Month: February 2010

Caulker Fo’ Life!

(that one’s for Joe)

The door unlocked for me today. I signed up for the Blue Hole trip, mostly just to dive Blue Hole. Little did I know I would get so much out of it. I woke up around 4 a.m. and was unable to truly sleep afterward as I knew I needed to be at the dive shop, a full 5 minute walk, at 5:30 a.m. Sheri and I arrive at 5:30 exactly with no one else in sight. Daniel, the French Canadian, appears a few minutes later, and the rest come trickling in. Breakfast consists of sweet raisin bread and black coffee. It’s about as close to a full spread continental breakfast as you will find in Belize.

I wander down to the dock because I know the sun will be coming up soon and I like feeling the wind coming off the ocean. A few minutes later all the rest of the divers have come down and we are all sort of standing and conversing, waiting for the arrival of promised Helios. The boat arrives, and we all load our gear on, then the lively Swedish girl starts laughing. I ask her what happened and she points to the horizon and I see that while we were all chatting, the sun came up, unnoticed.

The boat ride out is near glass until we pass the reef. Once we are past the reef the seas get a bit of swell, almost not worth mentioning. About the half way point, we pass by a number of small cayes (islands). One of the cayes, Cockroach Caye, is about 40 x 20 feet with a single tin shed and some trees on it.

After the halfway point of the trip we hit a bit more waves for ab out 30 minutes. The waves are small but consistent. At its worst, the chop today is still the calmest water I have ever seen off the North Carolina coast. The water is brilliant and it becomes clearer by the mile.

Omar is one of the divemasters. His speech couldn’t be more even if it were cut from a machine. He sounds half Jamaican and half metronome. To say Jamaican is a dis-service, because he is easily understood, but has somewhat of that cadence and accent. He explains what we are likely to see, what his hand signals mean, and how we are to behave when exiting and entering the boat.

His tattoos are simple. Primitive. One of them is possibly a brand of some sort that scarred darkly. On his left shoulder are the letters “O.T.” I decide to ask him what his last name is.

“Thomas.”

Omar Thomas. O.T.

“So,” I ask him, “How did you get here?”

And with that simple question, he unfolds a tale that builds a Caribbean divemaster; birthplace, family, education, aspirations, so many details that were lying dormant, just waiting for someone to ask. We talk about his tattoos, what he has seen under the ocean and what HIS vacations are like. It is eye opening; like a magnet. I find myself drug into conversations, telling more about myself, hearing more about others. This continues all day.

I am the first one out of the boat at Blue Hole. I wear board shorts and a simple rash guard, minus the 7 millimeters of wetsuit I wore over this the last time I dove in North Carolina. The water is blue and the depths are black as night. They get blacker as we descend. I wish I had brought my dive light.

At around 130 feet, 40 meters, Omar levels us off. I keep going.  I stop somewhere around 48 meters, 160 feet. The stalagmites are huge. Defying any I have previously seen; swimming between them in unrealistically cool. I imagine they are the giant teeth of some aquatic monster come to chomp me up and I am dodging his evil teeth. After a few minutes, I return to the divemaster and follow him and the rest of the group back up to the higher regions of Blue Hole where the Sharks congregate; where they wait. Circling.

Back on the boat, everyone is in good spirits. The snorkelers are a ways off, so we take the boat to go pick them up after the second set of divers. Now off to Half Moon Caye.

Half Moon Caye is an island near blue hole whose main claim to fame is the Booby sanctuary on it. Yeah, I laughed a little too. Especially when I saw the “Booby Gift Shop” sign. The birds were simply circling in some huge congregation across the island; a mad swarm in a whirlpool of Hitchcock proportions looking for food. Waiting. Circling.

Before we hit the island, we hit the water again. The sea life here is amazing. Sea turtles, gigantic eels, a grouper the size of a taxi. We are only going down to about 60 feet so I decide to chance using my Flip in it’s waterproof case. No dice. It won’t record under the water so I tuck it away and just snap a few pictures. Nearly 40 minutes of unadulterated marine odyssey.

I swing off from the dive instructor for a while and just sit on the floor of the ocean with a ray with at least a 6 foot winspan. He is almost entirely coverd in sand, and all I can see is his outline, eyes, and gills. Watching him sit and stare back and me breathing, I imagine he is wondering just what the hell I am staring at.

Once we all get back to the boat we are tired in general, but in great spirits. Joe, and American from Washington, myself and a few others jump off the boat and enjoy the carribean sea al fresco. Daniel, the French Canadian, climbs up on the back of the boat and starts peeing into the water. The rest of us quietly get back in the boat.

Off to Half Moon Caye. The dive crew unloads a number of containers of food and serves up stew chicken with rice, beans, and coleslaw. Everyone is circling the food as it is dished out on the table. Waiting. Circling.

Everyone descends into their food with gusto. Most of the Europeans segregate themselves, leaving a table composed primarily of Americans, seasoned with a pair of Venezuelans.

Food is devoured. We leave.

The Aquarium, our last dive for the day, is delightful, only about 50 feet deep, so we have plenty of time under the water. The calm waters here mean we use significantly less oxygen and enjoy nearly 45 minutes underwater on cruise control. The Flip camera case, keeps the water out, but at about 20 feet the pressure is so great that none of the buttons work. So the trick is to start the recording before going down, then just keep it running. I have a 45 minute long dive video. Sweet.

The ride back is sleepy. I want a shower. I want a bed. I want, I want, I want.

A nap is not going to happen, but a cold shower and soap does wonders for my aura. I break out my clothesline and clothespins and hang my swim gear out to dry. Joe and I have made plans to meet up and grab dinner and drinks for the evening. I manage to find Joe and a great number of others; some mixed Americans, a pair of girls from Norway that are both named Maria, and a local who is in full swing celebrating Bob Marley’s birthday.

The bad wind that was forecast is rolling in and rain is coming in with it. I head back to the cabin and put the clothes inside to avoid the now nonexistent rain, and lay down for a while. The nap comes, unwelcome.

Between the front and middle streets (there are only 3) on Caye Caulker, near barefoot alley and just north of the cemetery, is a reggae bar called I & I. The sign hangs right over the residence below, so unless you already know to take  the gate to the side of the house to the stairs, you will enter the always unlocked door and most likely meet a young boy watching television. He’ll direct you upstairs to a truly island bar. Bamboo furniture, with hammocks on the patio. The vibe is healthy and the bar is open until 12 oclock. If you take the right streets you’ll walk past a 2 for 1 drink special a few buildings up and can easily pregame. After 12, you only need to follow the crowd back across the island to the Oceanside bar where the party runs on into the night.

9 p.m. arrives and I manage to roust myself from my bed and head out to I & I. no one is here. I’m barely moving and after walking the streets a bit and finding nothing I return to bed for some much needed sleep. It comes in patches, strangely mixed in with vivid dreams, that don’t make much sense but are filled with mission and purpose.

Morning comes again. My clothes aren’t dry. Maybe, I’ll just stay another day until they dry out. Yeah, one more day sounds perfect in the warm sunlit breeze wafting across the porch of my cabin. So does breakfast.

I’ve been waiting for a couple days to try this coffee shop called amore y café. Today is the perfect morning. The menu looks blissfully basic, and a bagel with scrambled eggs onions and tomatoes hits the spot along with some good coffee.

Joe and everyone are in the courtyard of their hotel when I get there and they fill me in on all the great stuff I missed the night before. The local is on the porch smoking weed again and soon begins dropping the knowledge on us about atms, quarks, why Swedish girls travel around the world just to have sex with Swedish guys… etc. wild stuff. Soon he becomes convinced I am a government agent, perhaps a black ops sniper of some sort. This becomes a topic of some conversation and he promises no less than 50 times to keep my secret safe. I’m flattered.

On the water taxi back to Belize city, I start making a plan. Return the sim card to the guest house. Find a bus ticket to San Ignacio. Find a place to sleep.

Seems simple enough, since I think all the bus tickets are sold from the same terminal I land in on the water taxi.

No such luck. The buses I am looking for are on the other end of town. Luckily there is a Jamaican clad man yelling atme from about a block away asking if I need a taxi. Taxi it is. My first taxi ride of the trip. He tosses my bag into the oil stained darkness of his Sentra’s trunk and I jump in the back seat. Someone I can assume is either his girlfriend of his daughter is eating Chinese take out in the front seat.

Taxis in Belize City are not for the faint of heart. I was taken through some of the dodgiest neighborhoods I could possible fathom. To call our rate of travel “unsafe” would be somewhat of an understatement.

The trick to the buses in Belize is just to get on. Find the one you like. Board it. And when you are underway, a young man will come around and ask you for money. Simple as you like. However, two Austrian girls and I were a little uncertain about all of this as it was being explained to us. Fortunately, we all got where we needed to go.

The San Ignacio bus stop is an orange painted brick wall, about 40 feet in length and roughly 2 feet high. That’s it. My favorite city thus far for the simple reason that no one cared that I had arrived. No Huffy weilding Jesus… no Jamaican scare taxis. I feel like i’m finally lost.

Jesus welcomes me to Caye Caulker on his yellow Huffy ten speed. If that doesn’t tell you that you are in for a weird day, i don’t know that will.

jesus and I walk and talk for a while, and it turns out that he is from the same town, Corraza (I think), that jaime in Belize City is from. Jesus tells me of his pastimes on the island which include “helping you so you can help me.” We discuss interesting issues like the presence of hot water, beds, and golf cart taxi lap times on the jaunt down the beach. carrying the 40+ pounds of backpack I have on, doesn’t let me appreciate the near equatorial heat, humidity, and sunshine as much as I would like. Jesus takes me to Ignacio’s that is owned by Rueben, and the fun begins.

The place is perfect. Roughly 12 x 12 feet, my cabin is a wooden stilted construction that might give cavement pause. It has a shower (cold), and a toilet that will not process toilet paper, hence the warning sign directing newcomers to use the trash can. The toilet is lucky, since there is no toilet paper in the bathroom anyway.

I’m a little weirded out today, so I sit in my new cabin for about an hour before I force myself to go mingle. First on the list is booking a scuba trip for the following day to Blue Hole. Success. The owner of Big Fish Dive Company gives me “Special Deal, for you buddy” of $350 BZD, roughly $175, to go on a three tank dive to Blue Hole the following morning. At 5 am.

My main goal for coming to the island paid for, I decide to walk around. I have been walking. Alot. I wrecked my R6 pretty badly about 2 years ago and damaged my ankle pretty sincerely. What with martial arts 4 days a week and more motorcycle crashes since then, it still manages to complain a bit more than it should. Today is one of those days. I’ve walked the length of the caye (20 minutes one way) about 8 times today.

On one particularly ill fated trip to The Split, a segment of the caye where the ocean has cut it in half, i rented a snorkel and fins to go take some underwater footage with my neat HD Flip. So, in the process, I managed to lose my ATM card and my room key in one fell swoop. Not the best start to an adventure on an island.

For those of you keeping track; yes, this IS the ATM card that I cause a near crisis before I left raleigh as it had to be fedexed to me to make it in time. Looks like we are in for some more fedex action. But how does one hit a moving target like me with an international delivery of such delicate nature when not even the moving target knows where it is going to be at any given date?! Not easily, it appears.

Since the cell phone I have for Belize has a limited amount of credit on it, i doubt it will last very long internationally, so when jumping on the WIRELESS INTERNET, god forbid, at my cabin, I have the delightful surprise of seeing my friend Janette online. A quick IM later and she has the schwab guys calling my Belize cell phone, since incoming calls are free, this is a dream come true.

I have to hand it to both Rueben of Ignacio’s and the Schwab guys, neither was fazed by my awesome display today. Rueben just told me to take his key and sent me off to make a copy, and Schwab told me to fax them a release so they can send my card south of the border. Normally, I would scoff at the idea of faxing from the Atlantic Ocean, but I’m the guy using wireless internet and talking on a cellular telephone to a bank in another country. I’ll make it happen.

Gigantazon, my brother in Madrid, is doing what he can to pull strings for me in the upcoming journeys, and a number of other people have sent me contacts to look up folks in countries south of here. Thanks to all of you. Now if I could just stop shooting myself in the foot long enough to actually have a crisis free day.

The single bulb overhead flickers from time to time, but I certainly won’t complain. the windows let in the amazing ocean breezes and after the lights have all gone out on the island the stars are shining overhead in a way that makes me feel like a primitive; like some slack jawed neanderthal imagining what magical beings hang over my head and watch me make an idiot of myself. 🙂

It’s late ande i’ve got an early dive tomorrow. time to sleep.

With what I am hoping will be my final dealing with American Airlines, I am sitting on the patio at the Smokin Balam and awaiting the delivery of my now Dominican bag. The curtain in the window behind me to the left is distracting me. Making me think someone is watching me from behind.

So, with minimal fanfare, I said goodbye to warm showers today, as there appears to only be one water handle that comes out at a single temperature whether in a sink or shower. It’s not as cold as it was in Pamplona, just not anything near comfortable for sustained periods. Rinsing, then turning off the water to soap in the warm air for a bit, then rinsing the soap off again bit by bit seems to be the least uncomfortable way of cleaning off the salt and sweat of the days excursions.

I am constantly surprised when I travel that so many other people are doing the same thing. There is an incessant stream of new backpackers filing into both the guest houses, another monster of a man just checked in to the Balam. Spares barely a word for me and goes to his room. From my vantage on the porch, I have limited visibility of almost everything, but total clarity of nothing, save the upstairs porch across the road; which I can tell you after many hours of intense scrutiny, is a very dull place. I just got my third layugh of the day at the old Chinese man crossing the street in a mesh tank-top that would look out of place on anything but a low rent male stripper. Or Cher.

Man’s search for coffee has ended today at Moon Clusters. This coffee shop is a short walk down Queen Street past the police station. The whole place is hand painter and though the coffee is only fair by USA standards, it bears mention for the paint job.

Still no sign of American Airlines.

I met my first Belizean Couchsurfer today. I feel like I am being spoiled. Everyone here speaks Enlgish. Jaime and I ate lunch at Senor Coconut and it was great. The restaurant is out of chicken today, which does not appear to be an unusual occurrence, and so I had fillet o’ fish with rice and beans. Fresh squeezed orange juice was also provided, though ice was included before I could say ‘sin hielo.’ Let’s hope the whole ”Don’t drink the water” advice doesn’t come in to play here.  Jaime is an administrator at the local hospital and has to get back to work, but offers to swing back by after lunch and pick me up to go out tonight. I accept. This gives me about two more hours to write, think, get my bag, and get hungry again.

I just saw the closest thing to a proper sport bike i’ve witnessed since arriving. A Kawasaki 250R. Shameful. I’ve walked nearly the length and breadth of Belize City and seen mostly battered 125’s or smaller.

Finally, my bag is here. Nothing seems to be missing, but my travel size shower gel has come open in my toiletries bag and slimed a few things. I’m glad I had the presence of mind to separate all the toiletries into smaller groups and put them in different smaller bags inside the larger toiletries bag. Thus the pollution was localized and easily cleaned.

I just rented a simcard from the Balam and added ten dollars to it, Belize dollars, and I’ll have a telephone number for the next few days while I am scuba diving in Caye (pronounced key) Caulker. It’s 011-501-628-2003 if anyone feels like giving a shout. I believe incoming calls are free, but will find out soon enough if people start calling me.

I am in need of a shower again, some 8 hours after my last shower. I was probably in need of a shower about 2 hours after my last one by North American standards.

Somehow, there is a wireless signal, weak though it is, at certain points on the balcony at the Balam. If anyone ever does stay here, it appears to be strongest at the top of the stairs; there is a bench and small table there for easy use. I’ll try and upload this to test it out.

This has been an interesting day. I met G-Money Marlin, the Sprite messenger. I saw the doppleganger of my friend Emma Jean Flynn. I met a man from Chile, by way of Sweden, who told me of how he fell in love with a Cuban hooker about 5 minutes into our first conversation. I went to a coffee shop next to a barber/laboratory. I walked all over the city, again, and saw that some things aren’t so different between Belize and the USA; never walk down a street that has sneakers hanging from the power lines overhead.

In a few minutes, I’m going to re-assemble my backpack  and go grab dinner with Jaime and my new hooker loving friend and find some food and wild conversation. I may stay at Jaime’s place tonight based on his internet and shower situation, as he was kind enough to offer his couch.

Tomorrow, the Hungry Monkey!

So, I finally made it to Belize. And my bag made it to the Dominican Republic. If only we could agree…

The Smokin Balam guest house is clean and small. Everyone I have spoken to is a family member and friendly. they are honest and straightforward and seem to be constantly cleaning or socializing.

There is internet in the lobby of the guest house and it seems to be on par with most slower dsl links from the states with one exception. Skype will not work in Belize.

The local telcom company, BTL, doesn’t feel like letting free telephone calls slip past them, so the internet connections filter out skype calls. I seem to be logged in to skype, but when i try to place a call, it just sits there and will not dial.

I’m about to go out walking through the city, though I am told I should be off the streets by 9 or take a taxi and I need to be back in the Balam by 11 or they lock the doors.

As my bag with all my clothes, tools, computer and tech bits has gone to an entirely different country, I find myself in need of some basics. I’m about to scarf down the last bit of food i got from my AA food vouchers from MIA and go out looking for some things to photograph..

Continued…

Belize City is small. I walked across half of it and back this afternoon in search of American Airlines offices and sights to see. Not much I’m afraid.

I’ve hit couchsurfing.org pretty hard tonight and hope to have some folks to chat with and check out the surrounding area tomorrow. I’m staying at the Smokin Balam guest house right off the river that cuts the city in half and it’s quite nice. I do notice that the guest house across the street seems to be the place of choice for backpackers, though. If I had a backpack (grrr) I would be tempted to go over there.

There has been a story running on the tv in the background for the last hour about how people are getting shot all over Belize City. makes me a little less than thrilled about heading out on the town tonight. It’s been a long day and I think I’m going to stay close to home, as it were.

God has a huge presence here. every person I have spoken to says something about God or prayer, or this or that church. The oldest Anglican Church in Central America is right down the street and I was delighted to see a Japanese Christian marker outside the church very similar to markers I saw all across Japan.

I’m starting to yawn. time to turn in.