Carli & Tom’s Visit

Carli and Tom visited me in early March; it was the first time we had been together since our trip to Africa three years earlier. It was a busy two weeks. First the highlights, then the details…

They arrived in the early afternoon of Monday, March 4th. We had ample time for the initial rush of conversation. Tuesday was complicated by the unexpected arrival of the new double window for my hall—glass to replace the aged and unworkable wooden louvers that I always had hated. The attendant carpentry ran us out of the living room and onto the veranda for our continuing reunion conversation, but that was a minor inconvenience, considering the light and sea view that resulted.

On Wednesday, our March gales had abated so Alex and María took Carli and Tom out in the boat for the day. They went through the Haulover Creek, down to the Burdon Canal, through Jones Lagoon to the Sibun River, then back (because they could not cross the sandbar in the River) and down through Belize City, giving Tom the river-view of the town, and then out to sea to St. George’s Caye for the rest of the day.

On Thursday, I took Carli and Tom to the Belize Zoo. Friday both Alex and I had to work because of a container ship due on the weekend; Carli and Tom entertained themselves. That weekend, they went with Alex and María to Placencia. The second week they had excursions with me to Chan Chich and across the Guatemalan border, then one last day on the sea with Alex and María before packing to return to California.

I am back in the Real World now, full of happy memories. Carli and Tom are so wonderfully happy that I could not even feel sad to see them go, only grateful that I had been able to share a little of their time.

Belize Zoo

Thursday, March 7th, I took off from work and drove Carli and Tom up to my adored Belize Zoo. They had visited it before, but still enjoyed the exhibits of native animals and birds in their rustic, vegetation-filled enclosures.

When we had finished our tour, I spoke to one of the guides whom I knew, asking if it were possible to see the area where a new zoo is under construction. Moments later we were on our way to see it, accompanied by Tony Garel, one of the first local employees. He has been sent to the San Diego Zoo and other U.S. zoos for training, and has studied with Gerald Durrell in the Isle of Jersey; he could not have had a better guide.

I had been afraid that the new zoo would lose the sense of naturalness and intimacy that the old zoo has, but instead it will increase them. Enclosures are wire, painted black so that they are barely visible. Posts and stringers are the ubiquitous small tree trunks locally used for fencing. Aviaries have black nylon netting stretching up from the fence to enclose huge trees. Small twigs and leaves grow through the mesh, further obscuring it so that the birds will appear to be flying loose around the foliage.

Much of the heavy ground greenery will have to be pruned so that the animals can be seen more clearly and Tony told us that they will change some of the plants for ones typical of the region where the animal is found. They plan to move the animals in October, even if the main reception/office building is not completed. Veterinarians from the U.S. will come down to help with the move.

From the zoo, we drove on up the road a few miles to JB’s, a small rustic restaurant much loved by the succession of British Army regiments stationed in Belize. Walls and ceilings are draped with their banners. We sat on an open deck looking out over the rolling country toward lumps of limestone hills, with the Maya Mountains in the distance.

Placencia

On Saturday, March 9th, Carli, Tom, María, and Alex flew down to Placencia to spend the weekend at Rum Point Inn. It is a delightful resort operated by Americans, parents-in-law to one of María’s sisters.

Our group took a tour to the Coxcomb Basin jungle reserve, the only jaguar reserve in the world. Returning to Placencia, they were entertained by a beer-drinking competition at a local hangout and later, as they were trying to leave, Alex was dragooned into taking part in a sailboat race. The whole thing was something of an unplanned lark and he won, finishing two laps before one of the boats finished the first one.

Monday was a holiday so they did not return until late that afternoon.

Chan Chich

Early morning on Tuesday, March 12th, I took Carli and Tom to Chan Chich, Barry Bowen’s place near Gallon Jug. We drove up in Alex’s truck at his insistence. (He just admitted the other day that his front end has never been the same, so I am feeling very guilty after the fact.)

It was a beautiful drive through the Mennonite country, up the escarpment, and into the rain forest. Barry has cleared a huge area at Gallon Jug for farming and cattle, but despite the first-class way it has been done, I had to regret the loss of the wilderness I remember there from years ago. However, he has kept about 35,000 acres around Chan Chich as forest reserve and does not even allow guns inside the area.

Chan Chich is built in the ball court of a small Mayan ruin. The grassy mounds surrounding the resort reveal the shape of the old Mayan buildings and remind you of the life lived here centuries ago. These mounds are backed by tall trees full of parrots (and other birds less familiar to my undiscerning eye).

Accommodations are in large thatch-roofed cabanas linked by curving walkways made of round cuts of hardwood laid like stepping stones. Walls on three sides of a cabana are floor-to-ceiling wide wooden louvers so that one can open up completely. The fourth side houses a large bathroom with a long counter made of logs from one of the trees that had to be felled in clearing for the resort. Actually, all the trees were made into lumber or stepping stones, or utilized in some way in building Chan Chich.

The cabanas could not have been more charming, restful, or convenient. Sitting out on the wide open veranda, looking at a nearby mound, and listening to the multitude of bird songs, I felt a million miles away from Belize City.

The main lodge has a small lounge area and bar and an informal dining room with windows all around. An open porch surrounds most of the building, with chairs, small tables, and even mounted telescopes for bird watching. Food was ample and very good.

 

After getting settled in our cabanas, we had a fine lunch. In the afternoon, we took a guided nature walk along part of the eight-mile network of trails through the jungle surrounding the lodge. The ruin itself is built up on a steep plateau. The first segment of the trails was something of a trial to me and a worry to the guide who expected me to catapult past him to the bottom as I peered through my bifocals and minced over tree roots. We passed wide marshy places inhabited by large tortoises and brilliant birds. One of the trails, which we did not take, winds past a creek to a lake. I had thought to take my binoculars, so we shared them to watch birds and wildlife, remembering their last use in Africa.

 

Carli and Tom were out for another walk at six the next morning while I enjoyed coffee in bed as I played with my new laptop. We spent a leisurely morning, much of it with Carli instructing her computer-illiterate mother in the intricacies of her new plaything.

I managed to manipulate Carli and Tom into deciding that we would take advantage of the stables at nearby Gallon Jug. Off we set in the afternoon for a riding tour of the fields and forest. When we booked the horses earlier in the day, the receptionist had asked (tactfully) about our level of competence. At Carli’s reply, she had reported by radio to the stable that we would want “mild” mounts.

For me, the afternoon was a dream. It had never occurred to me that I would ride a horse again in my lifetime. I was not at all sure it was something I should be doing, and discussed the matter with God, begging him not to let me fall ignominiously off a walking horse. Not only were my prayers answered, but my early training came back instantly. Admittedly I spent the entire time telling myself “grip with the knees; toes in, heels down, elbows in.” My mount Manzana (Apple) and I early decided that trotting was not a good idea. His Quarter-Horse trot was too short for easy posting and my knees too rusty for the gait. He settled on a pleasant lope for those moments when he preferred not to walk and I could sit that easily.

It was a beautiful ride and lasted longer than we had expected. At one point, Carli rode up alongside me to remark that she was finding riding a strain on 40-year-old knees and to wonder how 70-year old knees were doing. We both had a tiny sharp pain at the exact place in our left knees and decided that it was genetic.

Back at the stable, I realized that there was no way the far-off ground and I would reunite without my having assistance. Antonio, the affable Salvadoranean cowboy who had accompanied us, put two steadying hands at my waist as I swung my leg over Manzana’s back to dismount and he effortlessly lowered me to the floor.

There I stood, feet planted flatly, knees locked, like Frankenstein’s monster. In an attempt to bridge the moment, I told Antonio that I had not been on a horse in fifty years. I thought the poor dear was going to pass out. He aimed a machine-gun fire of Spanish at other nearby hands and they rushed off to bring a stool for me to sit on. Carli later reported hearing use of the word viejita (little old lady). By this time, I had managed a couple of awkward steps and had decided that, given time, my knees would remember how to bend for walking. I assured them in Spanish far more flexible than my reluctant joints that I did not need to sit, that I needed to move. By the time Carli and Tom had dismounted and we all had thanked Antonio for the ride, I was able to exit the stable with jerky dignity.

 

Back at Chan Chich, Tom let me off at the path to my cabana where Carli soon joined me. He parked and returned with three celebratory and revivifying beers while we discussed our prowess on my veranda. The Mayan mound just beyond the path with parrots darting through the jungle behind it was a soothing backdrop. Carli and I moaned about aching joints while Tom’s only complaint was the hardness of the saddle. Carli and I had been spared problems in our nether regions by padding which most certainly was genetic as well as common to our gender. We laughed and relived our exploits on the ride as twilight made massive shadows of the mounds around us.

It was hard to leave Chan Chich the next morning to return to Belize City.

Guatemala and Back

On Friday, March 15th, Carli, Tom, and I drove up to the Western border and into Guatemala to visit the little craft shops at the edge of the town of Melchor de Mencos. After a happy hour or so of browsing among the striking hand-loomed fabrics, C & T acquired a bulging bag of gifts and goodies to take back with them, single-handedly improving Guatemala’s economic status by a couple of percentage points.

 

We had made lunch reservations at Warrie Head Lodge, the new resort being developed by Bea and Johnny Searle. Our shipping agency represents a cruise ship whose tour group has been stopping there for lunch and I especially wanted to see it. Warrie Head is the opposite of Chan Chich in atmosphere. The old colonial buildings have been converted into a small hotel with lounges and restaurants.

A huge palapa (concrete slab shaded by thatched roof) offers a breezy place to relax and enjoy the rolling lawns and the movement of birds attracted by the nearby woods that Johnny has left to encourage wildlife. Along one side, the waters of Warrie Head Creek tumble noisily down a series of small waterfalls, forming swimming holes as they go.

The warmly-welcoming local women who served us lunch made us feel like family. It was an imaginative combination of food that included traditional Belizean things, such as fried plantain and breadfruit, and was as good as any meal I ever have had in a restaurant in this country.

There is a wonderful feeling of openness and peace at Warrie Head. The Searles gradually are building nature trails back through the woods and improving the two swimming holes. However, it is a restful, rather than active place to stay.