Hitchhiking To Guatamala Part 9
This one's crazy, ya hear? Gangsters, Jesus Lizards losing their faith, Socialist Bakers, even the sun gets in on the action on Loyal and Windy's last day in Belize.
We spent another night drinking beers and passing around joints with our French Canadians who would be leaving to head further south in the morning. They told us of an accident they’d been in in Mexico.
“It’s crazy,” Hector said, in his loud, excited voice. “We hit a car. It was our fault.”
“It was my fault.” Crystal added. “I was driving and I popped the clutch.”
“It was her fault, but we admitted it.” Hector continued. “We have insurance. We have cash. We say, let us fix it. They say ‘No’. We say let us give you some money. They say ‘No’.”
“They do not want from us anything. They will accept no money. Then the police shows up.” Crystal added, her and Hector passing the story back and forth in the way of couples.
“The Police! Oh my God, the Police! They are so ridiculous.” Hector was once again shouting in excitement. “They start yelling at the people. Yelling at them for us hitting them. And we are telling the Police. It was us! We hit them!”
“The Police are saying that we are lying to protect them. They tell them they have to give us money. They do not realize that we know to speak Spanish too and they are yelling at them about how important the tourists are.”
“They want them to pay us!! It is crazy! We have to leave because we are going to get them in trouble with the police. I hug them. In front of the police I hug them and I say I love them.”
“He does!” Crystal struggled to speak through her laughter. “Oh my God, he does, he hugs them. Hector is hugging them and he is saying ‘Look, look, I love them. See? I love them. They are wonderful.’ And while the policemen are talking to him I am putting $200 dollars in their car that I hit, on the seat and we are saying goodbye and leave.”
We were laughing and marveling over the royal treatment we’ve received on the Yucatan Peninsula. We said goodnight to our friends with hugs and exclamations of “I love them. See? I love them!” and headed off to our hammocks and they to their camper bus.
Hector and Crystal had already departed by the time we woke up for our last day in Belize. I decided I couldn’t do another freezing cold outdoor shower. We asked Bing about the sign on his porch offering hot showers for $2, unsure if it was sincere or a novelty sign meant to recall the American old west.
“Yes, we have hot showers. And no extra charge for a towel.”
“Bing, my friend, you’ve got a deal. The towel really put it over the edge.” I told him.
“Yes! I am so tired of our tiny camp towels.” Windy added.
“Ha ha, I hear this from all backpackers. The towels are so nice and fluffy.”
Windy went first and I drank more of Bing’s magic, delicious instant coffee. “Wait ‘til you see this shower.” Windy said, toweling off his braids. I could tell he didn’t mean that it was gonna be impressively glamorous.
The shower was a common household shower stall but there was no shower head. There were instructions on the wall to turn on the water and then push the button on the heater. A pipe poured water onto a device that resembled a hot plate, wired amateurishly into the ceiling. The bottom side of the hot plate had holes and rained the heated water down on the user. After the freezing outdoor showers, this was glorious. I couldn’t remember when I’d enjoyed a shower more.
“Bing, that’s quite a device you have in the shower. Did you design that yourself?” I asked.
“Of course not. That’s a Hot Shower. Surely you have this technology in the United States.”
“I don’t know. I usually take baths.”
We had no plans and enjoyed just walking around the town. We ran into Freddy and changed some more money. “How are you boys liking Cosmos?” he asked with his deep friendly voice.
“Oh it’s the best. Bing is the coolest. Oh, and we told him you sent us.” Windy answered.
“Yes, I know. He took good care of me. Thank you.” he put his hands together and motioned forward from his lips in a universal gesture of gratitude. “Have you been to the bakery yet?” We had not, and thanked him for the recommendation with a small tip.
We found the small bakery and were surprised to find the owner/baker was an American. I thought about what Michael had said about it being nice to see another American when surrounded by Belize and Belizeans, a bridge.
“We’re being tempted with offers to stay here and work.” I told Cheryl, the baker, after she recognized our accents as being from California.
“I wouldn’t. You may as well be in America. This place is becoming America.” she said, gruffly while aggressively kneading a large ball of dough. She was a tall broad shoulder woman with a friendly androgynous face. She wore a chef’s jacket with the sleeves removed and her graying brown hair pulled back into a thick braid.
“What do you mean it's becoming America?” Windy asked.
“Belize accepted foreign aid from the US, and with it, American drug policy. Overnight they have American style crime, American gangs, American bullshit. I came here to get away from America and now I will have to pack up and move further south, but soon enough the whole world will be America. It’s happening fast too.”
“Damn. Where do you think you’ll go?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe Uruguay.”
“I gotta be honest, I know next to nothing about Uruguay.” I admitted, leaving out that mostly I just knew it from ‘You’re a gay’ jokes told on the playground in Elementary school.
“It’s a progressive’s wet dream most of the time.” she said. “And I’m assuming you’re progressives, and if you’re conservative don’t tell me, just go buy your baked goods
somewhere else so you’re not supporting a socialist lefty.” We both laughed, and bought a demi loaf of dry cumbly sweet bread and a small thing of honey. We remembered to tell her Freddy sent us.
There was a bicycle race that would pass through San Ignacio and then finish nearby. Everyone was excited about the race. There was a fair going on and we were told there would be music and dancing that night. We sat and watched the first bicycles come through as we tore off pieces of bread and drizzled honey over it.
“Have you noticed everything tastes amazing here.” Windy asked.
“Yeah man, it’s crazy. Is everything better for real, or are our taste buds and brains just more alive being in the tropics and away from our hectic lives and our soul sucking jobs?” and then I added, “Well, my job and your schooling.”
By noon it had grown oppressively hot. It rained on and off and we made sure to be out in the rain which helped relieve the heat at first but then just added to feeling muggy and uncomfortable. I suggested we check out the fair. As we walked up the street that wrapped around the fairgrounds a group of young black men were walking toward us. One of them snatched Windy’s blue bandana off his head as we passed.
“What the fuck.” Windy snapped, grabbing the bandana back.
“Let it go.” I muttered under my breath.
“No blue in Cayo, mon.” the man said to Windy. He did not sound aggressive. “Only red, for love.”
“Okay. We’re not from here.” I said.
“We’re not fucking gangsters.” Windy said. I was surprised. We seemed to have swapped roles for a moment with Windy ready to get us in trouble, and me being the voice of reason. Windy had grown up in the mostly white foothills near Sacramento. I’d grown up in Corona, California where dealing with gangs was a social skill you learned young.
“We won’t wear blue. Thank you.” I said.
“Much love.” the guy said and he and his friends turned and continued on their way.
“Fuck that.” Windy said to me, putting his bandana back on his head. I pulled it back off and handed it to him.
“Please, trust me on this one. This isn’t worth it.”
“I don’t like being pushed around.”
“Yeah man, I know.” and I did. I knew this feeling very well. I also knew to swallow it. “Besides, I’m sure you’re eager to show off them sweet braids.” I added, to lighten the mood.
The fair was a surrealist pop culture nightmare masterpiece. A Barbie doll painted black with a string around its neck to make it dance when a quarter was dropped in the slot was labeled Selena and sat in a display case decorated with silver glitter stars. I’d already used up all my disposable cameras. Windy was worried about running out of film for his nice camera, but I begged him to snap pictures of every display like this at the fair, and there were many. The Beatles, Run DMC, Bob Marley, all were represented by dolls and stuffies, and for a coin all could be made to shake on the end of a string while one of their hit songs played. It was garish and awful and I knew it would be hard to do justice without pictures.
There were fair games with prizes that looked like the Chinese factory that makes cheap plastic crap took all of their overstock items, glued them together, and put them on a stick. A Jollibee bee with a mini ramekin hat with a pinwheel sticking out of it, on a stick. A devil baby with streamers coming out of its horns, on a stick.
On our way back to Cosmos we stepped into a small corner store where we found Virgin Mary branded dishwashing soap, and John the Baptist detergent. I was driving Windy crazy making him snap pictures but I knew I didn’t have spare money or room in my pack to collect this wonderful kitsch. In the corner store I noticed the locals buying bottles of Coke off of a large shelf of Cokes and ignoring the smaller selection in the cooler. I reached in and grabbed a couple of cold bottles for us.
“Let those warm up a bit before you drink ‘em.” the shopkeep advised me.
“I’m sorry, what’s that? Why would I let them warm up?”
“So you live, boy.” She said in a friendly voice. “Every year tourists die from drinking the cold sodas in the tropical sun. It’s no good.”
“Okay.” I agreed as she pulled up a bottle opener attached to the counter by a string and opened our sodas for us.
“You ready to die?” I asked Windy as we got outside.
“As good a time as any.” He clinked my bottle with his and the ice cold Coke was perfect in the hot humid weather. We didn’t die.
On our way back to Cosmos we shared a joint and then the sun began to dim. At first it seemed like clouds casting shadows but as it got more intense we realized we were witnessing a full solar eclipse that somehow nobody had mentioned. We fell down in the grass beside the road, laughing and looking up at the sky dumbfounded as it grew darker around us. Eventually it started to grow lighter again, and we got up and continued on our walk. When the whole planet and the star it orbits seem to cooperate in marking your adventure as significant, it gets to your head.
Back at Cosmos two teenage boys were chatting with Bing. He introduced us to them, they were brothers, Paul and Rene. They invited us to go down to the river with them where they said there would be great bird watching and lizard watching to be had.
“What are you guys hoping to see?” I asked as we walked across the clearing and past our cabana.
“Belizean Bill Bird.” Rene answered.
“I’m a Belizean too!” I said, quoting the conservation posters we’d seen everywhere.
“Ha ha, yeah. That’s it.”
“In the US we call them Toucans.”
“You have them in the US?”
“I don’t think so, except in zoos, but we call them toucans.”
“We call them toucans too, but this is a special kind of toucan.”
“Ah, got ya.” I answered, feeling foolish. “I really want to see a Jesus lizard.”
“I don’t know if we have those here. What is a Jesus lizard?”
“It’s a lizard that can run on water.”
“Oh, a basilisk. We see them all the time.”
“Great. I hope we see one.”
We followed a narrowing bath through the dense growth. We had to pass uncomfortably close to a cow. Paul and Rene seemed to think it was safe, so we followed their lead. “Hi, cow.”
Rene explained, “They’re not supposed to be roaming around but the man with the ranch is a jerk.”
We set our day packs down on a flat spot and then scooted down a steep bank to the water's edge. We sat and enjoyed a cacophony of bird song and the cooling effect of being so close to water. “Oh man, I should’ve brought my camera down here.” Windy said.
“I’ll grab it. It’s in your backpack yeah?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
I climbed back up to where the packs were to grab Windy’s camera when they all started yelling. “Loyal! Loyal! It’s the lizard! The Jesus lizard!” I grabbed Windy’s pack and hurried back down.
“Where is it?” There were only circular ripples in the water. Windy, Rene and Paul all looked like they were in shock.
“It sank.” Paul said, in a hushed voice. “I’ve never seen that happen.”
“It sank?” I asked, wondering if I was being pranked.
“Dude, it was running and then right as you slid down, it stopped and it sank.” Windy seemed amused. Paul and Rene did not.
“I didn’t do it.” I made the mistake of trying to joke. “I’m not the devil! I’m an atheist so I don’t even believe in the devil.” The word atheist didn’t comfort them at all. They left without saying goodbye.
“Wow, we are doing great at making friends today.” Windy joked.
“Only red. For love.” I answered.
We ate while sitting in front of our cabana. We could just hear the music and fireworks from town. “Feel like checking it out?” I asked.
“I really don’t.” Windy answered, and I agreed. We’d be getting up early to take a bus into Guatemala. “What are we gonna do with all this weed?”
“Well, let’s smoke some of it.” I answered, and I started rolling a joint. “I definitely don’t want to carry any with us across an international border.”
“Agreed. Hand me that sac. I’m gonna roll the biggest joint ever, a super joint.” Windy licked and connected multiple papers together, and put all the remaining weed in. He had to start over several times, but smoking my regular sized joint while he worked he managed to lock into that stoned hyperfocus and eventually he had a joint the size of a pregnant cigar.
“I’m very high. I don’t want any more” I said, as he looked at his finished work with pride.
“I’m gonna give it to Freddy on our way out.” he said.
“Now that’s a golden idea.”
We climbed into our cabana and went to sleep in our hammocks.