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Monday, October 17, 2011

Weekendje weg


With a fantastic historical center occupied by a very Bohemian population (and a subtle touch of anarchism),  topped with world famous food, chocolate, and beer, puts Ghent on the top of our list for a short weekend away.


 Beautiful weather brought everyone out to the old wharf to bask in the sun...we loved the urban dog culture.



Some of that beer, chocolate, and Bohemia that I mentioned. 


 A lovely mix of old and new along the canals made for some great exploring.  And a mish-mash of bars being hosed out in the university quarter reminded us of Calico's back in good ol' IUP.

 The 12th century castle towers at the edge of the city...ominous oversight of the medieval population.


Friday market at night.  Approaching from the north through the heavy industrialized zone and ports operating at full traffic jam, stack-spewing capacity (don't these folks know that we're in a global recession?), we were pleasantly surprised when we crossed the river and the charm of old Ghent quickly unfolded.  Our hotel was just off this market square.  Ghent's gritty side keeps the tourists focused on the next town over (Brugge), but was immediately comfortable and "real" for us.  It's a definite "redo" on our destination list. 

All of this relaxation in Ghent paid off on Sunday when we headed into Amsterdam for the Marathon.  It was a stunning day and we both stormed in with record 1/2 marathon times.  Now, back to the grindstone... 

Saturday, October 08, 2011

Oldie but goodie

I came across a bit of digital memorabilia while cleaning up an old computer hard drive tonight.  Below is a long-forgotten trip report of our vacation to Belize back in 2002.  At the time, I was still pressure testing  some of my writing skills in preparation for tackling my first book, so it's a bit on the long-winded side.   But now I'm very glad that I wrote it.  It brings back many memories from one of our top-5 travel adventures ever.  I can still smell that Belizian jungle.  I'm posting here for posterity...the digital record of us.  Cheers.

6 Days in Belize.

Attitude - the only difference between adversity and adventure.”


Wow!! What a country!

Let me preface by stating that this trip was not well planned or thought out.   Yes, Mr. Travel didn’t spend hours pouring over maps and researching all the details – down to the minute topography of individual trail systems and town layouts.   This was a clumsy last minute escape from the prolonged winter that seemed to strengthen its grasp as January settled over Appalachian Maryland.  

We’ve done most of our traveling in Europe over the past couple of years but have always had our eye on the Caribbean for a winter getaway.   Specifically, we were interested in one of the Leeward Islands with decent scuba diving, hiking, kayaking and some good options for lively nightlife after a rigorous day’s excursion. 

Belize only entered the picture after doing some cursory research on flights to the islands – most of which required multi-hour layovers in Puerto Rico.   We just didn’t have that much time for this holiday and I didn’t want to burn it up with my ass in a sweltering airport waiting to get to or from our destination.

We were getting hammered with snow that day…it was coming down at about an inch an hour and the driveway was already impassible.  I was fed up with searching the Internet and reaching dead-ends with travel agents when one of those annoying pop-up ads caught my attention.  “Dive the largest barrier reef in the western hemisphere”.   I guess it was one of those “intelligent” ads that had keyed in on my previous searches.

I checked a flight on Travelocity.   Pittsburgh to Belize City.   Price – good.  Times – good.  Connections – good.

I quickly Instant Messaged Beth.  “What do you think about Belize?”

“Sure” came the reply….I could tell she was busy and didn’t have time to discuss the topic.

So, I called up US AIR and booked the trip.   Little did I know that we had just taken our first plunge into serious adventure travel.

Day 1 – the arrival.

Of course I was seated beside an obnoxious little 5 year old on the long leg of the flight from Charlotte to Belize City.   Put me on a 4+ hour intercontinental flight and this just happens.   It’s my life’s curse.   And his mother, who was also sitting beside me, was obviously the obnoxious role model that had helped form his obnoxious little personality.   But as the crystal turquoise waters of the Caribbean framed by the mist cloaked mountains of the mainland came into view in the little airplane portal window, all of the tensions of the journey, the prolonged and bitterly cold winter, and the stress of employment with Genesys seemed to be instantly washed away.

I looked over at Beth.   “There she is.  Look at the color of that water!”

---

80 humid, sticky degrees greeted us as we descended from the airplane onto the tarmac.   Not until we returned to the plane 7 days later would we feel relief from the stickiness.  We found our way through customs pretty easily and located the local outfit where I had rented a car.   We were going to explore the country on our own.   This is how we always travel in Europe and inevitably end up with a much richer experience as apposed to going with a pre-defined tour.  Why should Belize be any different?

“Hmmm.  Well sir, there seems to be a problem with the car.”

“What’s the problem?” I asked.

“We don’t have one.” (long dramatic pause from both of us)  “There are a few people who didn’t make it back because of the recent rains in the mountains.”

“Didn’t make it back?! …. Or didn’t make it back yet?”   I asked nervously.

“No, no.  It’s common in the mountains when it rains.   They are fine, but had to spend some extra time.  Don’t worry”, he said with a big shit-eating grin on his face.   “Let me talk to the guy next door and I’ll see if I can get you a similar car and price.”

Nervous, I waited for 15 minutes while he haggled with “Jungle Drive” next door.   He came back and told me that he had negotiated the same rate for me with his competitor and that I was all set to go.   I went into the hot, 4x8 office of this new rental joint and started filling out paperwork. 

An elderly couple came into the tiny little office to drop off their keys.   They had spent 10 days in the mountains and had actually just returned from a border crossing over to Guatemala to visit the Mayan ruins at Tikal.

They must have been in their mid-60’s and really reminded me of my parent’s best friends the Healy’s.   The woman immediately engaged me in friendly conversation and the old man almost as immediately started to give me a hard time – jokingly.  

By the time that I left the rental office, I didn’t know if there really were “crater sized” potholes on the highways or if I was supposed to drive on the right or the left.   He had me doubting everything that she was telling me and he seemed quite pleased with his ability to confuse me while at the same time exasperating and contradicting his wife.

I hope that I still have the energy to hassle young (yea, right) naïve travelers when I’m in my sixties.   This guy was a piece of work – but very friendly and helped to put a smile on my face and take the edge off of the initiation into a new culture.

---

 Five minutes after pulling out onto the “Western Highway” in the rented beat up, blue convertible Suzuki Samari (with balding tires), it became intuitively obvious that we were touring in a third world country.   The “Highway” is one of two paved thoroughfares in the entire region.   By “paved”, I mean “had some concrete laid over it in two lanes with no berm, no lines, and plenty of crater sized potholes scattered strategically across both lanes to minimize your ability to avoid them.”  Oh yea, and all of this so-called “pavement” happened about twenty years ago and it hasn’t been touched since.

The shanty houses up on pylons, with no windows, junk abandoned cars, burning roadside garbage dumps, open-air school houses with screaming uniformed children chasing dogs across dusty playgrounds, and police roadblocks every 3 miles around Belize City rounded out the culture shock. (ok, so this could have been West Virginia - except for the palm trees).   Interestingly enough, this sudden insight into our hastily chosen destination had a deliriously refreshing impact upon our attitude.   As we looked out over the savannah-like plains and saw the approaching jungle covered mountains, we were both immediately invigorated for what lay ahead.   This wasn’t going to be as easy as traipsing around Europe… this was going to be a serious adventure…and we were both eagerly embracing it.

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San Ignacio was our destination for the evening.   A great little mountain town near the Guatemalan border, it took us about 3 hours to reach it from Belize City.  The sun was just started to wane on the horizon as we pulled in.  All of the guidebooks that I read (of course I bought several books and maps AFTER I booked the trip…it’s like an addiction for me) indicated that this was a good launching point to explore the Belizean jungle, nature parks and Mayan ruins.   In fact, there is a pretty impressive Mayan castle right above the town.   We got a cabana about 1 block from the ruins – Cahal Peche…or “City of Ticks”.   Sound inviting?   We had just enough time and daylight to do a quick pass through these local ruins.

As soon as we entered the complex, we were “picked up” by two little scam artists.   A brother and sister aged 9 and 11 were going to give us a tour of the site.   Of course, there was bound to be an unspoken fee for this service.  I was going to “shoo” them away when they started into some pretty interesting dialog on the place.   It turns out that they are of Mayan decent and were very knowledgeable about the history of Cahal Peche.   They led us all around and described the various activities that occurred in each quadrant of the city.   They pointed out some of the original pigmentation that the Mayans had painted the one interior wall (1900 years ago!) that we definitely would not have noticed without their guidance.   They also gave us some botanical lessons – showing us a nutty fruit that when broken open was just like Elmer’s glue-all.  Really cool!   This stuff was extremely sticky!   They use it in their schools for art classes.   Further on, they pointed out some medicinal plants and gave us a great overview on how to use them.    All in all, not a bad tour for a couple of pushy little rug-rats. 




We tipped them nicely and went back to the cabana for an early evening of Belkin beer, bar-b-que’d shrimp kabobs, and a beautiful view of San Ignacio lit up at night.  The lights of the village were surrounded by black, dense jungle and the nighttime sounds were eerily sublime.





Day 2 – winging it.

Surely the greatest thing about this trip to Belize was the friendly and proud Belizean people.   They are so excited to speak with tourists and show off their country.   It was always very energizing to speak with the locals about recommendations for each day’s journeys.

We woke up pretty early to a rooster crowing from the nearby village.  We were refreshed and ready to start our day by trying out some of the local culinary fare.   A young, bubbly, but stout waitress brought us our morning coffee and menu’s.

“I’ll have the Belizean breakfast”, I said referring to a batch of scrambled eggs with salsa, refried beans and spicy sausage.

“And I think that I’ll try the Mayan breakfast”, said Beth.   The Mayan was scrambled eggs with a local spinach leaf and other herbs mixed in.  It also included sausage and refried beans…and something called a “fry jack”.

“What’s a fry jack?” Beth asked our portly waitress.  

“Oh, you’ll love those!  They are a corn tortilla with slightly less baking powder, deep fried in lard and sprinkled with sugar.   I’ll also bring you honey and syrup to dip them in.  Fry Jack”  she said grabbing her rather generous love handles, “they are soooo good, but you don’t want to eat too many or you’ll end up like me!”   She smiled a deep, genuine smile that lit up the entire veranda and then left to place our orders.

---

We were just swabbing out the honey cup with the last delicious fry jack and pouring over our travel guide, when a well-dressed local man came over to our table. 

“Hello amigos!   Are you enjoying your stay?” he bellowed.

“Yes” we replied.  “We’re just trying to decide what to do today.”

That was all it took.   He pulled up a chair, sat down and introduced himself as “Danny”, the owner of the cabanas and hotel where we were staying.   He had been the first Minister of Agriculture for the newly formed country in 1986, but decided to resign (proudly insisting that he wasn’t even forced out of the position) to start up a tourist service in the mountains.

He promptly started to grill us on what types of activities that we were interested in – “I know a Mayan villager who lives in the hills if you like adventure.  He’d take you out into the bush and show you how the ancient peoples lived.  I also know the chief council over in the village of Seven Miles.   There are some great rock formations and caves that are not on any tourist map that he could take you through.”

He seemed to know someone from everywhere, and virtually every point of interest in the western part of the country.  35 minutes later, he drew us up a map of the region, complete with landmarks, mileage, village names, lodges, restaurants, and oh yes, stream crossings.



We happily accepted his advice and planned out the itinerary for the day.  It was to include a route that would take us deep into the jungle and give us a good feel for the natural beauty of Belize.   We didn’t want to try and pile on too much…we learned that lesson the hard way 2 years ago in Spain.   Better to concentrate on a few key places rather than spread ourselves too thin and end up spending the better part of the day in the car.   So today was slated for trekking.  We were saving the Mayan ruins for tomorrow.

---

Our first stop was to be Barton Creek.    This was a cave that you could canoe through and check out some ancient Mayan ritual sites.   Caves played a pretty funky role in Mayan culture. While they were terrified of the underworld, they often ventured into these caverns and performed rituals to appease the dark gods.   Caves, canoes, skeletons, and ancient ritual sites - this sounded pretty cool.

To reach the caves, we headed back down the western highway per Danny’s hand drawn map.   The trip odometer reading was 6.1 miles.   “Damned if he wasn’t right on with that mileage.”  Turning right, we had to navigate past a broken down tanker truck.   The driver seemed to have abandoned the 18-wheeler half buried in a ditch on the side of the road.

This secondary road was appalling.   There was a fine layer of gravel on top of a slick red clay base.  The recent rains and speeding drivers had tended to bunch the gravel up into miniature speed bumps about 2 inches high that spanned the width of the road.  

“W w w h h h a a t t t   t h h e e e e   % & # * iss t thhhhiss !”  I tried to say.   The little Samari with the balding tires bounced sideways as we approached a top speed of 25 mph.  I looked at the map that Danny had drawn up for us.   Only 14 miles – but then we would turn onto an even smaller road.

“I’m glad I wore my sports bra!”  Beth chimed in between rumble strips.

We both laughed and quickly became immersed in the passing scenery of the countryside. 

There were several small communities scattered near the road – none of which had any electricity.  We gawked as a couple of women washed clothes in a nearby river and began stacking huge baskets on their heads as they started the ascent up the embankment back to the villages. 
   
The road was quickly climbing into the Mayan mountain range and as we crested the first ridge, a break in the understory gave us a panoramic vista of the approaching wilderness.  Thick forests and rolling mountains were spread before us as far as the eye could see.   We were entering the national parks region of Belize.   There were no more villages, no more towns for 100 miles to the Guatemalan boarder.     The jungle was awesome!

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“There are the pine trees!”   Beth pointed ahead to a set of three pine trees marking the left hand turn to Barton Creek.   I took the left and immediately brought our little rental to an abrupt stop.   The road in front of us made our gravel driveway back in Maryland look like the autobahn.   This “road” had not been graded in years and was badly eroded with 8-inch deep ruts that zigzagged wildly across the surface.   Where the clay had not been solid enough, the runoff had exposed a layer of jutting rocks making me feel like John Wayne in the “Green Beret’s” trying to figure a way around the sharpened pungie sticks in the jungle. 

“Whoa! Are we going down there?”  Beth asked.   There was no sign on the road, only the 3 pine trees.   The road started a precipitous downward path ahead of us.

“This is 4-wheel drive”, I said.   “It’ll make it….even with the bald tires.”

I started looking for the control to flip it into 4-wheel drive.

“Damn!  It’s NOT 4-wheel drive!.   We are screwed!”

One of those classic husband/wife debates ensued.   Luckily, we both seemed to be in the right frame of mind and it didn’t take much back and forth banter to reach our decision.   We were going down!   It hadn’t rained since yesterday, so the road was drying out a bit.  And even though we hadn’t passed a house or car for the last 20 minutes, we knew that at the low speeds we were driving it couldn’t be more than a couple of mile walk if we buried the little Samari at the bottom of the hill.

I revved the engine for dramatic affect….Beth shot me one of those “what a dork” looks that she is so good at.   We laughed out loud and started down the goat trail.





It was another bone-jarring ride that included one hill climb that could have qualified us for a monster truck rally at the Pittsburgh Civic Arena.

We could tell that we were nearing the bottom of the road by watching the terrain on the horizon.   I was a bit relieved because I felt that I could navigate the little rented piece-o-shit back up the goat trail that we had just descended.   It would be a challenge, but it was possible….as long as it didn’t rain while we were in the caves.

The scene that greeted us as we rounded the final curve in the road can only be described as “classic”.   I felt like I was part of a PBS documentary.

2 trucks (real trucks) were parked in the middle of the road and there were several people milling around discussing something.   Some of these folks were obviously tourists and others were just as obviously locals.   We couldn’t see ahead of the two vehicles and had no idea what the big topic of discussion was.   One of the locals was wearing military fatigues.  Is this what abduction in the jungles of Columbia feels like?





When in Rome and all that crap…..I parked the car as far to the side of the road as I dared.  Beth and I got out and walked up to the gathering crowd to see what was going on.

We had reached the “stream” crossing.   The only problem was that the recent rain in the mountains had swollen the “stream” to a raging torrent.   It looked hopelessly impassible.  Even the local machismo’s in the jacked up Toyota truck were wary.

A lively, and very interesting debate on the strategy of a successful crossing took place for the next 15 minutes.   What a hoot!   It was great entertainment to just be part of such a situation.   The older local, with two young American adventure tourists in tow, was not going to risk it.  His old clunker had seen better days but he didn’t want to lose it in the river (er, stream).   However, he had no problem giving the 3 younger local studs a few jabs and pressure for THEM to try the crossing.   He pointed them downstream.

“Go at an angle.   The stream has washed a lot of rock up right in front of the rapids.   It’s just like a submerged bridge.   If you go straight across, you will be swept away.”     


This advice seemed ludicrous, but the 3 young guys could not resist his ribbing.   They piled into the truck and started across the stream. 



The water reached the tailgate of the jacked up truck, but they made it.   

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We, on the other hand decided to park our 2-wheel drive piece-o-shit on this side of the “little brook” and walk the last mile to the Barton Creek Caves. 

The older guide told us about a pedestrian bridge across the creek about 100 yards upstream.

“Pedestrian bridge?  Here in the middle of the jungle?”   Beth sounded a little nervous. 

We gathered up a daypack with some supplies and left the car on the side of the road.   The older guide and his tourists were doing the same, so we felt relatively safe.   We got out ahead of them and went searching for the bridge.

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“Holy shit!   That’s it?” Beth exclaimed as she looked up at the ragtag rope bridge that spanned the creek.   Several of the slats were missing and the rope was very wet and frayed.

I was about to launch into my own discussion of persuasion on how the ropes were fine and I’m sure that the locals use it all the time, when to her credit, Beth didn’t say another word and took the lead climbing up the ladder.   For those of you who don’t know, Beth is terrified of heights.   Little heights of 4-5 feet freak her out.   This bridge was a good 15 feet off the river and it was rickety as hell!




The second board was missing, so the first step was the worst.   It took a long stretch to just get your toe onto the next board.   Then you had to hold up most of your weight with the flopping rope handrails and push off with your good foot hoping that your momentum put you forward and not back into the vacant slot…and defacto into the river.

I thought briefly of getting onto the bridge behind her and starting to jump up and down just for the fun of it.   But then I realized that if I wanted to have any kind of “real fun” once we returned to civilization that I better just cheer her on from the ground. 

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The mile walk to the national park was great!   It was so nice to be outside of the car and hear all of the sounds coming from the jungle.   About half way to our destination, we passed through a small Amish community, complete with horse drawn carts with wary bearded drivers.   They had hewn out a nice little existence in this remote part of the world.   Their little valley was beautiful.

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At last we rounded a final bend in the road to see a Belizean flag flying over a small park office sitting out in the middle of a large opening in the jungle.   The only problem was that we once again were facing a swollen stream crossing – this time on foot.

I started looking up and down the stream for another “pedestrian bridge” when a park ranger emerged from the building and started to run toward us.

“I guess we’ll see what he has to say” I said to Beth.

The ranger quickly reached the other side of the stream and I yelled across, “Is there a bridge?”

“No, just come across right here”, he yelled back.   “Right along the top of this rapid.”

“Again with the rapid” I shot sideways to Beth, being sure that he didn’t hear me.

I led the way this time and actually the going wasn’t too bad.   The water reached mid-thigh, but the current wasn’t as strong as it looked.   When we reached the other side, the ranger extended his hand with a big grin on his face.  “Welcome…do you want to tour the caves?”

“Yes, we’d like to canoe through.”

“Perfect! Come to the office and sign in.   A guide is about to leave now and you can go with him.   But first, when you are in Belize you should cross the stream in the Mayan way.”

We both gave him a puzzled look.

He continued, “When you enter the water, all the heat from your body goes straight to your head and gets trapped there.  You could pass out.   You should wet the top of your head before entering the water.  This will allow the heat to move completely through and out of your body.”

It made sense…at least there in the middle of the sweltering jungle.   So Beth and I both dipped our hands back into the river and thoroughly doused our heads with water.

“Better, right?”  he asked with an even bigger grin.

It did feel better.  We thanked him and followed him up the hill to the park station.

---

The ranger had us fill in some paperwork that basically released him, his government, and anyone within a 1000 miles of any liability should we meet with an unfortunate accident in the cave.  After signing our lives away, he introduced us to David the tour guide.  David looked like he just got off of the boat from Jamaica.   He was a short guy of about 28 and wore his hair in long dreadlocks that reached about mid-way down his back.  When he smiled the bright sun glimmered off of a mouthful of gold intermixed with his ultra white teeth.

“I’ve got two canoes waiting to head into the cave.   We can go straight over.”

We got into the canoes with two other couples (yes, it was a bit crowded) and started paddling up stream.  

We again experienced this strange phenomenon of instant bonding with our fellow tourists.   We all experienced the journey and excitement of what it took to get these freekin caverns.   It was like a brotherhood or fraternity.  

The younger couple was a John Bon Jovi look alike from New Zealand and an earthy girl from Scotland.   They were taking six months to travel from the top of Mexico to the tip of Argentina and they were having a blast! 

The older couple was from somewhere in Northern California – Santa Cruz I think.   They were in their 50’s and seemed equally intriguing to tour a subterranean river with.   They had high-tech backgrounds, but were burned out and looking for something a bit more “real” in their lives.

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We had to paddle upstream for only 100 yards before we saw the entrance.  It was like a Disneyland ride.   It did NOT look real.   I would have sworn that it was a large fake rock with plastic vines hanging down over the entrance for dramatic effect.  Except…this was real.   We were in the middle of the jungle about to enter a remote cave that had been used by the Mayans 1000’s of years ago for some ancient and cryptic rituals.   Whoa.




We had a car battery and spotlight in each canoe.   This was a really low-tech type of tour, but it turns out that David was of direct Mayan decent and he was the one who actually discovered and explored the cave for the first time in recent history.

“I was born in a canoe” was a favorite phrase of his…one that the guy from New Zealand razzed him about mercilessly.  

The tour was fabulous.   We got up close and personal with some pretty big bats, saw ancient pottery shards and stone bridges built across the water.   We even saw a skeleton clinging to the main ceremonial bluff.

The cave was 7 miles deep, but only canoeable for about 1 mile.   We went as far as the canoe would go and actually had to lay flat in the boat at one point to avoid the stalagmites that were only 2 feet above the water surface before the cave opened up into another huge chamber.




As we floated quietly through the cavern, David told us some wonderful local legends, including an evil little dwarf of the forest who had a fondness for Mayan children, and the goddess of the underworld who was frequently seen walking the riverbanks near this very cave.

. ---

When the tour was over, our newfound friends offered to give us a ride back to our car so that we wouldn’t have to cross the “pedestrian bridge of death” again.

We took them up on their offer and started walking back to their car.   They were driving a very old and beat up Isuzu Trooper….but at least it was a real 4-wheel drive car.   We sat and talked for quite a bit before piling in.   David handed out some home-grown bananas that were incredibly sweet and we also raided one of the nearby Amish orange trees on the border of the park.

Since Beth and I were crashing their little tour, it was only right that we got into the back of the Trooper….the very back…as in trunk area.   David held open the door for us and we climbed in.  Beth ended up sitting on one of the car batteries that we had used on the tour and my seat was a bald spare tire.   David closed the door for us and we headed down the goat trail.

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When we got to the river crossing, tensions were a bit high.   They had done the crossing on the way in, but even David mentioned that this was not a normal level for the stream.   He apparently knew what he was doing, because he took the same funky path out over the top of the rapids.   About half way across, water started pouring into the car where the bottoms of the passenger doors were below the surface.

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After climbing out of the riverbed, David pulled up beside our car and I grabbed the handle to open the back of the Trooper.

Nothing.

I looked wide-eyed at Beth.   The freekin door was broken … we were in the very back of the car.   No windows….no way out.   It was a deathtrap in that river!

David opened the door from the outside and gave us a big smile.   It washed away my apprehension and we had a very congenial goodbye.   We wished our fellow travelers the best on the rest of their journey and they rumbled up the road and out of sight.   Their next stop was Guatemala.

“Wow.   That was one hell of an experience.   Priceless.”    We both agreed.

---

We got all of our daypack back together and I pulled out Danny’s map.   We had planned on hitting “1000 foot falls” next, but David had taken one look at our crappy little rental car and advised us against that particular road.   “You won’t make it back up that last hill” he had said and after our drive this morning, we believed him.

So, we set our sights on Rio On Pools.   It was another dramatic river gorge, with large waterfalls and swimming pools even further into the jungle. 

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The drive to Rio On was equally interesting.   We passed through a 5-mile area where the jungle had burned in the past 10 years.   It was kind of eerie in a way.   We didn’t expect to see that in a tropical rainforest location.

The other main item of note was the delivery truck that had plunged 50 feet off of a bridge (yes, we actually crossed a real bridge!) and was lying sideways in a raging stream.   It was obviously a couple of years old, so there was no need to search for bodies or anything.   It was just very curious that they left it there and hadn’t hauled it out.

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By the time that we reached Rio On Pools, it was late afternoon.   It was still warm outside, but the heat had somewhat diminished and I no longer felt compelled to jump into one of the many beautiful pools.  We had the place to ourselves and did quite a bit of rock hopping and exploring the surrounding jungle, but also settled in with our books and lounged on the rocks in the waning sun.


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A final stop on the way home for another jungle hike at sunset left us entirely spent.   We headed back to our hotel, had another excellent dinner in the lodge, retiring early with a few Belkins and our books.   Tomorrow we were getting up early and heading to Xunantunich – a huge Mayan ruin just this side of the Guatemalan border.   We would need our energy.

Day 3 – Ruins

More fry-jacks!   This was a great way to start the morning.

We checked out of the cabana and profusely thanked all of our hosts for their help in making our jungle stay a very memorable experience.  As we were loading up the car, we realized just how bad the roads of the previous day had been.   We had to scrape globs of caked mud off just to get the back hatch to open.

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$6/gallon!!!!!  Yikes!   We had stopped for gas about a mile down the road.  Now we understood the joke that Danny had tried to explain to us the previous day.   “Do you know how to make a small fortune in Belize?”  he had asked with anticipation of a punch line.

“Bring a large one!”  he bellowed.   Of course you had to understand the context of giving his new manager a hard-time for bringing a Chevy Suburban to Belize.   The manager was born in Argentina, raised in America (Phoenix), and had just come from a 5 year stint in Columbia.   He looked like a burned out surfer dude, but was pretty well spoken and very friendly…one of the many, many interesting folks that we ran into in our short 6 day stay.

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NOTE:  The stickiness of the jungle took a devastating toll on our digital camera.   It simply stopped working.    We ended up buying some throw-away cameras for the rest of the trip.  While these produce decent print pictures, the digital output is terrible.   I’m still including the pictures, but they aren’t great from here on out.


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Just as we were seeing signs for Customs and the Guatemalan border, we pulled over at the roadside flea market that marked the river crossing to Xunantunich.   The state had opted not to build a bridge across the river here, mostly to protect the ruins on the other side.   The ferry was a jury-rigged little raft that was strung with old wheels and cables to stop it from being swept down the river.   A burly older man with 1 huge right arm would crank a set of cogs to pull the ferry across on the cable.



Although you could get 2 vehicles on the ferry, we opted to park our car on this side of the river, cross the ferry as pedestrians, and walk the 1.5 miles up the hill to the ruins.  It was a good choice.   We saw a lot of iguana’s scampering into the jungle and just really enjoyed the quiet stroll to start the day.

The ruins were incredible!   This site is over 100 acres and contains 6 plazas and a 140 foot castle.   By this time, we had become used to seeing soldiers in fatigues walking around with M-16’s, so we didn’t really pay much attention to them…funny (and scary) what you can get accustomed to.

We spent most of the morning exploring the ruins on our own and of course climbed all of the buildings.   The main castle still had some visible frienze (symbols) on it that were really cool.   From the top of that building, there was an unobstructed view of Guatemala and the jungle covered mountains to the south.




The “white blob” just above Beth’s shoulder is the other side of the ruin site showing how far the complex spanned.  It was huge!
The “little blobs” on the first tier of the steps of the castle are people….tried to put the size of this castle in perspective but the photo doesn’t do it justice.
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The ride back out of the mountains was a bit depressing.   We hadn’t even scratched the surface.  We almost decided to cancel our beach time in the Cayes and spend the rest of the vacation right here in the mountains – yet another rental car that didn’t make it back on time.   But we had already paid for the puddle jumper flight over to the islands so we decided to push on.   Besides, we hadn’t scuba dived in 4 years, so we were able to rebuild the excitement for what lay ahead with anticipation of exploring the huge barrier reef.

About ½ way back to Belize City, the call of the jungle became too much for either of us to resist.   We had just passed Guanacaste National Park when we looked at the time and thought we could manage another 2 hour or so hike.   I pulled a u-turn in the middle of the road (there is never very much traffic on the western highway) and entered the park.

The ranger was very friendly and gave us an overview of the trail system.   There were two options.   A short trail of about 1 mile that went along the river or a longer trail (2 miles) that went into the jungle.   We decided to do the longer trail.

We slathered up with 95% DEET inside the ranger station, but avoided the interpretive display on the various snakes of the park – ignorance is bliss - although the ranger did advise me not to hike in Tevas.   I grudgingly obliged and put on my hightop hiking boots and we started off.   It turns out that this park is a gift from the European Union to help preserve the tropical rainforest.

Now that we were down out of the mountains, the air was a little more oppressive and the jungle was a little more dense.   At one point the jungle closed in on the trail and we were briefly lost before circling back to figure out where we missed the turn.    It was just after this edgy “lost in the jungle” incident that we rounded a bend in the path and two huge vultures erupted from the dense underbrush about 20 yards off of the path.  The commotion and noise scared the shit out of us as we envisioned charging lions or rhinoceros.   After gathering our wits, we watched the two birds ascend loudly up above the forest canopy, clipping many trees on the way.    Then it hit me like a Mac-truck – the thick, almost palatable stench of rotten carrion.

 “Oh man! Do you smell that?”  I asked Beth.

Beth has allergies and usually cannot smell too keenly, but I could tell she picked this up by the nauseating look on her face.

“Let’s go check it out!”  I enthused.   “I bet it’s some cool, dead exotic animal that we’ve never seen before.”  My boyish excitement to go poke at dead things was really coming through.

“Ohmygod NO!  We are NOT going bushwhacking through the jungle in search of rotten dead animals that even I can smell.” 

She turned and started back up the trail.  End of discussion.

“I bet it’s a monkey.   Or maybe a leopard!”  I yelled up the trail.  “It could even be a person!”

No response…just more distance between her walking away and me standing in the hot, stinky jungle.

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She won’t live that one down.   I followed her without ever knowing what was behind that incredible stench and I still give her a hard time about being “hair, makeup, and nails….i.e. no fun”. 

The rest of the hike, while uneventful, was just what we needed as a last “jungle fix” before jumping on the next airplane for the outer cayes.  


---Chapter 2 – No Shirt, No Shoes….No Problem ---

Stay tuned for chapter 2.   You’ll get to hear about such exciting things as the “Jimmy Buffet porn song”, “Festival of paint”, and “Canadian girls gone wild”.