We were returning from the wedding loaded down with fifty berjillion pounds of metal boat parts that my parents were saints for hauling to Playa from Arizona for us. Not content to let Joshua do all the carrying, I discovered some free space in my bag and was compelled to buy no less than 20 glass bottles of Marie Sharps hot sauce of varying flavors and intensities, plus chutneys, etc. Normally accustomed to light travel, our revised standards required that we find a hotel within 30 meters of the doorway of whatever bus we just exited; if more than one street had to be crossed or any stairs were involved in this 30 meters, colossal tragedy was declared and general strike threatened. So, after many hours on various busses of dubious shock absorptive and braking power we got to Punta Gorda, the southernmost town (that is easily accessible) in Belize, where one can catch a boat to Puerto Barrias, Guatemala. We decided we needed a day of rest.

Realizing that the main bus station might in fact not be located inside the very hotel we had carefully selected ahead of time (drastic measures for us indeed), we convinced the bus driver to let us off at the cross-street. The Nature’s Way Guest House was reported in our brand new Lonely Planet guidebook as “one of the better budged hotels in Belize.” (Sweet! Sign me up!) We checked in, searched around until we found a strong spot in the floor where we could be fairly certain our bags wouldn’t go crashing through, and headed out into the world to fly freely. Now, I will agree that the Nature’s Way is relatively inexpensive, but ‘one of the best,’ it is not. (I have a long list of constructive criticisms if not downright negative things to say about Lonely Planet guidebooks and this is but one example.) The room was basically functional and utterly charmless (not a crime, I realize) unless you count the Barbie pillowcase on the bunk, the floor was haphazardly swept (flip-flops kept in the ON position), we asked for towels and received the typical cut-in-half mini towel (arguably, another point for the ‘charm’ category for you adventuresome types), one of the toilets didn’t work in the shared bathrooms (but it had a toilet seat, so I guess it’s sort of a wash), and neither shower had enough water in them to produce more than a loud dribble (gaak, inexcusable). One was forced to snuggle up to the flimsy plastic shower wall in an attempt to divert some of the water if you expected to wash (and it was definitely another keep flip-flops ON affair). So, whatever, Lonely Planet and Nature’s Way. Nice location near the water though, not that you got any benefit from the sea breeze because the guest rooms were all in the lee of the wind behind the main house and blocked by dense orchidy foliage (pretty!). The owner and family, of course, are all sweethearts.

We stayed there for the night but upgraded the next day to a very nice place called Saint Charles (his son runs a similarly nice place down the street called Charlson) for about $5 more. This place had actual hotel-style sparkling clean rooms, two fans (!!), private bathroom that functioned just fine, including the shower, and TV with about 90 different channels (kind of fun when you are not used to TV; we watched some cheesy movies). I guess it depends whether you are traveling as a couple or singly and don’t mind sharing a room with other travelers, in which case, perhaps the Nature’s Way is better since you could share information, revel in the backpacker grunge, swap out your Anne Rice for a John Grisham or perhaps VC Andrews, etc.

We spent the first evening wandering about somewhat in a daze after the day’s bus journey and tried some garnachas (similar to tostadas with beans, pickled cabbage/onions, and cheese) from one of the stands near the central triangle park. They were only so-so and left Joshua wanting more dinner. Punta Gorda seems sadly lacking in street food stands but we eventually found ourselves beckoned down a small alley alongside the market where some guys were eating near the water. They turned out to be bus drivers on the Chetumal-PG route and the driver’s uncle. Have I mentioned that people in Belize are friendly? My god it boggles the mind. The food was exceedingly cheap and only so-so but we enjoyed sitting and chatting with the bus drivers about Belize, driving busses, gas prices, tourism, etc.

The next day, we smelled our way down to Sonshine Bakery (on the street next to the water, north of the market area a couple blocks) in hopes of fresh deliciousness but learned that we were a little too early; cinnamon rolls and donuts would not be ready for an hour. Previously dismayed by the coffee scene throughout most of Belize, Punta Gorda surprised us by advertising actual real coffee at no less than two different establishments. We decided to check out The Snack Shop (open 7am), which is run by a born-and-raised Belizian woman of American immigrants; she said she grew up in the bush in southern Belize. She is super friendly and happy to recommend any restaurants, hotels, things to do, etc. in the Punta Gorda area. I believe she also mentioned that she and her husband had a small car they sometimes rented out for the day. The Snack Shop also has a variety of pastries and cakes as well as cooked breakfasts, yogurt/granola, etc. We were saving ourselves for the cinnamon rolls so we stuck with coffee, which was decent and included refills (heaven). As promised, cinnamon rolls were fresh out of the oven when we returned to Sonshine and they were very good, not too sweet or too gooey to take to go; we returned about three minutes later and got some donuts as well.

Punta Gorda seemed surprisingly organized compared to Dangriga; I guess I had expected utter insanity on the Belize Frontera. The road to PG is not yet fully paved and the parts that are paved have only been so for a few years. However, roads and sidewalks are in decent repair, there are numerous hotels in all price ranges, many restaurants, and a lot of vehicles (presumably everyone needs a vehicle to connect to the outside world). There were a couple of interesting handpainted signs.

Because of the centering, I have a tendency to read this sign as ‘Triple Used Clothing.’

Dillon’s Music and Cold. We had a couple of colds here and listened to some of the pirate CD collection that Dillon has displayed on the wall behind the counter.

This sign was directly across from Dillon’s and I was amused by the detail and complexity of the hours.

Hmm. Funy Shiny. It was closed but the sign was amusing.

The owner of Nature’s Way let us borrow her daughter’s bikes for a day and we pedaled slowly for hours around and outside of town in an attempt to create some breeze on the still humid day. This butterfly had transparent panels in the wingtips.

We ate lunch at an Indian/Belizian restaurant across the street from Nature’s Way. The restaurant is on the third floor of a building right on the water and the views were awesome. We both tried the conch, which was stewed in a coconut curry sauce, and it was excellent. The sauce was flavorful without overpowering the flavor of the conch and they served it with a tasty habanero sauce (not Marie Sharps) that is made in house. (The photo above was the view straight out over the water and the image at the top of the page is looking north over the town.)

The 12 hour bus ride to Managua was actually pretty relaxing. At $30, King Quality is the most expensive bus but well worth it. There’s plenty of space and the seats recline way back. They even feed you. Our only real complaint is the too cold aircon. They gave us blankets and pillows though! Also, the DVD player was on the fritz and we got to see the first half of several movies.

Arriving at midnight in Managua is stressful. It was impossible to get away from people trying to “help” you find a hotel/cab/whatever or pitching a sob story to ask for money. This is very different than El Salvador where people are very friendly and will talk to you without any other motive.

The hotel across the street from the bus station was $35 (very expensive by central american standards) so we decided to take a cab to the neighborhood with all the budget hotels. We forgot that it was midnight and when we got there the area was pretty deserted. On the way our cab driver stopped to ask directions from a man standing in the middle of an intersection with a billy club. The guy started to get in our cab and I protested, but he said “Don’t worry, I’m security. Look at my club!” The hotel we picked from the guidebook was full, of course. A man came out of the nearby bar to “help” and led us to another place across the street. It was horrid and they wanted $30. We laughed and walked out. Finally, we found a half way decent place down the street for $12. Not a great place, but at this point we didn’t care and were half tempted to take a cab back to first hotel.

In the morning, everything was fine. We walked around and had breakfast without getting mobbed. Then walked to the bus station to get on to Granada.

Granada is Beautiful. We had lunch and fresh juice on the main plaza. Vigoron (Yucca topped with fired pork skin, and pickled cabbage salad) and pithaya juice (like a dragon fruit, but pinkish purple inside). I’m pretty much immune to begging for money and can say no without a twinge in my conscience. However, when we were nearly finished one of the kids approached to try and sell us gum. I said no, of course, but then he asked if he could have a glass of water (we had a 1.5 liter bottle on the table). We poured him a glass and he chugged it down without breathing. A few other kids gathered around and wanted some too. I felt bad and this pretty much endeared me to those kids. How can you say no to someone who can’t afford or find drinking water? Now we have to carry extra water at all times.

Sorry we don’t have any photos of Nicaragua to put up yet, but here are some Scarlet Macaws from Honduras to add some color.

We finally got to see someone leave the estero. Celtic Dancer, Barefoot and Tortuga all left yesterday without incident.

During our trip to Playa del Carmen for the wedding, we decided to visit Chichen-Itza, which is one of the major Mayan ruins we had not yet seen. We arrived in the evening to Piste, a small town about a kilometer from the ruins, and got a hotel for the evening; we wanted to get to the ruins first thing in the morning to avoid the teeming masses.

It was Saturday night in Piste and the town was decidedly NOT happening. The quasi-square area cleared out pretty much at dark and most of the restaurants were either empty or weird “Authentic Mayan Buffet” tourist places and empty. We had an inconsequential dinner at a random place after I chokingly refused the delicious-looking tamales being sold by the nice old couple in front of the main grocery. (I have a problem with corn and could not afford any digestive drama if I planned to be walking all over the ruins the next day.) Tamales are one of my absolute favorite foods and it makes me cry every time I have to pass up anything wrapped in a banana leaf that might be a tamale. Joshua refused the tamales out of solidarity.

The next morning we emerged bright and early (it was Sunday) hoping the weird bakery might be open and we could get some sort of pastry. We were not optimistic as it was early and I have found few Mexican bakeries that have anything I want to eat.

Then, we noticed a glowing golden light yonder across from the main grocery towards where the market is located. A food stand! (Hot damn!!) A food stand at seven in the morning and it was already surrounded by crowd of men bent over plates of food. The stand had a large vat of what turned out to be pork ‘cochinitas’ (pibil possibly?–we originally mistook it for carnitas, but were corrected by a gaggle of ravenous old ladies). People were ordering it in tacos, in tortas, or in dripping plastic bags to go (all the women were getting theirs to go); the cochinita guy would pick out a mixture of all the parts: ear, skin, fat, normal meat, and then scoop in some of the juice. We ordered tortas and specified that we wanted ‘pura carne’ or just meat. The guy was super friendly and laughed at our crazy tourist persnicketyness and put together two totally awesome tortas of pura carne with chopped pickled onions on top. I think this is the best torta I’ve had on the trip. Definitely the best pork I’ve ever had. It was tender and there weren’t any gelatinous gooey bits (I just hate that, although I know many consider this the best part); the pork has been stewed in a sort of red sauce, possibly with annatto, which seems to be a popular spice in the region. The roll was fresh and chewy (so many are flimsy and crumbly).

We stumbled off to Chichen-Itza for the day, utterly blissed out in a cochinita torta stupor. We were the first to arrive at the ruins and had the place to ourselves for all of fifteen minutes when two or three other people arrived. It is a fascinating ruin with many relief carvings in excellent shape but you are not allowed to climb up anything anymore, which is understandable but still a bummer. At the base of some of the major structures, the information plaque will detail tantalizing artifacts that mean this highly significant thing and how there is original paint still visible on that famous relief, etc., and you just have to imagine it. Plus the museum was closed for renovation. Sigh. The vast majority of the tourist population of all of the Yucatan arrived in a convoy of air-conditioned coaches around 10 to 11:00am-ish and the ruins turned into an obstacle course of German or Italian tour groups. We had to wade through the latte-wielding, Senor Frog’s t-shirt-sporting masses to get out. We enjoyed a hot but quiet walk back to town where we hopped a bus to Valladolid.

(Big-nosed gods.)

(Detail of some relief carvings.)

Starved, we deposited our backpacks at a totally reasonable and decent (albeit toiletseat-less) hotel called Lili’s. Lucky for us, there was another cochinita food stand right across the street from the hotel! We had our second cochinita torta of the day. It was delicious but not as delicious as the one we had for breakfast in Piste. We spent the rest of the day wandering aimlessly about in the heat taking in the sights of colonial Valladolid. Darkness found us in the zocalo where there were zillions of food stands with various snacky things and lo! There was another cochinita stand was set up at the edge of the square. I was still reeling a little from two major meals of cochinita and so I took only a delicate bite or two of Joshua’s third happy pork meal in one day.

(Not pork obviously, but a cute advertisement of a sweet little cow.)

And yes, as the title of this post might suggest, it was more cochinitas for us come morning and breakfast time. Joshua was just about to die of bliss, never having gotten away before with eating pork for every single meal two days running.

Me, I was ready for a salad.

It’s probably evident already by the sudden influx of blog posts with numerous photos that we have arrived back to the estuary after a four-week trip to the Yucatan for Sage and Elise’s wedding. We left the boat on its own anchor and had a local guy looking after it but we didn’t exactly know what to expect when we returned; insane mildew takeover, one or more hulls gored by one of the rogue tree trunks that roam about the estuary, a bat infestation in the mainsail, a gaping hole lacking any boat whatsoever where we thought we had left it, etc. However, we returned to no more than a couple of cups of water in the bilge curtsey of a small but sprightly leak in our babystay. And a bat infestation in the mainsail. Well, one small bat. One small bat who, in violation of all rational physics, produced about three metric tons of batshit.

Babystay leak promptly sealed, we went about our business for two or three days noticing all this batshit but not actually able to wrap our minds around the reality because there was Just. So. Much. Of. It. There was a minor storm the day after we returned that kicked up some major wind and waves and let loose a torrent of wee pellets from our sail cover, which are startlingly similar in appearance to mouse, or godforbid rat, poops. “Huh,” we said.

We decided, after our previous boat-abandonment success (no mold, missing boat, etc.), to button up Time Machine once more and head off to Nicaragua to be land-based tourists for a couple more weeks. With the advent of electrical storm season, we were concerned that not only does the boat sport one giant aluminum middle finger sticking right up into the clouds, in the event of a strike, the charge would surely ignite the tons of guano and send our boat sky high in a fiery ball. Something had to be done; the inevitable eviction would be an event, to be sure, as I was certain we had at least a caveful of the things nestled amongst the folds of the sail.

Utterly preoccupied with bats and how an attack might be launched, we barely noticed the pair of ‘golondrinas’ (a type of swallow?) that had clearly used our absence to set up house in the one bat-free fold of our main. The sneaky little bastards would wait until we weren’t looking, then ferry in a feather or two to line the pad, lay an egg or four, etc. All the time I was thinking, “Hmm, those birds must really like us or something…”

‘Operation Eliminate Temporary Ecosystem, um, Eagle’ commenced yesterday afternoon during a not-terribly-windy spell. We released the catch on the bottom of the mainsail and prepared to remove the sail entirely for safekeeping in more bat-proof quarters. And this is the first thing we saw:

Whoa. Not a bat lair but a nest of great cuteness populated by four wee little eggies. So thaaaats what they’ve been up to; the parent birds were by this point flying all around the boat, basically freaking out I suppose. Not that the behavior of a freaking-out golondrina is any different than its non-freaking-out state, since they are particularly hyperactive little guys normally. We decided to remove the nest intact without touching it if possible so we used the bailer from the dinghy and just scooped up the nest. It fit rather perfectly and the container was similar in shape to the fold of the sail. We put the bailer in the cockpit cubby, which can be seen from the original nest position in hopes that the birds could wrap their little minds around the concept of Relocated Nest.

We commenced the careful extraction of the sail while diverting the rivers of batshit over the side of the cockpit. Finally we saw the bat. There was only one and he was very small. And cute.

Gah! The discovery! Rudely awakened, he tried to retreat back into the tighter folds of the sail. (Note cache of batshit.)

As we continued to remove the sail from the track, he abandoned his nook and made a bold attempt to scale the mast in hopes that there might be a quiet dark spot up higher. (There’s not.)

Alas! No place to hide up above; mast-scaling attempt aborted. The bat made again for the sail while, as a last-ditch effort, trying to scare us away with some scary bat antics. After this failed to remove us from the scene and/or produce a quiet dark spot to nest in, he jumped down into the cockpit and climbed up the curtain, dangerously close to the cabin entrance. Not interested in any new crew members at this time, Joshua shooed him around until he escaped into the cubby at the side of the cockpit (where the nest had been temporarily relocated). Satisfied that there was nowhere to go from here unless he burrowed through the speakers, we let him stay. Hopefully he’ll just fly away once it gets dark and find a less-rambunctious place to sleep. No other bats were discovered as the remainder of the mainsail was removed. We cleaned it up and folded it away.

Meanwhile, the golondrinas were still flying all around and chittering at us or each other. Joshua had grave concerns about the birds’ powers of reason and was not optimistic that they would able to relocate to a nesting spot not four feet from the original one. I figured that they might happen to look down if they went to the former location and recognize their nest and eggs; plus, we had been careful to not touch the nest and get our smelly people germs all over it. (Not that the boat contains any of these smelly people germs, or the mainsail, for that matter.) Joshua thought maybe we could affix the bailer to the maststep (which was approximately where the nest used to be located) and that would solve the problem. He wedged the bailer into the maststep and when he went to get a rope to secure it, it somehow popped out and nest and eggs went splattering all over the top of our deck.

It was very sad and traumatic and I practically started crying. The eggs were perhaps halfway matured so that you could see red developing-bird bits inside while the cracked eggshells bled white amniotic goo. The parent birds continued their erratic flight patterns about the boat and we felt very, very guilty; I don’t know if they grasped what exactly had happened. Joshua felt particularly terrible and gathered up what remained of the nest back into the bailer and put it back into the cockpit cubby, where it’s still sitting because we don’t know what to do with it. We gave the broken egg babies a sea burial.

Curiously, the parent golondrinas did not flee the boat after the terrible destruction of their nest and potential offspring; in fact, it appears they are preparing to build a new one. We’re fairly certain that they can’t build it anywhere that will be in the way or require removal anytime soon, and so we look forward to seeing a new little nest with four new eggies when we get back from Nicaragua.