The Getaway

So we survived the first round with Montezuma and his infamous revenge; however, not only were the flies still a plague on the Gilmours, frogs the size of footballs were leaving monster sized poop all over their balcony.  Kevin and I spent our first week in teacher training, and ended it brain dead from new people and places, new curriculum and climate, new homes and phones; it was time for a vacation.  So we loaded up the Explorer to trek through coastal wilderness and mountainous jungle in search of the sprawling beaches of Hopkins Belize. 

So that bright Saturday morning the sun broke through the towering clouds on the dark horizon, mother nature leaving us unsure of what to expect that day.  We loaded up and headed toward the Northern Highway.  No sooner did we take a right off the sugar cane road onto the highway than we met our first highway speed bump with vendor. Kevin couldn’t resist some peanuts an old colony Mennonite guy was selling from a sack.  He proceeded to get ripped off buying two tiny bags of unshelled nuts for $2 each.  But in his words “he was happy to help out the locals”. 

The Lost Home of the Mystical Manatee

Two hours later we were through Belize city, running low on gas, (well the gage didn’t work so we weren’t sure) and searching for the Coastal ‘highway’.  It’s hard to explain how loosely they use the word highway here.  There was supposed to be a gas station at the turn off but as we approached a gang of Rastafarian looking black guys were approaching on bicycles and since we are all white people, this was scary.  So rather than gas up Gilmour put down the pedal and away we went down a muddy potholed red clay road into the mountains of costal Belize, sans fuel, the rain clouds finally breaking open upon us, yet knowing that somewhere ahead lay a mystical lagoon where the Manatee are.

After several hours of bouncing through spectacular jungle covered hills, crossing jade green rivers on unrailed wooden bridges, passing countless orange groves, but virtually no people we arrived at the turn off for Gales Point Manatee.  This road led to a peninsula stretching way out into a brackish lagoon where the Manatee live. 

As we crept down this lonely point into the one road village with ramshackle houses lining either side, it became clear these lost people hadn’t seen better times.  This lonely arm of civilization with broken stilted houses and a handful of brightly painted shanties, which catered to manatee hunters like us, clearly didn’t see many outsiders; and unfortunately for us the Manatee boat was out to sea. 

Not all was lost however as we found Gentiles Cool Spot, serving chicken, beans, rice and opportunities. Another one of those bike riding, smooth talking, Rastafarians, called Garifuna as we learned, was at the café.  We were less afraid by now, and after all there was only one of them.  Good thing for us because he was selling golden opportunities in the form of an island, out in the lagoon, for the incredibly low asking price of $20,000 US.  Unfortunately we didn’t have the cash on hand so one day we may yet live to regret packing back into our Explorer and driving away from that golden egg opportunity; not to mention the manatee.

Gotta Conch in the bucket

We finally made it through the Jungle clad mountains, didn’t run out of gas and checked into our stilted beachfront cabana.  The next morning we decided to stick around our local patch of palm treed beach to try out our new snorkeling gear.  While the Gilmours continued to mock me for paying literally ten times what they paid for a snorkel and mask I went about the business of exploring our tropical undersea paradise.  Amid the stretches of sand were these eerie patches of seaweed where of course all the good stuff was.  Not a coral reef but good enough for practice. 

Sadie holds our catch

Nikki and I were busy disturbing a couple waterlogged coconuts, laying on the bottom, with our bamboo sticks when suddenly I spotted a conch shell laying half buried in the sand.  (Pronounced conk not the way that sounds like crotch).  Now even though it was inert I didn’t want to touch it because I was sure it was poisonous and it would certainly stab me with its stinger leaving a bloody mess of my hand.  I bravely overcame all this fictional paranoia to finally dive down and pick it up.  I had it in my hand when suddenly it struck out and slashed me!  Or maybe I imagined that part which is what made me drop it to the bottom again.  What actually happened was, it very aggressively sucked its tail and body into the shell which, of course, scared the crap out of me; and who knows, maybe that is how it kills things. 

Two conch in a bucket and a Starfish

Well 9 year old Nikki finally goaded me into bravely diving to pick it up again and carry it to the shore. Through the rest of the day we found another bigger conch, a brilliantly red and orange starfish and almost swam into a tiny white translucent jelly fish.  I kept my treasures in a bucket on the beach and made plans to cook up the conch and save the starfish skeleton as a lifelong memento of our adventures.  Both these plans turned out very badly; however, I was clearly ready for a real excursion out to the reef.  Oh ya, and the snorkel was definitely worth it.

Paradise and the poor

Real Paradise has trash

We whiled away our two days in this palm tree studded beach land.  Hopkins is a curious mix of classes.  The usual potholed roads bring you into the town.  Way down, at the far south end of the beach we wandered through rich, well-appointed resorts with pools and swim up bars.  Just north of our cabanas however the beach gets really dirty and full of trash.  The paradise from the photos is obviously well maintained.  It was funny seeing palm trees surrounded by garbage.  The village felt like an authentic Caribbean village. 

Kevin poses with Tina

We visited Tina’s kitchen for lunchtime tacos where Tina was sweating over a simple grill right next to the dining area.  She was more than happy to pose for a pic outside her shack though.  We discovered the Garifuna drummers at dinner time where they taught the Gilmour girls to work the shakers and drum the turtle shell.  At the same time Gilmour was mastering a very tricky dance move called the donkey, which required a particular kick repeated strait out to the side.  He’s really quite good; you should ask him to see it sometime. 

Dark Caves and Cool Water

Driving home the next day we chose the easier route down the Butterfly highway.  In a word it was breathtaking.  There were Green, green mountains and blue green rivers and finally some decent highway.  On our way home we stopped at St Herman’s cave and the Blue Hole underground river.   Thus, our adventures ended with a little spelunking slowed down by only a couple head whacks on the cave roof as Kevin and I went “sneaky, sneaky”(ask our guide) a little further into the blackness.  The blue hole was a pleasantly frosty river that traveled into yet another low roofed cave mouth where of course we had to carry the girls for a look.  Although neck deep in a flowing current we didn’t lose anyone and the 6 second echo, in the black as night river cave, was well worth the risk.