Belize Epilogue: Visitor Journal

Under the TV was a little book with no title on its spine.  I pulled it out ... the cover said Visitor Journal.  I leafed through it.  There were notes from people who had stayed in the Reinhardt suite of Coral Villlage all the way back to 2006.

I looked for some juicy stuff, but the best I got was "The bikes here are a great amenity!  You can go into town and shop."  Ugggh.  So I wrote the following entry:

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Feeling a lot better today.  Chuck's dead body is finally at the bottom of The Blue Hole, 400 feet down, where no one will ever find him.  Amy and I dragged what we lovingly referred to as "Bag O' Chuck" on the Sefarious tour with us.  "Diving Equipment" we explained to our boatmates.  When we got to the site, Amy did a little flirting with the tour guide as I tossed his body over the side.  Weighed with some wet cement, he sank like a rock.  He'll never cheat me again, the bastard.  

We went to El Rumbon to eat.  We were asked what we wanted.  I asked him in return, "You know that really nice looking bird with the arched wings that hangs motionless above the sea, as if time itself had stopped?"

"Yes," said the waiter. 

"I want that grilled," I said.

If there's one thing I've learned here in Belize, it's that rum (Belizean Holy Water) mixes with everything.  Fruit juice, soda, and coffee are obvious choices, but milk and sea water are just as effective.

For fun things to do, you can't go wrong with Golf Cart Chicken.  You just veer into the left lane, close your eyes and step on the gas.  Nobody gets hurt, not at 12 mph, but a lot of luggage flies all over creation.  This is colorful and SO worth it.  I learned not to do it with the San Pedro authorities though - they have no luggage, and they can put you in jail.

And as Amy and I feel the soft sea breezes float over our body, we sigh a contented sigh.  If only the authorities weren't dragging us off to deport us, we'd be back in a heartbeat.