With Canada now so cold that our sweaters are in need of sweaters, I’m desperately longing for a parrots and palms kind of place; and so with our wives still focused on work, my buddy Greg (a.k.a. the MOP) is joining me for a little ‘manventure’ in the country of Belize.
Since Belize City is known as a hotspot for gang activity and violent crime we waste little time before venturing 114 km southwest to the small town of San Ignacio; and just twenty minutes shy of the Guatemala border our van arrives at the village of Bullet Tree Falls.
Cradling a few beers with the gruff Brit owner we learn of his troubled environs; including robbers from Guatemala, fer-de-lance snakes, a guy from a bar fight threatening to shoot him, scorpions, floodwater damage from the rain-swollen Mopan River, a wife who has left, Dengue Fever deaths in the area, and the place being up for sale. Hell’s Bells, a plethora of positivity this crusty old coot definitely is not!
With Architectural Digest unlikely to be planning a photoshoot of our remote lodging any time soon we try to swallow our disappointment. The shabby hut mirrors its owner, worn and forlorn. The only positive takeaway is that after engaging in some petting and behind-the-ears-scratching of his huge German Shephard I seem to have gained its trust. The formidable looking guard dog now has his tail in a full wag and seems focused on exuberantly trying to lick the epidermal layer from his new pal’s face. The big lug, much like the rest of us, just needing to be shown a little kindness.
After hiking the Mayan ruins of Cahel Pech we head into town to book transit for tomorrow to the relatively unknown jungle cave of Actun Tunichil Muknal. This is the reason we’ve made the long commute to San Ignacio, and arranging for the adrenaline-fueled adventure we’re informed there are only two requirements for those wishing to explore the cave: being physically fit and mentally prepared for the tragedies that lie within.
Discovered in 1989 and opened to the public in 1998, the ‘Cave of the Stone Sepulcher’ is a spectacular subterranean space where 1000 to 2000 years ago the Maya, who were really into caves, ventured three miles down into the earth for religious ceremonies including grisly human sacrifices.
Greg and I, along with our guide Renan, drive from San Ignacio to Tapir Mountain Nature Reserve before we’re forced to abandon the car. Lathering on bug repellent, Renan recounts a previous encounter on this trail when he was bitten by a deadly fer-de-lance and almost took the eternal dirt-nap. Having not packed any anti-venom serum, we vigilantly stick to him like a wet T-shirt to avoid a possible coffin-measuring encounter with the camouflaged vipers!
After forty-five minutes of hiking, and fording three rivers, we emerge from beneath the jungle’s canopy and spot the gaping mouth of the ATM cave. It’s shaped like an hour-glass, with emerald water spilling out from within. The Mayans believed the cave to be a portal to another world and named it Xibalba; ‘The Place of Fright’. Donning our safety helmets and securing water-proof head lamps we stuff our cameras and clothes into a sealable bag, ready for the adventure that lies beyond.
With a deep inhale we plunge into a tranquil pool and enter through the portal of the cave. Just minutes later I’m attacked by a denizen of the deep, when one of the many little fish apparently fancying themselves as guardians of this Mayan underworld makes his bold move. The naughty nibbler has the outright audacity to nip me right on my nipple!
Immersed in the blackness of the cave we bid farewell to the light of day for the next three hours, and relying only on small helmet lights, shake hands with the abyss! Probing our way along the spooky subterranean creek bed we gulp down claustrophobia while descending deeper and deeper into the bowels of darkness. Our headlamps illuminate the mysteries ahead in the forbidding environment and the only signs of life we see are a few eerie jumping-spiders big enough to trip over. Lights, do not fail us now!
After negotiating boulders and tight passageways we leave the water to scramble up limestone rocks into an underground chamber. Formed over thousands of years, the stalactites and stalagmites resemble mouthful of teeth from Hell framing the Mayan ceremonial chamber and place of sacrifice.
Dusty ceramic vessels dating between 700 and 900 AD litter the floor and several are delicately pierced with ‘kill holes’ to release the spirits within. Human skulls with flattened foreheads and blank eye sockets lay scattered about and our senses are alive with visions of the past ritual sacrifices. Being half a mile below ground feels claustrophobic and the silence is so complete one could hear a fly fart.
Living our best Tomb Raider life, Greg and I prowl further into the cavern and have our eagerness upgraded to elation when we clamber up an old wood ladder onto the ledge of a limestone wall. Lying before us is the highlight of our adventure; the startling spectacle of the ‘Crystal Maiden’.
The perfectly preserved skeletal remains of a teenage girl have been cemented into place with a sparkling crystalline coating created by hundreds of years of water running over the bones. As one of many sacrificial victims, her unwelcomed fate was being clubbed to death to try and appease the gods and bring an onset of rain in times of drought. The setting is so beyond surreal I feel almost total paralysis in trying to describe it.
Done socializing with spirits and spiders, we begin retracing our route back out of the cave of graves. Ending our time as troglodytes by re-emerging into the dappled daylight of the jungle and back in the world where we belong, we are incredibly grateful for our exhilarating spelunking into the ancient Mayan underworld.
Driving back after our commendation-worthy day we realize it’s ‘beer o’clock’, and fixated on congregating with a couple of Belikan beers, me and the MOP stop, shop, pop a top, and turn a couple of the headless browns upside down!
Back at our horrid hovel in Bullet Tree Falls the mummified insects suspended in cobwebs indicate that housekeeping is not a priority, and marooned 5 km outside of town with no cooking facilities or car means an inconvenient hike for meals. With our dark and dank lodging having a busted shower and no air con, soap, or hot water it has all the amenities of a Soviet Gulag!
After a couple of nights of broken sleep due to a cacophony of canines participating in a nightly bark-mitzvah and donating blood to savaging mosquitoes, things have risen to a whole new level of suck. It’s become a no-brainer for Greg and I to terminate, rather than tolerate, our soured relationship with the Satan inspired hut.
Returning to Belize City we arrange a flight to Ambergris Caye. Getting off the plane we hop into a golf cart taxi and then bump along over giant nautical ropes strung across the beach as speed bumps. We take a room at the Blue Tang Inn, and all is good until we learn through the ‘coconut telegraph’ that the small island may be in the direct path of Hurricane Richard now barreling in our direction!
The island is a comfy change from the humid jungle with long wooden wharfs extending across bone white sands out into a shallow aquamarine sea. Belizean fishermen stand in the gin-clear water gutting fish and lobster, while stingrays swirl around their feet optimistically scrounging for the off-cuts.
One of the locals informs us the best way to catch lobster is by using a mop. He recommends dangling it in the water in front of the rocks, and when a lobster comes out to attack you simply flip it into a sack. A Cheshire cat grin moves into my face as I inform the fellow that I am indeed travelling with a MOP! But for some strange reason when I unveil my ambitious plan to Greg that we’re going lobster fishing on the reef and going to use his dangly bits as bait, an apparent phobia of ‘emasculation by lobster’ has the Mop in a mope. He has taken a vow of silence and suddenly found something of great interest on top of his shoes!
Exploring Ambergris Caye by bike we come to a pre-school surrounded by a fence looking like giant pencils. This seems most appropriate, as I just happened to bring along bags of pencils from home as little gifts. After reaching agreement with the teacher that it’s OK, she escorts outside a class of ragtag little inmates hand in hand, and I quickly I get the lead out to distribute the pencils in front of the pointy pencil fence.
Over the next two days we embrace the ’go slow’ motto of the island and book an upcoming snorkeling trip to swim with the sharks and rays. Unfortunately, dark foreboding clouds smudging out the sky begin to harsh our mellow, and during the night we’re awoken by kamikaze raindrops attacking the widows with such force we wonder if the animals are starting to pair up!
Calling the airport about the weather situation we are informed that tomorrow is the last day that planes will be able to fly out. It has been confirmed that the island is now smack dab in the path of a mighty hurricane about to roar ashore within 24-48 hours. Regrettably it’s time for us to depart with the island flatter than frog road kill and offering virtually zero protection from what’s sure to be one Hell of a blow job!
Our farewell feast is a lobster dinner at a little hole in the wall joint called Waragumas. The crustacean sensations are superb, and just for the record, I’m pleased to report that no parts of the MOP were harmed during the procurement of said lobster! With dinner done we pack our gear for tomorrow’s evacuation.
The airport is frantic with people scrambling to vacate the island, and having abandoned regular schedules, the airlines are making continuous flights back and forth from the mainland every 15-20 minutes, trying their utmost to get everybody off the island. And so begins an arduous day of travel as we bounce through the skies via Belize City, El Salvador, San Francisco, Vancouver, and finally home to Victoria.
The tiny island/nation of Belize certainly punches well above its weight, and though we’re bummed by having our holiday truncated, we did enjoy our brilliant but brief adventure. Now we just have to explain to the wives why it’s mandatory that we be allowed to go again!
Mark Colegrave 2010