travel-writings

Faces of Belize - The Jewlers

Tue, 25 Aug 2009 00:30:53 +0100

Jewler Joe

My friends Robyn and Rick had come to Ambergris Caye in Belize to visit and we had decided to take that lazy Tuesday afternoon to relax on the beach, watching the waves break on the reef. As we were lying on the beach, I heard a familiar voice ask if we would like to buy a braclet. When Joe saw my face he smiled shyly and said, "Hey I know you".

I met Joe, as well as many young salespeople when I had first moved to the Island almost two years before.

PART 2 - San Ignacio

Mon, 11 May 2009 18:51:19 +0100

The bus comes to a complete stop in Santa Elena, the sister city to San Ignacio. They are separated by a wooden bridge large enough for one vehicle to cross suspended above the Macaw River. Between both cities, the population is around 16,000 people. The city looks worn and dirty compared to the countryside. We stop in the middle of the road. People start jumping out the back of the bus and the ticket agent with the gold fillings walks out the front of the bus. We wait. The bus driver honks the horn and everyone comes running, jumping back onto the bus with styrofoam containers filled with BBQ chicken and rice and beans, the Belizean staple food. It smells incredible.

We are then dropped off in the middle of town square, where the local fruit and vegetable markets are held. We are told to jump out the back emergency exit and I hold my breath until a man hands our big back packs down to us with a smile. We made it! As we start to try to close the school bus back door, the bus driver is already driving away, to his final stop at the Guatemalan border.

I hoist my bag up to my shoulders and notice that it is much hotter and much more humid that I had expected. I was actually thinking that this place was mountains and trees, dense and cold, but it is mountainous and hot, as we are still in Belizean jungle. We are immediately accosted by the cab drivers, to which I smile and say, "Maybe, gimmie a second to figure out where I am!" They smile and I start to realize that this area is much more friendly than the Island people I have grown accustomed to over the past year and a half. Steve and I scan the area. It seems there is the market area, and then up the hill the road splits into two and I can see stores up each way and the Belize Bank. Down the hill and past the market seems to be a less populated area. They have many tour operators, so we decide they might be the most helpful people to talk to first. We walk up to one of the tour operators and ask him where Casa Blanca hotel is, a hotel we have found in our guide book and it seems quite charming by the description. He points up the hill, it's not far. We start walking up the hill while the taxi drivers keep calling to us to take their offer of a ride. We realize it is literally a 2 minute walk. As we walk up the steps to the hotel, I notice an over powering sewage smell and see that beside the sidewalk there is an open sewer. So far I am not happy with our quaint nature adventure. The lady at the hotel comes out to greet us. She is very sweet and takes us through the locked gate and up a staircase to show us the rooms. There is a common area where people are able to cook in a kitchen and a small living room to watch tv or hang out. Steve finds it endearing, I find it weird, with mismatched decorations and the worst selection of books I have ever seen. She takes us down a long corridor, to our room. It is small, with two small beds, a tv and a dresser. Each room has a bathroom with a slated window for ventilation, that goes directly into the hallway. You can hear the people in the common kitchen area from the bathroom. We decide to take the room for the night, and she tells us to get settled and then come down to pay. We change, freshen up, and decide even though the room is $50US, it isn't that bad and we will survive. I can hear the traffic below. We go downstairs and pay, deciding that we will only pay for one night, and see if we can find something a little better.

The street is filled with cars and people, a strange sidewalk that doesn't go straight, but cuts off in places to allow the drains to go where they need to go. There are three small buildings across from us. One is called an icecream shop, although there is a line up at the window and people are getting things that don't look anything like icecream. The place beside it is called Hanna's restaurant and is also featured in our guide book so we cross the street and go in. The place is fairly bare, except for linen table cloths and some local art for sale on the walls. There is another traveling couple around our age sitting, already enjoying their food. The menu boasts that Hannah's has its own farm, where they raise their own chickens, beef, and grow all the vegetables. I am eagerly anticipating the food, as living on an Island does not provide the freshest of produce, unfortunately. I am having a difficult time deciding on what to order and the traveling couple suggest the fish fingers and the giagantic quesadilla they cannot even finish half of. Steve orders the quesadilla and I opt for the chicken curry with salad and their own homemade dressing. The food surpassed my every expectation as the freshest, tastiest food I have had in ages.

As the traveling woman appears from the bathroom on their way out, I decide to ask her where they are planning on staying, as they are still carrying their oversized backpacks. She tells me they found a cute little place called Midas, just outside of town with little cottages and a hammock strung up on the veranda. They also serve breakfast. We thank them for the suggestion and they are on their way. While finishing our lunch, we decide that we should explore other places to stay, as our friends Jean and Doug are meeting us the next day to stay for the weekend as well so we start walking in the direction the girl pointed. We decide to walk, as we are exploring the town anyways and aren't carrying our heavy load anymore. We ask along the way if we are headed in the right direction and are greeted and encouraged by the smiling faces we meet. The small town center is gone from view within a few minutes and we are greeted by a much cleaner, greener area. We walk past a large park and find ourselves at a sort of large outdoor restaurant with gaming area for children. We decide to go and sit for a drink and enjoy the view of the wooded area. Steve asks where Midas hotel is and the waitress points through the trees, she says its right there, and then points to the road we had been walking on and says maybe five minutes and we are there.

We arrive at Midas, and find a small building which serves as the office. There is a young white teenager working. He is very friendly and has a thick Belizean accent. He tells us his name is Michael, that this is his mother's hotel and he was born in the Cayo District. We ask if he minds showing us a room and we are guided into a wooded area around back with a long winding path through at least a dozen small cottages. He shows us 4 or 5 of the cottages and the different styles and prices and we are confussed but happy, as we like them all. He asks us where we are from and we tell him Canada. He says he has family in Canada that he has wanted to go and visit, in Winnipeg. I laugh and tell him that that is where we are from. What a coincidence! He asks how long we have lived in San Pedro and we tell him we have lived here for one and a half years. He says that that qualifies us for a Belizean discount and we end up with a cute little cottage and airconditioning for $50USD. We tell him we will see him in the morning, as we have already paid at the place downtown and will be staying for three nights. As we are leaving we see the traveling couple from the restaraunt and they are happy we have found the place.

After walking around the very small town square for awhile we decide to go and have a beer or two at the pizza place, as we can't find anywhere with a patio open. Shortly after, the couple arrives again, so we ask them to sit. There names are Katie and Evan and they are from Iowa, but have great stories about living in New Orleans. We sit for a few hours until it starts to get dark and I suggest we go back to Casa Blanca for a shower and out for supper to the Italian restaurant, that we have also heard good things about. Our friends have decided to go for a night on the town. We say goodbye.

I awake in the wee hours of the morning to the sound of a fridge opening in my ear. I hear the pan go down on the stove top and realize my head is right beside the wall in the kitchen. The sun isn't up. I hear the tv go on in the common living room and people talking. I look at the clock on the cell phone and laugh. It's 4:55am. I wonder how happy the guy is that I heard come in at 2:30. Probably not. I decide I couldn't let it bother me, but then realized that I am smushed up against the wall with Steve on the other side of me in the tiny little bed with a terrible mattress that I almost thought was a water bed the night before with the way it swayed when we got in. We end up awake, showered, and packed up to leave the Casa Blanca hotel by 7:00am. We go over again and again how happy we are that we are moving to Midas cottages. We decide that we should find Evan and Katie and buy them a beer for getting us out of the downtown hotel.

At 9:00am we are already catching a taxi to Midas. We have realized we have missed every tour around and I am feeling a little down and want to find some sort of adventure to do for the day. We think maybe Michael will be able to help us. We arrive and realize to our dismay another person is working. It is another man who looks quite young as well but is of a Spanish or Mayan decent. We explain that Michael has said we could leave our bags at the front desk. He looks at us with a frown and says, "What? Reid? I don't see you guys in the computer......" then he breaks out into a grin and says, :Just kidding, you can get into your room right now! We were trying to find you a king bed, but if you are ok with 2 doubles....." We smile and still can't believe our good luck as he walks us to our cottage. I realize I didn't actually see anything about check in and check out times. We walk down the path and listen to birds chirping songs I have never heard and watch as the hotel guy points out different types of plants and trees, reciting what herbal remedy it is used for. I'm starting to think that time is not much of a factor out here. That all we have, is time.

Part 1 - The Road to Cayo Belize

Tue, 28 Apr 2009 19:04:14 +0100

We threw our backpacks onto the back of our golf cart and tied them in for the ride to town. We decide to leave the light on outside and the TV on inside. We have also come to the realization Steve's office might be a safer place to leave our computers and passports as we live outside San Pedro town, on the more remote North side of the Island.

Our ferry boat to mainland Belize leaves at 9:30, so we decide to go into town for breakfast. We have also decided to leave our golf cart locked up in town on Front Street, as taxis are not allowed on the North side of the Island. We park in front of another real estate office, an empty space now since our English friend Peter jumped ship to fly back to reality. Something you see on the Island on a regular basis.

We go to Estelle's, a favorite beach breakfast spot where Charles serves us fry jacks, bacon, and refried beans. Our favorite beach dog, who we affectionately named Playa, walks up casually to greet the customers until I say "Playa" and she breaks out into her nervous excited dance. We "adopted" her over a month ago, took her to the vet for shots, bathed her, and let her sleep in our house. After running back to the beach three times, we now realize we cannot own her, we can just be her friend. She walks us to the end of the pier where we get on the water taxi and she quickly disappears.

Our hour long water taxi takes us bumping through blue green waters past other Islands like Caye Caulker, our more relaxed counter part and Caye Chapel, an 18 hole golf course resort where we keep trying to justify spending $200 US each to golf.

We arrive in Belize City in a bustling area where they unload cruise ships full of pasty white tourists looking for a bit of Belizean culture. Unfortunately for them, they are corralled into an area with bars and shops all owned by the cruise ships where incidentally, no locals are allowed to go. We momentarily entertain the idea of trying to sneak in for American prescriptions and booze, but can't figure out how to even get into the area. We are quickly escorted to a van that takes us to the bus terminal for three dollars. We have read that the bus station is in a dangerous neighborhood and are feeling a small level of anxiety as we walk into the bus station. We see a young Spanish looking Belizean man and he asks us where we are going. I notice he has gold fillings around his teeth. I say "San Ignacio" and he points to the oldest looking school bus I have ever seen.
"Leaving in 10 minutes." I ask if there is an express bus, eying the nicer bus beside us thinking it might even have air conditioning. "Nope." He smiles. We climb onto the bus, realizing our pale skin is glowing to those already in the bus waiting. We are still anxious as we put our bags in the seat in front of us. Steve looks at me and says, "It smells like tomato soup." I think it smells like Lipton noodle soup.

We are in one of the roughest areas of Belize City. Where the murders here make any hood in the States look like a playground. Then a little white haired lady gets on the bus and I let out a sigh of relief. We drive through the city, filled with tiny stores with badly painted signs, junk, construction, and destruction. where the majority of houses and shacks look condemned but have bright colored clothes hanging on the line outside, or a mother holding a baby in one arm on the porch, and a cell phone in the other. I pull out my IPod and sit back for the three hour ride, letting people on and off, all the way down the Western Highway.

Along the highway we pass small villages with rusted vehicles without tires, small shacks with nothing in the window but a curtain, two neighbors talking through the window. Plywood shacks with hand painted signs advertising rice and beans, attempting to entice the hungry traveler. The landscape becomes less tropical with more bushes, trees, and mountains in the background. I smell rain before I look up and see it splashing the windshield of the bus. I wonder if the wipers work.

Off the highway I see a dirt road leading to a village. There is a school with windows and doors wide open. Two women are walking on the road and a drunken man is sitting on the road talking, possibly to them but it's hard to tell.

As we continue to cruise down the highway we come across an accident. A white Chevy truck has rolled, many times. I would be surprised if the person lived. This gets the people in the bus talking across to each other, mainly in Creole. The only words I can make out are FUCK. I think they might be speculating who the driver was, as there are only 250,000 people in the entire country. We pass, and I hope this serves the bus driver as a reminder that this is one of the deadliest highways in Central America.

-To be continued

How to Lose Your Husband in a Foreign Country……

Wed, 25 Mar 2009 03:18:34 +0100

I never thought I would take a train around Eastern Europe, and make it back in one piece, but of course, one year before, I never thought I would have left Canada for the first time to teach in Kyiv, Ukraine either.

My husband, Steve and I left Ukraine for Poland on Saturday, March 4th at 10:30 at night from the Central train station. We shared a 3-person bunk with a girl who knew little English. Steve and I had the top two bunks, which was a little squishy and a lot uncomfortable. I felt like I was in a coffin. The girl below us had a cold and kept coughing all night. It was really hot in our cabin, so I opened the door to let in a little air, since the windows didn’t open. Well the girl kept closing it! I tried to ask her to keep it open and then she replied in another language and would close it. I think she thought the “draft” would give her more of a cold. In the middle of the night we were woken up by immigration officers when we left Ukraine and also when we entered Poland. It took us 14 hours to get there, as they stop at almost every city, and they also have to change the wheels on the train in every country. I didn’t understand, but who am I to judge?

We arrived in Krakow, Poland and found the apartment easily that we rented for 3 days. It was much nicer than we thought it would be. We dropped our bags and quickly got out to explore the city. We first walked down the street and found a huge stone walk covered in paintings. It was gorgeous! Then we kept walking and found the Czartoryski museum where we saw a Da Vinci painting called, “Lady with Ermine” and a Rembrandt. Not a bad start to our trip. We actually ended up at a movie theatre after that, since Kyiv doesn’t have any movies in English, we hadn’t been to the theatre in eight months. Not sure Steve really wanted to watch Broke Back Mountain, but whatever.

The next day we used our very handy guide book and made our way to the bus station where we caught a bus to Weiliczka, where they have underground salt mines. Of course the guide book didn’t tell us that the bus driver would drop us off on the side of the highway and we would walk into the town. Funny how you have to just have to have faith sometimes! The salt mines were pretty interesting, although the tour was almost 2 hours. We just kept stepping down and down into the dark, where old wooden stairs took us into the mines, again, just a leap of faith. Inside the mines they had sculpted many different statue and figurines out of salt. In one part there was an entire ballroom made out of salt, from the chandelier to the “painting” of the Last Supper. When it was time to leave, we walked to a corner of the mine where there was a service elevator shaft and seven other tourists waiting. When the elevator came, they crammed all nine of us onto the elevator for our 200 meters to the surface. Again, it was a leap of faith. After taking a bus back into town, we flagged down a cab and went to the Wawel Castle in Krakow. I really liked Krakow, as it was full of smiling, friendly people. Some spoke English, but if they didn’t, they tried to help anyways.

After a few days of sightseeing, we decided to jump on the three hour train to Warsaw. We couldn’t believe how much room we had! We had an entire cabin to ourselves! We decided to celebrate with a few Polish beers. We found our apartment quite easily again. It was even nicer than our apartment in Krakow and was only one block from the spectacular Old Town Square. We did a lot of walking around in Warsaw and even walked all the way to the city center. We were very excited as we found Subway, Pizza Hut, and KFC in the center. We had gone eight months without fast food! We did a lot of sightseeing, caught all of our trains, were able to navigate with our maps, and found everything we needed to with considerable ease. All through the trip we kept saying, “I can’t believe we did this! No problems!”

We spoke too soon

Our last day in Warsaw, we had to check out of our apartment in the morning but our train wasn’t leaving until 9:30 at night. The Old Town Apartment staff said we could leave our bags at the office until 8pm. So we went downtown, wandered around until 6, and then went to an Irish Pub for a light supper and a drink…..this might have been our first mistake. We ended up chatting with this guy, having drinks, and he even bought us each a t-shirt from the pub. Then I looked up and saw the time. It was 8:00! I jumped up, told Steve to pay the bill and I would meet him in the Old Town Square where the office was. I ran as fast as I could the 12 blocks to the office, and realized I didn’t know the way quite as well as I thought I did. Then I realized, maybe Steve doesn’t either! I got to the office, rang the buzzer, and no one answers. I’m late and our bags are in the office! I start to panic when a guy runs up and starts apologizing about being late and opens the door for me. I pick up all of our bags, walk down the stairs, and there is Steve. Ok, that was a close one. We decide to grab some bread, cheese, and water for the trip back to Kyiv and then quickly make our way to the train station. We don’t want something like that to happen again! So we get to the train station with almost an hour to spare. Find the right station; ask a few people if it is the right station, for good measure.

Steve says he has to go to the bathroom. He drops his bags and leaves. I start to talk to some other tourists and they ask me if I’m alone. I say no and look at the clock. 10 minutes has past. Where is he? 20 minutes pass and I know he is lost. I start scanning the top floor. There are around 10 escalators on each side of the building to each of the 10 terminals. People are able to walk around and see the entire station from the top floor. Finally I think I see him upstairs. I start waving frantically. I think he sees me and he walks away. I think he’s coming down the escalator. He doesn’t. Half hour passes. I then see him again on the top floor, so I grab all of our bags and try to run up the escalator, then go back down to another section where I thought I saw him, yelling his name. He isn’t there. People are staring. I run back to where I am supposed to be, so that I don’t miss him. My bag falls apart and everything falls to the ground. I stop, drop everything, and start picking up the contents of my bag. The train, OUR train, pulls into the station and everyone starts to get on. Now I am at my breaking point. I hold onto a bottle of water, staring at it, trying not to cry when Steve comes running up. He got completely backwards when he went to the top floor and forgot what terminal we were at. He was pouring sweat from running from terminal to terminal, asking what train was going to Kyiv and yelling, “I lost my wife! I lost my wife!” We gather our things off the floor, jump on the train, and just as we find our cabin, the train begins to pull away. Moral of the story? I have no idea; maybe don’t pee alone in a Poland train station?