CAYE
CAULKER, Belize (AP) -- A small, brown shark slipped through the placid
Caribbean waters of the cove. Moments later, a ray whisked beneath my kayak
like some underwater prehistoric bird.
Schools of juvenile fish surged and
stopped, surged and stopped. Young barracuda, nearly transparent but for their
black eyes, lurked in the sea grasses.
If asked to choose a favorite moment
on Caye Caulker, it was in that calm, uninhabited inlet on the western side of
the island, immersed in wildlife. My girlfriend, Sabrina, and I sat in our
kayaks, floated and stared.
We came to Caye Caulker, a diving
and snorkeling paradise set amid the largest barrier reef in the Western
Hemisphere, in search of warm water and relaxation. We also longed for some
place cheap and relatively undeveloped to spend a quick vacation.
Five nights of lodging, the flight
from the United States and shuttle flight from Belize City to Caye Caulker cost
$600 apiece, so the price was right, although a student backpacker could stay
for weeks with that amount of cash.
Looking for
Wayne
We realized it would be a low-key vacation immediately upon landing on the
small airstrip, the only pavement on the island. An old woman approached as we
stepped from the rattling single-engine airplane and grabbed our bags as we got
our first look around. A diver snorkels in the barrier reef area off the coast
of Belize.
The airport terminal consisted of a
small plywood shack. Coconut trees twisted in the distance. Most notable was
the lack of people: There were no haggling taxi drivers vying for our fare, no
other tourists. Just us and the old woman.
Often upon landing in low-rent, international
destinations, I've had to fight through gaggles of locals selling overpriced
tourist junk. It was calming to land unannounced and anonymous.
The woman pointed us down a sand
road toward town, population 1,000. We removed our shoes and set out in search
of the Trends Hotel, where we were expected. Or so we hoped.
We stopped a kid on a bicycle and
asked for directions (since English is the national language of Belize, it's
easy for Spanish-challenged United States citizens to get around).
"It's far," the boy said,
waving his arm vaguely in the direction we were headed.
Since I knew the airport was a mile
tops from town, I wondered whether the boy meant it was far for lazy Americans
or whether, when living on an island, distances become distorted.
Another passer-by also gave lousy
directions, at which point we laughed and concluded the locals probably have
little practice giving directions because it's impossible to become lost here.
We soon found the Trends office.
"Are you looking for Wayne?"
a man asked as we looked around. Assuming Wayne was the proprietor, we replied
yes.
"Wayne!" he yelled.
Our Spartan but clean room cost
about $30 per night. It's possible to pay $100 or more per night for air
conditioning and more amenities, while bargain shoppers can get a place for
$10.
Like nearly every structure on the
island, the hotel was made of brightly painted plywood elevated several feet by
stilts. When the seas get rough or the big winds blow everything away, they
just rebuild atop the stilts. There's something refreshing about a place where
none of the structures is permanent.
Snorkeling
side trips
After walking the town -- two parallel streets with small stores, a couple of
groceries, and local and tourist restaurants -- we sized up the shops offering
snorkeling excursions. We signed up for several half-day snorkeling trips that
cost $20 to $25, gear included.
During one of these ventures our
guide-boat captain-cook took us through a manatee preserve about an hour's ride
away on another cay (the word is synonymous with island here). He cut the
engines and pushed the boat by pole. Since the coral reefs break the waves
farther out to sea, the water around this island and Caye Caulker is usually
gentle.
We gawked at the lugubrious, bottom-feeding
manatees -- hippos with flippers. Mayans hunted them for ages and used their
tough hides to cover shields. Unfortunately, motor boats, hunting and habitat
loss have killed off most of the gentle herbivores.
We then proceeded to Goff's Caye, an
island about 100 yards (91 meters) across with a dozen coconut trees, white
sand and coral reefs. As we snorkeled, our captain lit a fire and cooked
foil-wrapped packets of snapper, onions and potatoes and a pot of coconut rice.
If only I had packed a few cold Belikins. The local beer, it comes in stout or
lager in thick, recycled bottles.
Our second snorkeling excursion
brought us to the Hol-Chan Marine Preserve, an underwater park of extensive
reefs where colorful fish, rays and grouper are plentiful because no fishing is
allowed. A park ranger in a motor boat collected our admission and handed us
tickets to this underwater park.
"Hol-chan" means deep
channel, said our guide, a native of El Salvador with vacuum cleaner bag-sized
lungs that allowed him to hold his breath for long periods. We soon found out
why.
As we flippered through the
shallows, dazzled by the parrot fish nipping at the coral, we suddenly came to
the edge of a shelf that dropped into a 30-foot (nine-meter) channel. Feeling
bold, I followed the guide as he plunged to the bottom and swam through a small
cave -- a major no-no among safety-conscious divers, but what the heck.
Later, we motored to San Pedro on
Ambergris Caye, the best-known of Belize's islands and also the most developed.
Compared to better-known and overbuilt Caribbean resort islands, San Pedro is
still small. Nevertheless, it held none of the charm of Caye Caulker. College
kids looking for an exotic spring break drinking destination would probably
love it.
The lack of a big beach is likely
why Caye Caulker has kept its charm, although it's just a matter of time before
a developer brings in some barges of sand and builds a beach, as has been done
on some of the other cays.
Most of the small cays have no
beaches because of the way they were formed, by mangrove trees. Mangroves knot
the shorelines and spread by dropping 6-inch (15-centimeter) pods that float
until they strike ground in shallow water. Then they set out roots and begin
the process all over. Over the ages, islands form.
Resort developers consider the
mangrove forests as nothing more than swamplands, and they've chopped away
great swaths of the trees in parts of Belize to create golf courses and hotels
for the rich and famous. But without the mangroves, there would be no islands,
no manatees, fish or wildlife.
On the north side of Caye Caulker is
a 105-acre (42-hectare) forest preserve, a littoral forest that was a coconut
grove before Hurricane Hattie in 1961. Here can be found abundant wildlife,
some species rarely seen elsewhere.
Among the wildlife is the
keel-billed toucan -- locals call it the "bill bird" -- noted for its
enormous beak and bright coloration. It's the national bird of Belize.
Locals say an occasional crocodile
can still be spotted among the mangrove thickets. It sounded dubious, but they
were insistent. Dogs, they said, occasionally disappear in the night; since
they don't swim for the mainland, said the locals, the dogs must provide an
occasional midnight snack for crocs.
How could I dispute this?
Dining at
Wish Willy's
The islanders are a mix of Mayans, ex-patriate Americans and Europeans and
others of Afro-Caribbean descent. The food is part Central American -- beans,
tortillas -- and part Caribbean, with coconut appearing in many dishes. We ate
fish every day, and after some snooping, found which restaurants cooked local
food and which served tourist junk.
Lobster, shrimp, barracuda, snapper
(curried, barbecued or fried and served with piles of coconut rice) could all
be had for $5 to $10.
For our money, the best food on Caye
Caulker was served at Wish Willy. Wayne introduced me to Wish Willy, a mellow,
dreadlocked, ex-patriate American.
Wish Willy's real name is Maurice --
I didn't ask -- and says he lived for 25 years in Chicago before moving back to
his native Belize to escape the American hustle.
For lunch, he says he had prepared
himself Boil Up, unappetizingly pronounced "Bile Up."
Good enough for the chef, good enough
for me. I told him we would be back by 7 p.m.
Boil Up consisted of poached
snapper, plantain and dense, potato-like root vegetables such as yucca and some
others I had never heard of. We washed it down with several Belikins and
lingered in the warm night listening to jazz under the coconut-frond roof that
covered Wish Willy's outdoor restaurant.
The next morning I bought a ripe
papaya the size of a football, sliced it and squeezed a fresh lime over it.
Sabrina and I feasted on it while sitting on the hotel porch. Nothing like a
papaya to clean the system.
Drinking in
ginger ale, 'Rum Punch'
Of all the beverages I consumed, the homemade ginger ale in a restaurant called
Martinez was one of the must-do gustatory experiences on Caye Caulker. The
owner, a tiny man who spoke broken English, was so pleased with our fancy for
his ginger ale that he gave the recipe: Shred a heap of ginger, boil it and
strain out the shreds, leaving a concentrated ginger water. Stir in some sugar
and squeeze as many limes as possible into the sweetened ginger water.
The resulting drink is a cure for
whatever ails you: It puckers your lips, cleans your nostrils and clears your
throat all in one.
My one unfulfilled craving on the
island was a newspaper. As a journalist and news junkie, my morning cravings
are coffee and a newspaper. Coffee was easy. The Sand Box restaurant beside our
hotel on the beach offered free refills for $1 a cup. That fact made the
restaurant a primary gathering spot.
When I left the United States, NASA
was awaiting word from the Mars lander. Had it crashed? Was it space flotsam? I
had no idea. None of the shops sold newspapers. I could have brought my laptop
and logged onto the Internet -- but I was on vacation, after all.
I spotted Wayne, so I asked him
where I could get a newspaper. He didn't know, but suggested I ask Skip, a
bartender at the Sand Box.
Now we were getting somewhere.
Skip wasn't there, but a young
bartender did offer this much: "Newspapers come in on the boat on
Friday."
Friday? It was Tuesday. I asked if
Skip had left a copy behind.
He glanced around and shook his
head. "I think Skip took it home."
I considered asking for directions
to Skip's house, but decided instead to just deal with it. I settled down in a
hammock with Elmore Leonard's "Rum Punch."
As I read, coconut clusters creaked
and clacked ominously above my head. Engrossed, I'd failed to notice that my
head was in the flight path of any coconuts that decided to give up the
struggle with gravity. Every morning, coconuts that fell during the night
littered the waterfront like bowling balls from the gods.
I shifted my position. Considering
the gentle life on the island, noggin injuries caused by falling coconuts are
one of the greatest dangers.
Meeting the
other visitors
In destinations such as Caye Caulker, the acquaintances one makes provide as
much amusement as the geography and food. Here's a sample:
Lyle, a widower from Las Vegas who
toured the country playing trumpet in big bands during his youth, didn't care
much for the local food. He said the spaghetti with meat sauce was
"dynamite" at a restaurant I immediately vowed to avoid. Although he
got my name wrong every time I saw him and his wife, Lyle redeemed himself by
telling me about a woman who made tamales every morning for 50 cents apiece.
Larry was on his third or fourth
Belikin when we struck up a conversation at the Sand Box, aptly named because
it has a sand floor that is occassionally raked for cigarette butts. He was a
mason from the United States who was spending the winter traveling and fishing
in Belize. Larry once worked for two months on a remote atoll in the Pacific
where he built bunkers to store leftover Agent Orange for the U.S. government.
It's best not to question such stories.
Michael, a bearded, 20-something
sandal wearer who lived on a commune near Olympia, Washington, was visiting an
American man and woman who spent the winter months in San Ignacio, near the
Guatemalan border, making and selling hibiscus and lemon grass wine.
Crazy for
kayaks
But of all the activities, food or people, the kayaks provided the most fun on
the island. We rented them for four hours for $15 apiece and paddled along the
town's waterfront of coconut trees, fishing piers and plywood hotels.
We planned to slip through to the
other side of Caye Caulker by floating through a channel that sliced through
the narrowest section of the island. Having kayaked in the
sometimes-treacherous Atlantic, we approached the inlet cautiously in case
there was a current.
We realized there was nothing to
worry about when we spotted an Italian woman in a bikini, her hair still dry,
doing the breast stroke across the channel.
Her laughter faded as we emerged on
the landward side of the island and paddled into a wide inlet to the north. The
inlet was sheltered from waves and wind and the water was clear and gentler
than a lazy lake.
Initially, we "ooh'd and
ah'd" at the fish but soon stopped speaking because our voices broke the
solitude. Fish splashed as they broke the surface to avoid predators.
We explored several narrow channels
crowded with overhanging mangrove trees, then tied our kayaks to a fishing
shanty on stilts about 100 feet (30 meters) from shore and ate lunch.
Cormorants so well-fed they had time
to relax and digest lazed in the mangrove trees, whose finger-like roots
knotted the shoreline. Pelicans, the belly floppers of the diving shorebirds,
plopped into the shallows and gulped fish by the gullet-load.
Eventually, the blazing sun began to
cook our Yankee flesh and we decided to paddle home. A young Australian couple
sat on a storm wall near the channel and asked where we had rented the kayaks.
Still dazzled by the wildlife, I
shouted across the water to them: "Do not leave the island until you go
over there. It's beautiful."
Then I wondered whether it was a
mistake to share that information.