Belize It or Not

I find myself in the middle of it. I'm on a boat named Ras Saya, a proudly painted red, yellow, green vessel, powered by the wind with a motor for backup. Eleven people, all aboard and heading due South into the wind. Our captain Roy is a semiretired Rastafarian dude with 20 odd years of seafaring experience. He's got 8 children, 7 daughters and one son, and he survived. He seems capable and trustworthy and I like him immediately. The one-man crew is Alexandro from Guatemala, a mechanic and fisherman who is working temporarily in Belize to learn English. The rest of us are travelers who came together at Bellas hostel in Caye Caulker. An Austrailian couple, a young ocean enthusiast man from England, an Israeli man, recently out of service, one spare Austrailian, a South African, a couple of Danish girls, and myself.

So we're all on the boat, maybe 20 feet long, loaded with Belikin beer, inexpensive rum, and sunscreen. Alex poles the boat out of the shallows as Roy tries to start the motor. Reluctantly it begins to roar only to sputter out into silence. This suspenseful stop-and-go is repeated enough to make the ships passengers a little nervous, and everybody breathes a sigh of relief when the boat lurches forward in the nautical version of laying rubber. I watch Caye Caulker shrink into the distance, eventually being absorbed into the horizon. I settle in, relaxed, but eager for the upcoming 3 days at sea.

After a few hours of smooth sailing we stop to snorkel and gather some seafood for dinner. Armed with spear guns the hunters disperse through the reef, each one followed by a gatherer who carrys a net bag. Our instructions are to point and shoot, but to avoid killing anything too small or too colorful. Grouper, blue grunt, and lobster are all prime targets. But really, nothing is safe.

It's obvious that Captain Roy has done this before because before long my bag is half full with a school of squirming fish. They are mostly dead , but are using whatever life force they've retained in an effort to avoid the lobsters. So I'm thrashing about with this bag of fish who would rather go in the other direction, and trying to wrap my mind around the idea that I'm about to eat these strange and beautiful creatures. My head is swimming with the excitement of the hunt, apologies to the fishes, and most of all with gratitude for their contribution to my own life.

Just after sunset, before total darkness takes over, we land on the tiny island of Geoff Caye. We make use of the fading light and set up camp on a high spot, maybe 2 feet above sea level. We are arriving late and leaving early since we are staying on a bribe. We fill our cups with rum punch and talk and feast until we are exhausted. One by one we trickle into our tents. I am the last one awake so I sit on the shore to hang out with the ocean.

I gaze out at the endless waters with a smile on my greasy fish lips. The taste of garlic butter lobster lingers in my mouth. For the past seven years I have been operation on a vegetarian diet. Here I discover a new aspect of appreciation for the ocean, as a provider of sustenance and culinary pleasure. As they say, the way to a mans heart is through his belly.

I awake to watch the sunrise through my hammocks bugnet window. Desperately thirsty I ventured to our vessel down a meandering dock. I return with water and coffee as well. I packed up and did some easy stretching in the soft white sand. Then everybody got back on the boat, said goodbye to Geoff Caye, and set sail. All was well until...

We stopped again to puck up dinner. Conch ceviche was on the menu for tonight. All we had to do was spot the shells and pick them up. Simple enough. But wee dropped the anchor too late and the boat ran into a shallow part of the reef. They tell us we must not touch the coral or else it will die. I can only imagine the extent of the damage. Between the arguing of the crew and the knocking sounds of the keel against the reef, the vibe on the boat sank to an all time low.

Fortunately, the ship itself stayed afloat, and was carefully maneuvered into deeper waters. Ten goofy looking people with masks, and snorkels, and fins on their feet, jumped overboard to explore the underwater world. This coral was exquisite, but I was surprised by how few fish lived here. All the conchs were empty. Belize is home to the second longest barrier reef in the world. A complex ecosystem which should be naturally quite abundant. Seeing the quiet city streets reminded me of mankind's habit of overfishing and how tragic it would be if the fish went belly up. When the ocean is a ghost town, the empire on earth wont be nearly so rich.

We're back on the boat and heading down south. With the wind being weak, Captain Roy figures we'll be arriving after dark, but nobody expected such a late night. The guys hooked a barracuda with a trawling line, ensuring that we would eat well for dinner. I can only imagine the challenge of navigating a ship in the dark, though I'm sure it's not easy. We missed the entrance to a channel and stuck the boat again. Alex killed the engine and couldn't start it again,. The keel hit bottom and popped out, so the boat lost steering and balance. Without the keel the sail had to come down. In daylight the emerald water of the Caribbean looks so inviting, by night it's all black and cold. Moonlight dances mischievously on the waves. There we are, 11 tired souls, stranded in the sea, and feeling really, very small.

"Shit Mon!" Roy announces his frustration as he tugs away on the motors cord. It coughs and sputters to tease us, but is otherwise too tired to move. We try to talk amongst ourselves to ease the tension, but everybody is too caught up in their individual fantasies of mishap or rescue. In the distance a bright light flashes at us a few times. High with hopes we flash them back and within minutes a small motorboat is docking up beside us. Our saviors tow us to the island where we will spend the night. Finally we are able to relax and start the party we came here for. Alex and Roy cook us a delicious meal of barracuda steaks and fried plantains. After dinner we move onto a dock with a bunch of hammocks . Exhausted, we quickly drift from conversation into sleep.

I like arriving after dark because it makes the morning into a surprise. This island is beautiful and we're in no rush to leave. I sit on a dock watching pelicans dive for food. I find a pile of conch shells bigger than our tents. I drink some coffee and gradually wake up. Todya is the final day of this incredible adventure. After breakfast the islands owner gives us a discourse on the Garifuna people. A group descended from shipwrecked African slaves. They inhabited these islands and are still a major cultural presence in Belize. From the lecture we pose for an extended photo shoot and then re-board the Ras Saya for the last time. We float, slow and steady, to the mainland, and walk on, still swaying gently from 3 days at sea.

That night the group eats dinner together to thank the crew and reiterate our adventure. The up and down wave of the experience. Our good fortune and bad. What is an adventure without a little misadventure? As we talk amongst ourselves a big crab walks past our feet and straight into the kitchen. I think to myself that maybe the sea creatures want to be eaten. Maybe they know something we don't...