Into Belize

11th January 2016

What an interesting country.  If I'd realised, I would have stopped off at a few more places along the way to San Ignacio on the Western edge of the country.  Keen to get out of Mexico and on to a new country, I took a long bus trip from Chetumal in Mexico all the way to San Ignacio via a quick stop to cram more passengers into the vehicle in Belize City.

Belize City!  I expected to see high rises, but there didn't seem to be a building over 3 stories - a true old style capital.  Although, actually, the capital has been moved in land to Belmopan and I didn't stop there.  It's not certain that they'll be much to see there anyway.

The bus has seats that fold down into the gangway, that gives the operators the maximum possible income per journey.  This is an interesting route.  It starts in Mexico, travels through Belize and ends in Flores, in Guatemala, about 10-12 hours in total, and designed it seems, solely to get cheap backpackers through "expensive" Belize and out into wonderful "cheap" G'mala.  Nonsense, but they do a roaring trade.  In fact, this is a pretty good way to travel if car hire is off the menu, as the other options are pricey private hires or the infamous "chicken buses".  In order to take that route on Chicken Buses, you'd likely need to catch 3 or 4 different ones and schedule a lot longer passage of time (and a great deal more patience) for the journey.

Out of 24 passengers I was the only one to hop off the bus at San Ignacio.  But Belize is nice, they have a 40-year-old Queen on the money, and everyone speaks English here.  What's not to like?

As we left Mexico early that morning, everyone had to exit the bus to line up and pay the infamous Tourist tax of around $10.  I'd read about this online and researched a little as it is widely reported that it's a scam implemented by the border police.  But actually, it's not a scam at all, western backpackers are known to shout and scream, refuse to pay etc., and yes, we got one of these guys.  We all waited ten or so minutes (could have been much longer), while he was escorted into the office to have the tax explained further to him.

Many have already paid this tax when entering Mexico by plane, but if you don't keep the itemised flight receipt, then there's no proof so a fee is charged.  As I'd read about it, I found the email confirmation for my flight to Cancun, and there and behold was the tax.  I printed this off the day before the journey, not expecting it to have any effect at the border, but intrigued to play the game.

To my great surprise, the guard examined and accepted the receipt despite being somewhat faded and heard to read.  He examined the coinciding passport numbers and reluctantly waived the fee.  I had done it.  I saved $10 and beaten the system!  First Vegas, and now this.  How far could my luck stretch?

I had been prepared to quietly and amiably argue the point for a few seconds before paying up if that's the way things went, but none was required.

But the Dutchman was shouting that he wasn't paying etc. etc.  I don't imagine that kind of carry on is going to get anyone very far at any border anywhere.  Well, perhaps some place, but for how much longer?

Finally, the shouter came back out and returned to the window to pay his fee.

I suggested to a fellow passenger that it was all very well arguing the point, but when you hold up a whole bus load of people at the start of an excruciatingly long journey for a measly $10, then that's not really acceptable.

Next, we went through the charade of the Belizean borer control, (no fee here - only $17.50 on exit), and the rigmarole of having to unload all the bags from the roof of the bus and carry them through.  I was asked if I had any fruit or veg in my see through plastic bag containing some fruit and veg.

Then I was escorted into a room to the side where it was suggested, (all in a very polite fashion), that I should eat my lunch or add it to the piles already confiscated that day.  The bags of goodies on the table looked suspiciously like they were heading for the table of the employee of the ministry of agriculture.  During a conversation about keeping out fruit flies etc., I scoffed down a banana and left the rest for him to dispose of in an appropriate manner.  All very friendly.   It's good work, keeping out all those invading bugs.

I waved goodbye and out through the door into Belize proper.  Sitting just beyond the door, right under the noses of the "authorities", was a bunch of youthful travellers eating the lunch they'd just smuggle through.  Good job.  I felt like grassing them up, although it was pretty obviously done, right under their noses.  I could tell that the whole display was merely for show anyway.  No-one cares.

As I boarded the bus, I asked the driver where the cambio is?  No-one else had changed money and I'd forgotten all about the wad of Mexican cash in my pocket.  I was directed back down past the border control.  All I saw when I went down there were a bunch of guys on the other side of a fence.

"Err, cambio?"

"Sure, what do you need?"

This is the most laid back money exchange I've come across so far and it had to be negotiated through a chain link fence.  The rate was pretty damn good, much higher than the official rate for some reason so I readily agrees to the first number suggested.  "Thanks, have a nice day."

I ran back past the border control to the waiting bus.  Had everyone just waited ten minutes for me?  Seems so.

After the bus ride I disembarked in San Ignacio and lugged the backpack around a while before finding the Old House Hostel, I'd booked online.

It was located above a bar and live music venue, (oh shit), and the room was cramped, (eight beds in one tiny room), lockers broken open from when a previous guest had forgotten their padlock number, but the owner and her boyfriend were so friendly, it was almost acceptable.  Especially when I was offered some of their delicious smelling cajun style meat curry.  It had been a long drawn out day, and this meal was just what I needed.  None of the other guests seemed to partake in this delight when they arrived back from whatever attraction they'd been at.  Timing is everything!

I shared the room with 5 Australian girls in their early twenties and a sixty something American guy.  The girls were funny, and we all shared a laugh over a local beer at the Bamboo Club that evening, where the American guy had also located himself to shout at the NFL on the TV (a common sight across all of Central America).

I had already noticed something wasn't quite right about him of course, but wasn't quite prepared for the awkwardness that night when he walked stutteringly back into the digs.  There were strange noises, drunken singing, and then the weird walking around oblivious to surroundings.  At one stage I woke to find him with one hand on my upper bunk taking in the floor fan, and muttering to himself, belly out.

Later he was sitting on the bunk of the Australia girl beneath me.  I tapped him on his hairy shoulder to ask what he was doing.  He got up and wondered out the room leaving the door wide open and was gone for some time.


Next day, I asked if he had any memory of last night, and perhaps getting so drunk isn't a good idea.  I left that day, but the staff were tasked to deal with that situation.  I was off to couchsurf, which turned out to be one of the best I've experienced.

Another crazy hostel story, another nail in the coffin of that kind of lodging.