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.
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.”
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.
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.
Everywhere Once 