Category: Travel

It’s sometimes said that Belize is like a cross between Jacques Cousteau and Indiana Jones. If Thursday was my Jacques Cousteau day, today was my Indiana Jones day.

I was up early to take the famous Actun Tunichil Muknal (ATM) tour, a journey through a network of caves extending kilometres into the mountain to the Mayan underworld. It was here that gods lived and human sacrifices took place. The Belize government maintains strict control over who can visit this site because you are literally stepping over artifacts more than 1000 years old. Only a limited number of specially trained guides can conduct the tour, and groups are limited to eight in number. For this reason the tour is not an option for the many cruise ship tourists who visit Belize.

I was put in with a group of a German couple and some Americans. Several other groups were going at similar times and numbers had to be controlled so there wouldn’t be too many people in one area at a time. Our guide, Emile, was obviously of Mayan ancestry, but jumped back and forth between English, Creole, and Spanish. He’s an experienced caver, who once spent a week underground exploring a massive cave network.

It was a bit of a drive out of town along the main highway. Then we turned off to follow a rough dirt road through farmlands with grazing cattle and orange groves. At last we stopped and left in the van the second pair of dry clothing we had been instructed to bring. We set off taking only our lunches, cameras, and helmets. We were prepared to get very wet, and the guide carried a dry bag to transport our cameras through the wetter areas. It was now a 40-minute hike on a fairly easy jungle trail, and the only difficulty was having to wade across a river three times on loose stones, sometimes in water up to our crotches.

At last, at the large cave entrance, we had to swim wearing our clothes and shoes through deep river water for about 40 feet into the cave. From there we had to hike, often wading through water, and climbing over stones, in darkness lit only by our helmet lamps. We followed Emile, calling out any hazards to the people behind us down the line — sudden drops, sharp rocks, or which side to walk on. In a number of places we had to swim or wade, and then emerging soaking wet, had to climb up and down rocks. It was quite strenuous.

The cave formations were quite impressive. Stalactites, some hanging like curtains, or even like dreadlocks; stalagmites, columns, and other interesting formations marked the way. We were warned not to touch them so as not to cause damage, and also because some formations are quite sharp. The guide pointed out various places where Mayan rituals took place, and where artifacts have been found. As he shone his flashlight, bats that were disturbed by the light began to fly around.

Apparently the Mayans believed that their gods lived in these caves, and in times of drought or other natural disasters they brought offerings into the caves — large urns of corn, chicha (corn beer), and sometimes human beings. Our guide explained that sometimes even kings would pierce their penises, or queens would pierce their tongues, to offer blood to the gods in order to appease them.

At last the cave narrowed, and we were instructed to climb up the rocks, very carefully, hand over hand and foot over foot to a ledge about 30 feet upwards. From now on up it would be a dry walk, and so we could carry our own cameras. We were also told to remove our shoes and walk only in socks, leaving our shoes behind. This is to protect the delicate floor of the cave. The socks are necessary because the oils in feet can also do damage.

Quite often right beside the trail we would see fragments of clay pottery and other artifacts. The areas where these were are simply marked off with orange tape. Our guide monitored our steps to make sure nobody stepped over the orange tape. It would be very easy to take one accidental step off the trail and crush a 1500-year-old pot. Suddenly, among the pots at the side of the trail we saw a human skull sticking from the ground. It was here that our guide told us about the human sacrifices, speculating about whether the victims would have known their fates as they were led into the caves and the world of the gods.

At last we climbed a long metal ladder up into a small cave leading off the main one. At the end of that cave was the skeleton of a young woman, believed to be about 17 or 18 and with features suggesting she may have been royalty. Like the pots left behind, her body had also been smashed in places, her hands amputated, and her vertebrae smashed.

This was as far as we could go and we now begin the journey back. We were all exhausted when we finally emerged from the cave and returned to where we had left our lunches.

This excursion was fascinating and fun, and is an experience I’ll remember as long I live.

Back in town I went for dinner at a Sri Lankan restaurant and had a very spicy curry washed down with Belikin, Belize beer. The man who runs the restaurant is from Colombo. It was one of those combinations you would only see in Belize — a Sri Lankan restaurant decorated with Christmas ornaments in a Belizean looking setting with Belizean waiters.

Tomorrow I plan to cross the border into Guatemala and head to the ancient Mayan city of Tikal.

San Ignacio is a popular tourist destination, but it’s also a real town. It’s popular not for the town itself, but because it is the starting point for a number of interesting and exciting excursions to major Mayan sites, to caves, or for tubing down rivers. Unlike the flat northern Belize, San Ignacio is hilly and is at the edge of broad-leafed jungle. It’s only a very short distance from here to the Guatemalan border.

The bus took nearly three hours, and stopped every few feet to take on or let off passengers. The total distance was only around 100 km. In the bus station at Belmopan, I saw a Mennonite family, the man wearing a broad straw hat and suspenders and a beard, and his wife and girls are following in long black dresses with their heads covered in black. They were very white looking, and such a contrast to most Belizeans. There are significant Mennonite communities around here.

After checking into a hotel where I’ll stay a couple nights, I took a walk a couple kilometres out of town to the site of the old Mayan city of Cahal Pech. It was a very steep climb up a tall hill in the blazing sun, but the site itself was pleasant amidst tall tropical jungle trees. The smell of decaying leaves, sweet and almost perfumey, reminded me of Tikal, another Mayan city in Guatemala, which I hope to get to shortly.

Cahal Pech had several temples overlooking plazas, many with gnarly roots and trees growing from them. It wasn’t as spectacular as Tikal or Palenque, but was in a nice setting and made for a pleasant excursion.

On the way back, I stopped at a luxury hotel that is the site of an iguana rehabilitation project. The iguanas are in danger to because they have been hunted and their eggs are collected as a delicacy. Here they are breeding them until they are decent size to be put back in the wild, and they have a much better chance of survival if they are released when they are big enough to avoid being eaten by birds etc. A guide, Eddie, took me to see the iguanas and on the way he showed me numerous medicinal plants and trees, telling me about each. So many were known to the Mayans as having medicinal properties, but Eddie said many of the young people are not learning these traditions and are using modern pharmaceuticals instead. There are a few bush doctors around, but they are a dying breed. One tree he showed me has a similar, but worse, effect than poison ivy if you touch it and get its sap on you. To me it looked like any other tree.

I took a few pictures of the iguanas. Coincidentally, it was mating season, and the big alpha male, Gomez, was busily engaged in mating with a rather passive female. Eddie introduced me to George, another male, who is only able to breed when Gomez is similarly occupied. Otherwise Gomez doesn’t allow George to breed. George is not happy with this situation, and he is the most aggressive iguana if approached. He puffs out his neck, and may swing his tail at someone who gets too near. Eddie says this can hurt if you are struck by a flying tail. There was a separate cage filled with younger iguanas that had hatched in June and July.

Back in town I booked a tour for tomorrow. It involves exploring a cave complex known as ATM, or Actun Tunichil Muknal.

 

Today was one of those experiences to last a lifetime. I decided to go snorkeling for my first time ever. I don’t know if I could have chosen a better spot – the barrier reef in Belize is second only to the Great Barrier Reef off Australia. I took a tour with a guide, along with six other people, all European tourists, and all of whom have snorkeled before.

We took a small boat about 10 minutes out onto the water to where there’s a coral reef, and we snorkeled in three different spots: South Passage, Shark and Ray Alley, and Coral Gardens. I managed to get some prescription goggles that corrected my eyesight so I could see beautifully underwater. We also had flippers. The water was incredibly clear, and you could see very well under the sunny sky.

We anchored in a sandy area just a short distance from the coral reef, and our guide, José, led us over to the reef. The water was filled with amazing schools of colourful tropical fish that darted in and out of the coral. I never could’ve imagined there would be so many different fish species in one small area. There were plants in amazing shapes and colours rising from the reef. At one point, a green eel slithered by.

At our second spot on Shark and Ray Alley, there was a boat already stopped and tourists were swimming among the stingrays. We also anchored and swam over towards the other boat. I was amazed to see dozens of stingrays sliding just above the bottom, sometimes right below me. It was an amazing experience. The thought of Steve Irwin occurred to me, but apparently these rays are fairly accustomed to people, and the trick is to respect them and not annoy them. They are used to being fed, and they simply swam around a few feet underneath. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, we didn’t see any sharks this time, but swimming among the stingrays was an incredible experience. As we were leaving and back in the boat, we saw a huge spotted eagle ray.

At our last stop, the Coral Gardens, we anchored in shallow water and the guide just let us explore the reefs on our own. In this area the reefs came very near to the surface, but you can swim through the channels between them that were deeper and had sandy bottoms. The fish here were just incredible. Sometimes as I approached the reef, a whole school of medium-sized and multicoloured fish would dart out in front of me. There were little creatures that moved along the bottom, and others that lurked in caves. The reef was teeming with life.

This is my last day at Caye Caulker. Tomorrow I’ll catch the water taxi back to Belize city, and then the bus to San Ignacio in the jungle close to the Guatemalan border.

I haven’t ridden a one-speed bicycle with pedal brakes since I was a kid, but the pedal brake bicycle I rented yesterday and today is a good analogy for Caye Caulker. There is only one speed here — laid back.

Caye Caulker is certainly a tourist destination, but it hasn’t yet been overdeveloped. It’s small enough that you can get from one end of the island to the other in about 10 minutes by bicycle. The only paved surface is the airstrip at the south end of the island. The rest is sand and dirt roads where mangy dogs lie around, and tourists and locals simply bike around them.

Weather is warm, but a cool and steady breeze blows in off the sea keeping things comfortable. From my hotel, it’s only a few feet across the sandy road, down the dock, and into the water.

There is no cultural or educational reason for me to be here. It is simply a time to decompress, try to put work out of my mind, and slow my pace. The cultural and educational stuff will come later.

I spent much of today exploring by bicycle, swimming and relaxing. At the south end of the island is a wild area with mangroves, a tree with complex roots that grows in salt water and is home to many animal, bird and fish species.

There are still lots for sale here at well under $100,000 U.S., or around that and up for sea front lots. It could be a great investment if Caye Caulker takes off as a tourist destination. Then again, with global warming, the whole island could some day be under water.

The food is good here. Tonight I had barracuda steak cooked in foil with tomatoes, onions, peppers and spices. It was a very good. You can eat seafood, Mexican food, Belizean food, or whatever else.

Aside from swimming, or lying around in hammocks, the main activity here seems to be the many bars. There’s also a lot of activity centered around diving and snorkeling. Some excursions go out to neighboring coral reefs. I’m tempted to give snorkeling a try if I can find prescription goggles to rent. One of the places where expeditions go is called shark and ray alley, and you can swim among sharks and stingrays. Steven Spielberg and Jaws aside, it’s a popular spot, and only a few tourists get eaten each year. I may do that, or rent a kayak.

Paradise is nice, but by Friday I plan to head back to the mainland and to western Belize before crossing into Guatemala.

Click on thumbnails below to see slide show gallery:

 

 

This morning I got a taxi down to the Swing Bridge in downtown Belize City. It’s from here that the water taxis leave for Caye Caulker and San Pedro out in the Caribbean. The Swing Bridge rotates early in the morning to allow boats through, bringing traffic to a halt. It’s also the key spot for hustlers who prey on tourists.

The boat, a large launch, zipped out onto the relatively calm and clear blue water, taking just under an hour to reach Caye Caulker, where I plan to spend a few days decompressing. This island is definitely geared to tourists, but it’s more like Negril in the 1970s than like the big tourist resorts. Pretty laid back and irie. There are no vehicles other than bicycles, golf carts, and the odd scooter.

The roads are sand, and you’re never far from water. There are little shacks catering to the budget tourist industry, offering reasonably priced meals, diving expeditions, etc.

I’ve found a hotel a few feet from the water with all the basics, including fan, private bathroom, good windows, and for a small fee access to wireless Internet. Paradise has to be sun, palm trees, the sea, and good wireless Internet. Is this paradise? We’ll see.

Yesterday I caught a bus out of the city to Belize Zoo, which is set in a jungle-like location an hour out of town. If I were an animal confined to a zoo, I would choose this one. They have lots of space and they’re in their real environment. Most of the animals are ones reclaimed from captivity, and unable to be released into the wilds. The zoo also has a very strong educational component, teaching visitors about protection of the animals’ habitats. The ocelot, for example, is now protected, but before that, it took 100 of the poor little cats to make one coat.

Among the other animals, all from the region, were a number of tapirs, the national animal of Belize. These look a bit like pigs that are growing longer noses that are trying hard to become trunks. They are sometimes called mountain cows, though apparently they are related to horses. They came up close and let you scratch them behind he ears, though one, Scotty, had a sign warning that if you got too close he might pee on you.

Other animals included giant crocodiles, a beautiful black jaguar, spotted jaguars, cougars, and black howler and spider monkeys hanging out in trees. One spotted jaguar reposed about 30 feet up in a tree. There were birds — my favourite, the multicoloured scarlet macaw, toucans, parrots, eagles, and others.

And on the way there and back I got to experience village life from the seat of an old Bluebird school bus.

Back in Belize City, I had a good walk in the downtown area, which seemed only a little less threatening than it was on Sunday afternoon. My hotel was in a richer area, and many of the houses were all decked out with elaborate displays of Christmas lights.

Had a great East Indian dinner at a restaurant just around the corner from my hotel — run by a family that appeared to be from south India, though things were too busy to engage them in conversation. They had the TV on, first with a Bollywood channel, and then they switched to local news. The newscaster spoke good English, but there was a murder story where they interviewed the family of the victim, who all spoke Criole, the local dialect of English. Then there was a lengthy interview with a wealthy businessman who had thwarted a planned home invasion by disgrunted former employees who planned to kill him and his family, despite the elaborate security system around his home. The news was entirely focused on crime, though earlier in the day I was in a restaurant that had CNN, and showed dozens of instant replays of a journalist in Iraq throwing shoes at Dubya, who kept ducking. The people in the restaurant and I thought it was hilarious.

Here people love Obama, and there are stickers on windows, and t-shirts proclaiming “yes we did.”

It’s a short bus ride across the border from Chetumal, Mexico, into Belize, but there’s a world of difference.

You board the bus to Belize at Chetumal’s new market north of the town. Some beaten up buses were pulled up by the market, and immediately the driver’s assistant from one called out to me in English and told me his bus was leaving at 10:30, in about 20 minutes. The bus looked like a 1960s vintage one that might have been used for intercity runs in North America a long time ago — a sign at the front still said that “federal law” requires you to remain behind the white line. Belize is not a federation. The door to the toilet in the back was shut with a wire that you had to untwist when you wanted to use it, and the driver’s assistant warned me it was only suitable for “number one.” And this was a first class bus. The normal buses, as in Guatemala, are old Blue Bird school buses with seats designed for children.

The driver and his assistant were both like many Belizeans — a racial mixture of black and Mayan. He spoke Spanish one minute to Latino passengers, switching to English depending on the colour of the passenger’s skin.

Many Mexicans were going to the border for the Free Zone, an area between the Mexican and Belize customs posts with Mexican-style shopping centres. The border was easy, and the guard who stamped my passport said: “Welcome to Belize. Fun in the sun? I wish I was you.” Just a little different from crossing into the U.S.!

The difference across the border was remarkable. The infrastructure was suddenly rundown and ramshackle, a sharp contrast to Mexico, which has developed enormously over the past 30 years. The road was narrow with no centre line, and this is the main northern highway. Some of the houses were wooden constructions on stilts. The people were a kaleidoscope of races, though mainly black and mestizo, and many people, perhaps 30% according to one cab driver, speak Spanish as a first language. But there are also other ethnic communities, notably East Indian and a surprising number of Chinese, who seem to be thoroughly involved in the business community, as are overseas Chinese elsewhere. My hotel in Belize City is run by a Chinese family, and I was awakened with a loud conversation in Chinese outside my window.

Belize City can best be described as “dodgy looking” (the term used in the Lonely Planet Guide). There are twisty streets, ramshackle buildings, and the city is marked with several of what are euphemistically called “canals,” but are more accurately described as open sewage trenches. Several times I saw rats, both dead and alive, in the streets. When I walked downtown on Sunday late afternoon, the streets were pretty empty except for a few guys who called out to me to see if I wanted a taxi, and some thin and diseased looking old men who asked me for spare change. Today, Monday, the stores are open, and there are more normal looking people around, but I’m still extremely careful where I walk and when I dare to take out my camera.

One cab driver talked to me a bit about how when he was a kid they used to sing God Save the Queen, and Belize was a colony, British Honduras. Guatemala has long claimed Belize, and he says the Americans are unlikely to get involved in Guatemala invaded because Guatemala is of more economic value to the U.S. Guatemala has a huge army compared to Belize, which I pointed out, is mostly used against its own people, rather than foreign invasions. Traces of the British influence still remain — the Queen is on the money, though it’s a younger picture than on the Canadian money. Some of the downtown buildings like the courthouse have GR on them — no doubt from one of the King Georges. And when I bought some bananas, a woman told me they were “a shilling” — when I looked puzzled, she told me that was 25 Belize cents (12.5 cents U.S.)

Today I visited the Belize Zoo, which I’ll describe in another post. Tomorrow I’ll catch a water taxi to Caye Caulker, a large coral reef out in the Caribbean.

The Mayan Museum, Chetumal, December 14, 2008

The Mayan museum opened at 9 a.m. so I went for a look. It was a modern building around an open courtyard filled with trees and birds. Other than a few items, and a map of the Mayan civilization, there was nothing very Mayan about the museum. It did have several galleries of work by Mexican artists.

I love Mexican art. From the muralists to Frida Kahlo, and many lesser-known artists, Mexican art tells stories, conveys cultural themes, and is brilliant and surreal.

Two common themes in Mexican art and culture are those of death and mestizaje – the racial mixing of indigenous people and Spanish conquerors that led to the modern Mexican race.

Death is celebrated November 1 on Day of the Dead, but it’s a theme that permeates Mexican culture right down to the little candy skulls that are often sold. Skulls and skeletons are common icons in Mexican paintings.

Mestizaje Is often glamorized, but the reality is it was a brutal conquest and rape of a civilization. The difficulty that Mexicans have in coming to terms with their cultural origins is not unlike a child accepting that his father was a rapist. Still, Mexican culture is so rich because it is a mixture of European and indigenous traditions – the Spanish-language, the indigenous food, and a European Catholicism infused with indigenous customs. At the same time, the mestizo culture, has always looked down on the indigenous as inferior. The reality of mestizaje is complex.

And so I particularly appreciated some of the works I saw that highlighted these common themes. I especially liked one artist, Angel Ortiz, who had traveled widely, including to Canada, and even had a painting of Vancouver harbor. His most striking work, shown here, was a montage of real human skulls inlaid among stones, the skulls displaying smiling and grimacing expressions.

Written: Chetumal, Mexico, 13 Dec. 2008

At last the real Mexico! Chetumal is a city six hours south of Cancun near the Belize border. I got here late this afternoon, and after checking into a cheap hotel, I took a long stroll down the main street. Many people were out walking, there were Mexican-style Christmas lights on buildings, and blaring Christmas songs everywhere, some in Spanish, some in English, but always loud.

Latin Americans have a higher acceptance of noise than North Americans. My hotel room is back from the street so I don’t expect the noise to be too bad tonight. For a walk down the main street though, the noise and hustle and bustle created an interesting ambiance. The lights are lit up in letters of feliz año nuevo and feliz navidad, but somehow in the balmy 20° plus weather, it just doesn’t feel like Christmas.

I rode the bus from Cancun and had both seats to myself. Mexican first-class buses are much more comfortable than North American buses, and the six-hour ride it went very quickly. It took a long time to escape the tourist ghetto of Cancun, and much of the ride wasn’t particularly interesting. The Yucatán is very flat with scrubby vegetation and small trees, but not much scenery. Only in the last couple hours of the ride did the sun come out and I began seeing more Mexican looking at villages, many with poured concrete boxes for houses, and some with palm thatched roofs. Along the highway, people sold fruit. Pineapples are now in season at about a dollar for a big large ripe one.

Chetumal has a great looking Mayan museum about a block from my hotel, which I will check out tomorrow if it’s open, before crossing into Belize.

Saturday, 13 December, 2008, Cancun

I arrived last night actually slightly ahead of schedule, and entry into Mexico was a breeze. This is not the Mexico I’m used to. The airport was modern, and except that Spanish came above English on the signs, I didn’t really feel I’ve left the United States. Yes the airport staff was Mexican, but so it is too in many American airports.

I had no trouble getting a collective taxi, which is much cheaper than a private taxi, and the driver and others I encountered seemed pleasantly surprised that I spoke Spanish.

Some of the other passengers were tourists going into the hotel zone, so I got to see it. Rarely have I seen so much concrete in one place. The hotel zone sits on a long peninsula separated from the Mexican centre of the city. It was high-rise hotel after high-rise hotel, with palm trees decked out in lights. I have never before seen a resort like this – it reminded me a bit of Las Vegas, with less glitter, only slightly, but seemingly more immense. Perhaps it was like Miami Beach, which I’ve never been to. I passed a few loud party scenes with dancing gringos and English-speaking DJs, and lots of alcohol flowing.

The hotels where we dropped passengers had glittering lobbies, doorman, and high walls and gates. Everything to protect the tourist experience from the Mexican experience.

Soon we entered the more Mexican looking city center, and the atmosphere completely changed. It’s not an old colonial style Mexican city, but rather a city thrown together in the 60s and 70s with cheap concrete block construction, but this is where Mexicans live and work. My hotel, the Terracaribe, is quite acceptable by basic Latin American standards. The room has no window, except to the central corridor, and the walls are concrete painted white, with tile floor and surfaces. There’s air-conditioning, hot water, and even semi-reliable wireless Internet, and it’s relatively clean.

I got a slow start this morning, desperately needing some sleep, but soon I will try to catch a bus to Chetumal near the Belize border.

MacDonald-Cartier Airport, Ottawa, Dec. 12, 5:30 a.m.

Flying isn’t so bad once you’re in the air. It’s getting into the air that I find the most stressful.

I got a cab to the airport that picked me up at 3:30 a.m. after only a few hours of restless sleep. Blueline isn’t making appointments for pickups because of the transit strike, but the cab was on time. He raced through the empty Ottawa streets to the airport. If only traffic was that light at other times.

I hate airports. Long standing in lines like cattle. Then my least favourite – the security search. It seems they base the rules on the last terrorist incident instead of the next. Thanks to that damn Richard Read, the shoe bomber, everyone now has to remove their shoes. Thanks to those terrorists with liquid explosives, they now seize from little old ladies any 200 ml tube of toothpaste, even though there’s only 30 ml still in the tube. I pray that no terrorist ever tries to smuggle explosives in his anal cavity, or CATSA will be lining up passengers for cavity searches in full view of everyone else before they can get through security.

I’m now at Gate 5 with about a half hour before my flight to Chicago boards. Then, if all goes well, I’ll have a long wait in Chicago before getting a flight from there to Dallas-Fort Worth, and from there another to Cancun. Gone are the days of Max Ward and Wardair. If I’m lucky they might sell a bag of pretzels for $10.

Dallas-Fort Worth, 12:25

So close, but so far. I was faced with a five-hour wait in Chicago, but decided to check if I could get on an earlier flight to DFW. I was lucky. There was one going in a few minutes and I was able to get a standby seat. The only catch is my checked bag will go by my old itinerary. For that reason, I wasn’t able to pull the standby routine on the DFW-Cancun leg. I could have got a standby ticket and been there this afternoon, but they won’t let you arrive separately from your bag on an international flight. Oh well, I can get to know the DFW airport again for the next six hours. At least it’s sunny and there’s NO snow! DFW now has a cool monorail system between its terminals, so if I get tired of reading I can ride around.

I considered spending some time going into central Dallas to take a look around. In particular I’ve always been curious to see the book depository from where Lee Harvey Oswald allegedly shot JFK, as well as the infamous grassy knoll. But this would’ve meant leaving the airport, worrying about getting back, and going through the security hassle again. So I decided to stay put until and even caught a little sleep seated in a chair.