I must say, I find it quite ironic that at a time where our country is so seemingly obsessed with immigrants entering our county unlawfully, there is an Englishman wandering one of our former colonies illegally. I hope the Belizean police aren't reading this blog because yes, that Englishman is me. It turns out that the people here are so laid back, that the swines at immigration couldn't even summon the energy to stamp my passport upon my entering their country. Now some people might say that I should have checked myself that they had done this, but a) this is me we're talking about, and b) I don't it was unfair on my part to assume that these people sitting in the booths had done their job properly - it's not like they have many other things to remember. Anyway, I only discovered this interesting little nugget of information from the emmigration officer as I tried to leave the country this morning. As I was led into a little room away from the main area, I felt safe in the assumption that this was just a minor clerical error and would be fairly easy to rectify. So I was a little dismayed when the fat toad of a woman sitting in front of me said she had no choice but to throw me into prison until Tuesday, which was the next available day that my case could be heard (nice one Jesus). Now it goes without saying that I am just as partial to a good old fashioned beating and raping at the hands of a group of Belizean convicts as the next skinny white guy, but for some reason I just wasn't in the mood today. So I explained this to the lady, and after a brief discussion she agreed to let me off, on the proviso that I agreed to go straight back to the Mexican border, from where I entered the country, to get my passport stamped.
Obviously this came as a bit of a blow, but after a few minutes I was pretty much over it. When you have 181 days to travel across Central America, 1 or 2 wasted days don't seem as important as they do back home. And it seemed like a good story to tell; after all, adventures like these are all part of the reason I wanted to go travelling in the first place. In fact, after a few minutes of heading back north on the bus, I was downright happy about the whole situation; it was a beautiful day, the wind was blowing in my hair, and I was able to wile away the hours watching the country and the people go by. I also liked the fact that, for what felt like the first time on my trip, I seemed to be the only foreigner around; although I do like the whole backpacker trail thing, sometimes it annoys me that so many other people are doing what I'm doing - it makes it feel less special, less adventurous. But then I realised that the main reason why I was feeling so happy, was the FREEDOM; There I was, in the middle of a small Latin American country miles from home, on my own, with nothing but a rucksack, and, most importantly, no responsibilities. Although I have planned out a rough itinerary of where I want to go on this trip, I don't have to stick to it - if I had wanted to I could have got a number of buses all the way to the Mexico / U.S.A. border, hitchhiked my way to Las Vegas, spent a week gambling, caught an internal flight to New York, spent two weeks partying there, flown down to Guatemala, spent a couple of months volunteering, then made my way to a remote Nicaraguan island to lie on the beach for the rest of my trip. Obviously I am not going to do this, but the whole passport situation suddenly made clear to me how much freedom I currently have, and for the first time on my trip I felt like I was truly travelling - the same feeling that I had experienced all those years ago when I was a fresh faced 18 year old wandering the mountains in Honduras. What's more, is that I hadn't realy enjoyed my Belize experience as much as I was hoping to - the weather constantly seemed to conspire against me (more on that later), and I wasn't a big fan of the massive Brit / American expat / tourist presence. So perhaps it was fate that froze the young immigration officer's hand - perhaps this forced return to the North of the country was all part of some divine plan, to allow me to experience the real Belize - the one that I was unlucky not to experience the first time round.
At least this was what I was feeling about 8 hours ago. Since then I have spent most of the day on a series of cramped chicken buses, which has left my arse with an ache that I am almost certain is more severe than it would have been after a few nights in jail with the boys. And for the last hour or two of the journey the driver inexplicably turned over the soundsystem from Bob Marley to some bizarre Spanish music, which sounded like a the lovechild of Abba, Celine Dion, Enrique Iglesias, and Twig, going through a particularly painful labour. When I eventually did arrive at my destination - Corozal, near the border of Mexico - things didn't improve. The place is a bit of a ghostown, and has a sort of eerie feel to it. This feeling is only magnified by the place that I am staying at, which is owned by the (albeit very friendly) slightly crazed Mexican, whose name I forget. The place's other two occupants are a creepy shy English girl from Hertforshire, and an even creepier dude from Israel. I can't quite put my finger on what freaks me out so much about the place, it's just that everyone who is staying here is not quite there, if you catch my drift. So now my plan is to wake up early tomorrow, sort out my passport issues (hopefully without any hitches), and get the hell out of this weird, expensive country that is infested with a frankly bizarre mix of Mayan descendents, Afircan descendents, and Chinamen.
Anyway, that is enough about today, and indeed tomorrow for now. Perhaps the morning's sunrise will shed some light on my situation, and allow me think more clearly about what my next path should be. But for now let me fill in the blank that has been this past week....
As you may remember, last Saturday night I was forced to retire from the festivities at the rather embarassing hour of 21:20. So it was with some surprise that I woke the next day in the early afternoon, without any trace of a hangover. Petra and I had been toying with the idea of renting some bikes and doing a tour of the island, and it turned out that Kohl was up for it too. But for no obvious reason we decided amongst us that the best way to go about this was to form our very own biker gang, and thus was born the "Fiery Ring" - consisting of 9:20, Beastor and Hiccy-Ghost. So we spent the next few hours drinking 40s, smoking blunts, f*cking b*tches, smacking ho's and carrying out other such gang-based activities. That I was riding a woman's bike with a basket at the front for my groceries in no way made me any less menacing, to my mind at least. Although we only had the bikes for a couple of hours, and the terrain wasn't exactly taxing, it was nice just to get out in the open and do some actual exercise.
That evening a bunch of people from the hostel clubbed together to sort out a BBQ in the garden, with chicken and vegetable kebabs and delicious fish that had been caught that day by a local. The drink of choice was a "Coco Loco", which is created by chopping open a coconut, and pouring in some rum and lime juice. Good stuff.
The next day, I did nothing. I really can't remember anything of note - I think I just spent most of the day reading. The trouble was that during my stay on Caye Caulker, a ferocious wind had been whipped up, and it was only getting stronger. This was really annoying for 3 reasons, in increasing importance - a) it blew sand everywhere, which as well as being annoying in general, was destroying my eyes, b) it made scuba diving, which was pretty much the reason why I came to the island in the first place, unsafe and therefore impossible, and c) it was messing up my hair. By that evening the wind had reached what felt like near hurricane levels, and so I made the decision to cut my losses and leave for the mainland the next morning.
Right I have now run out of time, and the swines are kicking me out of the internet cafe. So my next installment will have to cover Wednesday to Friday, as well as whatever happens from now on.
Hasta la vista
x
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