On the way to Belize City.

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On the way to Belize City, 20 april 1990.
Once we crossed the border and were on belizian territory, the change was abrupt nd sudden.
No more spanish but the belizian english with the musical lilt that we remember from Livingston, no more latinos with their rodeo hats and no more colorfully but smelly indios - they all left the bus at the border - instead the bus is full with black creols wearing bowler hats woolen pants with dull colored shirts.
No more subtropical rain forest with shrieking parrots and rowdy howler monkeys. The country side is open with the ocassional low hill stretching out at both sides of the paved road, the green grass moist from a passing rain shower.
Both Peter and Nora are yellow in the face, still suffering from these so-called Magic Mushrooms we found in the Petèn jungle.
This early morning three hours walk to Flores did them in with constant stops because they had to relieve themselves in the bushes. We had a full hour wait before departure in Santa Elena but breakfast was beyond them.
Mary Carmen was up most of the night emptying her darms. I could hear her groans and moans whenever she left our camping place to do her "thing" , she is now sound asleep her head resting on James's shoulder who himself still looks pale enough but is obviously recovering fast watching the belizian world glide by.
I presume there will be no more Magic Mushroom stuff happening in our little hippy group for a while at least.
Mushrooms that turned out more poisonous than magic, hehehe.
I myself got just a whiff of Magic illness and I'm actually in quite a good mood, I'm in a new country and with the rain gone and the sun back in the sky brightening things up I can feel the dopamine levels in my brain going up. This time however I'm on a natural high.
The other passengers in this ramshackle bus watch us with open curiousity, friendliness beaming out of huge eyes set in very dark faces.
The bus passes through small hamlets with ageing houses built from wood. A quick smoke break for the driver and the bus is instantly surrounded with creol village women dressed in long robes, small negro babies strapped to their backs , bowls with bananas on their heads, small boys dressed in dusty shorts and gray T-shirts that were once white look up at me from under curly black hair pointing fingers at me while their mommies try to sell me their bananas.
Chicken roam the village main street keeping a safe distance from the rowdy kids while picking at anything worth picking at while a lone pinkish colored pig specks of mud sticking to its hide.
The driver finishing his smoke has a quick piss at the side of the road and on we are again, on the way to Belize-City.

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