Three days before my flight out of Belize city I left Pandora's house in Placencia to head to Caye Caulker for two last days of beach and some alone time to allow myself to process the fact that my trip was nearly over. I hopped on the bus headed to Dangriga early in the morning and said goodbye to my charming hosts. The busride was fairly uneventful - backtracking the same way I had come for a five hour ride...quick bus change in Dangriga and on through the jungle to Belize City, where I was hoping to make an easy transition onto a water taxi headed out to the Cayes. As it turned out once I arrived in town, I had just barely missed the noon water taxi and subsequently had a couple of hours to spend in town. I checked my bag with the friendly folks at the terminal and walked off to explore a little of town. Since I didn't want to miss the boat, I decided not to try to see any major sights and resolved to simply make an attempt to lose myself in the streets near the port.
Belize City is not exactly a gem of a town. It is crowded, a little dirty and architecturally pretty dull. Then again, I was once again transported back to childhood memories of Africe, so it was fun for me. I strolled around, found a little shack of a restaurant and had a truly horrendous chicken sandwhich that left me with a slight queezy feeling. I looked around a couple of music stores, but ended up not buying anything. Most of the music I was hearing on the streets was Reggae - at least 70 % of that was Marley, and I have plenty of him at home, so I decided to wait and see if I would run into anything a little more local later on.
One thing I was struck by here is the government's apparent efforts at AIDS education. I have not seen this many posters, banners and advertisements encouraging people to get tested in years. I read an article the local paper that only comes out twice a week (this country really is small!) while I was choking on my sandwhich at the restaurant, and was informed that the infection rate in Belize is still rising quite substantially. However, it seems the education campaigns are all aimed at family men - asking them not to bring the virus home - no mention of women, queers, or singles in general. My impression of Belize in general has been a little marred a little by it's quite obvious homophobia. I felt relatively comfortable being out in Mexico, which I was surprised by - but here, not so much. The double standards around sex here are quite striking. I hear this is true for a lot of Caribbean nations - Jamaica in particular, and I was a little dissapointed. It does put a damper on being in paradise, when you have to start playing pronoun games in casual conversation in order not to out yourself to the wrong people. Oh well.
After trolling around town, making a last minute ATM stop and shopping for a few groceries, I headed back to the water taxi terminal, had a short chat with a cute little rasta man trying to sell me "the best red and sticky weed around" and boarded an open rickety little vessel along with another 40 other vacationers. I saw two dolphins playing in the water halfway through the ride, and cheerily sunbathed, perched on my raised seat in the back of the boat. We reached Caye Caulker after about 45 minutes, and I began to look for a comfortable spot to spend my last two days. I had originally planned on staying at the local hostel, but changed my mind when I was guided to another little guest house by a young British lad in a golf cart. I setlled in to a small but comfortable little room and began my exploration of the island.
It seemed a little empty downtown, and in general, the party atmosphere I had read about in my various guides didn't materialize before my eyes. However, it was pleasant to simply stroll along the main drag, hop into a shop here and there, and sit in cafes peoplewatching and evesdropping. I had hoped that I would find another beautiful beach to rest my head and work on my tan for just a few more hours, but I came up with only a precious few streches of sand beach, all of which were a little too close to the road. It seems people come here primarily to dive, snorkel, fish and experience the reef in general. I had allready had my snorkeling experience and was gnawing at my last few dollars, so I laid low, wrote, read and mentally prepared myself for my trip home.
I had a couple of delicious meals at Rasta Pasta, and was amazed at the gigantic portions - a throwback to American culture. Their jerk chicken was delectable, and probably the best meal I had in Belize. I have to say that the food in Belize in general has been underwhelming for me. The staple of stewed chicken and rice and beans can be great when done well, but I haven't run across much variety in local flavors. Maybe I'm missing something.
On the morning of my last day in Belize, I got up early and decided to try to catch the 10:00 water taxi back to Belize City. My flight wasn't leaving until 4:00 pm, but I had no idea how long it would take me to get to the airport, and I didn't want to have to rush. I strolled over to the beach with my pack and was planning on simply sitting on the pier for a few hours, when a watertaxi pulled up just as I was getting ready to put my pack down. I figured, what the hell, and hopped on. The ride back was a lot wetter than the ride to the Caye since I was all the way at the rear of the boat, and sitting quite low. I got a little drenched. Back in Belize, I hailed a taxi to take me to the airport, hoping I would find a place to have a cup of coffee and relax. The ride was only 20 minutes, and I ended up arriving a good 4 hours before it was time to check in for my flight. I cursed myself for not having taken the time to see a little more of the city, instead of sitting at the airport for hours, but made the best of it by finding a hotel nearby and paying to take a shower to wash the salt and sweat off my skin and change into some more air-conditioning appropriate clothing for the trip. I wrote a last few e-mails at the internet cafe at the airport, which charged an outrageous $6 per 15 minutes! To add to my last minute expenses, I had not figured the port's unwillingness to accept credit cards for payment of the departure fee into my equation and ended up having to make a last withdrawal at the bank, which charged a horrendous transaction fee of $15. The fee ended up being less than posted, since apparently a portion of it had been included in the price of my ticket...all very confusing. No matter, I took the last of my local currency, went to the restaurant and had a few beers while watching the planes leave and come in from the waving gallery.
My flight left on time, and wasn't full, so I had a row to myself, peacefully gazed out the window, and tried to guess which part of Mexico I was currently traversing... going back over my trip in my head.
Buying an open jaw ticket for my trip seemed like a good idea at the time, and I'm glad I did, since I probably would never have left Mexico if I was flying out of the same city I flew into. However, the details didn't work out entirely in my favor, since the home stretch required me to spend the night in Houston. I had considered trying to find a freeloader to stay with for the night. My flight was coming in at around 7, my departure was scheduled for 9am, so - a considerable stretch of time to be stuck in an airport. Unfortunately the Houston airport isn't exactly close to Houston proper, and it all seemed more of a hassle than it was worth. After passing through immigration and being able to avoid the ridiculous fingerprinting formality that has recently been imposed on foreigners entering with visas, (coming in as a tourist this time around, I was able to take advantage of the visa waiver program extended to citizens of a few select non-terrorist suspect nations) I picked up my luggage and went through customs. I had the option of checking my bags back in directly to pass back into the departure gate section, but I wanted to be able to access my luggage, and exited into the main terminal. I grew to regret this decision almost immediately, when I was told by a ticketing agent that I would not be able to recheck my luggage and reenter the checked passenger section until the next morning. All the good stuff is at the gates. I had gotten a tip from a fellow traveller, that when in the Houston airport overnight, the best place to rest your head is in the chapel. I was totally set for this option until it became clear that the chapel was in the checked passenger section, and I was locked out. The main terminal at Houston is a bitch. Bright neon lights, linoleum or stone floors, brutal air-conditioning and the constant buzz of cleaning machines buffing the floors. No comfortable seating at all. I ended up catching a couple of hours of sleep by the transit train tracks, after the interterminal train had stopped runnning at 1am. It started back up at 4am, so that was it for my Z's. I rechecked my bags at 6am, and booked it to my gate, where I slumped down on the carpet and grumpily awaited my flight. What a shitty mood to be in when coming home. Too much of the ugly side of America in 12 hours - TV's broadcasting 9/11 commission reports, the typical mix of "be afraid, but trust in your government bullshit"... weirdos wearing WWJD t-shirts and cowboyhats, bratty teenagers decked out in Nike and Tommy gear from head to toe....I'd had enough allready. I nostalgically listened to the last minute boarding calls for Mexico City, Sao Paolo, Rio...sometimes coming home is so depressing.
My flight to Portland was mercifully short, with a row to myself once more. I took a cool picture of an atoll in the gulf, and miraculously fell asleep.
I am looking forward to two and a half months in what has been my home state for 12 years before I move my life back to Berlin for graduate school. This transition will be huge, and I will continue to post to this blog for a while longer to narrate the move. Check back every once in a while, and send some comments. I like comments.