First arriving to Caye Caulker mid-afternoon, I was immediately intercepted by a local man trying to lead me to a "good" hotel before I even stepped off the boat and onto the dock. I gave in, letting him wheel my bags on a little metal cart, and followed him through the sandy streets for about 10-15 minutes until we reached Loraine's Guesthouse. I was not overly enthused about what I saw, but was even less enthused about turning back to wind my way through the streets to find a place on my own. I gave a final "yes" when she told me that I could have the last upstairs bungalow, complete with a hammock on the balcony, instead of the ground floor room she had shown me first. At that moment it didn't matter to me that I had to pay for two nights on the spot; I realized why she did this almost immediately--it was a dump of a place and far away from town compared to most other places, making it incredible inconvenient and unattractive to anybody staying for more than one night.
I had only left Placencia that morning, which meant sick was fresh on my breath. I was afraid to eat, having eaten next to nothing all day in fear of experiencing another bout of Montezuma's Revenge while on the road in Belizean public transport--despite the fast-acting results of pepto chewables and Imodium. I took a quick nap, or perhaps I read in my hammock (I can't seem to remember what I did), before eventually strolling leisurely into town to check out the Caye Caulker scene. I walked aimlessly on the streets until I decided to head back to my hotel, if you can call it that. On the way I stopped at a supermarket (all of which are owned and operated by Chinese families on the island, interestingly) and bought myself some bread, peanut butter and Gatorade. That bread and peanut butter would become my best friend over the course of the next few days.
An idea of what the streets looked like on the island; I didn't have a picture of my own so I found this one on the internet from http://www.panoramio.com/photo/5018347"Island life" was fun for the few days it lasted; sunbathing, swimming in crystal clear waters, the laid-back energy of the locals that is immediately absorbed by any non-local that steps foot on the island... On my first morning there I ran into a guy named Harry who takes groups of people out snorkeling and happened to have a group going out in the early afternoon, so after making sure I could snorkel with a life jacket (I didn't want to be stressing about my weak swimming skills and fear of water while trying to admire all the fascinating sea creatures), I agreed to meet back there later to head out into the open waters. Until then, I sat in the sun and read my book at "the split." The Split is between the north and south halves of the island. Back in 1961 Hurricane Hattie created this divide, and since then it's only gotten wider (with the help of people so their boats could pass through). This is the best swimming area, so a lot of people hang out here.
I ended up on my snorkeling tour with an interesting group of people: about 6 middle-aged adults from the Netherlands who were traveling together with their guide, a woman also from the Netherlands, who has been coming to the island year after year for quite some time, a Costa Rican woman about my age, and a guy from France, also about my age. Our guide, Harry, was a friendly, enthusiastic but down to earth man with short sandy colored dreadlocks and often had a cigarette hanging from his lips. The boat made three stops altogether, one of which for the sole purpose was to swim with stingrays! No joke, there were at least 30 of them swimming all around us in the water, darting this way and that. Harry had assured us that they won't sting, as he bent over the edge of the boat and playfully lifted one of them up halfway out of the water, shaking it a little side to side like you might do while playing around with a pet dog. I got my fill after reaching out a few times to allow my fingers to glide over the smooth, rubbery skinned rays as they swam by, but I didn't feel daring enough to take it beyond that. Life under the sea is truly amazing, and I can see why divers and snorkelers become enthusiastically addicted to the sports. One of my favorites, aside from the stingrays, was the brain coral. According to Wikipedia brain corals can grow as high as six feet, but the ones I saw were probably closer to 3-4 feet tall and wide--still very impressive if you ask me. At our last stop, Harry had dove into the water only to surface with a conch from the ocean floor (possible illegally at that time of year, I'm still not quite sure) that was to become dinner later that evening. We all watched as he cut off the meaty, edible part of the creature and discarded the rest--but not before it was passed around first as a plaything on the boat...
At the end of the snorkeling trip we all made plans to meet back up later for dinner and a night out on the island. Harry's friend owned a little stand on the beach called Fran's Grill so we all feasted on barbecued chicken and seafood and listened to live music--and let's not forget our catch of the day, the conch, admittedly a little too chewy for my liking.
Later we headed out to a reggae bar called I&I, a pretty cool place with swings instead of stools at the bar.
That second night was the only time I would really hang out with those people; although, I had a few conversations with Harry when I would run into him on the streets, ended up seeing the Costa Rican girl again before she left to go back home, and ran into the French guy in my hostel in Tulum, Mexico a few weeks later. They were quite the fun group for a night, though.I spent several hours the next day at the split; being low season still it was nice and not crowded by any means. I was so relaxed and everything was just perfect that what seemed like an hour ended up being several. I had also left Loraine's Guesthouse early that morning, having paid my two night's dues, and found a nice room at a hotel for US$30 (a major splurge) at a place called Rainbow Hotel. It was right in the middle of town, was clean, and had a tv. I hadn't watched any television for nearly my entire trip, and being so close to the upcoming elections in the states I felt the need to indulge myself in some CNN (if you recall, Belize is a predominately English speaking country). And, I had been staying in semi to moderately dumpy--but tolerable--hostels for so long I thought I would just treat myself a room with guaranteed hot water and where I didn't have to worry about what kinds of spiders and other insects I would undoubtedly and unknowingly be encountering on this night. Throughout the day I made a few friends with some personable locals, who, at least on the island, always want to chat and convince you to come on this boat ride or go to that party or buy their artwork that they're selling on the streets. Yet, despite their assertiveness in approaching you and initiating conversation, they still didn't come across as too pushy. Or, rather, I think I just became more assertive and less worried about telling them no--again, and again, and again. Although, I did finally say yes to a man who was willing to chop open a coconut for me and insert a little neon colored straw so I could drink the presumably cleansing and hydrating coconut water, for a few Belize dollars, of course (the exchange rate between US and Belize dollars is set at BZ$2 to US$1).
Sometime in the late afternoon while still relaxing on the split, low and behold, my buddies Sean and Noam came strolling up. I believe by now this was my fourth encounter with them (Rio Dulce, Livingston and Placencia), only to be succeeded by one final encounter in Tulum later down the road. Turns out they also knew an Israeli guy who I had talked with earlier in the day whom I had apparently already spent some time around, although my memory had failed me on this one and I had no idea who this guy was. The three guys, myself, and another girl they had also befriended talked for a while longer at the split, and then walked over to the west side of the island to watch the sunset. As the sun lowered over the Caribbean, the five of us stood on a dock and watched a group of young boys playing in the water, diving off the dock and even off a large fishing boat. They put on quite a show, especially once my camera came out. After the sun went down, we all went back to our respective hotels and hostels, ate our own dinners, and then met back up later at I&I, the reggae bar. It was a chill evening, sitting on hammocks and swings up on the rooftop of the bar, the cool Caribbean breeze blowing against my sticky skin. A group of locals, a few of whom I'd already gotten to know (it doesn't take long on Caye Caulker to make local friends), showed up and we all mingled for a while. A few of them had spent some time in Eugene and raved about their love and appreciation for the city and its people. I am almost positive they were in town for marijuanna related purposes. Just an (educated) guess I will throw out there. The good thing is, when you meet people who are as enthusiastic about a place and its people as these guys were about Eugene, they automatically love you and think you're just as cool and great as the people they base their perceptions on!
I left the next morning at 10am for no real defined reason, against the requests from my new friends Harry and "Big Steve." Even though I could have happily stayed a while longer, I felt that this still wasn't the place I wanted to park myself for the majority of the remainder of my travels. There was still more to see in the next few weeks before heading back to Oregon, and I still carried with me a mild sense of urgency to keep going--in a very laid back, living in the moment kind of way :)
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