Looking Back and Moving Forward: Mexico to Belize

When traveling, the most important thing is to keep an open mind. When you go with the flow and allow the seasons to change, you’ll find it easier for the wind to whisk you up and drop you somewhere unexpected. The best unexpected surprises as far as I’m concerned are inevitably people-related.
On the trip thus far, we’ve only met one person we wanted to take along with us. Of course we didn’t know it when we first met, let’s call him, Cesar, but over the course of 5 days it actually made me very sad to leave without him.

When we first walked by his work, an awkward French guy attempted to entice us to eat at their restaurant. Cesar, upon seeing our reaction to the Frenchman, jumped in and offered us a free appetizer if we ate there. From the get go, he was very socially intelligent. After a short walk, we went back and had Cesar as our waiter.

We found ourselves back at his restaurant for entire days at his table and spent nights conversing with him as well. Over time he revealed more details of his life. He was raised in the US and at some point became involved with the Mexican mafia. I learned suicide runs refer to long dangerous drives in the dark from one prearranged location to another for the exchange of drugs and money.

When the cartel showed up, they brought harder substances like cocaine and methamphetamine. They hired miners to build a short underground tunnel that connected Mexico to the US in Nogales, which was used for drug trafficking. Everyone that had built the tunnel was killed after its completion. A man could become a millionaire in one hour using that tunnel. The hills were used for marijuana while the tunnels were used for harder substances. Sometimes dealers lied to the runners, hiding hard stuff in the marijuana so it became riskier, unbeknownst to the runner. I didn’t ask which part of the operation he was involved in.

The cartel ended up slaughtering the mafia and killed everyone in his family that was involved, putting their heads in coolers and posting it all to YouTube. Cesar was shot and tortured for 3 days before they threw him on the side of the road. A long scar across his abdomen remained, the residual pain appeased by daily medication. His upper arm had an acid burn from his inner elbow up toward his armpit.

He was taken to an American hospital and given the option to leave the country by the Feds, so he did. His stories were punctuated with The Guy’s stories of deployment. How young children would commit horrific acts on behalf of the Taliban. How sitting across from an old Talib hardened by a lifetime of choices exuded a missing human element. How one can so easily become desensitized after seeing so many people die.

“In Mexico we kill each other over drugs. In Afghanistan, it’s over religion. It’s all over nothing. Nothing.” Cesar said to the silence of the night.

His insight and world view on life was spot on. He and The Guy bonded quickly due to their experiences and continuing ability to remain so grounded and present with life. Cesar constantly pointed out how lucky we were to be in a beautiful place in such good company. And he was right.

Interestingly enough, at the same time we met our favorite person from the trip was the same time we met the craziest. It created a bizarre juxtaposition. He was a hippy-type who first spoke of energy and experiences that led him to open his third eye. He sounded Buddhist but didn’t want to be pigeon-holed into any set religion, feeling he was put on this Earth to spread peace and inspire goodness.

He was raised Roman-Catholic, eventually converting to Islam before “leaving” that behind. As he continued to speak, we realized he genuinely thought he was the Messiah, at one point exclaiming, “Where are my disciples?” He showed me a birthmark on his back that was also on the back of some prophet hundreds of years ago. 

All of the bad things he’d done in the past were attributed to a dark entity taking over his body. In a dance club, he described having mind control and the ability to freeze all the people around him or unfreeze them at his will. I asked what he had taken and he insisted he’d been sober.

Once, he smashed his mother’s TV and hit her before he was jailed. In the jail, all the men had “black” eyes except for the female who was of white light so he started jacking off toward her inside his cell.

At this point, Cesar picked up his chair and backed up, saying he didn’t want any “crazy shit” to happen to him. It allowed us all to laugh it off. I knew immediately upon meeting the “messiah” that he was a narcissist but I was beginning to think he was schizophrenic too. What a combination.

 The Guy warned him to watch his words if he did gather a following. Others easily misinterpret the best of intentions, especially when it comes to leading religiously. People will tell you you’re wrong and seemingly insurmountable obstacles quickly birth hate. He gave a short soliloquy about reaching the precipice of good and evil. People will fight for what they know is right and amidst a war, there comes a moment when you realize that the other side adamantly knows they are also right. And the truth is, no one is to say who is right.

I felt proud to be with a man who has been through such traumatic experiences most people can only talk about. To be faced with such moments could easily make someone lose their mind. But his intellect is strong and allows him to understand his role in the world.

And I suppose Cesar was the same way, which made meeting him feel so familiar. We talked about any and all topics. He clicked with both of us like we’d known him for years. He was blunt, stubborn, a bit inappropriate, kind, fair, and very intelligent, always searching for more knowledge. I’m not even sure we know his real name but I suppose that really doesn’t matter. I sincerely hope we see him again some day.

 When you travel, you find the best people but you also have to leave them. Though there was no time for heavy hearts because we entered Belize shortly thereafter.

At the border, we were greeted by English. It was a bit difficult to adjust to English full-time again. However, they also speak Kriol (or Belizean creole), which is a mix of almost English and almost Spanish with African/Caribbean influence. Belize is a very young country gaining independence from the UK in ’81. It was formerly known as British Honduras.

A woman at the border who had spent significant time in Chicago and Belize was married to a Marine and gave us all of her contact information in case we wanted to meet or needed help. I swear, people who are kind and giving can be found everywhere you go.

Our belongings were searched fairly thoroughly. After about $100 (Mexico tourism fee, car entrance fee, car insurance, fumigation fee) we made our way to Orange Walk Town for the night. The man running the hotel was Chinese. He thought our car was “overkill,” warning us to be careful because in his country, our car indicated great wealth. He wasn’t particularly friendly and had set his wi-fi password as 31415926, which I didn’t realize right away was pi. I think he was just a nerd testing people. Like I said, socializing wasn’t his strong suit.

The next morning we entered San Ignacio where it was 99 degrees with a humidity percentage of  sweat-your-face-off. Belize was having an election of their next Prime Minister. Semi-trucks loaded full of people drove by in a procession, bringing people to vote.

We spent our time gathering camping supplies and went to another Mayan ruin because I didn’t think we’d been to enough of those yet. In order to reach this one, our car was taken across the river on a hand-cranked ferry.

The border of Guatemala was to the left of us, just a stone’s throw away. When we left, howler monkeys were in the trees.

With our camping supplies packed and ready, we headed for Mountain Pine Ridge. This area was a bit remote but central to many outdoor adventures. When we arrived at the campsite, it was on an abandoned military housing compound. It was just me and The Guy; Perfect.

The next few days were devoted to outdoor adventures and being with nature. A short hike from our campsite was a large cave with a river running through it.

A few miles away was a gorgeous waterfall.

4 miles from camp was a river pouring over natural granite, creating natural stepping-stones that we spent a day climbing over. Oil leaked out of the ground and Quartz and Copper were in the granite. I’d never experienced so much untouched splendor. We lounged in small pools overlooking waterfalls, fighting the water and laughing when the current pulled us. I collected a handful of rocks and felt like a small child, marveling over simple things.

22 miles away was a remote Mayan ruin right on the border of Guatemala. A military escort was required to lead cars in once a day since the area had experienced some violence with illegal aliens entering Belize. The rights to the area were disputed between the two countries.

It was a relatively unimpressive ruin but the journey there was half the adventure!

We also went on a canoe ride in Barton Creek Cave, where the Mayans believed it to be a temple for their sacred leaders and an opening to the underworld.

Inside the cave’s vaulted ceiling reached up about 150 feet. A ledge was discovered that was formerly used for sacrifices. The pure blood of female virgins was sacrificed to appease the Gods, collected from under their fingernails, private parts, and other painful parts.

At one point, our guide allowed us to turn off all lights and sit in the pitch black cave. It’s the closest I’d been to experiencing blindness. When I waved my hand in front of my face, I could only feel the change in air pressure, but saw nothing. Far away in front and behind me were sounds of water dripping off stalactites and becoming part of the larger creek.

“Jean, there is a skull in front of you, ” the guide said.

I felt a fleeting second of fear that a horror prank was being pulled on me. But the light flicked on and leaning on the same sacrificial ledge was a small human skull.

All within the cave lay clay pots and other lost artifacts indicating the Mayan presence of the past. The entire cave was home to many bats. We were very close to several, irritating them with our lights as they shook and hung from their pockets in the wall.

On our way out, as soon as the small triangle of the entrance was visible we switched off all our lights again. The small triangle grew larger and larger but I couldn’t feel us floating forward. It was a surreal optical illusion of not moving, but moving toward the light.

Outside, howler monkeys roared, echoing off the walls of the entire valley. The jungle was full and alive with life. As if that experience were not thoroughly enriching, we stopped at a butterfly farm on the same day.

When we sat, the butterflies landed all over us. The reserve was used for research by an entomologist. None of them were released, but the dead butterflies were collected once a week by a local artist who turned them into art pieces.

That week, we cooked by the light of lanterns and didn’t shower for days save for the natural dips we took. The sounds of birds, monkeys, bugs, frogs, tapirs, and cicadas were our music. We kept our campfire alive through several rains, which felt a bit like conquering nature. With nearby running water, it wasn’t roughing it by any means but a great way for us to reconnect with nature without phones or other people.

All in all, an excellent central location to many worthwhile activities! I wish I could have transported everyone I care about out there, including Cesar. The messiah can stay home. Huge communal camping adventure anyone?