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To get to our next stop in Belize,
San Ignacio, we simply wandered across the road from our hotel and looked a bit lost in the market area with the buses. Eventually someone will sing out a list of names, and you pick the one you want. In our case it was Belize City, which is not the capital of Belize (this is a name you want to note down for your next trivia night – Belize City was once the capital but no more – now it's Belmopan). Belize City has about 300,000 people so there should be plenty of buses going there. After that we would need to go to Belmopan, the actual capital; a bustling metropolis of about 20,000.
The bus shuddered down the potholed road, billowing clouds of diesel smoke, and we were on our way. Not so crowded at first, it would inevitably pick up as many people and goods as could humanly fit, sometimes actually coming to a complete stop to allow people to get on. The day began a bit tropical, and the bus was stuffy. Finally, a few sprinkles of rain appeared.
“Thank god!” I though, anticipating the relief of a
tropical downpour. Instantly, like a Wes Craven horror flick, the windows of the bus slammed shut at once as 50 Belizeans with slicked and perfect hair tried to protect their do's. Fantastic – a mobile sauna with vinyl seats.
Wiping a spot with my sleeve I gazed out the window at the scenery, spotting a sign which immediately lifted my spirits:
“WELCOME TO COLLETT – LAND OF CONSTRUCTION SAND”
Coming from the so-called Sunshine State, I was impressed – this was far more evocative. The day was looking more promising.
And the arrival at Belize City to change buses didn't disappoint – the bus station was a interestingly confusing. People, buses, dogs – and the whole building was painted in rasta colours. Again, the San Ignacio bus was located by looking lost, and we crammed into that one – the stopover much quicker than the supposedly more well organised official buses in other countries.
Hammering down the road from Belize City, past a cemetery which had either had a road built through it, or had been built on a traffic island, we again stopped often to pick up passengers, but you had to be quick;
next to the sign which read “we fix any problem with your hose and speak english” were a group of backpackers. The bus pulled to a slow stop, just in front of them, and they made moves to get on. Their moves, however were hesitant, and the bus simply drove off, leaving them behind, open mouthed and confused, in clouds of dust.
Bus travel is really the way to do it, and, almost invariably, the cheaper and crappier the bus the more interesting it is going to be. We got chatting to a Mennonite bloke, bearded, with overalls and a large straw hat. Other groups have different hats, or no beards, or different coloured shirts – some of them even use electricity! (Our new friend was aghast at this thought).
Belize has a very large Mennonite community. In fact, the majority of Belize's agricultural production is provided by the Mennonites, all of whom use no modern machinery (apart from some renegades who dare to use rubber tyres of their wagons...yeah, I know, what a scandal).
Our friend on the bus was on the way to Guatemala to buy medicine for his mum or something, and he was
quite a nice guy. Very lacking in knowledge about the outside world (he had heard of Australia, but thought it was a country in Africa) he nonetheless spoke 4 languages (Low German , High German, Spanish and English). Plus he had a ginga beard, so he was all right in my book.
The radio ads blaring through the speakers on the bus at high volume were distracting, the english spoken sounding like some sort of terrible Ragga song, only yelling about rugs or used cars or something. This was punctuated by many, many, many reggae songs; although this made a nice change from the reggaeton in Mexico and the salsa in Cuba. Central Americans, too, don't believe in waste – if the volume knob has extra notches it's clearly a crime not to use them all.
San Ignacio proved to be another little town – there really wasn't another sort of town in Belize. A place to stay was pretty easy to find. The hostel was on the main street, and there wasn't all that many other streets. And the hostel turned out to be pretty well set up – perfect for a couple of days of
not much at all.
Walking about the town was the main activity, chatting to the locals. One friendly bloke with fantastic dreadlocks was wandering down the road, going up in clouds of smoke. He said to me “I've got the good incense and things, and the good ganja too, mon”
I replied, “No thanks”.
He simply smiled, and said “Respect, mon, respect.” and shook my hand.
Aside from the streets there were plenty of bars and cafes to keep your interest, some better than others. Going by some of the characters getting around, particularly the ex-pat gringos, Belize is the sort of place you go when other places have had enough of you. For all that, it had a friendly vibe.
We also managed to make contact with the rest of the group from Cuba, who were on an Intrepid trip through the area. A boozy night followed, as usual with these people, and we capped off our time in Belize.
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