I would like to say that during our first day in San Pedro, Belize, we found it hostile, squalid, expensive, dangerous, primitive, and corrupt. That way none of you will go there and I can have it all to myself whenever I get the chance to return�.but in the name of honestly reporting the experiences we have on this voyage I am bound to pronounce San Pedro the best port we have made call on thus far. Things clicked for us in San Pedro. The little harbor town is located on the southern end of Ambergris Cay, part of an island-barrier reef chain protecting the extreme eastern coast of Belize. Our Rain's guidebook detailed the entrance; no wider than one hundred feet between the corrals and only for boats drawing less than 7 feet. You steer your vessel between the wicked, hull-crushing fingers, watching the small surf being diced frothily just off both port and starboard beams. At the big yellow buoy you turn north and head for the anchorage, numerous masts making it obvious from a long way off. The waters are clean and clear, the bottom easily visible at depths of 30 feet and more. When Brian lowered the anchor we watched it touch the harbor floor, catch hold and make the anchor line taut as we backed Faith away. Now let the fun begin! Our inflatable raft was broken out for the first time. I climbed in with our paperwork and two paddles (serving as oars) to row for the TMM Enterprises dock. We'd had the lucky fortune of being hailed by Paul of TMM as we tried to raise San Pedro Customs on channel 16. "Hey, there, Faith," Paul had called, "Customs doesn't use this channel anymore�.in fact, they don't monitor at all." Well, then. I tied the rubber dingy to the pier and made my way onto the beach in search of him (are you Paul? No? That way? OK! � and these guys all speak English). I found him in an office just inland of shore. He directed me to the new customs and immigration building several blocks down the sand-paved main drag where I was told to go back and gather the crew. Normally they wouldn't be allowed off the boat until I had cleared customs but things were apparently a little less formal on old Ambergris Cay. As it was the whole process consisted of us standing around while the two employees in the Immigration Department (in an office the size of most medium sized bedrooms) gossiped to each other, ignoring us completely until at least ten minutes had passed, then quickly stamping our passports and directing us to the office next door, to Customs. There we waited, watching Shrek 2 on a small-screen TV, while the Customs official completed a cell phone call, presumably to a friend. Then we filled out a manifesto for the boat listing all the groceries we had aboard. There was a $20 (US) fee and we were legal! Quite a difference from our last experience, and very encouraging.
We wandered about noting the internet cafes, getting groceries, picking up some odds and ends at the hardware store and being offered "the best pot in Belize" seemingly by every third person to pass us. Then we had lunch on the beach and ferried ourselves back to the boat.
We stowed our well-gotten gains and did the few repairs necessary � a screw to replace here, some epoxy there, while our neighbors stopped by in their dingys to inquire about our story. More and more, as we get further into the tropics, we are met not with open awe and concern but rather with smiles, pats on the back and useful advice about routes and what to expect along them. Take Tim. In the evening I sent Brian and Eric ashore with the proverbial quarter for the movies so I could have some alone time (get your minds out of the gutter!). They met Tim, the saltiest, savviest sailor to so far harangue our ears with brine encrusted advice. He knew the ins and outs for approaching the Panama Canal ("You don't want to get within 50 miles of shore on the Mosquito Channel, the pirates there 'ave got radar. They'll see you on the computer when clear customs and be waitin'. But they can only go 45 miles from land in them boats of theirs, so you stay just out of their reach�") He knew where the fish would be ("Go down to Long Key�. No, t'other one, they name every key here Long if they can't think of anything better�. Throw some cornflakes in the water, just a handful, and they'll swarm and surge all around the boat�.so's what I do is take an' tie a short hook and line to a ring, see? You dip the hook in, fill up your boat!" This accompanied by the mimicking of a reclining posture while reaching over the side and yo-yoing fish into the cockpit.) Tim also thought our boat would be coveted by smugglers ("With the low beam you're almost invisible to radar in a [high]sea, and with the full keel you're stable. Oh, yeah, you'll get offered two, three times the price of her!") Hmmm, maybe for five or six times the price��.Naaa!
At length the crew returned aboard and we went to our bunks, content. Ahh, the
Caribbean!
Day 48: Surfing the Net and Swimming With Sharks
Breakfast has never been so sweet aboard. We crawled languidly into the sun from the sweltering cabin, dragging the pineapple, mango, coconut and lime left over from our attempt to blend them into a rum drink the night previous. The coconut chunks and pineapple hearts had kept making the blades stick since the power supply from the marine batteries wasn't quite enough to puree the hearty fruit. The leftovers made a delicious assortment of flavors to wake up to. Coffee was served a short while later and we prepared to take the beach.
Our objectives on this day were few, but important: 1) do our clearing out paperwork with immigration; 2) hit up an internet caf� for updates to the site and personal emails; 3) get some lunch; and 4) find and talk to Tim some more. First things last, we went to lunch and enjoyed three different varieties of snapper (Blackened, Mexican, and Caribbean). Across the street was the internet caf�, where we holed up for several hours. Eric and Brian played on the internet while I ran around like a headless chicken: copying documents, collecting the three dollar port fee (a conservation tax � way to go Belize!), filling out a new crew list ("No, man, it has to be in English"), waiting while the immigrations folks sorted their pens, pencils, staplers, stamps, mango slice snacks, and lives out in front of me, and barely getting us sorted out for early departure the next day before the offices closed. Then I rejoined the crew at the caf� where we updated, uploaded, downplayed and in a roundabout manner got our computer needs taken care of. Then it was off to find Tim. This was relatively easy owing to the fact that he has his abode in the equipment shack at the foot of the dock we'd been using as our ferry landing. Eric and Brian had intimated that we might be able to burn him some new music from my computer, for which he promised to be forever grateful. We figured it would be a great opportunity to glean some more information from him. He did not disappoint. If you've seen Jaws picture the Robert Shaw character, Quint. This guy was Quint incarnate; imagine this monologue in gritty, abbreviated, slightly drunken-British tones: "You see dolphins in the harbor, they'll come right up to ya, take food from your hand. Out to sea, though, schools of hundreds, you see them you watch behind � sharks follow the dolphins, pick at the edges of the school, wait for one to fall behind. You see the sharks, you NEVER get out of the boat. Those sharks 'll run 10 feet long an' be the small ones. You get hit by a ten foot shark�.travels 50 miles per hour�.(low whistle)�. Well, I'll tell ya', you're in the water you see a shark you NEVER take your eyes off the shark � not even to scream "shark!" to your buddy. Sharks 'll circle, lazy, till they're ready to strike. Then they'll arch up their back and spring � you see that you know he's comin'. What you do is, you kick your flippers real hard � the shark's attracted by the movement � you kick your flipper real hard an' just before he hits you kick a flipper OFF an' he'll hit it an' circle again�.you swim right to the f----in' boat!"
Tim was full of useful advice and another of the breed who looked over the Faith and told us Of course she can do this trip! I did indeed burn him a pair of CDs to augment his thoroughly overplayed collection. We also gave him the web address so he can get online and harass everyone�.I hope he does so soon!
The old scallywag (I mean Tim, of course) had us tie up at the dock to replenish our water supply before he went into town to for the night to raise hell. Thanks Tim!!
We retired to the cabin that night prepared for the next leg of our journey: in the morning it would be off to Roatan Island, Honduras!
Sleep with one eye open�..Arrrr!