Belize journal 2004

Bush to Bush to Bush

March 3, 2004 or so

Lying in the bath I muse on Dr. Livingston in our jungle. Not that I think of him often, you understand. I get out and open the paper. There’s a story about a museum in London that has Dr. David Livingston’s letters (19th Century explorer of AFRICA). Must be prescience, I presume.

March 5 boarding the plane

Xmas Eve I bought a new phone with international capabilities; essential for every jungle traveler. 2.5 months later it was still not properly activated (and all my other phones have been cut off). This is my last chance. I am on with customer service while on the gangway to the plane. It now works seconds before they close the door.

The flight attendant asked my obese neighbor, matter-of-factly;
“Do you want a belt extension?” Oy. We are off to Houston-Bush. But first de-icing. The cab came an hour early this morning because of the overnight 9” of snow and the bus strike. Now the de-icing is going to make me miss my connection to Belize.
Sure enough, connection missed. I have a boarding pass for the next flight but no seat assignment. They are oversold. Finally I get a seat in 1st class, but they insist on seeing my paper ticket. “But it was an e-ticket.” No, it wasn’t. “Here’s the proof.”
“Sir, that is a Xerox of an itinerary.” 1st class treatment indeed. $700 coupon if I give up my seat and travel tomorrow. I’ll take the champagne today.

My neighbor also came from Minnesota. “Where do you live?” St Paul. Yes. SE side. Yes. Battle Creek. Yes. Edgebrook. Oh, I’m on Valley View a few blocks south. I thought you looked familiar. He had to shovel to walk to the cab on McKnight this morning. Glenn (Italian last name) is a 3M fluoral-not floral- polymer engineer coming to catch bonefish in Placencia. They are inedible, tough to catch, but when they bite your fly, they run for 100s of yards making it quite a challenge. I’ll take Brad Pitt in A River Runs Through It any day.
Now my bags did not make it (despite plenty of time to transfer them). Good. They can deliver them all the way to the Aguada hotel tomorrow and save me hauling them down the road from the bus stop.

The sign on the kiosk at the airport said it all. Boy, I'm thirsy for some of that water.

Seaside Inn is a primitive affair near the water but does the job. Latrine makes airplane ones seem huge. Saunter into town in perfect heat. Birds (mynahs?) are gathering to sing their upward glissandos but hard to record because of the wind and the amiably chatty drunks. Casual talk at a distance, just loud enough to pick up on if you choose: “Got everything? First day here? Go Twins! I want to suck your dick…”

The Bliss performing arts center is next to my hotel but doesn’t open until next week. Time for a Belikin at the Radisson Fort George to see how the rich live. Nicely, but with a loud poolside band. Time to see the art opening at the Image Factory; tiny clean space. Welcomed by a double-bearded lady. Interesting painted textures by Joan (JD), $1000-$5000. Grouper fish Jamaican dinner tasty.

SATURDAY



Wander town: Government House colonial building (everything is closed weekends), BTL park with broken seesaws, graffiti, and trash. Call about used vehicles; nothing too promising. Might as well head to Cayo and wait for my luggage.

Just catch the Novelo’s express bus to Santa Elena (don’t trust bus schedules posted on the web; the express left half an hour early, the next would have taken 3 hours for the trip). Fun to watch the scenery come back in my memory; things are greener; the view is relatively dull until you pass Belmopan when the hills start to appear; there’s our road (they haven’t taken the sign down for the Carib Fruit Growers Assn.; if they ever do, we’re screwed); there’s Caesar’s Place where the jazz band plays tonight (I wouldn’t go out of my way to see bad Dixie so will not make the effort tonight); there’s the Aguada road (glad I don’t have heavy bags to carry). The number for the Continental Airlines baggage lady is always busy so I hope they find the place by themselves.

Mechanic near the Aguada has a notice that 2 off-road bikes are for sale. I call Tom True, who is not sure he wants to part with the remaining one because his new business is doing so well. He’s a composer with a media company, moved from California and Hawaii. Bill at the Aguada is his friend and his CDROM is sitting right in front of my phone (small world, Belize). I should check it out and give my opinion. Well, it is the worst Powerpoint I have ever seen; 30 redundant photos of brisky Burns Ave with bad poetry, no people or animals, and cheesy background songs. He sure needs help, not for marketing but for talent.

Go swimming and bash my lip and teeth on the underwater step; they'll recover without emergency dentistry. Bags finally arrive and I walk into town to see Toni Beardall, my e-friend. Quite the INTP character: 23, very mixed genes, speaks fluent English, Kriol, Spanish, learning Maya; thoughtful archaeologist with Maya birthdate tattoos; tried every major religion before settling on a combo of Wicca and Mormon (the guys are cute); left college because of dean’s homophobia, a brujo maricon; related to half the people who go by as we eat (his grandpa did the mural, aunty’s daughter owns the new cyber café…). Much of his family is gathering for a catholic confirmation tomorrow but won’t speak to each other over the selection of godmothers. Toni is bright and forthright, even when it stirs things up. He’ll be a great friend to have. The closest to Preston there is.

A former friend, Christian, a psych student from Salvador and tipsy fem Thomas drive by; we all go out to make amends and drink Belikin stout first at Marie’s dyke shack, then the closed Garden House and Hode’s Place. A kaleidoscope of languages and bitchy gossip. He has a truck so we are all best friends again and will do stuff.

Aguada is all closed up at 1:30 am, and barbed wire above the fence. Climbing the wall with rebar does the trick. The rest of the hotel is packed with a party of female students; I am trusting no alarms go off for the wrong reasons.

SUNDAY

Memorized the Aguada menu already; the main variable is the waiting time. Hammock reading hour.

Bill tells me of one Winston Harris, son of his friend in Crystal Rey, a jungle man who trains the SAS in survival skills. He knows trees and how to make encampments (such as the fine chiclero hut the Aguada now has). Sounds like just the guy we need for making trails, etc. His village has a communal telephone but his daughter is the switchboard operator so she knows where everyone is. I won’t call on the Lord’s day just in case. There are several houses along the street here with impromptu prayer meetings and drifting sounds of worship mixed with frogs.

No cabs to be called so get prepared to walk into town in the hot sun. A cab is waiting right outside the door to take me to the Stork Club, part of San Ignacio Resort Hotel, where Toni and two beautiful young church women are hanging out. The tour guide, another batty-boy, will show us their iguana hatchery sometime. Tasty Maya steak then a wander through the back streets to Cahal Pech. The abandoned cars you see everywhere used to bother me as being untidy but now seem more like art installations, sprouting shrubs, fans, mattresses, and other organic matter inside. Ford planters.

There is a gym on the way run by Toni’s Cuban kickboxing friend. Will check it out later. 2 lbs of whey protein in Belize City costs $35US.

Toni moved all the stones in the car park and reconstructed Plaza B’s temple. He points to staircases and holes that have been covered where archaeologists did test bores (then had to cover them up so tourists wouldn’t fall in). A gibnut watches our activities.

Time for Toni’s cousin’s confirmation party at his uncle’s house; I get introduced to the family. He is expecting the various godmother competing parties to lead to “Al fokery wil hapn.” It doesn’t really, or didn’t while they were still sober.

His mother has front teeth edged with gold and is happy to find I am not a serial killer like everyone else in the States. She married a Brit in Nottingham, came back to Belize where he refused to get a job, so she dumped him and looked after the kids herself. She’s spunky and capable. She is involved in her boy’s decisions about which Maya tattoos, what hair color and which boyfriends. She is convinced foreigners cannot buy land in Belize and they only get it through Belizean third parties.

Knowing I want to clear some trees and preserve medicinal plants she goes on a diatribe against Rosita Arvigo, who, far from saving Maya traditional medicine, profited from her relationship with Don Eligio for personal gain. Plenty of other Maya know the traditions and are no better off now with all the attention on Rosita. I will give Harry Guy the chance to harvest some plants from our property instead.
Meet Toni’s uncle, Pedro, the mural artist, and his brother Carlos, the traffic cop into Playstation. Walk back to the Aguada. On the way get accosted by a Creole pointing to my tattoos and insisting he can translate it. He is covered with cartoon characters (Tasmanian devils, etc). Hears I am a Buddhist and insists I meet his son, lying in the hammock by a shack, who is part of a Nichirin Buddhist sect that meets Wednesday evenings for chanting. A couple of $BZ and I’m on my way again… This time to meet with Tom True, motorcycling, media artist/composer. He looks like a sick vegetarian who spent too much time in the sun and thinking New Age goodness. Turns out his intention behind the Powerpoint crap was to create a new image of Belize as a romantic paradise suitable for family events. After his initial slideshow, there is an hour of ads for local businesses to be added. All with inspirational doggerel. Yikes. I suggest he gets gorgeous photography and make posters, free postcards with business ads on the back, or calendars without skimpy girls.

For my forthrightness and tact it looks like he will rent me his motorbike for a month for next to nothing. The price is that he returns tomorrow to discuss his music (he has a recording studio in his house).

HAPPY BARON BLISS DAY

Fellow guest is moving here from Houston and having a Mennonite house built: 20 x 26’ with all services for $10k US in Esperanza village with many fruit trees. Let’s see if I can get to our land today to see the state before heading to pay taxes tomorrow and talking to Winston.

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