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Published: November 28th 2008
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As the days count down and we face the ultimate reality that at some point we will have to return to lands where the word ´sunny´ is mearly a concept. We are determined to make the most of every little hour that remains. With that in mind we planned a wild rollercoaster week skirting through Belize (hence the title - I thought it was funny and don´t care what anyone else says) and north Guatamala. From cave to coral, Monkey to Mayan this whistlestop tour would be just long enough to stratch the surface of two Central American Republics we are happy to admit we knew little to nothing about.
Oh except that we used to ´own´ Belize, but then where didn´t we.
What we expected from Belize was delivered in spades. Glorious vistas, amazing wildlife (the birds put even Costa Rica to shame) and a Mayan wonderland. What we didn´t expect, however, was the difference a border can make.
Or to put it another way - Belizian people are friendly, honest and just plain lovely, Guatamalans aren´t, they really aren´t.
Now I´ll be the first to accept that you can´t judge a country or a people
Ahhh - The Killer Bees
Please pay attention and read all blog entries after just meeting a few, after all what would people think of us if all they´d seen was Strictly Come Dancing - god forbid. But there are times when people must act and a tourist being assaulted by a taxi driver would be pretty high on my list.
Now before my mum gets all worried. I want to assure her and anyone else who is interested in the anatomical makeup of the peoples of MesoAmerica - he was short. Really short. Fat and short and not really a match for me at all. In fact by the time he´d squared up to my nipples he´d already bottled it and was backing down.
Let me explain what happended.
First it starts with a border crossing. A boring yet reliabley frustrating activity of freight haulage and yellow lines spent wondering if your secret stash of loo roll is going to make it through (serious, it´s a criminal offence to import toilet roll to Belize - strange). Borders themselves also prove havens for touts, scammers and thiefs, most of them wearing uniform. So it happened. A ´friendly´ collectivo driver approaches us and offers us a lift to Flores (near the
site of the majestic mayan ruins of Tikal).
´Mucho cheap my friends, mucho´
´Uh-hu´ (it was early)
´Only 6, my friends, 6 for two´ (his bits were actually in Spanish, but you get the drift)
´6!´
´Si, 6´ (Didn´t think you needed the Si translated (it´s yes by the way))
´Wow, ok´
Clearly at this ungodly hour our brains had not the capacity to register the golden rules that had got us through 11 months, 20 countries and numerous dodgy curries - Rule 7 ´If it sounds too good to be true ...´
So off we plodded headed for this man´s Collectivo -
Note For people who have not travelled in the Americas ´Collective´ is the Spanish word for ´Just one more in the back ... eeeeuuugghh. Look you don´t really ´need´ to breath.´
- to be taken to what looked deceptively like a taxi.
´Uh Uh´ (still not up to thinking in Spanish - very early)
´Si, Si Collectivo´
´No, Taxi. Not Collectivo´
´Si, Si. Only 6. My friends´ (I think the Spanish word ´my friends´ means ´suckers´ by the way. Not sure)
Ok. So off we went. Speeding through the beautifully
countryside heading inexorbitally towards the confrontation that was certain to ensue. We knew he was lying, he knew he was lying. What would happen would happen. Thankfully he had been standing next to nic (staring at her arse - Latin custom) and hadn´t noticed the foot I had on him ... nor the couple of decades.
´600 please´
´Hmm. That´s 55 quid em why don´t you ...´
´600!´
At this point he grabbed me and attempt what can only be described as a fat-butt. Unable to force his head further forward than his fantastically rounded gut (perfectly spherical - it´s odd what you notice in the heat of battle) I was charged by squidgey and somewhat moist mounds of man boobs. More in shock (and awe) than fear and with a patience built up sitting on Indian trains I mearly responded with ´Not a good idea, sunshine´ (I´m not sure the concept of being insulted by sly references to slighty effeminate names has reached Guatamala but here´s hoping). He responded with thrusts and gabs of podgy fingers towards the lower straps on my bag that had, unfortunately, been soaked in a puddle of dog wee just the week
previously. Desperate screams reigned back and forth about him deserving his money and us decrying him for his lies. All the while more locals poured over the situation inexplicabley coming to HIS aid. Most of them stating that we should pay 100 times what was agreed for a service.
Things were heading decidely ugly - he already was but anyway. In his finally bid to steal his prize he squared up with his full height, breath and sweat slowly rising, blinding my senses with a rage that has long since been master.
I thumped him.
Actually, no I didn´t, but I bloody well wanted to. Had it not been for the fact that Nic got in the way. Instead I calmly got 70 (more than a fair price) out of my pocket put them in his grubby fingers and told him in no uncertain terms to F@#$ Off.
Crisis solved. Fat man angry, but appeased. Us hating our first hours in Guatamala.
Then the hotel guy ripped us off ...
Go to Belize.
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christina teck
non-member comment
awesome
love our country and lets us live the beauty of our toucan!