This is the wake of our southwardly bound water taxi. Only we intended to head north. $25 and three hours out of our lives is the price we pay for not asking a simple question.

Lesson Learned: If the boat (or bus) is on time in Central America, it is probably not the ride you’re waiting for.

I sat on the edge of the boat, clutching the side and staring at the nurse sharks and south rays circling in the water below—lured by our guide, who threw sardines to entice them to swarm en masse for our benefit. I might have stayed in the boat, foregoing the snorkeling, if Brian hadn’t thrown down the gauntlet with his post How to Become Fearless. So I jumped in…and lived to tell the tale.

This was our second time snorkeling, something we first tried last year in Florida’s Dry Tortugas National Park. Like caving, another newfound pastime, going beneath the surface opens up a stunningly different world. Off the coast of Caye Caulker, Belize, we swam over coral canyons and shared space with spiny lobsters and fish flaunting vibrant shades of blue, green, yellow, and purple.

On our second stop of the day, we encountered the predators with sharp teeth. After latching onto Brian, I stuck my face in the water and saw a nurse shark swimming below us, speeding along with an eel hitching a ride on its back. The sharks, surprisingly, were less daunting than the eerie-looking rays, which swam in clusters closer to the surface and nearer to us. Talk about fearless: our guide turned a nurse shark on its back and tickled its belly.

Here are some tips for not-so-fearless snorkelers:

• Let others go in the water first, especially if there are sharks around.
• Equipment matters. Properly-fitting masks and snorkels are essential. They’ll make you feel more confident, and you won’t ingest as much salt water.
• Don’t panic. Yes, it’s unnatural to stick your face in the water and breathe, but that’s why you have good equipment.
• Wear a life jacket. Being buoyant with less effort means you can focus on the sights beneath the surface without worrying about staying afloat or drowning.
• Remember why you’re doing it. Spying on sea creatures isn’t something most of us get to do every day. It’s okay to be afraid; just don’t let it hold you back.
• Have someone’s hand to hold.

Okay, it’s not exactly a vacation, even if it looks like one. Initially, it even felt like one and we had to try to rein that in a little. We’re on island time and it’s easy to linger a little too long over dinner, having a few extra drinks along the way. The water is inviting and there is always somebody offering one amazing experience or another. It’s easy to say “yes” to it all.

I’m reminded of our Honeymoon trip to Hawaii, many, many moons ago, where a tour operator encouraged people to sign up for excursions by explaining: “You’re in paradise now. Take advantage of it. Worry about paying for everything when you get home.”

That’s what comes to mind when I hear the word “vacation:” a reason to indulge. Expensive dinners, shows, tours, spa treatments, souvenirs, whatever you want, it’s all fair game. And with good reason too. After all, it is just one week out of 52. Why not live a little?

Only, for us, it isn’t just one week. It is all of them; at least that is the plan. Returning home to figure out how to pay the bill means we’ve failed.

What we’re trying to do instead is create a sustainable lifestyle that allows us to explore the world in perpetuity. Every day can’t be a vacation. We have neither the resources nor the energy for that.

We’re also thinking about this trip a bit strategically. We know certain destinations are outlandishly expensive for travelers, like Western Europe. We have no intention of skipping places just because of price, so we need to find other ways of coping. One option is to use low cost areas, like Central America, to offset the costs of expensive destinations. Can a couple of months in Central America pay for some indulgences, like an extended tour of France? That is what we’re trying to find out.

The small island off the coast of Belize is exactly what we needed. Colorful. Laidback. Easy. We couldn’t have picked a better spot to coast into our journey. Caye Caulker, in its present form, exists to serve travelers and we are glad for it.

The island is touristy but in a subdued kind of way. The dirt roads (and they’re all dirt roads) are lined with restaurants, bars, guest houses and dive shops. As a traveler, it has most everything you want, and none of what you don’t.

Noticeably absent are the litany of t-shirt shops and boardwalk stores hawking junk that normally crowd out all sense of character in many tourist destinations. Caye Caulker has grown from its origins as a fishing village into something else entirely, but has done so in a way that preserved its island charm and avoided most of the pitfalls that sometimes consume other popular destinations.

And yet the traveler-friendly nature of Caye Caulker comes at a cost. I get the impression that if the tourist boat didn’t arrive, most of the island’s inhabitants would simply go away. There really is no other reason for this place to exist. Tourism is the only sign of life on the island.

The very best travel cities have their own center of gravity. They exist to serve a local population who are there to live lives, not explore sites. Sure, we visit them to see unique places, but we also go to experience different cultures. We want to see how locals live. We want to eat the food they eat, hear their music, observe their customs and learn of their history.

When the center of gravity shifts too much in favor of the traveler, that local culture is supplanted by a generic one. Something important is lost.

Caye Caulker suffers that fate, but it would be wrong to overstate the damage. We found a wonderful island with its own charm and some of the most brilliantly blue water imaginable. It is the perfect place for us to ease into Belize, even if we don’t feel like we really experienced the country yet.

It’s dark in the hull of the water taxi. The light spilling through a small opening that serves as a door isn’t quite blinding. I can clearly make out turquoise water, although the spray kicked up by powerful boat engines does its best to obscure my view. Through the light, beyond the spray, and far over the water I can make out the silhouette of a large cruise ship.

My thoughts flash to what it must be like aboard: lavish buffets of familiar foods, theaters playing Hollywood films, spiffily dressed attendents ready to meet your every need with fluent English. No muss, no fuss; daily excursions whisk passengers to the mainland and back again. Everything is neat and tidy and perfectly organized.

Turning away from the water I look around at the motley crew of backpackers who are squeezed together in the small boat. There is the twenty-something couple from Australia making good progress on their around the world trip, a lone 40-year-old Canadian woman heading for some beach time before doing volunteer work in Guatemala, a family of three; independent travelers all.

Most don’t know where they’re going after Caye Caulker or how long they’ll stay. Many aren’t even sure where they’ll sleep tonight. They take the world one day at a time, moving from opportunity to opportunity, experience to experience. They trust in their ability to live off the land, to find accommodations, to navigate border crossings, and sustain themselves anywhere in the world with nothing more than their wits and a small bag of possessions.

Almost as a rule they sacrifice comfort and luxury for time and freedom. It’s a worthy trade. But thrift is more than just a way to make ends meet. Traveling and eating like locals is part of the experience. The roadside cantina serving incredible rice and beans and the extravagantly painted old school buses used to transport people and animals are customary here. To insulate ourselves from these things is to miss something important; perhaps even the whole reason for leaving home.

Squinting back through the portal at the cruise ship, still just barely visible on the horizon, I’m glad for the rougher road we’ve chosen and for the company we keep.