HONDURAS!

TAlright, where was I? Belize, that's right. My first day there. So on my first morning there, after going out to buy some Marie Sharp's Hot Sauce and my failed attempt to get burrito lady burritos, I came back to the hotel to relax in my room for a minute. The thing about Belize City is that I love the feel of it. But there's nothing to do. Except spend money on this or that, and being the most expensive country in Central America, this becomes problematic to a budget traveler. So relaxing with the fan on is not a bad idea. A few minutes later I got a knock at the door from the woman that ran the place. "Joey, there's two beautiful girls here looking for you," she said. Sweet! It was Christina and her friend whose name escapes me, of Seattle U nursing school fame. It was good to see a familiar face and we made plans to meet up that night with all the nursing students. I guess that between the burrito lady not showing up yet, not yet finding anybody I knew around town, and going out that night, I would make Belize City the first place to spend 2 nights in about a week.

After Christina left, I was chatting with the woman running the guesthouse. I mentioned the place I stayed at the year before, right across the street. She said that Bill had died. He was the guy running the place when I was there last, who had neglected to pay the power bill because he had spent all the money at the bar, and then he hid out at the bar while everyone tried to figure out why the power was out. Belize without a fan is pretty brutal. "He was a real piece of work," she said lightheartedly, "people were always mad at him." I asked about the expat from Florida, with the greying Joe Dirt hair. She said that the had been arrested, but she didn't know what for. I guess some sort of American law enforcement came down and took him away. "Belize is too small of a place to be hiding out," she said. This was all interesting news.

That afternoon, much to my excitement, I saw the burrito lady's stand open up. To my disappointment, however, the burrito lady was different. She was not the same frail, nervous woman who didn't seem to speak any English (rare for Belize). Also, she said that she did not have burritos and would not have them until 4. Ya killin me burrito lady! No matter. I headed over to Majestic Alley (Pink's Alley) which is the crip territory where I had met Paisa on my last visit. He had not been around the day before, but someone went and found him when I asked for him. I always get weird looks when I wander in there, and for good reason. Not only am I white, but look at how I am dressed. Khaki shorts a black shirt. Sandals. Not gangsta at all. No blue. Either way, I was glad that Paisa both remembered me and was glad to see me. I found him right where I left him with his friend Alvin, except they were across the street. As we chatted, random people came up to him to bum a dollar off of him for whatever, or to score a bag. This woman named Cece that looked so familiar came up and grabbed a few dollars from Paisa. She asked me for a couple dollars and I told her I couldn't spare any. I also said, "don't you remember me?" She said, "yeah, last time you were here you gave me $5". That didn't seem accurate, but I went along with it, "yeah, I did, didn't I." "Yeah, so I don't see why you can't help me now." "Well, that was my last five dollars," I said. She laughed and walked away. Paisa suggested we go sit down some where, so we went to the end of the alley where there's a Chinese restaurant/bar/convenience store that is definitely patroned mostly by crips and lost tourists. I had been there the last time I had been to Belize and I wondered how everyone in there was able to smoke weed without the cops smelling it or the owners telling them not to. Paisa told me how they always had someone on lookout, so if a cop was coming, they could put everything out in time. It seemed unlikely to work, but they've been doing it for years, so it must. And the Chinese owners? Paisa explained how they don't mind if they smoke because having the crips around provides protection. I didn't really push it farther, but I wondered what else the Majestic Alley Crips received for this "protection service". Extortion. So it was sounding more like a real gang all the time. I bought us a couple of Belikins and we chatted about this and that. Paisa is still with his girlfriend of a couple years, the one he had his first of 5 kids with back when he was about 19. As people came in and out of the place they would always give us a very warm greeting. At least two of them assured me that I was hanging out with a "really good guy". They'd treat me like I was one of them, then ask me to buy them a beer or give them some money for something. "I've got your back, you know that, right? So how 'bout a beer?" I always had to deny them, which they seemed pretty cool with. Paisa told me that whenever they see a white person they just think about ho much money they must have. I wondered how they would like it if I saw them with their dreadlocks and just assumed they had tons of weed on them, and that was the only reason to talk to them. Everyone that came in was wearing blue. One guy came in with a yellow boombox, the blasting reggaeton overpowering the chinese television the owner's were watching. "Pre-moo!," he yelled to the young Chinese guy as he threw a crumpled piece of paper at him. It always seemed like a playful yet mocking relationship with the creoles and the Chinese in Belize. He yelled again, "Pre-moo! Pre-moo!" as the boy struggled to get him his Premium beer fast enough. Another guy came in, a Mestizo, with an ultra-slick SoCal look. Baggy jeans, a big baby blue shirt, big silver chains, a blue bandana with a blue hat rested on top. Black sunglasses, big rings. He came up to our table, didn't say a word. Paisa introduced us, and he shook my hand. Didn't say a word, just threw up a hand sign, and grabbed a beer to go. He had this ridiculous air of mystery around him. Paisa seemed like the most down-to-earth person among all of them. I asked him about the shooting that had happened that weekend at Putt-Putt, a small bar on the North Side of town that I had been to on my last trip. Apparently 2 people died and somewhere between 15 and 20 were injured. He said he didn't want to say anything because he didn't know the facts yet. But he did say something that I would hear from a couple of other Belizeans before leaving. He told me that Belizeans don't know how to stick together. Everyone is against each other and how nothing can get done. Then he pointed out the Chinese. They have managed to monopolize the market of corner stores. They all come here broke, but because they have a community of people that support them, they always end up doing pretty well. The Indians are a similar situation.

He bought us another round of beers, but after that, it was getting close to 4:00, so I had to get back to the burrito lady. It was fun seeing him again, I was just disappointed I hadn't found anyone else yet.

Burrito lady: yes, there were burritos, but when she cooked the tortilla it didn't appear that it was greasy enough. The chicken she used on it was just boiled, not the spiced and slightly oily shredded chicken she had used before. It turned out similar, but without the heart and soul that I had anticipated. I had two of them as they only cost $.75. If it was my first one, I still would have loved it, but it just didn't compare.

So that night, around 8:30, Christina came and got me, and her Belizean friends drove us and some nursing students to one of the hotels for dessert and drinks. I knew I was too poor to afford expensive hotel drinks, so I just nursed a beer while a discreetly sipped out of my bottle of orange juice, spiked with the amazing One Barrel Rum. When I tried to deny a second beer, one of the Belizean guys had the waitress bring one out for me anyway. It turned out they always buy everything for these girls. Sweet setup, way to go Christina. Made me wish I had gotten dessert. One of the guys overheard me telling Christina about the Majestic Alley Crips, and he asked what I was talking about. I said that I had been hanging out at their little bar by the alley. He told me to be careful. I asked him if he knew Paisa, and he said yeah. I wondered what his connection was. I mean, he was an architect, well-educated, and seemed very well off. He seemed like a good guy, so I figure it was just a general warning to the naive tourist. After the drinks and desserts, Christina and I pushed to get everyone moving to another bar. I think we went to MJ's, which was empty (Monday night). Had a couple drinks there, and then moved on to another place I had never seen before. Outside of it, the girls were approached by Cece, who gave them her "I just got AIDS" speech that I had gotten a year and a half ago. She acted very weak and delicate, like it hurt to talk. Then she saw me, and I was like, hey Cece. She grinned, switched character, and was like, 'what's up Joey, how you doin?' I love Belize.

I knew I was gonna miss my guesthouse's 11:00 curfew, but I didn't really care. I was having a good time. When the guys finally dropped me off it was definitely locked. So I was left to climb up to the balcony. This was very challenging. It took a few tries up a few different routes, but I made it. The upstairs door was locked too, so I just slept on the balcony. At 6:00 AM, I woke up to the sound of the man of the guesthouse opening the door, and he seemed a little annoyed with me. I ran into my room and caught a couple more hours of sleep.

After I packed my bag and headed downstairs I had noticed one of those ticks on my wrist, and it was big and bulbous. I showed it to the woman of the guesthouse, and she kinda freaked, especially because I showed her a couple more on my arms. She went and grabbed me a special shampoo and this alcohol solution with a bunch of leaves and herbs in it. I was to rub it all over my body, though I am not sure exactly what for. "Thanks mom," I told her. She laughed because the obvious role the couple were playing in my life at the time, and how she had waited up for me last night, and my "dad" was annoyed that I was late. She had actually stood up for me, saying, "oh he's just having some fun." After the shower she helped me pull the ticks off of me from all over my body. There were at least a dozen. This lady was super sweet, and it was good to have some kind of motherly attention, especially dealing with something I've never had before. She also told me I need to shave my head in case there's any in my hair. I have checked through my hair quite a bit, but haven't found anything yet. So...who out there thinks I should shave it? It is just starting to get long again, and I don't want to have to start over...but when will I have this excuse again?

So before leaving town, I went and looked for Alberto, the reason for my "Hope" wristband. I knew he would be out because it was a cruise ship day today, and he had to get his hustle on. He was also happy to see me. I told him that the pair of earrings I had gotten for my sister had made it on TV, and he was quite pleased about that. After chatting with him for a few minutes of chatting, I walked on down the street, and found George, right where I'd left him, slicing up the coconuts for the tourists. GEORGE! I yelled to get his attention. He and all his homies looked over confused. The confusion turned to excitement quickly on George's face, but failed to fade on anyone else's. He wrapped his arms around me in a big bear hug, "how you doin'," he screeched in his high-pitched raspy voice. Wow, as much as this guy frustrated me last time, it was fun to see him again. He was the one person I had spent more time with than anyone else there (other than Erin obviously). We chatted for a few minutes, and I wanted to hang out longer, but I knew I had a bus to catch. George, made me promise that I would be back, and next time we'd make it a couple hours or a couple of days. I don't know if I could handle George for a couple of days, but a couple hours definitely seemed worth coming back for. I also saw Guru on the way out, and he was looking more stylish than usual.

As I got on the bus down to Hopkins, I realized how much I loved this city, and the vibe it has. I mean, yeah, there's nothing to do there, it's dirty, there's tons of beggars and scammers. Really, Belize City is a tourist's nightmare, but having spent a total of about 12 days there, I think that I have found something I like about it. I could always go back there.

2 Buses, and a hitchhike later and I was in this one street town of Hopkins that the guidebook had raved about for its laidback nature, small town feel and the fact that it was undiscovered. Also, its right on the beach. Yes, it was a small town, but the small town feel was not there. And it was very discovered, by a bunch of rich people. There were two resorts in town, and I couldn't find a budget restaurant to save my life. Most of the people driving cars there were white. All the locals rode bikes. I got the feeling that this place had a high expat population. The guidebook had also mentioned eating gibnut here, a local specialty, which is a large rodent. After setting up my tent on the beach, I went on a quest for gibnut, but nobody had it. So I ended up eating at this little shack of an Indian restaurant. It was completely run by this one guy from Bangalore, India, and it was extremely popular. At one point there were probably ten people crammed into this little wooden structure, while JJ slaved away in the back. I had the chicken vindaloo, and I can easily say it was better than any Indian food I have ever had in Seattle. He was the first person that wasn't afraid to give the food a little bit of spice, and it was perfect. I felt, however, that I was the only budget traveler there though. Everyone else was either living there, or on a 3-week vacation.

Early next morning I got up with the chickens, and hitched a ride back to the highway, where I tried to hitch down south, but a bus came first so I got on it. I was on my way to visit the Mayan family I had stayed with my last time there. I had promised I would send them the pictures I had taken of them, but I never did, so I decided to just deliver them. And after delivering them, I would cross the nearby "unauthorized border crossing" back into Guatemala, as opposed to going all the way back north 8 hours and over, or taking expensive boats from the south. A very bumpy bus ride led me to the tiny village of Santa Elena, where pretty much everything looked the same except for the big out-of-place Presbyterian church that seems to be popping up in every village I pass through along with Evangelical, 7th Day Adventist, and Jehova's Witness churches. I walked up to their thatched roof house, and a small round man with gold front teeth and no shirt on greeted me. He must have been the father. Last time I had been here, he had been working in Placencia doing tours and building thatched roofs. I explained that I had been there last year and I had photos to give them. He seemed excited. Then his wife came up from the river and spoke to her husband in Kek-Chi. "You have been here before?" she asked gently. I was disappointed she didn't remember me, but then again, last time I was there, she didn't seem to interested in my presence at all, so it was not a big surprise. As the husband looked through the photos, she looked at a couple, then wandered back into the house. He seemed glad to have them, and she didn't seem to care one way or another. In some places Mayans don't like being photographed, the whole, steal your soul thing (though a dollar payment will usually change their opinion I noticed), but they had not had a problem with it, in fact, she had asked me to take photos of her boys. I didn't really get her passivity, but at least her husband was glad for me to be there. We chatted about his family for a while, and how the boys were doing. they were not going to be back from school for about 4 more hours, and I was disappointed I would not get to see them before leaving.

I waited by the road for a truck, but surprisingly another bus came by. It must be a market day because buses only come out here 3 days a week to bring people to or from the market. It took me all the way to the border. I had asked somebody about the checkpoint, which didn't exist here. Though he did say there was border patrol that stops people to check their passport. I really didn't want to deal with that. I knew it would end up in a bribe before it would end up in jail, but I still have a budget. Getting out of the bus, someone grabbed my pack, gave it to a guy with horse, and I was told to follow him. He threw my bag on the saddle, and we followed a line of other people crossing the border down a muddy trail. Apparently the road didn't go straight through. No wonder I couldn't find any maps that showed that. We went down into a ravine, where we crossed a muddy river (my shorts now caked in mud). The guy with the horse was like my coyote. Back up the ravine and our total hike probably amounted to no more than a kilometer. We came to a road and we were now in Guatemala. There was even a van waiting for us. A guy sitting next to it, drinking a liter of beer, started to speak to me in English, telling me it was not legal for me to come through this way. I played ignorant until I was sure he was not any sort of authority (the beer should have given it away if the English didn't). He told me it would mess up my passport. This was true, I would be traveling in Guatemala without a stamp. That was dangerous, but I had a plan. So we got in the van, and got to Chacte, where, I took another van to San Luis. And from there, I took a van into Rio Dulce. I had definitely made it across the border safely, but to get that stamp...

Rio Dulce, a yachtie hangout on the mouth of the Rio Dulce, that leads to the Caribbean, has an interesting vibe to it. I could feel the rush in the air of anticipation. That something was going on. People were moving. It was a place to prepare for journeys into the Caribbean, or into the Peten region of Guatemala. I felt the opportunity this town had to offer. I would have to explore that next time. Not much happened that night, except for me buying tortillas for the next day, and some carne asada dinner on the street.

Next morning, I headed out to Finca Paraiso for their waterfalls. Now get this, there's a river going, right. But then pouring into it from above is a waterfall coming from a hotspring. So the river, above the hotspring, is cold, then below it is a bit warmer, and if you under the waterfall, it is like a perfectly hot shower. Amazing.

Back to Rio Dulce, I grabbed my pack, and caught a boat up the river to Livingston, a boat access only Garifuna town that I had heard so many good things about. The river boat ride was very cool, though not nearly as cool as I had expected. We did see a lot of people fishing in their dug out canoes and we did stop at a hot spring though. When we got to Livingston, I judged it quickly, and I did not like it. When I walked around the main street, everything felt so fake, contrived. Way too touristy for a place that I had heard was so unique. Yes, unique, because it is black people in Guatemala. It didn't have the same laid back feel of garifuna towns in Belize like Punta Gorda. It still felt plenty like Guatemala. I decided to take a walk along the water (not much of a beach) to see more of the area. I quickly left tourist central, and was basically just in a little Garifuna settlement alongside the water. An old man came up to me that spoke English. He asked why I was there, and I explained I was taking a walk to get away from the the main part of town, to see what Livingston was all about. He was glad to hear that, but he explained to me how this was a Garifuna neighborhood, and not many people come around this way, and he just needed to check. He also talked to me a bit about the racial tension in town and how the Garifunas stay in their part of town and the Mestizos, who own everything stay in the other part of town.

I walked on for another 20 minutes before turning back around. I headed up one of the streets leading away from the water and almost immediately I felt something hit the back of my legs. A front bike tire had been rammed into me. I turned around and saw it was being pushed by a teenage boy. I thought he would apologize, but he just kept on moving. Was this an accident? That question was quickly answered as the kid violently rammed his bike into several different stray dogs, making them run away, and cower in fear near any other human they saw. Was I really that unwelcome here?

Next morning I caught a boat to Puerto Barrios and then a bus to the border of Honduras. I was finally leaving this country for the last time. I started feeling a bit queasy, and my stomach started turning. I had woken up in the middle of the night to run to the bathroom as my southern troops gave way. I didn't think much of it, but my stomach still didn't seem correct. There was a war going on inside, and the northern troops had won the last battle. The next one looked like it could go either way. As I got off the bus and headed toward the border, I bought a bag of water, hoping to help with my dehydration. As I neared the checkpoint, I had to run to the side of the road and heave. My northern troops had been conquered and out came all the water I had drank in the morning. After three heaves of water, I had one of something bright yellow. Bile? I don't know, but I hadn't eaten all day, and had only eaten tortillas and two bean tamales the day before. Nothing nearly as dangerous as what I am usually eating. I don't know how to explain this. It was my first time getting sick while traveling (except for altitude sickness in Nepal). I was also so proud of being able to handle any food as long as it was not vegetables. And there was nobody around to help. I was on a big expanse of hot concrete, heaving my guts out, and the loneliness started to hit me, briefly, for the first time. Once I recouped, I didn't feel too bad, but after another 2 hours on the bus, I did not like the idea of two more bus rides. I considered waiting for a night in Puerto Cortes, but then felt like pushing on to San Pedro Sula. When I got there I was feeling better, except completely dehydrated. I had no money, so I had to search for an ATM. The first 2 banks I went to didn't have them. It was so hot, and reading a book about people lost in the desert had not helped. When I finally got my money, for the first time on this trip, there was nobody selling any type of drinks in sight. I walked a few blocks until I saw someone with coolers. I got a bag of water and splurged on a Lipton Ice Tea. Man, that was good. And I was up for another 2 hours on a Bus. Made it to Tela last night, found a room, expensive, but the only one available. I totally sat inside for hours and watched their tv. I watched Lords of Dogtown and Seinfeld. It felt super good to just chill out for a while in English.

So now I've gotta make some preparations for my next leg of the journey into the Moskitia region of Honduras and Nicaragua, an rural and untamed wilderness that is referred to as the Amazon of Central America. Travel is slow, expensive, unreliable, and often on boats. It will great to get off the tourist path and get into some more untouched regions. And a bit more danger.

Don't forget to tell me about whether I should shave my headed!