Well, I'll be rolling out of here before dawn tomorrow, heading for Indian Wells and what appears to be a pretty impressive gathering of the Tribe, not to mention the ATP and WTA pros. So this will be the OT post for the weekend, or until you hear otherwise. I think Steggy is planning to put up an interesting report from a reader later, and may post one more informational item early tomorrow for those who will gather in the desert.
In the past few days, we've been trying to figure out a way for members of the Tribe to recognize each other at events. I'm leaning toward getting hats made up. Baseball caps are too common, in my opinion, so I'm leaning toward OD (olive drab) fatigue caps with KAD in bright yellow stitching on the front (kind of like those FBI, CIA, CSI caps). Any thoughts?
Steggy and I get in around midday tomorrow and we should have something posted by late afternoon/early evening. Note to Ian of the Desert: can you re-send your contact info? It was downloaded from the server to a different computer that I can no longer access.
I'm bummed out that the TypePad software somehow ate the second half of my Belize (post; it seems a long time gone now. But I'll finish my quick summary of the vacation for those of you who might want to file Belize away as a destination for the future.
During our stay in the jungle, we made daily excursions. We told our hosts what we wanted to do and they arranged for us to have a driver/companion for the day. The vehicle was a banged-up, road warrior diesel Chevy Suburban, and our driver Albert was terrific guy who gave up his freelance guiding business to work full-time for *Banana Bank*. This was a fine way to go: it was at least a 90 minute drive to any place we wanted to go, and because it was just our family and Albert, we got to know each other pretty well, and stopped wherever we wanted for whatever we wanted (read: beer).
Albert, there's a check-point up ahead, do I need to hide this bottle of Beliken?
No, they don't care. . .
Being from western urban capitals, many of us tend to discuss religion and its role in our society in either abstract or high-culture terms. But tooling around Belize, I realized that there is a huge missionary presence there, and the common sight of children, often in immaculate uniforms, playing in front of some spartan but tidy missionary school or orphanage yielded an epiphany. Belize is one of those places where the rubber of religion meets the road of life. However you feel about evolution, the display of religious icons in public places, school vouchers, there are thousands of religious people making real, daily, practical differences in the lives of people in places like Belize. I felt humbled and curiously out-of-touch with realities far more important than the ones that frame most debates about the role of religion in our lives.
One day we went to the Barton Creek Cave, a well known site. To get there, we drove a beautiful country road right through the heart of a Mennonite colony. Imagine canoing through a pitch-black cave with 150-foot tall ceilings, using powerful spotlights to target geological wonders and even remnants of human sacrifice (one, an infant's skull) that still perch on some of the ledges and Mayan altars (the Mayans believed that the cave was the portal between the real and spiritual realms, and by we paddled out I was thinking maybe they were onto something there. . .)
The visit lasted just 45 minutes or so, and only six or eight other people were present the entire time. So the combination of the scenery along the way (the rugged mountain road runs right through a large Mennonite colony), a swim at the mouth of the cave, and a fine lunch we had just a few yards away, in a large, open-sided thatched hut, (run by a Canadian expat) added up to a perfect morning. The operative word for Belize is "low-key." What fears I had of having to having to sit on an air-conditioned tour bus, glancing at my watch as some dude with a megaphone told me more than I ever want to know about hibiscus plants vanished very early in our trip.
We also visited the magnificent, towering ruins at Xunantunich, in the company of just three traveling Canadians form Ottawa. In some ways we were lucky, because cruise ships do come to Belize and disgorge busloads of souvenir and sight-hungry tourists. But it tends to be on a regular schedule that you can easily work around. From Banana Bank, we drove one of the most beautiful roads I've ever been on, the Hummingbird Highway. It reminded me of Kodiak Island in Alaska, if you can believe that. The mountains are of comparable size (around 3,000 feet), similarly shaped, and cloaked in the same, dense foliage, with a paucity of standing timber.
At the town of Dangriga, we hopped a small plane to *Placencia* (the main coastal road was too rough and washed out to take with a rental car or taxi), where we stayed at an uncharacteristically *modern apartment*. It was comfortable, cheery and right on the beach. Lisa and I engaged a guide for a day's Permit and Bonefish angling on the nearby flats. That morning, we dropped Luke off with Wendy, a local woman who ran an informal day-care center. Wendy lives in what some might call a hovel or sorry shack, but she's a warm, wonderful person with kids of her own. Luke spent the day playing with a group of local Creole children. By the time we picked him up he was filthy, and had ripped a huge "Z" in the back of his shorts, giving Belizians a pretty good view of what must be whitest little butt they're apt to see for some time.
Our last real activity was a day spent on a small key owned by a local man, Rannie. The picture should give you a good feeling for the place. It was all ours for the day, and Rannie and his caretaker, also named Albert, went out of their way to make us comfortable. We ate roasted mackerel that we had caught ourselves an hour earlier, and snorkeled around the key. Rannie had spotted a giant Goliath fish while snorkeling with Lisa, and later Albert invited me to go spearfishing for it. I hunt better on land, so I ended up in charge of the kayak (you don't drag bleeding fish around behind you in Belizian waters unless you're hoping to lose a leg) while he hunted with a primitive Hawaiian sling.
Surprisingly, Albert managed to locate the fish and shoot it. The thing weighed 35 lbs. I hauled it up and dumped it in the kayak. Albert offered us fillets but his family, who are Guatemalans, live inland where fish is a treat few can afford, so we insisted that he keep it for himself. In turn, he gave Luke a few gorgeous shells as presents; I'm looking at one as I finish this report.
Belize was just an easy, wonderful place to spend time. I had the best meal I ever et in an airport - anywhere - in Belize City on the way out: fresh roasted chicken rubbed with spices and served with pico de gallo and a warm, freshly baked tortilla. We arranged the entire trip through a woman Lisa stumbled across on awebsite. Her name is Mary Toy. I'm posting this partly out of appreciation for her efforts on our behalf; I never said I would write about our experience, but I recommend her to anyone looking for this kind of vacation.
Well, that about wraps it up. I'll be back with you on Saturday, live from Indian Wells!