Somehow when I was taking photos of nurse sharks and gentle rays, my camera must have skipped. When I went to look at them, I only saw photos of me and Patches. So there I was in the ocean snorkeling and still, I am with my goat. I left Caye Caulker when I ran out of snorkel spots after two days and went to San Pedro Ambergris Caye. It is completely the opposite. Whereas Caye Caulker is a wopping two miles long, without cars and with a road made of sand, Ambergris Caye has cars, concrete roads, and is very built up for the tourists. I met a wonderful Belizean man who left Belize and was living in London and Norway. His black skin was a complete contrast to his Norwegian pale girlfriend. He was extremely cultured. I noticed how he glanced at my dish when we were eating breakfast at a roadside café. He silently observed that I was using my fork as a knife, turning it sideways. I mentioned that to him later realizing I saw my knife as an ornament for the table. I told him I would have preferred using my hands instead of the fork. It was a friendly exchange, mind you, but I realized how quickly we convey information to each other and how the mind always sizes things. The way I held my fork gave my whole life and heritage away. What a strange thing to realize while sitting in a third world country, eating not at a hole in the wall precisely because there were no walls. The next day we said our goodbyes and I left for the jungle. The snorkel boats there would have only taken me to the same sites as the boats leaving from Caye Caulker so it was time for a new scene.
I took a water taxi to Belize City and from there got a taxi to the bus station. I noticed that the ATM (Actun Tunichil Muknal) Mayan cave was near the capital of Belmopan, so I got off the bus. However, this was not a tourist town, there were no tour guides nor easy access places to stay. A woman selling sweets at the bus station saw my confusion and said she would rent a bedroom out for $25 Belize dollars. Cut 25 in half and you get the amount you pay in US dollars. A taxi cab came in on the scene hoping to make some money off my tourist dollars. I knew I should have spent more time on my computer researching before I left the island to figure out my way – or was this all happening for a reason. I was directed to an internet hub and tried to navigate the pages for what I wanted in Belmopan. But, Belmopan was not the town to stop at for the guided tours. I ended up finding a phone number on a website that was a lodge that offered both accommodations – for the extravagant traveler and the budgeted one. It costs money every time someone uses their cell phone to make a call. A nice man from the internet shop called the lodge for me and got the price. He wrote down $15 US dollars for a bunkhouse in the jungle. Can do!
I was on my merry way and went back to the bus station. There was a long line for the bus I needed to take. A taxi cab driver already piranahed his way towards me telling me I’d have to wait about an hour for the next bus because this one arrived almost full. I waited and silently affirmed I was getting on the bus. They took some people on and then closed the gate. Then they came back announcing there was one more seat. The women in front were traveling together so they stepped aside. Me and my luggage made it on the crowded bus which looked like a school bus from the US that was discarded. I had to tell the driver to drop me off between stops. The drive there was beautiful jungle, miles of green covered hills without any buildings to obscure the view. I was dropped off in the middle of nowhere with a long road to walk to get to the lodge. Luckily, there was a man from the lodge on his way to catch a bus home. He called a worker from the luxury resort to pick me up. I went from chicken bus (they call them that because sometimes you might sit next to someone carrying a live chicken) to luxury van chauffeuring me to the entrance of the resort. When I got to the front desk, the young Belizean (although the lodge was owned by Canadians, the workers were Belizeans. This is the norm. The more expensive properties are not owned by locals, but employ them.) told me that I was quoted the wrong price. Here I was in one of the most beautiful lodges I have ever seen with flowers growing that I have only previously seen cut in a vase from a florist, in the middle of a jungle with no fruit stand and he tells me the bunkhouse is a lot more than what was told to the man on the phone who made the phone call for me. He must have heard 15 instead of 50. The dinner and breakfast cost more than the lodging itself. Luckily the young concierge gave me the lower price for the bunkhouse and off I went. Another worker trolleyed my bags to the 6 bunked bunkhouse that was empty save for myself. He also told me that there were dangerous snakes that come out at night in the jungle and that I should use my flashlight when I walk to the toilet.
The windows were just screen and the light was a kerosene lamp. Luckily, I had the power bar that Mom gave me to eat. My dinner was a makeshift emergency stash that saved me a lot of money for food that I wouldn’t have eaten anyway. I could hear the night sounds of the jungle and managed to see the stars through the trees which would have kept me up looking, but the mosquitos dictated that I go back inside. It was a much needed respite from the peopled hostels I had stayed at before. I went to sleep muttering how thankful I was until I was too tired to speak. The next morning I checked out and was given a ride to the top of the road and told to wait for the bus. Shortly thereafter, I was on the bus back to Belmopan and on to catch another to San Ignacio, land of the real Disneyland.
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