Guatemala and Belize -- Part II

Aug 8-10, 2006: The trip to the Belizean border from Flores started at 5am and on a crowded bus. It was a comfortable tourist bus, though, not one where I was competing for seat space with farm animals. Through my drowsiness, I remember the trip consisting of repeated cycles of the driver attaining the maximum speed that the twisty, two-lane, fog-enveloped road allowed and then slowing down to a crawl for the speed bumps we encountered every few minutes. The speed bumps, no doubt, have been instrumental in reducing both the number of walkers killed by buses blowing through small towns and the number of bus drivers killed by angry mobs.

The Guatemalan portion of the bus trip ended and I prepared to join the other passengers in the emigration line. Armed with my passport and exit papers, I finally made it to the window. Word had filtered back through the queue that the distinguished-looking border official was requiring a 20 quetzal (US$2.66) "departure tax." Now, anyone in the Lonely Planet backpacking loop knew this was coming. We also knew it wasn't a legitimate tax. So, my Spanish not being up to argument level yet, I thought I would at least let him know I was onto his nefarious scheme. After making the necessary notations to my passport and keeping it just out of my reach, he made his "request."

"Veinte quetzales, por favor."

"Veinte?", I said incredulously as I shook my head, chuckled, and pushed my Q20 bill to him. (Yes, I admit it was a weak response, but I have no Spanish skills.)

Without making eye contact and with a sheepish grin on his face he slid my passport under the window along with .... Q10 change!


Belize is a small country bordered by the Caribbean Sea on the east, Mexico to the north, and Guatemala to the west and south. It's roughly the size of New Jersey, but that's where the similarities end, as Belize only has 270,000 people and you could probably pump your own gas if you wanted. Additionally, Belize offers plenty of adventure opportunities, from caves and Mayan ruins to the second-longest barrier reef in the world.

After checking into a cheap hotel and dropping laundry off, I decided that I would do a self-guided walking tour of Belize City. The "self-guided" part soon disappeared, though, when I heard someone YELLING, "Hey, you. Don't you run from me! Stop!" Oh, great. I kept walking, acting like I didn't hear him and that I knew where I was going. I picked up my pace a little, hoping he would lose interest, but finally I just stopped and pretended to look out at the ocean. Eventually, he came up to me and said, "Why did you run from me like you're scared? Don't you ever run from me!"

After I got over my initial shock that I was being yelled at by the spitting image of Frederick Douglass, I said, "Run? I wasn't running. Why would I run from you? I'm not scared of you." I realize that all of you want to read about how I was beat up in Belize by a Frederick Douglass lookalike with a Caribbean accent. Admittedly, this would make for a much funnier story. However, we all know how a memoir filled with "emotional truth" got James Frey in trouble. So, in the interest of journalistic integrity and with the hope that someone will someday pay me to publish this blog, I'm happy to write that my retort had a calming effect on him. He introduced himself as Frank, offering his "Frank" arm-tattoo as evidence of his name, and began to tell me that Belize loves Americans. I started to tell him that they have a funny way of showing it, but instead I let him talk. He was good at it.

Evidently, when he wasn't preying on tourists, he was quite busy. He told me that he ran 10 miles everyday; had a trunk filled with over 500 letters from tourist friends he had guided; acted as a real estate agent for an Oklahoma man who trusted him with $100,000 cash; and still found time to father ten children. When he found out that I was still single, he gave me some advice, "Andy, if you marry a Belize woman, make sure you buy a box of #*!%@!^! aspirin!" I was tempted to ask about the possibility of him being partly at fault in his relationship difficulties, but thought better of it. Besides, he was already commenting on the fact that he was old enough to be my father.

"Andy, I'm 60 years old. That means I'm ol enuf to be yur fadder."

"Yeah, Frank. You're about the age of both of my parents," I replied.

"Andy, that means I could throw you across my knee and give you a spanking!" He barely got that line out before throwing his head back and laughing a cackling laugh.

Carefully considering that possibility and deciding that it would mean the complete destruction of my dignity, not to mention a possible manslaughter charge in a foreign country, I looked him straight in the eye and said, "Frank, you try that and there's going to be trouble." He changed the subject.

As we continued to walk, I desperately wanted to stop to take notes or whisper reminders of what he was saying into a pocket digital recorder. I must have been laughing to myself and not paying much attention to where we were going because, suddenly, I realized we had walked onto a dirt path between houses and were surrounded by six dogs that were going berserk. Half of them were behind chain-link fences, but the other three were loose and barking viciously. Fortunately for me, Frank knew exactly what he was doing. Picking up a big rock, he repeatedly made motions like he was going to throw it. The dogs would bound forward and back, focusing mainly on him and his rock instead of me. We emerged from between the houses without a scratch and without the dogs.

As we approached the area where he first chased me down, I could feel the sales pitch coming: It was his birthday, but there wasn't any cake for him or his ten kids. All he needed was US$20. Besides, he protected me from the dangerous pack of dogs ... that he had intentionally led me into, no doubt. I've been accosted by enough con-artists and pitchmen overseas that I had told him at the beginning of our walk that I wasn't going to pay him for guiding me. I gave him a handful of coins, mainly in exchange for the great stories I got out of our hour together, but he wasn't happy with the meager payday.

Ok, time for some pictures.

Many library school students have an obsession with pirates. I haven't quite figured it out, but these next two pictures are for my classmates and any other lovers of pirate culture.

Belize City's main attraction. Unfortunately, it only opens when the cruise ships are in town.

No, I was not piratized. And if I had been, do you think I would post a picture on the Internet? Future employers read these things!

This gentleman was the caretaker of the pirate museum while it was closed. I stopped and chatted with him for awhile. He's of Maya descent and originally from southern Belize. He said that all the southern farmland is being gobbled up because the locals can't compete with the money and technology being used by others. Guess who is swallowing up their land ... big farming conglomerates? the oil companies? Nope, the Mennonites.

Chiac Salustio

Here are a couple of signs I saw in Belize City.

Kinda fits right in with all the pirates.

To St. Louis Cardinals fans everywhere, Belize City honors Albert Pujols. One block north was the intersection of King and Albert, but there wasn't a sign.

One hour east of Belize City are the Belizean Cayes (pronounced "keys", like the Florida Keys) and the world's second-largest barrier reef, behind only Australia's Great Barrier Reef. I made two day-trips to Caye Caulker, snorkeling on the second day.

Approaching the dock at Caye Caulker

Belize is known for its great diving, but I decided to just snorkel for a couple of hours. It was well worth the $20. The boat made three different stops in two hours and I was able to swim with nurse sharks and sting rays. I know that must sound strange given Steve Irwin's recent death, but these animals were obviously used to the tourists and the free food that always accompanied them. When I asked the guide if they would sting us, he said no. In fact, he held one for everyone to pet. The sting rays would brush up against my legs and stay just out of reach when I swam toward them. The sharks left as soon as the food was gone.

The sting rays ranged in size from 1-3 feet and the sharks were roughly 4 feet. You can just see a shark's tail in the left 1/3 of the picture, while two sting rays are shown on the surface in the right half of the photo.

My border-crossing and Frank stories took up more time and space than I had planned. The next entry will take us into a Mayan cave used for human sacrifices, down to the southern tip of Belize, and my re-entry into Guatemala.