Belize city to Dangriga

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We took the early morning ferry from Ambergis Caye to Belize and dozed on the ferry. From the ferry terminal we took a taxi (unmarked, like they all are in Belize) to the bus station. Belize city was really run down. It had the same wooden houses on stilts with timber frontages whose paint was faded and peeling, just like in Hopkins, but here, some looked like they were about to fall down. We didn't see any shops, just people selling clothes by hanging them on fences and selling bits and pieces by the sides of the roads, none of which were tarmacked. To be honest, after hearing about how dangerous it could be, Hannah and I felt a little intimidated and were happy to only be passing through. The bus station, a corrugated iron and cement building, was pretty shabby with broken wooden benches and disgusting toilets. When our bus arrived everyone scrambled to get their luggage on and to get a seat – there was clearly more people than would fit on. It was an old US school bus, brightly painted but a bit of a banger. The journey to Dangriga was hot but the breeze from the Windows cooled us.

Just outside of Belize City, the bus pulled over and stopped for seemingly no reason. Paranoia kicked in and I thought the bus was about to be robbed. But it was something much more civilized – a bike race! Some of the passengers got off to take pictures. Then we were off again, heading inland and down a winding highway through hills covered in tropical palms. At Dangriga station we caught another taxi to the Hostel, Val´s backpackers. Dana, the owner, was super nice and showed us our room – a dorm we had to ourselves with a view of the sea, verandah with a hammock and large bathroom with HOT WATER. We went into town for tea but had to settle for home made sandwiches as nowhere was open (blooming Easter again!). There wasn´t a lot going on in that town. Nothing to do or see really, so the next morning we went to Pelican beach resort, a local hotel, where we spent the day on Dana´s recommendation. We started with a drink each. Mine was the most delicious French vanilla milkshake I have ever tasted. Then we spent a few hours reading and writing on hammocks at the end of the Pier. Every so often the sound of kids playing in the sea and tiny waves breaking was broken by the roar of Cessna jets taking off from the towns airstrip, formerly belonging to the Hotel. The planes were bound for the Cayes or Belize city and flew only meters above our heads, low enough for us to see how many passengers were on board. We stayed at the resort all day, eating both lunch and dinner there. When we returned to the hostel we discovered a new person in our dorm – a friendly middle aged English woman, who had spent longer than she ever hoped to in Nuneaton on visits to Dairy Crest with work.
After an early night we got up and packed. We sat in the hammocks and lay on the crappy beach in front of the hostel before walking into town for some cash, killing time before our bus to Hopkins that afternoon. When we went to take a taxi to the bus station, our driver informed us that since it was still Easter week the buses weren’t running to their usual schedule and we had missed the last one. So a taxi it was – for a fairly reasonable rate as well. Whilst we sneaked around pot holes on the dirt track which took us to Hopkins village from the Highway junction, we discussed politics, cultural differences, and the parties he´d had the previous week with some Canadians apparently staying at the Hostel we were going to. The road seemed to go on for ever, but eventually we arrived in sleepy Hopkins.

Our Hostel, the Funky Dodo, was a collection of wooden shacks on stilts built on plot of sand. Wooden walkways linked the dorms, bathroom and kitchenette. On a concrete patio was a collection of plastic garden furniture, cigarette buts, empty beer bottles, a very hungover owner and several chemically –altered guests. On our first night there the previously mentioned Canadians barbequed two whole chickens and in between drinks, and with no fuss whatever, prepared coconut rice, sweet potato mash, homemade salsa, peppers in a spicy tomato sauce and chopped pineapple for afters. Brilliant.


We spent some time exploring Hopkins over the next few days. Crap supermarkets with dusty tins ran by Chinese immigrants, lots of Bob Marley music, and a nice beach. We spent some time at a beach shack ran by a guy who was born in Manchester, raised in Ireland, and had lived in the US and Belize. Consequently he talked very, very, strangely. But his pizzas were excellent. Outside the shack there were hammocks where we slept, wrote and and read, and a volleyball court. I played a little game with some local kids, and Hannah chatted to a strange Australian who claimed to be Steve Irwins best mate and who had lived in the same village Hannah had visited earlier that year. The following day we borrowed a kayak, which was hard to track down, with it being on a resort at the other end of town, and with that resort being deserted now all the Americans had gone home for the summer. We took the Kayak to the Mangrove swamp, where we saw beautiful birds from a wooden look out and some interesting fish, but no crocs. Phew.

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