Following Roatan, we were concerned that Belize and Cozumel were going to be as bad or worse. I suppose that we are poor tourists to want to avoid the “less fortunate” ports of call, but let’s be honest: I don’t have to spend a bunch of money to go see blight, when I can just drive over to North Portland for free. I can ride the bus for a dollar and enjoy all the poverty and substance abuse issues I could ever dream of wanting to observe. We talked to a gentleman later who said that he enjoyed his visit to Roatan, because he went to an orphanage that his church supported and held babies. Good for him! However we are working schmucks who need vacations FROM our lives of poverty-edge quiet desperation. Combine that with my inherent dislike of babies, and we have two great reasons for me to not visit any foreign orphanages. That night we looked at our itinerary and got our gear in order for our stop in Belize. Paperwork, ID, camera, water shoes, etc., etc. This stop was another tender boat port, so we had to get down to the boat in time to get ashore and meet our tour guide outside the protective, nurturing walls of the terminal. For dinner, we had a choice: hit the buffet again, or scrape together something nice to wear and go to the dining room. We got as far as “Eeenie Meanie” before Chelle said, “We know we’re going to the dining room, let’s just go already!” Down we headed. Tonight we actually had a nearly-full table. 3 other couples were there, so we introduced ourselves and looked through the menu. The couple who sat across from us were from Ohio, though he spoke with a southern accent. Chelle asked behind her menu, “Where do you think he’s from?” I listened as he and his girlfriend talked about the menu options. The accent was absent of that slow, soft drawl that marks the eastern seaboard southern states. “East Texas,” I said. So his nickname was born. East Texas and his girlfriend had been together for 15 years, and next year they were going to be married in Hawaii on a cruise. They were cruise regulars, and were quite complimentary of the staff and service we were enjoying. That was comforting. To our left sat Quiet Couple. Need I say more? To our right sat Mailman and his wife. It’s funny that we cannot remember what each of these couples’ female halves did, and we still laugh about that. Mailman’s wife was dripping in jewelry, while East Texas’s girlfriend was humble and easygoing. Time to order. Chelle and I ordered our appetizers and main course. Quiet Couple ordered, then Mailman and Mailwoman ordered. East Texas’s girlfriend ordered, and finally East Texas himself put his menu down. “I’ll have the Caesar Salad, the Tiger Shrimp, 2 orders of the soup, and the bruschetta. For main course, I’ll have the Prime Rib, the duck and this French thing here.” He pointed to the menu, and the waiter nodded. East Texas looked up at the rest of the table. We were all staring at him open-mouthed. “I might skip dessert,” he offered lightly. For dessert he had the brie cheese and strawberries, French Vanilla ice cream, melted chocolate cake and the cheesecake. To his credit, he was in his late forties, 6’4” and weighed probably 220 pounds. “He’s always eaten like this. I find it amusing at this point!” His girlfriend laughed. “Like feeding a teenager,” I guessed. “Yup!” When we returned to our room, there was a bulldog on our bed. It seems that every night, part of the turn-down service included leaving a towel animal in the room. Very cool! Our first night found an elephant waiting on our bed for us. Tonight it was a bulldog. It’s a cute idea, cute enough that we bought the book. Now the kids keep stealing our towels to make animals. We spent an enjoyable night on the balcony (much to the amusement and enjoyment of the balconies around ours), then laid down to sleep. The disco below our feet immediately kicked in. Ung-chka Ung-chka Ung-chka Ung-chka Ung-chka! Three hours later The Screaming Italians started in, so we decided to join them. After 2AM, quiet descended on our little corner of the ship. Morning hit too fast. We scurried around to get cleaned, fed, equipped, packed, unpacked, repacked and on our way. We were in the second tender boat off the ship, which was good, because our contact for our excursion emphasized that we needed to hurry if we wanted to get the fullest benefit from the tour. We had another off-the-cruise-line excursion, this one through cavetubing.bz and a gentleman named Vitalino. This was a custom-made tour, combining our desire to go cave-tubing AND see Mayan ruins. Because of the distance between the caves and the Mayan excavated temples, no one seemed willing to offer that as a standard excursion. I tracked down Vitalino based on the online chatter I ran across. Once again, no elevator would go down to Deck Zero, and they had the stairs blocked. After 15 minutes they opened up and we pushed through like linebackers. No time to play games with Carnival playing “favorites” to their excursions, I’d had enough. Belize is surrounded by a delicate reef, with a long shallow sandbar reaching from the shore almost to that reef. The tender boats had a good distance to cover to get to the ship. Once in port, we searched for the right terminal to exit. The difference from clean terminal to busy city streets was stark, but not too horrifying. Vitalino was waiting for us outside. “You made it! Good” He smiled and shook our hands. He was a short South American man with a perpetual smile. “Yes, we’re here!” “Wonderful! Your van just left. Let me call them back.” “We’re sorry, they wouldn’t let anyone down to the tenders.” He smiled a big smile at us. “It is no problem, the van will be back in a minute.” And nearly a minute later, the van was back. We never saw a posted speed in Belize, which was fortunate. Harrison, our driver, tested every road like he was working for a position in the Indy 500. This was bad news for the van’s suspension, since roads are not high on the list of priorities for their maintenance. We also noticed that there were no stop signs, only these enormous speed bumps that you simply could not avoid. Somehow we made it alive through the speed bumps, police roadblocks, potholes and slow diesel cargo trucks and arrived at Altun Ha. This was our first real indication that 6 hours in Belize isn’t nearly enough time to enjoy all it has to offer. Altun Ha was build between 200 and 900 AD, which is rather young in archeological time. It isn’t near as old as the great Pyramids of Giza, but that does not take away from the impression you get when you walk through the trees and see the Mayan temples rising off the jungle floor. The site was not discovered until 1963, though the inhabitants had been in the process of dismantling the buildings stone-by-stone to build their own dwellings for many years. One man’s treasure is another man’s building materials, I suppose. In the past centuries sod had grown over the temples, making them look like enormous symmetrical hills. Once archeologists started their excavations, the temples regained their long stone stairs and heaven-seeking altars. Climbing up the first temple, which still hid under grass and dirt, we found ourselves looking at an ancient plaza corralled in white stone pyramids. We were at treetop level with the surrounding jungle. The hum of insects and the cries of birds filled the air around us. “This is so cool! So… so…” Chelle was searching for words. “So ‘Indiana Jones?’” I winked at her. “YES!” Suddenly the ear-splitting over-amped sound of Reggae music cut through the morning. Back behind us at the row of tourist-trap shops, businesses were opening. So much for Indiana Jones. We climbed down and ran to join or group over in the plaza. From there we headed to the Temple of The Masonry Altar. This is the highest of the pyramids here, and was a pretty good climb for us out-of-shape types. Once again we looked across the treetops and took in the sounds, including Bob Marley. Harrison gave us a quick run-down of the history, including the story of the treasure that was unearthed here. Among the items found undisturbed by grave robbers was a 10-pound jade head of the Mayan sun god, Kinich Ahau. Chelle noted that going down the temple would have been more fun if there had been a Slip ‘n Slide installed, but concerns about sacrilege and pointy rocks made that seem suddenly less fun. We walked back through the palm trees and watched lizards dart out of our way. Big, beautiful butterflies and dragonflies flew around us, adding to the allure of the adventure. Back on the road, we hung on for dear life while Harrison dodged potholes. Next stop: cave-tubing! Xibalba, the Mayan underworld, was only reachable through a series of river-carved caves. This was another site that deserved FAR more than the few hours we had available. Inside the cave were preserved (not recreated, but left untouched) ceremonial sites, featuring ancient pottery, beads, obsidian artifacts, skeletons… WOW! We had little time to explore, but we did get to ride through the caves. Carnival cancelled their cave tour because of high water, but the locals knew how to deal with the currents. We had a 30 minute hike to our insertion point, which included a waist-deep rope-assisted ford across the rushing river we’d be tubing down. Part of the hike included wandering through a portion of the limestone caverns, where you could see bats, stalactites, stalagmites, and even a carved baboon face in the rock. After the warm embrace of the Gulf of Mexico a couple of days earlier, we were unprepared for the “chilly” waters of the Cave Branch River. Still, 70 degree water beats the 42-degree Puget Sound! We were warned to paddle when we were told, because of the “tourist traps” in the caves. There, the term means something entirely different than it does back in town. In the river, tourist traps are whirlpools that suck you down if you get too close to the walls of the cave. Harrison advised, “If you get caught in one, you’ll be OK if you can hold your breath until we find you.” “How long does that usually take,” Chelle asked. “A day or two,” Harrison said. We paddled when we were told to. We did get a peek at “The Dragon’s Mouth” as we floated by. It was a jagged-toothed mouth-shaped opening that looked up into the jungle, offering the only light in that portion of the dark cave. Looking at the ceiling above us, we noticed dark pockets recessed in the rock. More bats, waiting for nightfall. “Butts up!” Harrison called. If you were too slow, you’d get a “Mayan Butt Massage” as your buns bottomed-out on the shallow rocks. Once outside we played in the current, floating down to the rope that we clung to as we forded the river earlier. “If you don’t grab the rope on the way down, the ship will have to pick you up in the ocean later tonight!” We didn’t lose anyone, so that was good. As a note, Carnival opened their cave tubing tours back up the week after we were there. Sadly, someone died in a tourist trap that week. I suppose that emphasized the fact that Nature will take its course, you just have to stay out of its way when it does. We had lunch on the way back at a restaurant along the roadside. It was a large building with a leaf roof and walls that were open to the outdoors on one side. We were served rice and beans, “bamboo chicken” and slaw. The chicken was actually a grouse-like bird that lived in bamboo patches, and was baked in a sort of jerked sauce. This was perhaps the best meal we had on the trip! I don’t typically care for rice and beans, but I was glad I tried this. Very excellent fare. We tipped Harrison very well for his service in keeping the tour moving. The trip also included bright green “cavetubing.bz” shirts, a nice touch. Vitalino asked if we had a great time. We shared our appreciation of the trip with him, and he shook our hands warmly. “We were so happy to have you here. Please share your experience, our happy customers are our best advertising! Please write about us!” his one is for you, Vital! We got back to the ship exhausted but completely happy with the day. Belize is worth a week of exploration. After dinner (and another display of amazing gastronomic proportions from East Texas) we had a monkey waiting for us, hanging over our bed.
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