.
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