Belize January 2000

Belize was not on the tourist map twenty years ago and because we couldn't simply Google it we had no idea what it would be like. Layne took this picture of me outside the Immigration office at Punta Gorda, the place where we checked in with a welter of useless paperwork. Belize was a tight bureaucracy in those days and may still be for all we know.

The first thing we did was to go shopping looking for whatever might be odd and different after months of Latin American tiendas as they call the stores. A sail to the Bahamas had opened my eyes years before to the pernicious influence of my childhood when I found foods I hadn't seen for decades, squashed fly biscuits, curry pastes and weird sauces that arrived in Nassau but in those pre-internet days came no further west. Nowadays you order everything on Amazon of course. We found my childhood on the shelves once again, this time in Punta Gorda where the clerk spoke English and took US dollars pegged at one to two Belizean dollars.

Then things went wrong. The open roads of Punta Gorda got frothed into a ghastly cauldron by an unexpected cold front and we found ourselves plunging dangerously on our anchor with the ragged coast right behind us and down wind. When you are busy buying Garibaldi biscuits its hard to spot a cold front, the nautical equivalent of texting while driving. This one spanked us hard. We pulled up the anchor with some great difficulty and pondered our options.

In the end we raced downwind twenty miles back to Guatemala (!) and hid behind the spit of land outside Puerto Barrios that has first given us refuge a few weeks earlier on our arrival in Guatemala. It was cold for tropical travelers like us. We had no heat source on the Gemini catamaran except blankets and dogs. In between walks ashore we cuddled them and tried to stay warm. We were shocked by the strength and chill of the cold front this far south. After the storm blew by we went back to Belize, with no officials any the wiser and resumed our cruise.

It was a lovely interlude actually, sailing the reef, stopping in villages on the mainland zigging and zagging our way to the north of the country, about 150 miles long if I recall correctly. We weathered wind and rain, reefs and terrible visibility and had a good time. By the time we got to the north end of the country we stopped in Caye Caulker (pronounced "Key Corker") for some food and civilization. 

Belize was an odd country. It was British in its roots with more than a hint of English speaking Caribbean with fried foods and not enough curry in our opinion!  The British made space for Indians in their colonies which spread delicious south Asian cuisines in unexpected places. Goat curry and roti were memorable in St Vincent for instance but Belize did odd things to Mexican cuisine.

We discovered the only beer in the country was Beliken, a pleasant enough light lager in bottles and cans. What, we asked ourselves, no Dos Equis? We aren't beer snobs by a long stretch but this oddness needed investigation. We discovered the brewer of Beliken in this country of 160,000 people had persuaded the government to ban the import of beer to support his monopoly. 

We weren't moved to do much inland travel in this country. At the time Guatemala was still treating the country as a breakaway province and the Internet hadn't opened up American eyes to this strange little country. I am actually curious to go back and get a better view of the place so we are considering driving to Panama next year to make up for what we missed twenty years ago. Seems reasonable.

Remember we hadn't lived in the Keys yet so we were coming to these environments as vacation country and I at last had found tropical heat, saltwater and none of that California cold and coastal fog. I was happy.

I wouldn't mind coming back by boat to the Caribbean but I fear I may be running out of time to wrangle a boat in my seventies! Time really is passing.

Florida Keys 1950s, or Cay Caulker Year 2000.  Those dogs made themselves at home everywhere.

There wasn't much in these coastal communities but we explored diligently. I was reading a Facebook post about traveling in Baja and someone asked about taking their dogs. You can imagine the wittering that went on about every kind of danger to be encountered. I think they would have heart attacks if they ever got to see these pictures of Debs and Emma enjoying life abroad.

Eventually we got sailing again and made the 180 mile passage to Isla Mujeres, Mexico overnight from San Pedro Belize. It was a good sail with following southeast winds and mostly calm seas. Debs looks like an old hand by this stage:

They really loved each other. You can tell me dogs don't have emotions like us but I won't believe you.

We had the catamaran with the bg cabin so we hosted the sailors get togethers. The talk was about where we last met, the cost of boat parts where we were, good places to eat, and the prospects for the next passage. It was easy going friendship among people with common experiences outside the norm.

Oh no! A 300 mile passage to Florida? Say it ain't so.

There is always fun exploring new places and new cultures and new supermarkets but one day, and I can't explain how this happens, you just wake up with the urge to move on. This place has had it's day.

We made our pre-departure preparations, organizing food fuel and paperwork. We had a water maker onboard which turned saltwater in freshwater at the rate of a gallon and a half an hour.  That was an innovation in those days and we chose fresh water over more exotic to us navigation equipment like radar. Fresh water saved us a lot of worry and allowed us to keep the dogs as well as ourselves clean without having to hump heavy jugs of water all over the place. Very decadent.

We met another couple on a similar catamaran to ours and they made their own preparations for a passage. Arlene cut Dennis's hair like the pro she was. They lived in San Diego but they loved shallow water sailing on the East Coast. We learned a lot from them as they took See Ya through shallow waters we would never otherwise have learned to enjoy.

And so we took off one fine evening after one final long dog walk. I've written elsewhere of the passage that landed us in Cuba after a rather large storm caught us half way to Key West and whipped up the Gulf Stream for us. My next story will be the essay about our arrival in Key West on Valentine's Day 2000.

Key Plaza Walk

Layne had to see the dermatologist for a check up and I had a dog to walk near the doctor's office on Kennedy Drive.

Another generator lifted well above high tide level and hopefully above flood level the next time it should be necessary.

I am very grateful we had a nice quiet hurricane season this year, even though technically the season runs all the way through the month of November, and December storms aren't unknown. 

Above we see the new Florida Keys Aqueduct Authority headquarters which I'm willing to bet has been built to withstand 155 mph winds. Thats the required standard in this era of instant intense storms, rising floodwaters and things projected to get worse not better.

I had wondered of my old age might not play out here in the Housing Authority's Senior Citizen Plaza. One of the cool things is Station Three is across the street and I could dispatch Rescue Three in 90 seconds when there was an emergency call from this building. Glad I don't have to do that anymore. 

I got used to the calls from residents with a few cognitive issues, reassuring them about their "stolen car" or wandering into the wrong apartment and freaking out the proper resident. The staff I spoke with were caring and kind and I got a good feeling about growing old in that place. Key West is surprisingly gentle and thoughtful with those in need. 

It's that part of Key West off the beaten track, The tourists run down North Roosevelt half a mile away, and they're all intent on racing to the bars on Duval Street. Quiet Key West keeps on rolling out here away from it all.

Veterans Memorial Park

A lovely morning greeted us last week at Veterans Memorial Park at the beginning of the Seven Mile Bridge. We weren't alone as there were already people sitting on their cars staring at the horizon.

They left so Rusty and I had the place to ourselves, the sun was up and the quality of the light mattered more to me than apparently to the sun worshippers.

Hurricane Irma has left it's mark still apparent:

The spoil islands left by Flagler's engineers who dug out the foundations of the bridge were washed away in part by the storm. The tired coconut palms are still flopping there:

Shipping is still out there, though in smaller numbers these days.

The porta-potties are not going to replaced soon. I met a former colleague who now works for the county and he told me the officials are studying what to do and what gets done is nothing. The toilets remain wrecked and unusable.

They mow the grass and keep the place looking good and Rusty was happy as he loves to roll in grass.

The sun was well up but the place was still looking good.

Setting fire to perfectly serviceable picnic tables seems particularly stupid but these people live among us, like it or not.

It's a nice spot and I had a rather photogenic dog with me.







Across the new (1982) Bahia Honda Bridge.

And so home.

Van Is Done

I used to ride a scooter, or to be more accurate I rode motorcycles and scooters for half a century. It didn't end well but those fifty years were packed with excitement and genuine adventures, the sort of situations with an outcome uncertain; but aside from all that drama I met people I quite like. Bill lives in Jacksonville and agreed to have lunch with me Tuesday before I picked up the van from the shop.   

Those regrets about not riding mostly centered  around the people I met and liked, so meeting Bill and spending an afternoon with him put Jacksonville high on my list of post-travel places to settle down. Imagine never having to drive I-95 again unless I felt like it (fat chance)? Imagine starting a road trip nine hours up the massive Florida peninsula. Pensacola, Hilton Head, Asheville are all destinations of interest put with a day's ride. I have a scooter riding friend in Virginia in the middle of some lovely riding country and he would be not too far from Jacksonville. I was told I'm not a planner. Obviously I'm trying to change that...

Meanwhile bill and I had to catch up and when I suggested an Italian lunch he took me to Maggiano's where we had a nice intimate lunch and as neither of us has been on a date for a good few years we took a booth to practice, because we will meet again. Bill has lived in Jacksonville all his life and he is the epitome of a conch, decades designing buildings, knows everyone everywhere in everything. I rather enjoyed following his lead.

He had chicken piccata and I countered with the item next to his favorite which was a chicken Frances, an extraordinary chicken breast fried in cheese. That was a new one on me and I really liked it.

We talked of this and that, as you do, and the effects of the virus were apparent to us especially to Bill who is used to a city far more vibrant in public places than it is now. It is a story familiar to us all, the effects of the virus, the shortage of workers, the lack of foot traffic, a local man who sees his city changing before his eyes.

We shared a dessert, something called a butter cake which took me back to my English childhood of sponge cake and treacle sticky and delicious as promised by the capable young woman taking our orders. I overheard her tell a nearby table she has already had the virus once but was only recently eligible to get her second shot and the tribulations of work. 

I was taken aback when I was told I was too healthy to get a Moderna booster and when I heard her talking I wondered one more time how it is to be young and healthy and unable to evade the virus. We old fogey seem to be the lucky generation as usual, not the greatest but perhaps the luckiest. To be a 20th century boomer- lucky us.

Bill had offered toggle me dignified transport in his truck but we settled for his 21 year old Miata deployed usually to participate in autocross competition and also dusted off for honored guests. It was great fun zipping around with the roof off and a manual gearbox at ear height. It put me in mind of a motorized wheelchair as pedestrians were visible from the knees down! Great fun.

I had the great pleasure of transporting Bill to a spot unknown to him. That dogs aren't allowed on the University of North Florida campus put the damper on the possibility of taking a walk here. Indeed I came here because Rusty was tucked up at home missing me horribly.

Bill took me to Freedom VanGo to pick up Gannet2 but the best part was when we pulled into the parking lot he exclaimed. HIs office is here? he said about an engineering firm next door to the van shop. I've worked with them a few times. Then as he drove off to leave me to deal with the details the youngsters started oohing over his sports car and it turns out they had their own souped up model and the conversation turned to convertible two seaters...He gets around down does the architect of Jax.

But we are here to ooh and ahh over my van. The bright yellow suspension is the sign I have aftermarket suspension supporting my heavy old van. The yellow one on the back is a Sumo Spring that supports the rebound weight of the van and is much larger than the original.

Obviously riding the freeway home isn't the best way to test new suspension but I will say the cornering on the ramps was fun and I think surprised a couple of sedans stuck behind the big gold box.  I picked out some potholes and took them at speed and was surprised the box didn't bottom out. I think I may have organized a good thing here. Testing on dirt roads will be in order soon.

Freedom VanGo also installed the. Van Compass winch on the front and they did a nice job. My wife decided they were the people to install the new front license plate and are it look nice. I have always liked the fact that Florida is a one tag state like so many in the south, so it pains me to have to feel like I should travel abroad with an extra tag on the front. It's not a legal requirement but experienced Overlanders say its a way to reduce roadside conversations explaining why, unlike the rest of the world you don't have the regulation front license plate. So here we are and t looks like it was always there. Thank you Ebay:

The other job was the installation of what is known as a skid plate, or if you are English, a bash plate. The idea is to protect the engine and transmission of the van from flying rocks on gravel roads and other off road obstructions. Its not designed as the maker told me to encourage serious off road driving with my home. I'm okay with that. It was designed around the Promaster and covers the extra alternator while offering easy access for fluid changes.

The suspension change included an alignment and after that I was on my way home. It occurred to me as I settled into the boredom of I-95 South that the van is done. We have taken care of the things that have occurred to us to take care of and I feel as ready as I can to go out and see what there is to see. The next year will see us testing the van, ourselves and the accessories to make sure we were right in our plans. 

"Piss Poor Planning Promotes Piss Poor Performance. Prior Preparation and Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance. Positive Pre-Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance."

I think the point of the saying is to avoid piss poor performance so we are doing our best to do our best and put the odds of a successful outcome in our favor. We met a lot of people over the years who do fine taking off and figuring it out as they go but we feel better about trying to get the basics right so we can enjoy the journey. When you go sailing the most important thing is to trust the integrity of your vessel and that lesson I learned well. It is no fun in foul weather wondering if your mast is going overboard soon.

Rusty was right there waiting for me to slide the side door open after I parked the van in the driveway at 4:25 am. That was always the hour we took neighborhood works before I left for my work shift so off we went down the street after he had smothered me for a few delicious minutes. Then I settled down on the bed aboard Gannet 2 to avoid waking my slumbering wife and Rusty curled up right next to me, as though he too is preparing for the new life that starts in 11 days.