A day in the life of...

Living the Slow Life

2014-10-28T15:55:00.005-06:00

You want to talk about being connected to the universe? Like having those days where the world seems to hum at a higher frequency around you, calling you to make connections that would otherwise go inexperienced? Today was one of those days.

First, some random man in a very old Park Ranger uniform saw my car pull in to the Safeway parking lot and waited for me to step out, like he knew I needed some friendly human contact. Searching for a job has been quite a stresser.

He immediately asked me what kind of dog Quena was as she watched us from the backseat. He has a dog nearly identical and it can play dead too! The friendly stranger made all the difference and made me remember that this was just one day in thousands, and I am just one life in katrillions on this earth, so I better stop sweating the small stuff.

And then there was the random field of goats. Yes I tell you! Goats. Hundreds of them, just randomly grazing away in what I thought was a local park. Colorado Springs, I still have yet to put my finger on you, but thanks for making me giggle out loud.

And then the best part of my day: Koda. Quena and I had just entered the dog park, and as she was flitting around from pole to bush to rock sniffing and peeing over whomever’s pee had been there first, I scanned the community board. There were “Pick up after your dog” signs, “All postings must be approved by blah and blah and so and so community board police”, and of course missing dogs. I don’t usually read into them much (because it draws me into thinking about if Quena ever went missing, and for the sake of tears I don’t like to go there), but for some reason there was a picture of a stunningly cute young German Shepard mix that caught my eye. Koda had been missing since September. I thought to myself “God, that sucks. I hope they’ve found her… and who would name their female dog Koda?” Then I turned and started walking along the path with Quena zigzagging from one side of the trail to the other behind me.

Within minutes I hear a woman yell out “Koda!” and then on either side of me two German Shepards went bounding by followed by a woman speed walking. Wait a tick! As she passed I couldn’t help but stop her. “Ma’am. Ma’am! I’m sorry, excuse me, but did you just call that dog Koda?” She smiled at me and said “Yes, she was the missing dog on that board. I just took that posting down.”

“That’s amazing!” I told her. “Congratulations on finding her! How exciting!” The woman agreed and explained to me that when Koda had been missing for over three weeks, she, her husband and two sons just couldn’t imagine life without a dog so they adopted Kiri, the other Shepard that was with her. And then a week ago someone called and said they had Koda. So now they had two and happily so. What a great family for taking on two large dogs, the second of which they adopted was surprisingly graying. Most people don’t adopt older dogs and my heart was grateful to the woman in that moment for taking Kiri. We exchanged some more pleasantries before I let her get on with her speed walking.

I felt totally and completely elated for the woman and the rest of her family. And to think I wouldn’t experience that high had I not done something unusual and inspected the ‘lost dog’ section or something slightly rude, like yelling “Ma’am!” at a woman speed walking passed. But more importantly, none of these experiences would’ve happened if I had been working a 7am-5:30pm shift, missing these hours of the day and these experiences, or if I had come upon them, quite possibly being too exhausted and fixated on getting home to enjoy them. There is goodwill and beauty in life to be found if we look for it. It’s just a matter of taking the time. I’m learning that life is much richer, more fulfilling, and vibrant when the pace is slow.

The Fall of Fall

2014-09-24T18:54:00.002-06:00

Quake. To “shake, tremble, quiver, shudder, sway. Heave. Convulse.” An aspen. A quaking aspen parades leaves that flutter and dance in the wind. Trembling at the slightest breeze, they cast glittering green of spring riches across your eyes. Autumn has arrived, adorning the mountainsides with brilliant arrays of color, as if the hand of Nature painted them there. Long-lasting greens transition to brilliant golds, which blossom into the deep ephemeral reds that are always hiding behind the prospect of an early frost or wind storm. Quaking skies throw blustering snows that rip the colored ornaments from their limbs and scatter them about the ground like life’s confetti, leaving the trees barren. Naked.

I feel it. I am alive. I am baby green at the prospect of the life that lies ahead. My few golden years know that I may be stripped naked before the red riches are ever reached, ripped clean and left naked to fend off the cold. The promise lies in that there will always be another spring…

Hola ViaVia

2014-01-21T18:40:00.002-07:00

11/17

Upon our arrival in San Pedro Sula, we decided on a hotel for the night based solely on its offering of a gym. (Yes Chelsea, it’s good I found someone as crazy as I. Thank you for the eye roll.) Needless to say, we woke the next morning to get some exercise in. We then made it a point to arrive at the bus station an hour ahead of time, and it’s a good thing, for the bus was nearly sold out. Our assigned seating separated us, seating me next to a kind and chatty young woman who could speak English very well, and poor Barrett next to a pre-madonna who was either on her phone or brushing her hair, or both for the full three hour ride.

Susette was very kind and helpful. She offered me a lot of good information about the area and our travels in general. She is from Copan, and upon arrival, walked us from the bus station into town and showed us where our hostel was. Travel is great for meeting kind people, but meeting kind people is also so essential for great travel. Tips and tricks make things run that much more smoothly.

We wandered into ViaVia, which we came to learn is a hostel chain around the world. Much like the city of Copan it is nestled in, ViaVia is a comfortable but lively establishment. Nicely polished wood furnishings, a large lounging couch, high stocked bar, and social patio fill its entrance that lead back to its guest rooms. The young woman that helped us check in, Rosita, was beautiful, with striking eyes, a kind smile, and positive energy that anyone would gravitate to. We sat with her for about thirty minutes, checking in, booking a day trip for the following day, buying coffee and pre-booking a shuttle for Guatemala, all in Spanish. It must have been a combination of her speaking quality and her energy, but the information just flowed easily.

After settling in, we wandered around town for a bit. The main square is the pinnacle of the town, which radiates out into the land from its center. We made our way through some souvenir shops and to the opposite end of town in search of some ‘authentic’ food requested by Barrett, who went on to get a quesadilla- very authentic.

But I was even more pathetic that evening, falling asleep by about 7:30 while a party raged in the socializing area just outside our room. Good thing Barrett was a little livelier. He took advantage of the evening, was able to make some acquaintances and gain some tips for our future stops.

Goodbye Sambo

2014-01-21T18:35:00.002-07:00

After returning to Sambo Creek, we took a taxi to La Ceiba where we boarded a bus for San Pedro Sula. Waiting for the bus to arrive, which was of course was running on customary local time, aka: late, we had our first run-in with an ATM, which was faulty, and bought a dinner fit for kings from a gas station. At least the bus was luxury, and with only six other people other than ourselves in a plush mass-occupancy vehicle, we were able to sprawl out and enjoy the back seat with privacy.

Bus liners are distinctly characterized in Honduras. Hedman Alas is country-wide, and recommended though more expensive than the chicken buses. (They have a proper name, I just don’t know them.) The chicken buses are very cheap, public, low quality, take double the amount of time for all of their stopping, and highly discouraged for travelers to take due to danger levels. It is not uncommon for armed men to board these buses and rob passengers.

Cayos Cochinos

2014-01-21T18:34:00.001-07:00

At 8:25 the next morning, and almost an hour after he had said we would board, we were on a rickety old touring boat holes home-patched with fiberglass. On the bright side, the thing did float, made good time with its motor, and had a canvas cover to shield us from the light drizzle that had been falling all morning. Welcome to the rainy season.

We moved from the beach of our hotel down a ways where a scruffy looking guy wearing camo pants and a multi-braid-and-bead beard boarded with a big grin. I liked Dante right away. He had an amiable smile, deep laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, and the kind of voice that feels like silk. Not only that, he shared bits of quite an interesting (and what my intuition felt was true) up-to-date life story.

We all watched the coast as we headed out to sea. The landscape was beautiful. Tall mountains shrouded in misty clouds came down and immediately met the surf of blue waters. It reminded me of New Zealand in a way. Dante, who had lived here for six years, still exclaimed in wonderment: “C’mon, where else in the world can you get mountains that meet the ocean?” And he was right. It is a rare and beautiful backdrop to lay eyes on.

About forty five minutes later we were drifting in to Cayos Cochinos, a quaint chain of islands. The one we stayed on is about an acre of land, with a main house and a guesthouse skirting the boat dock. Leading off the west side of the island is a sand belt. It remains submerged under about three feet of water most of the time, but ultimately acts as a wet bridge between our island and a community island of about 200 inhabitants, also nearly an acre in surface area. Talk about being packed in like sardines. This is where we awkwardly picked up a young helper for the day, picked up and dropped off beer bottles, were awkwardly stared at, and where I was offered hawksbill turtle shell jewelry, a commodity that is very illegal to possess. Let’s also point out that you should never offer illegal wildlife parts to a retired animal rights activist.

After a fair bit of running around to drop off Dante at his friends’ island, pick up oxygen tanks from another resort in the area, and our little helper from the community island, we were finally able to get in the water. Right off the bat my emergency regulator was leaking air. Tony didn’t seem to care much and advised me to use that one on the dives. If I ran out of oxygen, at least it would be obvious why. Right before we got in Barrett also asked an essential question: “Are we using weights?,” at which point Tony admitted he hadn’t dived in quite some time and was a little rusty. What professional admits those sorts of things? Yes, we needed weights and his captain and helper would hand them to us once we were in the water since we already had our BCD’s on. Great.

And then we were finally in the water. The diving in Cayos Cochinos is really quality diving. Despite all of the bullshit Tony put us through, of which I might rant more about shortly, the diving was spectacular. There was a great level of biodiversity, it would be a sponge-lovers paradise, with all different types and numerous species that phosfluoresce, I saw some new species of fish I had never seen before, and we did spot some exciting specimens: there were a great number drummer fish, angel fish couples, and my favorite, flamingo tongue. We even saw a pair of massive tarpin, a few spotted eagle rays (of which Barrett spotted two, Go Barrett!), and I got the wits scared out of me by a barracuda named “Fat Bastard” who must’ve weighed as much as I did. We dove down to a plane that had crashed and was quickly being claimed by coral, dove some great walls, swim-throughs, and coral pillars. Ultimately, it was a great experience to add to my list of dives, and for Barrett to check off his bucket list. As I expected, he found it a bit slow and thus a bit boring, but now he knows, and it’s one more certification under his belt, and maybe something he’ll never want to spend money on again; we will see.

Speaking of certifications, let me rant about good ‘ole Tony some more. As of yet, we have no idea if Barrett will ever get his PADI card. To be honest, we’d be surprised if the man is truly a PADI instructor. Apparently (and not surprisingly to me), during Barrett’s final open water testing, Tony wasn’t communicating properly and forgot to test Barrett on a few things. Not only that, his equipment was out of date and had no certificate stickers on them. To add to the random list of Tonyisms from the couple of days we endured him: we woke our last day early only to find that he had broken the key off to the boat in the lock, something that apparently “happens every six months or so due to (his) own carelessness.” Again, prime example of what not to admit as a professional. We passed the time waiting for them to cut through the rusted chain with a rusted saw while conversing with the very sweet Alejandra and her husband, who were the caretakers on the island.

More for Tony’s list: he never provided us with a packing list, a hotel confirmation, an itinerary, or any quality communication on the events of our time with him. He underpaid the owner of ‘Helen’s’ on our last day for lunch so we had to give them more money to cover our meal. As of now, that’s fine since we still owe him $100 over PayPal and certainly did not give him a tip. On our return boat ride back to the mainland, it was pouring rain, the waters were very choppy, and they almost flipped the boat in the breaking waves waiting for some young hooligans to show up that he was paying to help beach the craft. I’ve never been hit so hard by water in any boat that wasn’t in an amusement park. The whole last hours of our time with him, I was silently begging him to be brash enough to ask for a tip so that I could snidely take a deep breath, lean towards him, squint my eyes a bit hoping to mimic the size of his soul, and in a chastising tone, say: “Tony, tell me for what reasons you think you deserve a tip.”

Ugh, I need to stop.

On the bright side, the diving really was spectacular despite the chill, the rain, and lowered visibility. I was glad to have been there and I highly recommend going. Barrett is now diving certified, and got certified in one of the top diving spots in the world. Though Tony was a nightmare on fat legs, his hosting staff at the hotel, the island, and his captain, were all very nice.

And Barrett and I survived it all. All we can do is laugh, and laugh we did. That experience made me realize that it takes a special person to keep a positive attitude about so many things going wrong, and I was just so glad that Barrett is one of that rare species that can still enjoy himself no matter what. Life is not about what you do, but who you do it with.

The Start of Central America

2014-01-21T07:06:00.003-07:00

11/15/13

The last time we were in DIA together was to drop Ash off after her visit; we had mentioned how nice it would be to be there together to with the purpose of boarding our own plane headed for our own exciting destination one day. Well, four months later we made it happen. Honduras and Guatemala, here we come!

Georgia: 14 hours straight in the Atlanta, Georgia airport. Barrett’s friend can’t meet us for dinner. We take dinner and watered down tequila shots at TGI Friday’s before spending a restless night sleeping on the hard floor of the third story of the airport’s atrium watching ‘The Man from Snowy River’ and eating a candied apple. Rise and shine, and it’s immediate access through security for military puroses.

Honduras: We arrive in San Pedro Sula and can’t find access to a bus to take us to Sambo Creek (which at the time we think is a hotel). We end up taking a taxi costing US $140, and I can tell Barrett is already starting to stress out on the fact that this trip might cost more than he imagined. The taxi ride goes quickly enough. Our seatbelts don’t work, no one follows any noticable road signs; they speed and pass each other between two cars going opposite ways. Our driver spends most of his time on his cell phone and uses his free hand to steer the car around massive pot holes. Barrett stays tensely awake for the three-hour ride while I get a good nap in. I’d prefer to be relaxed anyways if we were to crash- get out of the whole thing likely with less bodily harm done, kind of like a drunk driver.

Halfway there, our driver questions us about our destination. I don’t have an address, but luckily I have our dive instructor’s number. We call Tony to find that apparently our hotel is not called ‘Sambo Creek,’ but is rather in the town of Sambo Creek and the hotel is called ‘Helen’s.’ Well it would have been nice of him to point out that distinction earlier. After taking the same road with no turns for almost four hours, passing pigs eating from trash piles, horses tied to the medians of the road, men pissing on houses that sit street-side, and more vividly green vegetation than I’ve ever seen, our driver pulls into a muddy single track that seems to lead to nowhere but the ocean that has been peaking at us through the trees. Surprise, surprise, we turn a bend and there in front of us is ‘Helen’s.’

We step foot out of the cab and a fat black man is there to awkwardly greet us. Little did we know that these first moments would foreshadow the rest of our time with Tony. He gets us our room key and graciously offers for us to put our stuff down and settle into our room before we start conversing. This is the first and possibly the only consciously accommodating thing he does all trip. I’m exaggerating a little, of course, but let’s just say he needs a good course in quality customer service.

We come back out and listen to Tony talk for nearly the next two hours about himself. In total, he only ever asked Barrett three questions (not in relation to our dive trip) about his life, and myself only one. Tony is apparently from New York, has lived in the La Ceiba/Utila area for nearly nine years, has had to downsize his business due to the loss of tourism in the country (of course it most likely is his lack of business suave) and lives for free off the charity of his friend that owns a hotel there on the coast. He told us story after story, all of which were filled with the obnoxious uses of “you know,” and “I mean”- phrases that when strung together are quite indicative of someone with little confidence in what they’re saying, because either: A) they have no self confidence, and/or B) they’re lying. Barrett summed it up perfectly when Tony got up to grab a scratch piece of paper from the bar- “I’m certainly not drinking all of his kool-aid.”

A few details about those two hours that set alarms off in my mind: he drank a beer the whole time and never once offered us even a glass of water, he was using paper from the bar to write down our diving suit sizes only after two hours of talking about himself, he never once pulled out a waiver for us to sign or an itinerary to look at, and there’s one thing I’m not ashamed to be prejudiced about in people- he was fucking fat. I’ve never seen a fat master diver and this guy’s ass was the kind that’s like two planets smashed together, a catastrophic event if you will, the kind that sticks out horizontally and is as wide as his torso is long. Need a place to set that beer he didn’t offer you? Try his ass.

We were to meet him at 7:30 the next morning to board his boat and head to the islands for a day of diving.

We retired to our room, which was actually quite quaint. We had beach-front windows, high power AC, warm water, and a big comfy bed. Not bad. It was nice to have our own space to relax in.

2013-07-12T16:14:00.001-06:00

"You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough."
~Mae West

I love finding great quotes. It's like finding a golden nugget. You can place in your pocket and hand off to the next person you see who needs it most, taking them by surprise and making their day.

In the words of Alea Marie Gardner

2013-06-11T16:24:00.000-06:00

I have had the pleasure of watching a lovely girl grow into an astoundingly beautiful young woman, inside and out. Her character, her passion for life and the people tossled about by its current, her sincere naivete to life's cruelties, and her compassion are all traits I deeply cherish in her. And who knew she could write so well. Here's a little bit of a perfectly written moment in the life of Alea Marie Gardner:

There are moments in life when you sit on a bus in a city that you have grown up in, literally grown from child to (semi) adult in, and a flood of memories flash through your mind, moments when you realize how grueling, burdensome and devastating, yet miraculous and terrifyingly wonderful life can be, moments when you look into the eyes of people that have changed your life and feel an unspeakable yet unbreakable love for them. Moments. Right now, it's one of those moments. It's after 11 pm, it's my last night in Zhuhai, China and it's a moment I want to remember.

Thank you, friends, for sharing, crying and laughing with me. Thank you, family, for putting up with me, for not always understanding, but for allowing and for being separated by millions of miles but constantly surrounding me with your love. Thank you, life, for continuously pulling me under the water to teach me that there is more than one way to swim to the surface and that there is beauty in the moments that you reach it again. Thank you China, for becoming a part of me, for teaching me, for drastically changing my perception of the world and for challenging me, yet letting me find a home and a connection with you. This is moment when 3 cumulative years flash before your eyes and you realize that God and adventure are the most amazing things that have ever happened to you. A moment when your eyes fill with tears and your heart explodes with joy and rips with pain as you realize that all you have in life are moments. Enjoy your life, friends, don't waste a single minute of it. Before you know it, an entire chapter of it has ended and all you have is a moment to let every one of your emotions rush in, to let all of the lessons seep through the layers of your heart, and to realize that the true measure of life can be found in these moments. WIth that, I want to say Goodbye, Zhuhai, Goodbye China. Thank you for the moments.

Belize: A Story in a Story

2013-05-28T09:17:00.000-06:00

Those of you who really know me know that some day I’d like to write a novel. I’d like to write a novel based off a dream I’ve had several times and for no fame-chasing purpose, just the desire to share the love of adventure. If we’ve spoken of my plot, you know why. I will refrain from sharing it here because I know there are some of you scoundrels out there looking to steal stuff. If you steal what is to follow, know that I have proof I wrote it first. It is now published on the net.

I often wonder why I drop the ball on scheduling activities when I travel. It’s not that I don’t know where to go or don’t have enough money. I spend hours researching advertised fun for the cheapest prices and can always cover it, but when it comes time to make a reservation, I pause. I know the locals will know better than myself with a computer, and so I tell myself I will ask them when I get there. When I arrive it always seems like the worst choice. This trip was no exception.

I said farewell to my group at the Belizean airport and took a taxi to my hotel, only to be told that fun stuff would be hard to find in Belize City, as everything shuts down on Sundays and Monday is a holiday. This day was Saturday. Well shit. I spent the next thirty minutes or so with the young man Germaine at the front counter running through options and dialing numbers. No luck. Somehow, the fact that I was in the industry of international education got to the hotel manager’s ears and, on hearing my activity flexibility, invited me to the family’s 200+ acre property with built up lodgings for students and researchers, just so that I could see it. And it would be free for me. There was no question in my mind about it. Count me in!

It’s a beautiful property. Not five stars by anyone’s standards, but still perfect in its rustic island charm. We took a twenty minute boat ride from the back of the hotel, as it lies along a canal that leads to the sea, to a long cabana-styled pier on a large off-shore island. Two beautiful and tail-wagging dogs come happily barking and whining down the planks to greet us. Opal and Princess. They trot around me as I follow the walkway from the pier lined with tropical bushes to the main building built of concrete and adorned with shingles. The lower level boasts a sprawling patio, cedar-lined dining room with a full bar that doubles as storage for three large sea canoes, and a massively empty kitchen. The second story has numerous dorm-styled bedrooms that each are accessed by their own door on the wrap-around porch. The view from there looks out over the property, only about four acres of which have been developed into garden space, beachfront, and workshop. White sand lies far below me with three sitting cabanas built up on them to provide solitude for those that want to enjoy the breeze coming off the endless blue waters. There is no internet here and electricity is provided by a generator that comes on very infrequently. The little solar power they have may provide you with enough to turn on a light bulb.

My day consists of a quick tour of the property, eating a gold plum off one of the garden’s trees, experiencing one of the most perfect sun-bathing days I can think of, as there’s no overheating with the wondrous breeze coming off the ocean, enjoying a quick snorkel, and talking for hours with the great company. And with the company is where things get interesting. With the company is where I can’t help but think about my book and how, though it wasn’t quite an outwardly eventful day, this day was spectacular in the internal and unseen, the descriptors that make life interesting, worthwhile.

Sydney is the hotel’s manager. When he greeted me upon arrival and began to work out my room situation, I couldn’t quite figure him out. He looked tired and talked slow, but I got the sense he was sharp as a whip and would eye me with thoughts that I may be ignorant. These looks became more frequent as he led me to my room and I began to ask questions about activities only to be told that little occurred on Sundays, and even less on the Monday holiday. I thanked him for carrying my bag as the door across the hallway opened and a wretched looking woman got his attention. I excused myself and closed the door on their conversation.

The next time I met Sydney, he was offering me a trip to the family’s property, on the condition that it was okay with Mom. I thought to myself: “Who is Mom and why isn’t she here?” but happily and eagerly accepted the invitation on those terms. He reported that Mom was happy with it but would meet me in the morning, as she had already removed her shoes for the day.

Shortly after that, two women emerged into the front hall. One was the wretched thing I glimpsed earlier in the door across from mine, and the other was a soft-spoken elderly hippie. They both look to be in their sixties. The wretched thing had pink smear across her lips with a shade darker of an uneven lining. Gobs of mascara hung from her eyelashes. Her skin was pale and sun-spotted. Her skin wrinkled around her mouth after years of pursing her lips in distaste at lesser people, leaving her to look like a chain smoker herself. Something strange must’ve happened to her right ear, as some nude cloth covered what looked to be blue spots on her skin. Tattoo removal? Moles be-gone?

The next day I was less than pleased to be finding out that she would be joining us. She wore overly bright pastel colors, a pink shawl and a see-through yellow skirt hung around her skeletal figure. She had her graying dull hair pulled tight into a bun on top of her head and demanded the other woman take pictures of her on the dock in the morning. Not only was she wretched to look upon but her personality made me cringe. Everything was about her. She’d interrupt anyone mid-sentence with her loud obnoxious tone, the kind that is not dissimilar to what I imagine a cat wail mixed with toad croak would sound like, to tell a story that had the words “me” and “I” far too many times for socially appropriate. And while she told these stories, her incompetent, dull, and selfish eyes would flick to my criticizing ones frequently as if searching for sly approval.

She tried to come off as something, but to me was worse than nothing. I think and hope that she could feel that, for she is selfish and uncompromising and deserves to be beat into the hole from which she came. She latched on to the other woman she was traveling with, Cindy, only to demand that they spend their entire week on Caye Caulker, a very touristy island, to lie on the beach all day every day. I wished her skin would fry off her bones.

Cindy, on the other hand, deserved compromise, deserved to have a great trip, deserved to embrace her adventurist spirit. She is a lovely woman, has been a river guide, had traveled much when she was younger, fell in love with herbal medicine in Indonesia, and opened her own herbal healing practice in no other place than EVERGREEN! for eighteen years. She recently moved on to being a flight attendant after being burnt out on doing that for so long. And that is how she met the wretched thing. They flew once or twice together and Cindy invited the wretched thing out of the goodness of her heart because its other plans had fallen through.

Cindy’s quiet sweet voice and open honest energy was not noticed by just myself. Cindy also resonated strongly with Mom, the owner of the Belcove in Belize City and numerous other enterprises throughout New York City. This woman is Sydney’s mother. She is strong and stead fast in her dealings with her son and employees. She demands perfection and rightly so. She has seen much. She moved to New York after marrying her husband, a very quiet man who sits contentedly with us women as we jabber away like parrots, raised two of her own children and adopted a cousin and a grandchild. She has a parrott that is exemplary of the intelligence parrots may display under the right encouragement, and she sees spirits. Her husband sees spirits too, but he does not speak of htem. She sees spirits. In butterflies and birds. Energies attract to her and she feels other’s energies. She adores Cindy. She likes me. She laughs at the wretched thing, yet her open heart and caring hand are not cruel. She laughs in a way that is kind, as the only other way to deal with the wretched thing, my way, is to glare at her, without her knowing, behind my mirrored sunglasses.

Sydney exemplifies many of his mother’s qualities. He is giving to those that do not ask for it and harsh with those that do. When I inquire in the morning about breakfast, he adamantly takes me to the station for all of the biscuits I could want and then to the street-corner taco stand to give me the real taste of Belize. He pays for it all and hands off a couple of gold coins to a man decked out in basketball garb that’s pestering him. On the way back he tells me he hates the cycle of the nuisance. Men travel to the US and Canada, they get in trouble, are deported back to Belize, and return with their bad alcohol and drug habits, find it easier to ask for money than work for it, and teach that cycle to the next generation. It’s a terrible cycle, and I ask him if he’s not contributing to it by handing off a coin? He confides that it is, but many days, he just can’t fight them off. He’s fascinating. He’s unmovable and calm, talks about enjoying working all week because it keeps him occupied and in control, but he slips. It’s apparent when he’s talking to his employees, much like his mother. He doesn’t stand for laziness, incompleteness, or imperfection.

He adamantly admonishes Junior, Sydney’s apparent cousin (though I get the feeling everyone is related in this city), and apparently the paid labor for the day. He is moving most stuff about. And his body screams of hard work. I have no idea how old he is. His hair is still thick and black, however cut short, but he is missing all of is front top teeth except for two on his right side. I’ve never seen a body quite like his. His skin nearly as dark as his ebony curls stretches taught over muscles looked to be carved from stone. Every move he makes is a display of the human muscular physiology. I see ones I never knew of before in his arms and back. He is not bulky by any means, but has the wiry lean build that comes from a lifetime of manual labor with little amounts of calorie-dense food. His fingers are thick and round. His feet splay outwards, as if his big toe and heel are of the same large boundary of a circle, working their way around to meet on the other side. I’ve never seen clubbed feet like that. He won’t make eye contact with me. He gets frustrated when Sydney talks down on him. He gets frustrated when the fish he is after along the pier during the day get away. The rest of our company finds great humor in this.

The final member of our strange array is Christian, the boat captain. He is large. He is quiet around me but not unfriendly. When he laughs, his whole body shakes in a jovial manner. He wears a captain’s polarized shades, the kind all captains around here wear. It wasn’t until we were leaving that he appeared without them on and I was shocked to see his eyes. They are beautiful. The color of the ocean he works on- blues and greens, but also interspersed with bits of gold like the silt on the ocean floor stirred by snorkel fins suspended too close to the bottom. All of a sudden what I thought a man with little personality became a man with much of it, just saved for those worth sharing it with.

And that was our group. Random and odd. Sydney, the philosophical smoker, the wretched thing, the lovely hippie, Mom, her quiet husband, Junior, Christian, and a 22-year-old gypsy. We make for quite a story of characters, some of which I am happily looking forward to using some day, and are the gifts in disguise of this day, and that is not all.

We made it off that beach in the knick of time. One storm cloud had blown around us and another was headed our way. Two minutes after we pushed off, we looked back to see the gray had enveloped the dock and a solid line of white, where rain hit ocean, marked the storm’s boundary. It was chasing us and we were fleeing. As we continuously remained 100 yards or so full speed ahead of it, we realized another storm front rode our outer flank. The two would merge to make a monstrous storm center. At this point we were fleeing not from the rain that would sting our faces like bees if it caught us, but the lightning storm that would surely ensue when the two storms collided. The individuals of our group either sat silent or hooted and hollered at the enemy close on our toes. In the end we beat it back to the hotel literally by seconds, but not without me fantasizing about putting such a scene in a book, especially with all the boats heading for the same dock space, chased by thunderheads towards Belize City lit up through the clouds by the sun.

Junior

Belize Day Eleven: Another goodbye

2013-05-28T07:55:00.000-06:00

Our final night on the island, the staff was nice enough to go to a neighboring island to gather firewood, aka boards from an old house that had been destroyed in a hurricane. The group was scattered around the island relaxing until the fun started. The fire was massive, the company was great, and Harri delighted us with his guitar and vocal skills. He is really very good even if he is a Brit.

The next morning it was too windy to dive so I went about photographing the terns that had nested all over the island. The island staff had build coral guards over all of the eggs since the terns just lay them out in the open and guests seem to step on them.

The boat ride back to the mainland was quite exciting. About an hour in and only a few miles off the coast we were hit by Punta Gorda's first storm in months. The rain stung our faces like a swarm of bees. We were drenched in moments. The boat docked on the Ranger Station island where we took shelter for the seven or eight minutes it took the down poor to pass. Afterwards, the water was eerily smooth and clear. And yes, Courtney's jade eyes matched it perfectly.

There were lights all over the island with Queen conch shells arranged cleverly to emit asterisk-like rays around them.

Harri doing his thing.

This one's my favorite.

Tracy and Simon (front left and right) were our scuba instructors. They met and got together here on the island when she was interning and now both work here full time. He's from England and she's from North Carolina. They are an amazing couple who get along very well considering they live together and work together full time. They're both very attractive people too; she has eyes the color of a green sea and his are ocean blue. She also has the most beautiful and long naturally-grown fingernails I've ever seen.

Chrissie and Harri after the downpour.

Haha. She cracks me up.

Belize Day Ten: Island Fun

2013-05-27T08:51:00.000-06:00

Though we did a lot today, my favorite activities were spear-fishing lionfish, dissecting them, and doing reef data transects. There is something so satisfying about letting go of that cocked spear and seeing it hit its mark. It is not the most humane way to kill something unless you’re perfect aim, which I am not, but it is very effective.

Lionfish are originally from the Indonesian island area and made it into the waters off the coast of Florida by different human-interference means. Now they are decimating the native juvenile fish populations all the way from North Carolina to the coasts of Brazil. The ultimate answer for the problem will be nature, as it will always find a balance, but we can still do a little bit of our part. Apparently for every one lionfish we kill, we save 30,000 other fish!

This fact was driven home during our catch dissections- we pulled an 8cm juvenile stoplight parrotfish from a 23cm lionfish! They’ll eat fish a third their own size and have very few predators. These two characteristics enable them to proliferate like mad. And like mad they do. A student and I speared nine lionfish out of a single coral overhang today. Jayson, the island’s superb marine biologist, comes back every boat trip with a bag full. Might as well be a little inhumane with a spear, save some of the indigenous fish, and put the invasive species to good, as the cooks did by making us some delicious lionfish tenders for dinner.

Ultimately, the island staff are keeping a close eye on the health of the ecosystem as a whole, not just the effects of the lionfish. In the afternoon, guests that had a desire to participate were able to join in on a scientific reef study. We were put into pairs and dived transect lines while recording fish and invertebrate species, as well as the type of substrate along the bottom. The information produced from civilian scientist like this is essential for monitoring the health of the local systems, as the manpower here, and in most places around the world, is limited. We were able to give back while also gaining more knowledge and skill for ourselves. Not surprisingly, it was another great and eventful day on the island.

Lionfish egg sack

Stoplight juvenile parrotfish 1/3 the body length of the lionfish that ate it.

Practicing underwater navigation onland first.

There's a massive moray eel that has been living under the dock the whole time we've been here and nobody told us until Jason started cleaning fish and it came out to see what was going on. None of us, including Michelle, had ever seen an eel that aggressive.

Seb pointing out research techniques to me. I didn't go to school for ecology, I have no idea what's going on, thank you computer guy for showing me how it's done.

Day Nine: Bucket List Day

2013-05-27T08:42:00.000-06:00

There is only one name for a day like today: a bucket list day. The morning started with my first deep dive. Check item #122 off the list. We went to 100 feet and cracked an egg open, just to watch the yolk float out of the shell as though it hadn’t yet realized it had been released from its calcium prison. On our second dive of the day I spotted a turtle, as we were all oohing and awing over a pair of trunkfish, both rare sightings.

But at lunch we were informed the real fun would begin. The water was calm enough to go searching for whale sharks. We had all foregone showers for the week to conserve gas. Gas that could either be consumed by the boat going to other islands for fresh shower water since the island hadn’t been rained on in months, or gas that could be used for a whale shark search. Enough said. We were all going stinky. If we spotted one, that would be bucket list #32.

Today was a very hot day, and the sun beat down on us as we tip-toed around the boat that was radiating the same heat it had been absorbing all morning. We had been told the way to spot a whale shark is by spotting the birds going after the bait ball of fish at the surface that had been driven up. Ten minutes of searching went by for it. Nothing. Tracy jumped to the bow of the boat to get a better view. Fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes. Nothing. I started to wonder when they’d call off looking when Snake, our wonderful captain, spoke Tracy’s name, she said “Yup” and we were full speed ahead toward a bait ball unseen by any of us.

“Everyone get your fins and masks on; get ready!” I’ve never seen so many people get snorkel gear on so fast in my life. I think if we’d been timing it, we’d beat most Navy Seals teams. The bait ball appeared out of nowhere. Cormorants, turrets, and other sea birds swooped this way and that, diving full speed into the water at their prey. Snake yelled “Shark!” and “Go!” and the first group was gone, swimming as fast as they could towards some lure the rest of us could only imagine. Then it was the second group’s turn. We had our gear on and slipped erratically over the side of the boat when Snake gave the go-ahead.

I searched and searched and saw nothing but blue. My stomach filled with dread. What if I’d missed it? What if that was my only shot? Then I saw the first group that had made it into the water headed our way. Below them emerged a silhouette of white spots, then an open gape, and then two eyes. A mass of whale shark body followed. I turned and our group plowed ahead, trying to keep pace with the animal’s effortless propulsion before it dove too deep for us to see. We hovered. Minutes past. Like the Cheshire cat’s white grin, the whale shark’s white spots reemerged and were the only things to be seen in the darkness. Finally its outline appeared and its whale-like head gave way to a shark-shaped body. Another race ensued to keep up with its shallower projection until it dove down once more.

The boat came around for us and we crawled up one by one, beaming. I haven’t seen the whole group that ecstatic in days. Don’t get me wrong, they’re having a lot of fun here on the island, but they are long, course-intensive days. This adrenaline rush purely for the love of fun and wonderment was essential for everyone. And I’m pretty happy myself. #32. Check!

Tonight will be our first night dive. Bucket list #121. I’m so excited for what it will bring, as many species are creatures of the night. And checking off a third bucket list item truly makes today a bucket list day. Now I just hope none of us are taken by sea monsters. If the ocean can hide a whale shark, it is unknowing what else may lurk out there. Wish me luck!

Night Dive.

Day Eight: Great Day of Diving

2013-05-27T08:36:00.000-06:00

This day was phenomenal: to sum up: three dives. #1 awesome! I spotted a drummer and some other rare species. I also got to use a spear gun for the first time and am proudly responsible for killing several lionfish, a destructive invasive species here. I also got stung for the first time by jellyfish. Fuckers. Dive #2 unbelievable! It was our fish ID dive. Within the first fifteen minutes saw many grouper and lion fish and watched as Jayson, the island’s marine biologist fed the grouper the speared lion fish. Then I got to spear! We saw two nurse sharks, barracuda, were trailed by a romora, the funkiest looking fish ever, file fish, and so much more. The third dive was okay, it was our navigation dive, but the sea in the afternoon is much choppier and makes for more difficult diving. Still, it’s diving.

Then we lounged on the island in the afternoon, made the local intern Harry shimmy up a palm tree for coconuts for us, played some volleyball, and settled in for an evening dinner of which we were pushed aside. Trade Winds, a very lucrative and expensive sailing fleet bring their clients on the island every Tuesday for a three course meal, presentation, and drinks. It got a bit rowdy but they finally went back to their vessels. I sat in my room doing work as Chrissie and Courtney sat opposite me using the internet. They’re definitely getting island fever and ready to get back to the States, not just the mainland. It is unfortunate. Two more full days to go.

I wasn't joking when I said Gabby's a little crazy. She's a wonderful young woman and very adventurous, but very competitive and doesn't have much awareness for what's going on around her because she gets so excited and distracted by things. Much of my diving was spent just following her around to make sure she didn't wander off too far.

Michelle is a badass and I adore her. Enough said.

Classroom time.

Belize Day Seven: Transition Day

2013-05-27T08:30:00.000-06:00

Pack up all our bags. Last breakfast at the Snack Shack. We’ve got a handful of people not feeling well and Gabby, my girl that’s up for anything, is vomiting. Shoot. Meet Jo and Polly. They are wonderful Brittish women. Polly is the founder of the non-profit ReefCI that we are being taken care of by on the island, and Jo is their office personnel that moved to Belize six years ago and never left. They inform me I’m getting my Advanced Cert. Sweet! I didn’t think I’d be diving, especially if I had to pay for it out of pocket. Then they are very patient with us as we pull our pharmacy needs together last minute: dramomine, Gatorade, pepto-bismol. We board the boat and spend the next ninety minutes on choppy seas, slamming every-so-often hard onto our benches. That can’t be good for our bodies.

The trip went fast enough though, as I am chatting with one of our new group additions. Three other women are on the boat with us. Michelle is a late forty-something tough ass who now works for Sales Force, but has a resume boasting a position with the Coast Guard, as a Master Diver for Royal Caribbean, a mountain biking enthusiast, aquarium caretaker, you name it. Needless to say, she has some crazy stories and they are always peppered with a curse word now and then that comically take me by surprise. I like her. Vikki is from London and Grace is from Toronto. They’re a little less talkative.

An island appears on the horizon and grows with each passing minute. One can tell it must be sheltered by reef, as waves break against some underwater barrier beyond it. The island is tiny, only an acre in size, but just big enough for comfort. A large building on one side houses the kitchen, dining area, and several rooms. Cabanas line the perimeter of the island to the other side where another building shelters diving gear and staff rooms. In the middle of the island, hammocks and a volleyball net are strewn up between palm trees. I look at the faces of our group and all but one or two look overwhelmed rather than excited. Like I said, it’s transition day, everyone’s feeling a little overwhelmed and even a little sick with the stomach bug, but things will change.

And they do. We get lunch and a briefing and then those of us getting our advanced certification immediately take to the water so that our instructor, Simon, can see where our skill and comfort levels lie. It is a nice easy dive. We watch Jayson cull five or six lion fish, I spot a juvenile trunk fish and my favorite, the flamingo tongue. We surface to choppy waters and are thrown back and forth as one by one we emerge onto the boat.

It’s a quick boat ride back to the island where our Open Waters are all in their dive gear for the first time and huddled around Tracy at the dock to practice their skills. Alli is absolutely extatic, smiling and laughing. It’s wonderful to see her so happy. Gabby is feeling better as well and watches for a while before putting on her snorkel gear to get into the water with them. I look forward to diving with her in the morning. My stomach is acting up a bit now, too, and so I go find a hammock to curl in to.

Later in the evening I join Michelle and Vikki on the main building’s roof to watch the sunset. It glows hot orange and is engulfed by clouds before it ever makes it past the horizon. In the breaking waters below a large triggerfish is exhibiting some strange feeding behaviors and is shadowed by four or five green and blue parrot fish. The bell rings and we make our way down stairs for a presentation about ReefCI history, basic reef ecology, local threats to the reef, and fishing management. I’m filled with nostalgia, being able to preempt every explanation and question asked thanks to my courses in New Zealand.

After the presentation, I am not feeling well and retire to my room early to sleep out whatever bug has infiltrated our group. Tomorrow is a new day, I am so excited to o diving, and I hope to be feeling better.

Only an acre.

My room, Apple would be jealous.

My view.

Arielle? No! It's Allie!

Yup, I could get used to this.

Courtney pointing out her bedroom's gecko that she named Sydney. What a goof.

Belize Day Six: Manatee Farts

2013-05-27T08:15:00.000-06:00

Today started being under-average and ended up being a blast. There is only one town in all of Punta Gorda that serves breakfast on Sundays, so of course anyone wanting a breakfast out that day goes there. We arrived early and appeared to be on time, but then this horrid group of drinkers from Nova Scotia, who are also in our hotel, showed up. Apparently they had ordered the night before and so we waited over an hour after ordering for them to get their food before we did. I was livid.

But then when we all finished, we got on a boat. There’s just no way you can be upset when you’re on a boat. The wind rushing, the riding of the wave as you rush across the water, the sun, the great company. It’s all good. And Roberto really knows how to show a group a good time. We pulled up to the only island for miles around with beautiful beach side cabanas and dropped Andy and the lunch makings off. They would be waiting ready for us once we got hungry again, and I must say it would be nice not to have Andy’s scummy eyes looking at all of the female flesh in bikinis in our group.

Roberto then took us another twenty minutes out to a little island being guarded by a flock of pelicans rising from the water only to dive right back down violently for a fish. Everyone dawned their snorkel gear and we jumped out as fast as we could. The coral was gorgeous. Purple fans waved with the current everywhere. At first I had no partner, and was quite content being on my own, but finding cool things is my forte and eventually Seb caught on to the fact that hanging with me was far more interesting than his slower-paced fiancé. She’s really wonderful and thank goodness not the very jealous type, but it is causing a bit of tension when egged on by our rotten apple of the group. Thank you peanut gallery.

Seb and I saw all sorts of cool things: starfish, a huge lobster, half a dozen trumpet fish, the most stunning angel fish I’ve ever seen, some HUGE barracuda, a trigger fish. It was really a great snorkel, but we all had to leave early because she who shall not be named was feeling sea sick and had to ruin all of our fun. People like her should be eliminated.

This woman is near to thirty, has two kids, thinks she knows EVERYTHING and gets overly offended when you question her, is loud, obnoxious, and when is not having fun comes up with some ailment to get out of the situation. Needless to say she’s become the black sheep of the group and is regularly brushed away by everyone. Even the faculty rants on and on about her, especially to me. I love the group dynamic by the way. There’s nothing you can do about a rotten apple but wait for it to rot to the point where you can just throw it away, but everyone is truly fantastic. The professor is very relaxed, laid back, encouraging of the students, communicative with me, and makes us all feel like we’re on the same level. She’s a beautiful soul and I feel truly blessed to get the opportunity to spend time with her and the freshly ripe students of the group.

Though we had to haul out early, we went back to the island where a delicious meal was already laid out for us. Roberto had caught a Spanish mackerel and the girls had pulled up some conch, so those were bbq’ed and served as well. De-licious! We spent our time after lunch lounging about, exploring a wreck off the island, and checking out the accommodations. Once we had tired of that, it was back on the boat and exploring the coast and inlets for manatees and crocodiles. No luck, which is unfortunate because apparently you look for manatees because they let out really big fart bubbles. I really wanted to see what that looked like.

A long choppy but super fun boat ride brought us back to the wharf and dinner. Once picked up by Andy, we were informed that the conch we had pulled off the sea floor was being prepared into civiche for us as a dinner appetizer. Food doesn’t get any fresher than that. At dinner I made it a point to ask Roberto about how Belizeans see Americans and other countries. I feel that this is always a great discussion to have for people who have never traveled before, and those that have as well. It had the desired effect. Alli, our, baby deer of the group, was enthralled in the discussion. And that is why I love doing what I do. Seeing her mental transformation throughout this trip has been so rewarding. Over and over again she continues to surprise me.

After dinner Chrissie called a serious talk about finances. This turned into more of a battle of words between her and our group’s bad apple while the rest of us sat off to the side having a much more positive discussion. By the time it had finished, I had gotten everyone to agree on a final amount for Roberto’s tip and then Nyshele, Chrissie, Seb and I were off to the other side of town. The girl’s got their hair wraps looked after by that crazy hippie lady while Seb and I went to Asha’s for a drumming performance. That crazy hippie lady is from Canada, up and sold all of her things to travel through Central and South America selling hair wraps and teaching art classes. Some people are crazy, and she is, but I also greatly admire her for her bravery. It’s very impressive.

This is the Snack Shack: Way better than whatever we had for breakfast on this day, but unfortunately the SS is closed Sundays. We went there every other day we could though. Roberto owns it.

This is his youngest.

We had a boat full of company...

...and one of them was wearing a Denver jersey so I had to be a creeper and take a picture.

So I do transfix on some visual things, again, maybe in a creepy way, and Allie's hair was one of them. It's a beautiful red, died black underneath, and the way it was blowing in the wind seemed straight out of a movie. Just lovely.

Roberto caught us a Spanish mackerel for lunch that was full of eggs.

Searching for manatee farts...

This is a crocodile release area that was demolished by the local people after two children went missing and never found again. Since then, people adamantly kill the crocodiles, pushing them very near the brink of extinction.

Punta Gorda

2013-05-27T07:44:00.000-06:00

Our afternoon was fairly free after returning from the Garunafauna village and so Seb and I went about Punta Gorda taking photos. It's interesting to see how people can look at the same scene and take completely different shots, obviously revealing the two different observations of the location. This is where creative differences, and also some friendly competition, can help one to grow as a photographer.

And Seb and I have no lack of friendly competition between the two of us. I wouldn't say it's even a conscious competition, but we push each other. And I quite appreciate it. In our first day together, it was obvious that we were going to get along. He's an intellectual, a jack of all trades, extremely sarcastic and witty, and is picky with his friends. Starting to sound familiar?

We got along so well, actually, that there was a day or two of uneasiness amongst everyone excepting Seb on the intentions of our quick closeness. Seb is engaged to a wonderful young woman who was also on the trip. When it came down to it, she couldn't care less and understood our connection was only one of friendship and she's the only one who's thoughts mattered on the subject.

I am so glad that Seb was on this trip. It was nice to have a confidant and someone that understood, or at least could listen to some of the frustrations I was having. I'm not saying I blabbered all my thoughts about certain frustrations among the group (aka people named Kendra), but I was able to listen to him talk and just agree with it, which is enough in a professional setting I think. And since then we've kept in touch and I expect we will long into the future. I introduced him to Troy who is always in need of a good tech guy, and so Seb may be moving to Foco. I would like that very much. It would mean having two more friends there, since Nychele would move with him, and I think Colorado would be a great place for her to find a wildlife management position. It would also mean I would get to see his younger sister Courtney more often.

Courtney is hilarious. And her and Seb together make for an ab ache they can get me laughing so hard. What I love most about the two of them together is that they remind me a lot of Connor and mine's relationship. They're very close and have overcome a lot together. Having the two of them on this trip was a real treat and I couldn't have been luckier with a pair of good people.

Belize has fires that just are left to run their course all over the place. Often the air smells of smoke and is hazy. Not sure how healthy it is for our lungs, but it sure is healthier for the environment than the way we do: aka not letting things burn.

All these pictures of unhappy women kind of crack me up in a morbid way.

Only in developing countries... a little girl in a hammock in the back of a truck full of produce. Definitely a different life.

And then there was Seb.

Our guest house entrance.

Beats me why, but I'm always finding horses in a bind. This guy was tangled all up in a stump on the property and I went and untangled him. He had a respritory infection and was gooping out of his nostrils terribly. Very cute horse though and well tempered. It broke my heart when he tried to follow me out of that yard and kept nickering at me as we walked away. On the way passed him later that day, he was happily munching away. I love horses.

Seb and I spent some time painting with a torch. This is the best we got. Yes, I know the 'z' is an 's.'

Belize Day Five: Problem Solving

2013-05-26T21:36:00.000-06:00

Today had less than fortunate events, but this group is great and Roberto is a phenomenal guide, so it’s nine pm now at night and I slowly rock back and forth in this well-loved hammock, happy as clam.

It started out early with hints of being a hot day. By the end of breakfast we were sweating. We meandered around Punta Gorda for about ninety minutes searching for souveneirs, and I’m glad we did since I had to buy some prizes for the picture contest. We had had breakfast at the delicious Snack Shack, which seemed to get heavier in my stomach with each passing minute in the heat. Someone had the brilliant idea to look for hand fans. I found some in a China shop and bought one for everyone in the group. They were a huge hit.

We then headed out of town for our cultural village stay. After an hour of driving in the jaguar on bumpy hot road, we came to the Garifuna village af Barraca. Alvin, our local guide met us to check us in to our guest house rooms. I thought it was good luck we weren’t actually doing over-night homestays, there are some people in the group that wouldn’t have handled that well. However, after everyone was checked in, Alvin notified me that there was a funeral taking place in the village that day and many other people had come into town for the event. Extra safety precautions must be taken, but we would also get the exciting chance to view this rare event. Exciting. I asked a bunch of necessary questions regarding cameras, attire, etc., but especially about how long we’d be standing out in the sun. It must have been over 100 with high humidity. Someone was bound to drop if we were out for too long.

We trailed behind the funeral procession and reached the top of the hill where the dead man was to be buried. People of black and brown skin stood all around dressed in all different levels of attire. They chanted the Hail Mary led by no one other than a white Roman Catholic priest. It was distasteful. It was distasteful because it was a perfect example of how a Caucasian male-dominated religion came in and reduced the culture of a much more earth-bound society to nothing more than additional fodder for their own bullshit preachings. So much life and soul and history was in the teachings of those original tribes and now only a few of those customs remain. The rest have been scrubbed and scratched and whipped and mutilated out of their generations. Burying their dead by some other man’s protocol. Despicable.

We didn’t stay for long, and continued on back down the hill for lunch. It was nothing special: coconut soup, mashed plantains that tasted of and had the texture of mashed potatoes, and fish. I opted out of the fish and had barely any of the plantains. It was too hot to eat, so the skinny skittish dogs luring about got most of what little lunch I had taken. By this time we were pouring sweat and relieved when Alvin told us we had an hour to sit out the hottest time of the day, maybe go swimming off the pier. Chrissie came back moment later to icksne that idea on the argument that the water was too dirty, which it probably was. So it was back to boiling in our own sweat. Of course, Andy was nowhere to be found, he had the keys to the bus our refill of water was locked inside.

As we sat there, Alvin spoke of the evening’s safety while we watched more and more people congregate at the back of a bus near one of the neighbor’s homes. They all held beers. This was not safe and chrissie rightly expressed her concern. We needed a night watchman. Andy is a terrible asset to Roberto and when he finally showed up, snickered when I said we needed a watchman and was a pain in my ass when I asked him to take me to the local sheriff. I met the sherriff, who was equal parts a low life and disgusting man, and asked him if he knew of anybody that night that would be of sound mind, good character, and worth the pay to watch our property. The only man he could think of was dead. I knew it would not be good for us to stay in town.

I walked back and, as I approached the group, Chrissie must have read my mind and suggested we go back to PG that night. Sounded good to me. I demanded Andy’s cell phone, called Roberto, and arranged to head back then rather than finish the rest of the day tour. It was just too hot and miserable for everyone. Executive decisions sometimes have to be made and that was the safest option.

On the ride back, we stopped by a river to soak our feet while a couple of the girls jumped in. We also had the opportunity to stop one more time at Ixcaocao for some more chocolate. When we arrived back in PG, Roberto was extremely apologetic though none of it was his fault, and showed us to a wonderful hotel even adorned with a pool. Spectacular. He couldn’t have done better and is truly an amazing man. For dinner he showed us to a pizza place that was alright, nothing special, and waved us goodbye with excitement for Keyes snorkeling, beach fun and bbq, and manatees in the morning. Everything but weather he would make sure he had control over. The man is truly a saint.

This photo needs to have fire exploding from the house windows and the car blowing up. Doesn't it look like they're striding straight out of an action film?

Let's play I Spy the white preist that doesn't belong. Cameras weren't allowed but I couldn't help myself. You're not a good photographer if you're not risking getting kicked out of places.

Allie is the most compassionate person on the whole trip. She was so worried the puppies weren't hydrated enough that she shared her water rations with them.

Belize Day Four: Action Packed!

2013-05-25T20:06:00.000-06:00

Today could have easily been one of the best days on a tour, ever! Eight words: water spelunking, river rope swing, zip lining, tubing. Eight words of freaking fun!

We began the day at the Snack Shack, Roberto’s tour-guiding office turned restaurant. The food there is pretty good and their shakes and smoothies are to die for. There we were introduced to Randolph, his 19 year old apprentice very near to getting his tour guiding certificate. He is a very kind, soft spoken, hungry for knowledge and eager to please young man with perfect lips that I find hard not to stare at while he speaks. Strange, I know.

After breakfast we boarded Wild Thing’s jaguar bus for our day of adventure. We came to Blue Creek about an hour later where we were greeted by an elderly Mayan man. We followed him along an aquamarine river. It rushed past rocks draped in moss and that ran parallel to the moist leaf-covered trail we tred. A termites nest conveniently at shoulder height lay along the trail where each of us got to taste termite, which the locals compare to carrots. I’m not sure if I agree with them. We continued on for over a half an hour of forest obstacles before gasping in awe at the huge cave mouth that stood before us. Needless to say, everyone was stoked. We dawned our helmets and tied our life vests like ballerina’s tutsi skirts as fast as we could and followed the Mayan into the mountain.

For an hour we waded and swam through the cave’s waters while dodging or crawling over the odd rock barrier. I had an absolute blast near the back constantly joking around and being good-heartedly abused by Seb, one of the best friendly guy connections I’ve made in quite some time. I laughed so hard the whole day with him that my abs were sore by the end. We got to a point in the cave with a huge waterfall where we took pictures and reveled in the power of nature. Apparently the river cave system runs all the way through the mountain, boasting a 24-hour journey for anyone of sound enough mind, body, and technique to take on the challenge. Our guide had done it many times and with little gear. Somewhere in its caverns, the cave sheltered a pool about ¾ of a mile in area. After some good reflection time, we turned around and had as much fun on the way back as we had on the way in.

We neared the trail head again where two ropes hung from a tree near the river and a twenty foot platform was built up on the embankment. We spent the next thirty minutes or so swinging and jumping off as far as we could into the welcoming blue green river. It was a blast.

Thoroughly exhausted and feeling like it was already the end of the day, we headed on to our next site where lunch awaited us. A bison head mount, likely from this university’s home state of Montana, looked over us as we ate. Then it was off to zip lining, which I had never done before and found quite entertaining though not as stimulating for the group as caving had been. It made for some good filming though. And it was funny when Seb dropped his GoPro and one of the guides had to shimmy down to get it. Just one more thing to make fun of him for.

Then it was time for over two hours of tubing. By this point, the day seemed a bit much. The first hour of tubing wasn’t bad. It was rather quite enjoyable and relaxing. The water was nice and predominantly shaded from any intense sun on both sides by thick foliage. After that it was boring, then monotonous, then too much work. The tubing was broken up with a short stop to a little hot spring. The guides served us fresh coconuts and the little fish went bananas to be fed the fresh fruit’s meat. The tubing after that was a little painful. My arms were exhausted-I’m not a very efficient floater, and I had to tow s couple of people who were not having any physical exertion, though it really would have done them some good. Seb’s demeanor doesn’t always help with his sister either. We finally made it to the tubing exit. Finally. Besides the tubing that had originally been fun and relaxing, but then over extended and the not-so-good meal choice at dinner, it was a phenomenal day!

There are many Quaker-types in Belize that use horse and buggy and wear the goofiest clothing. Here are two of them going to deliver watermelons to market, but the journey is so long they must stop to let their horses rest.

Mayan descendants waiting for us white people to buy their trinkets just outside the reserve entrance to the cave.

This was posted in the restaurant at the zip-lining center and I thought it was funny.

Seb being sarcastic as always.

Randolph, our guide-in-training.

Belize Day Three: A Mayan Treat

2013-05-17T22:07:00.000-06:00

Today was a treat, literally. We went and viewed some Mayan ruins, one of the few sites in all of Belize that has not yet found evidence of human sacrifices (we like to keep it PG on our educational tours, obviously) and then went to a chocolate making factory. You heard me right. Chocolate. It’s a fabulous all-organic and sustainable family-operated farm called Ixcaocao, Goddess of Chocolate. When we arrived, waves of the smell of chocolate nearly lit my olfactory senses on overload.

For the next ninety minutes, we got to de-shell our own cacao beans, crush them like they did thousands of years ago with a mortar and pestle, and put our creamy all-natural chocolate into molds. Throughout the process we got to try so many different types of chocolate made on the premises, as well as hot chocolate, the original form of cacao consumed by the Mayan people. Afterwards, we obviously got to buy things, and so I indulged in some coconut chocolate bars and chocolate wine. DE-LICIOUS!

Our wonderful guide, Roberto.

CACAO!

I don't think Chrissie, our group faculty, likes chocolate at all.

Grinding chocolate with mortar and pestle.

The Jag.

Belize Day Two: Placencia

2013-05-16T22:01:00.000-06:00

Roberto is a naturally amazing guide. He picks up on body language and designs itineraries based upon his clients’ greatest needs. He could tell after an evening at the zoo that we would get bored spending another day there, and so drove us to the only true beach in Belize: Placencia. Think picture-perfect post card scenery. White sand beaches, palm trees, and all of the most brightly colored furniture and painted houses you could dream of. We spent the next day lounging in the sun, playing in the surf, eating great food, and in the evening, dancing along to a local drumming performance. It was the type of recuperating that everyone needed after just finishing a final semester of university, and for me, it meant some great early morning beach jogging.

Alli is our beautiful timid baby deer that has turned into a wonderful risk taker. She was one of the few to have never traveled out of the country and is doing a great job!

The local children aren't aloud to wear nailpolish to school, and so when this little girl found out that Alli had brought nail polish with her (really?), she was all about painting Alli's nails.

Chelsea, this is why I get up early to run.

Three-legged dog talent. I've honestly never seen so many tripod dogs in my life.

Belize Day One: A Night at the Zoo

2013-05-15T21:52:00.000-06:00

Everything in life is balanced. I got the airplane row all to myself from Dallas to Belize City, so of course our guide arrived later than even the group, that arrived over an hour after I did. This extra hour was supposed to give Roberto and I enough time to go through the itinerary, which of course we didn’t do and it eventually had repercussions and required my nit picking later in front of the group.

It wasn’t a big deal though, as a woman from another university pointed out Chrissie and the gang and they are such chill people, the type that don’t mind if the guide is running late. Perfect. Everyone got a hug from me when they arrived. Six women and Sebastian, the token male, engaged to one of the women on the trip and older brother to another. He proposed on their last school program in Peru. As long as they weren’t planning on jumping the gun on getting hitched on my time, it was fine. We were off to the zoo!

We got checked into our lodgings, a very rustic place tucked back into nature just five minutes down the road from the zoo. Once darkness fell, we all piled into our van and made our way five minutes down the road to the sanctuary turned educational-zoo-center. It was a great experience. We got to hand feed tapirs, large rodents, primates, and even get face to face with jaguars and pumas. The noises all of the animals made, especially the large cats, while going after their slabs of meat was astounding. The howler monkeys too scared away every inch of silence with their menacing calls and the boars did their part by stinking up the place. Hands down one of the best zoo experiences of all time!

An Open Seat to Belize

2013-05-15T21:41:00.000-06:00

At first I thought I was going to have an open seat next to me. People just kept streaming by, some placing bags in the overhead compartment above me, but none claiming the empty space to my left. Then this older woman stood above me looking back and forth between my row and the one next to me. It already had three occupants and was filled. “I guess this’ll be my seat since mine isn’t open,” she said jovially and squeezed passed my knees quickly to plop down. I looked at the younger man who had obviously taken her aisle seat, forcing her next to me at the window, could sense he knew the shameful thing he had done, admonished him in my head, and went back to reading my book. “Whatchya reading there? ‘Poor Economics,’ is that for a class?” she asked.

“No, it’s related to my work. I’m out of school.”

“Well isn’t that exciting! So how does it relate to your work?”

“It’s about people in developing communities that live on less than a dollar a day. I work in the travel industry. I just find it interesting.”

“Are you going to Dallas for work, or headed on to somewhere else?”

“I’m going to Belize. What about you?”

“Costa Rica, though stopping in Dallas first to meet my sister and then we’re going to Costa Rica to visit her daughter.”

“That should be fun.”

“Oh yes, her daughter needs a pick-me-up, a little mind changing, so we’ve got some mischief up our sleeves.” I chuckled, put my book down for the rest of this conversation. Despite my first impressions of this woman, I decided I liked her. On first inspection of her face, she was an old woman, orange makeup covered her marbling skin with one streak on her jaw likely erased by a bead of sweat that had trailed its way down from her brow line. Her mouth didn’t move much when she spoke, as if everything were said through clenched teeth or tight jaw muscles. I originally wondered if she had had a stroke. Then, as we continued to talk, I realized she had an accent. That must be the root of the problem.

“Where are you from?”

“I am from the Netherlands, I immigrated here with my family when I was fifteen.”

Well that explained it. And from then on out, this woman just became more and more fascinating. The more I learned of her, the more it became apparent that my life was paralleling hers in many ways, that we were two peas from the same pod, cut from the same cloth, birds of a feather, if you will. After marrying, she and her husband moved to Evergreen. Her children went to the same schools I did, they hiked the same trails I hike. Her son went to his junior prom but forewent his senior one due to his dislike for the falsity of it all. Both of her children attended DU, she even worked at DU for years in the International Studies department. Now, in her late eighties, she has climbed 48 of Colorado’s 14’ers, having started when she was 54. Her son moved to Vail after graduating from DU and has become a world-renowned conqueror of mountains and speaks all over the world. He led the first blind man up Everest, has done all of the highest peaks excepting the one in Antarctica, and regularly leads disabled children up Machu Picchu, as disabled persons are where his passion lies. He is the reason for her interest in mountains, not the other way around.

She shared with me tales of taking her grand daughter back to the Netherlands and opening her up to a whole new world. She revealed her family hid a Jewish family in their home during WWII, even with German soldiers passing their house and living in the one next to them for years. We spoke of love and relationships. She had been married once, to her father’s children, but divorced and never found another man that fit her standards so has chosen to remain alone. We even agreed that legalizing marijuana in Colorado would only bring unproductivity and devolution to the state, much similar to the Amsterdam that she knows so well.

I feel blessed to have sat in the company of such a woman and to soak up her wisdom, charisma, and love for life even for a brief amount of time. You never know who life may bless you with if you are open to having that seat filled next to you. I have met a young man on a plane who, four years later, is still a dear friend. I have met the head of the Anthropology department from the University of Flordia, one of the most respected anthro departments in the nation and learned so much. I have sat next to an elderly woman who has traveled the world times over in search of adventure and lost causes she could right. And now, I have one more beautiful memory to add to my list. Always remember that good people attract good people, if you are open to it.

The Change

2013-04-30T21:56:00.001-06:00

There’s always been a moment for me when I’m sitting with a younger sibling and all of a sudden I’m hit by this thought: “Holy shit, you’re a real person now.” Of course, they’ve always been a person, in existence, taking up space, but there’s a time when they become a highly functioning thinker, problem solver, critique of the world around them, an actively beneficial member of society. They’ve taken responsibility for themselves, if you will. I have five younger siblings. I’ve experienced this moment three times.

The most recent was with my youngest biological brother. He sat behind the wheel of my car hours after dinner. I interrupted our conversations with brief reminders to turn the brights on or off as lone pairs of headlights came and went past us on their journey home. He’s not had the easiest childhood; being the youngest of three, enduring his older siblings’ abuse, experiencing the full effects of divorce, remarriage, and being integrated into a new family and the home the other step-siblings had occupied for years has taken its toll. My other brother and I were gone by then and he was left to fend for himself. He talks little, laughs at my self-deprecating humor constantly, and even in his driver permit-bearing years, still indulges my desire to curl him up into a ball, canoodle him in my lap and pet his head while cooing. He’s as big as I am, bless his heart.

And similar to my other brother and myself, the relationship models Garrett has had has carved out vast ruts in his heart. Rarely do I get him to talk about it, but I felt this night was special- it was the first time he’d ever driven with me while not sitting in my lap, he had asked if he could come along, and it just felt right. I started asking him questions. I’ve found that the best way to get any individual to think the way you want them to without telling them so is to ask leading questions. So that is just what I did. I asked him first about relationships in general: “Do you believe in marriage? Well then, if half of marriages don’t work out, half of them do. What do you think the half that does stay together do to make it in the long run? Do you think you could put the hard work and commitment in that it takes? Would you want to?” Then I asked him about girls and get the answers I expected. I asked him why they are so immature and what he wished was different about them. What characteristics would his perfect girl have? What characteristics would their relationship be like? What kind of boyfriend would he want to be? “What do you mean you don’t know? Well, if she were talking to her friends about you, what are the three qualities you’d hope she would say she likes best about you?” These are the types of questions that get him thinking about the things worth thinking about rather than just focusing on the negative. And then he said: “You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you? What are you looking for so I know how I can be better?”

There it was.

“Holy shit, you’re a real person now.”

There’s a moment when a person no longer is trying to meet all of their own basic needs, but is thinking outside of the box. They are trying to better themselves for the people around them, and/or simply trying to better the world around them. They’ve taken responsibility.

The first time this happened with my brother just under me, it hit me like a ton of bricks. The second time, with my step-brother, it was less of a shock but still unexpected. This time, I had felt it coming. Like fall turns to winter and winter to spring, I could feel Garrett warming to his new role in life, a role that is going to be as beautiful as that long-awaited warmth of summer.

Where are all the cowboys?

2013-04-25T21:55:00.000-06:00

The lulliby of trucks zooming past us the other way and the rocking nature of 36 feet of vehicle on four wheels driving down the highway at 77mph had ceased. I pulled back the curtain from the 2x3.5x6 foot space I had all to myself and hopped out to follow the three other women off the RV. There was one other vehicle parked on an entire block of street lined by what literally were old saloon buildings, horse hitches still stood like little ghost sodiers in rows in front of them.

"Where are all the cowboys?" The place was empty. We ventured towards the shops. I glanced into a glass window and found myself staring at an odd display of dead jackals and rabbits dressed in business clothes, sitting in tiny chairs, and surrounded by historical shelves laiden with old perscription bottles and papers. Strange. Very strange. The rabbit was even wearing spectacles. We entered one of the welcomingly open doors a few windows down and were immersed in a world of the west. Old wooden carvings of Natives and cowboys were everywhere. "There they are." Trinkets, toys, artwork, cowboy boots, vests, dream catchers, pottery, shotglasses, jewelry, and a plethora of other westernized paraphenalia covered the walls and shelves lined in numerous shops coming off the main hall. I was in paradise. No joke, if you've ever walked into an old person's house and it's just covered in old west items and smells like incense and cigars, that'll be what mine looks like in forty years. If I ever settle. Ever.

I got back from Vietnam, was home for about a week, then headed to Fort Collins to hop onto a 36 foot RV with the outside covered in study abroad images. A massive blowup of a girl on the back gives everyone the 'thumb's up' as we pass them. I'm on it with three other good looking young women. Let's just say we attract a lot of attention. From FoCo we headed to Nebraska and are now in South Dakota, spending our days meeting with university offices and tabling for their students about study abroad options and by night staying in RV parks answering emails and drinking boxed wine.

It has truly been a fantastic experience. I have to admit that at first I was secretly a little nervous. I had no idea what to expect from any detail of the entire trip. From setting up meetings, to going to the meetings, to organizing materials, to living with three women I had never met before and trying to win them over, I just had no idea and I was nervous. I swallowed that, internalized it where I couldn't focus on it and just rolled with the punches. We ended up staying with the parents of one of the women I'm traveling with in Sioux Falls, and when asked by her father how long we had all known eachother, the other girls all answered over a year. I met them all Monday. He commended my bravery for stepping into such a new situation and all I could come up with was "I guess that's probably why they hired me." And it's all been great.

The first day I was getting used to the dynamics, which was interesting but got through. Since then, the time has just flown by. There are moments when I'm faced with challenges that I've never handled before that I think to myself, "I don't want to do this forever." It's scary, can you blame me? Then the challenge comes and goes and I go through it all seamlessly and I know I really do love this job. No day is the same. One day I'm doing research, the next I'm in Vietnam, then I'm putting together charts and paperwork, then I'm on RV headed to the Black Hills in South Dakota. Sweet.

Even better, I meet absolutely wonderful people. The other women I am traveling with are phenomenal individuals. I've learned so much from them already and am able to relate with them on many levels that I can't with other people. They have a similar lifestyle to mine at the moment, and thus understand and cope with the same challenges while appreciating the same gifts that come with what we do. They are an inspiration for the future. Then there are the daily interactions where we stop. All of the study abroad and career center individauls I meet with I learn so much from about traveling, the industry I'm in, and dealing with students. I meet students, like a senior at Weseleyan University named Tom, who has traveled more than I and has a passion for working with child refugees that he is actively pursuing. How cool is that!? I met a sixty something police officer who was extremely talkative about most subjects people avoid with strangers, and a professor at Lincoln Uni who let me dink around in the flight simulator cockpit in their aerospace department. On a daily basis I instantaneously connect and disconnect with so many people, departing from them slightly changed and hoping I changed them for the better.

To sum up, just do it. Embrace any challenge the world or a boss throws at you. You might surprise yourself with how well you handle it and prove to them your worth. In addition, you may find even better inspiration along the way.

Home

2013-04-16T21:33:00.000-06:00

After nearly two days of flights and airports I'm finally home. You don't know the relief. I loved Vietnam, I really did. It's a phenominally unique country filled with, well, there's no better way to describe it than randam character. Bicycles still pull rickshaws and women crowned in whicker triangles carry baskets hanging from a pole on their backs like weighted scales measuring the days ahead of them against the days past. These faces of rural villages can be seen walking astride the Rolls Royces that drift near the more expensive hotels and restaurants. The whole place is in organized chaos. It is defined by no traffic laws nor any sanitation we know, but they have a system that works for them. Every morning at dawn the streets flood with a quiet peaceful people intent on balancing their physical lives with walking, running, or tai chi. In the evenings, shops relinquish their garbage to the trashmen that pierce the air with their ringing bells and then store owners burn what small piles are left along the side walks. Families line the walkways to eat their dinner. Three and four generations can be seen seated at ttheir short plastic tables filled with steaming food, laughing with one another and keeping an eye on the toddlers too distractable to sit in their seats.

It is for family and friends, my own relationships, that I am most grateful to be home. I miss the people in my life terribly when I'm gone. As much as I enjoy the company of the people I am working with, the sights I see and the memories I make I so wish to be sharing with the people I love. If only they could all come with me, but since that is not possible, I do find myself relieved to be home and recharging with the energy of their embraces and smiles. The same is true of the mountain air, snow and pine trees that are so familiar to me. There is truly no place like home.