Nearing the Conclusion

December 19, 2009

Written By: Ben Cullen

This morning I never actually woke up, but that’s because I never really fell asleep. My indication that morning had arrived was when the evening soundtrack of wild animals and a distant Christmas concert faded, only to be replaced by the sound of free range livestock and the morning traffic struggling up the near-vertical gravel slope just outside our thatched roof accommodations. Despite the isolation and old-world feel of San Miguel, the noise never stops. Once I had finally shaken off the debris that had fallen from my mosquito net, I put my feet on the ground and readied myself for another day of adventure in paradise.

Breakfast in itself was an adventure, our third and final meal with the locals of San Miguel. I followed a host named Marcos to his home, a home that from the outside didn’t look unlike the small hut I had spent the night in. Inside was standard affair for the community, a concrete floor with a short wooden table surrounded by three shorter stools and a litter of young kids from the extended family. The kids were harassing a skinny dog and drawing pictures in the dirt with stones, something I’d seen more than once since arriving. The scene was clouded by smoke billowing from the small corn-fuelled stove that his daughter was tending to in the corner, of course with corn tortillas cooking on the hot metal surface. I was on my own this morning, separate from the group. My conversation with Marcos over breakfast revealed many of the similarities of home that weren’t apparent upon visual inspection of the surroundings. Rising cost of feed, particularly for his pigs and cattle in addition to environmental concerns surrounding the local rivers sounded similar to the issues we talk about in Ridgetown and with regards to water, where I live near Stouffville. The most significant difference was the impact these issues had on Marco’s life. Unlike home, availability of financing for farm projects or alternative sources of fish and water are non-existent in San Miguel. This changed my understanding of isolation. While it would be easy to say that Marcos lives an isolated life, our isolation from the serious problems that the world at large is facing is far greater. For us there always seems to be a way out, while for the residents of San Miguel every tiny environmental change can have profound impacts on their lifestyle. Despite all of this, Marcos is as proud and happy a man as I have ever met. With a big (very big), healthy family living under a roof he constructed himself he grins with optimism at the mention of the school located up the hill and the things they are doing there. Unsure of how many of his grandchildren attend the school there, I am confident that if they can stretch their education nearly as far as Marcos has taken what he has to work with the results will be incredible. Immediately after thanking Marcos for his hospitality and packing my bag, we jumped into the big white van for the final serious drive of our trip.

Not long after San Miguel had disappeared out of the rear-view mirror, the chaos of Belize City started to shape up on the horizon. The transition didn’t quite happen so smoothly however, as the two places are actually separated by a 5 hour journey. That said, it didn’t seem so as I caught up on the lack of sleep from last night. There was a feeling of urgency trying to get into the city as we had set a goal to reach the water-taxi terminal to Caye Cauker by 1:30. Naturally, as soon as such a goal is established every slow-going truck in Belize decides to hit the road. By the time we had reached the car rental depot we had lost hope for our goal. An unusual place, the Crystal Auto Rental drop off depot was similar to many other Belizean enterprises as the owner’s home was on the same property as the facilities, for those who don’t go afar to fetch a living. Uncharacteristic of Belize, the owner’s home was made up of two shiny new RV trailers parked under a permanent canopy and the enterprise happened to sell and operate a fleet of relatively new vehicles freshly imported from the United States. The mint condition of these cars and trucks made them unlike just about anything else we’d seen on the roads. From there an employee of the company drove us through town in a very, ahem, ‘Belizean’ manner of driving. For those who were still groggy, they were jolted to awareness by his abrupt driving habits. By the time we reached the terminal we had witnessed about all of Belize City that we could stand to absorb and had a new appreciation for Les’s more refrained road manner. If Belizean countryside is like a fresh glass of orange juice, Belize City is like drinking the concentrate. The density of traffic, storefronts and people felt like it was ten times anything we had seen in any of the other villages. The only thing that was missing was green space and animal life. Feeling over-exposed to the pandemonium we scurried into the water taxi terminal, approximately half an hour after our target. For the duration of our hour wait none of us dared to step back onto the sidewalks of the city, so I used the opportunity to email home from an ‘internet cafe’ in a corner of the waiting area. Finally, the boat was ready to board.

By now the group is tired of my Al Pacino imagery, but in my mind the boat we boarded looked fit for the odd jaunt from Colombia to the US with unspecified cargo. The boat was heftier than your average pleasure craft but much faster looking than any water taxi I’ve seen. Les assured me the vessel was in tip top shape as we heard grinding from the bellows and we lurched from the dock. Only five minutes from shore, Les proved to be wrong for the first time since we’ve met. The old diesel inboard that roared from beneath the bench I was sitting on made a powerful revving noise before releasing a loud bang that was cause for some concern. Enough concern for the captain to shut down and investigate the problem while we went adrift in the open water for some time. It must be a common break down, the hose that it was, and thankfully so as the crew seemed to have just the part required handy on board. Before long we were motoring along at all the same pace we had been before, maybe faster. After having had enough time to contemplate all the ‘what-ifs’ that accompany an off-shore break down in unfamiliar waters (about 45 minutes), the colours of Caye Cauker appeared before us. Unlike the rest of Belize, this island is better known by the tourists, and unlike other tourist destinations Caye Cauker isn’t overly-commercialized or exploited for what it is. For those who know it, think of the homes on Toronto Island in a tropical setting. For those who don’t, imagine a collection of small cottages, many of which are rentals or “resorts” (unlike Toronto Island, but there are permanent residences as well), people travelling by bicycle so slow you think they’ll tip over and the big business in town is ‘taking it easy, mon’. Barefoot and open beers, asphalt is almost non-existent and if there is any traffic to fear, it takes the shape of a golf cart and a blind corner.

Belize has taught me not to think of the potential to make Caye Cauker like Miami, or to make a Milpa farm resemble the large-scale and mechanized style of agriculture we practice at home. Perhaps I have learned that a country run without personal lines of credit or regular bank lending learns to build what the rest of us couldn’t do even if we had all the money in the world, they learn to built for what their needs really are. We don’t need six swimming pools and a water ski to have a good time, a brand new pickup truck to bring the feed home for the cows or a sweet new pair of kicks (shoes) to put on our feet when rubber boots will probably get us there in the same time, at the same level of comfort.

Contemplating this, I reflected on what Eloy told us earlier in the week; that people come to Belize to have their big dreams shrunk down to size. While it sounded cynical at the time, everything from the fall of the once great Mayan empire to the contentedness of a well fed farmer living in a hut started coming together. Belize is a small country that houses great contrast, but if you have the chance to visit prepare yourself not to be amazed. If you can set conventional expectations aside you might find yourself better astonished than if you were to visit the biggest, greatest and most ‘advanced’ country of all time.