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Published: June 11th 2011
For all those still checking this little piece of travel reporting after my month long layoff, here's the last entry from my South Central American sojourn. Thanks for sticking with it, and hopefully this serves as a short but sweet grace note to your reading.
After my final three days in Ecuador, leading the slow life in the touristy town of Puerta Ayora in Galapagos (which consisted of stroll, food, holy god get me to air conditioning, stroll, food, holy god get me to air conditioning, etc) I started my exit from Ecuador. It ended up as a 30 hour exercise in patience along a non-sensical route. At 7am in PA, I had to catch a bus to the ferry on the other side of the island, which I apparently missed. Me and a guy from Toronto (met randomly in the hostel) split a cab and ended up chatting through the bus and ferry ride. His trip, with a year-ago-planned booked trip to Machu Pichu was being interrupted by a house sales document problem forcing him to fly to Hong Kong to sign papers in person, likely causing him to default on his trip unless he wanted to turn around and make the Hong Kong to Peru journey immediately after arriving. So, my situation wasn't as trying as his. We talked books and comics and passed the hours in the dusty landscape by the airport. My flight took me back to mainland Guayaquil, where I had eight hours to kill before boarding my redeye flight. I can describe the entirety of that airport by memory even now. The GYE flight had me heading to Atlanta (short explanation: the rewards ticket used only worked by connecting me from GYE to Atlanta to Belize), but first I was rewarded with a special surprise. While waiting at the gate my name, amongst others, was called for a random security inspection. We were led below the concourse, where teams of military members with drug sniffing dogs ran through the luggage. It was dark and unfriendly and the inspectors did nothing to ease the tensions, since they probably assumed we were all drug traffickers. After waiting in line for an eternity, my carefully and tightly packed luggage was unceremoniously dumped on a metal table while the granite-made military man pawed through everything. I kept wondering if they'd find the rock I took from the Cotopaxi volcano and decide to give me trouble for transporting it out of country. I pictured trying to explain it in my all but non-existent Spanish. Granite Man took out a knife, gesturing if it was ok if he cut into my backpack to check for hidden contraband. I don't think I was allowed to say no...though I wasn't thrilled at the notion of him ruining the pack, especially after almost tearing apart my shoe inserts (it didn't seem wise to whine about how expensive those were). After nothing was found, including the rock (ha ha!), I had the pleasure of repacking the suitcase, lining up again for no reason, waiting another 10 minutes and then getting body searched. Joy oh joy. Not the greatest note to leave on. The flight itself was reasonable though I only managed about 40 minutes of shut eye.
In Atlanta, the return to America was slightly shocking...the garish array of fast food restaurants, endless cell phones in use, packed corridors and stores stuffed with mostly unnecessary goods...I kept my head down and thoughts buried in the iPod. By the time I was on the Belize flight, now mostly awake for some 25 hours, I wanted to snap at every bit of inconsideration by fellow passengers. The airport in Belize led to a 30 minute cab ride from a Dennis Haysbert lookalike to downtown Belize City. He kept wondering why anyone would want to live in a city. Seeing Belize City I can't blame him. A permanent heat surrounded the elongated shanty-town quality of the city. The terminal for the water taxi to the tiny island of Caye Caulker, where I was booked to spend the next month, was a small, packed place with two fans and a baggage handler that looked like Flavor Flav with a cauliflower ear. He and I chatted a bit, him playing up the virtues of the surroundings (the local rice and bean place, etc), all to eventually hit me up for a good tip. The joy of scammers. The view outside the pier looked like a bizarro Venice, with boatmen working poles on their small docked boats. Though I love being on the water, given the length of my waking time and the nine part (cab to ferry to bus to plane to plane to plane to cab to water taxi to bicycle taxi) transportation process, I was getting minimal joy out of the ride.
The small island of Caye (pronounced "key") Caulker is gorgeous though and that shook me out of my exhaustion. You don't need the lame 'no shirts, no shoes, no problem' signs to tell you this is a relaxed place. The tranquil, hypnotic blue water and smooth sands tell you that. I grabbed a bicycle taxi for what turned into a 5 minute ride. You can actually walk the strolling parts of island from tip to tip in about 25 minutes. There's less than 1500 natives there (though, as I learned later, the Chinese are buying up many businesses and properties from the locals, so who knows what the culture will be like in 10 years) and businesses are strictly bars, restaurants, hotels, tourist stores and activity (snorkeling, diving, fishing) bookers. Palm trees drift over the small buildings. There are only three main roads on the place and no cars. If you don't feel like walking or biking, you just grab a golf cart cab, though I can imagine too many instances (heavy luggage, late night drunk) where you'd need them. I had booked a small cabana in the back of a restaurant called Wish Willey's run by a 40s-ish rasta named Maurice and his wife/lady, the German Maureen. Two restaurant runners from Colorado had booked the larger cabana. All were extremely friendly. The Colorodians immediately invited me up for a drink and offered their snorkeling gear and liquor for my use. Maurice cut me half price deals on all the delicious BBQ he put nightly...and I spent a few nights gorging on his fish and chicken. The cabin itself was a nice little set up with a small kitchen, cool murals on the walls, lizards running around and a hammock on the front porch. Three dogs ran around the outside barking at anyone who came to the gate. Whenever anyone needed Maurice they'd just start yelling "Wish Willey!" from the gate.
The downside of the cabana was that the metal frame and single interior fan made it an oven during the day. And I re-discovered how I'm just not made for island heat. During my final days in Puerta Ayora my stomach had gone a bit watery and this continued through my Belize journey. The combo of debilitating heat and bad stomach didn't put me in the most adventurous of moods. I walked the whole island a few times during my first days there, making time to head up to the Split to swim in the bathwater temperature water and spending a day at the Split's water side bar with the Colorado guys knocking back rum and cokes (too much sugar in that heat is dangerous) and bullshitting. Adjusting to a country with English as the primary language was easy enough, though I quickly grew annoyed with some of the locals. When you meet a friendly, completely chill rasta they're quickly a pleasure to be around. On the other hand, a heavy amount of scammers populate the area...the type of people that want to pretend to chat you up, asking where you're from, etc, then extolling the virtues of being high and doing nothing (I wondered how anyone could do that every day for 30 or 40 years and still be excited about it), and then try and hit you up to pay for their beer or groceries or buy something from them. One guy took it as a personal offense that I had no interest in buying weed from him. So, the locals were a mixed bag. The tourists were the same...mostly people that had clearly worked on their beach bodies for long periods...and groups of fraternity style guys that liked to yell at each other about nothing. The scenery couldn't be better for an island variety retreat, though the culture and atmosphere weren't quite my scene.
For my 36th birthday (eesh), I booked a full day snorkeling and headed out on a rickety wooden boat with about 12 other people, mostly young couples. The captain, a tall cool dreadlocked customer, was excellent in guiding us around the waters and showing us the sites while diving. He also had the worst musical mix in history, some copy of a dancehall reggae radio show that blasted heavy dance mixes and mysteriously changed songs every 25 seconds. The snorkeling itself was excellent though...the water was perfectly clear, better than I've ever experienced anywhere. The coral of the barrier reef was striking and I got to see the slow immensity of a couple of manatees gliding about the water. Our second stop was in shallow waters bursting with huge fish, four foot rays and three to four foot reef sharks. The boat tossed food over the side to attract the fish and once we were in the water, the aquatic creatures were surrounding us, literally inches from our bodies. The guide grabbed a reef shark (apparently this is allowed) and let us brush his sandpaper skin. This portion of the trip definitely qualified as a 'holy shit' moment. On the way back we were served ceviche and rum and, aside from the horrific music (to be clear, I like reggae, but this was awful), it was a good ride back (though i would come to regret swimming without a shirt and applying insufficient sunscreen to my middle back).
I also made a decision that day that I was done with Belize. There was a lot to appreciate about the island and ultimately it was a place I could see going as a couple for a week, but the idea of staying another three weeks didn't seem at all appealing. I would miss out on diving instructions, but aside from that, I had already done most of what the island had to offer. Throw in the crippling heat and my increasingly troublesome stomach and I figured I was better served heading home. I determined that the money not spent in Belize could be used to head out to San Francisco (my recently departed residence before the east coast) and catch up with friends. So, that's what I did. I spent a few more days in Belize, reading, hammock relaxing and eating Jerk chicken, but on day 10, I made the trek back to the airport and ultimately to Connecticut. It was a good decision as I've thoroughly enjoyed my two and a half weeks in California post a recovery week in CT.
And, somewhat abruptly, my treks through South and Central America were over. I miss many elements of it...the simplicity and natural sights, the removal from the constant media barrage, the constant sense of adventure and unknown. But this trip and the time off that preceded it have done their work. I'm relaxed again, reinvigorated, excited about many new possibilities, 55lbs lighter from a year previous and already looking forward to trips in the future. Thanks to everyone who spent the time reading this travel blog. Your comments and feedback were amazing and I hope you got the entertainment or information out of my rambling ways that you wanted. Until my next trip into the wider world, I thank you again.
Your scribe,
Grant
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Rich Langsford
non-member comment
Thanks for the blog!
...a bit belated, I guess, but definitely timely and informative! I'm a couple years from retirement, and Cuenca has been on my short list. After just running into your blog from a Google search and spending a couple hours reading of your experiences, I have a much better feel for the place than from anything read elsewhere. I appreciate you being my "man on the ground! Hope you keep traveling and pass through many great places! --Rich