Today we hired a car. The idea was to drive right through the centre of Belize on jungle roads and down to the south eastern coast to a village called Hopkins.
Hopkins is the cultural centre for the Garifuna ethnic group. Belize is incredibly culturally diverse - a product of its fascinating history. There is a large Mayan contingent (obviously) Honduran immigrants, Guatemalan labourers (Belizian Poles if you will), a sizeable Mennonite community (Amish-like agriculturists and builders with a German heritage who shun modern technology), Creoles (from the Caribbean islands), and Mexicans up north, where Spanish is now becoming the first language.
Anyway, the Garifuna are a part of this big melting pot. They descend from Nigerian slaves who were shipwrecked on St Vincent in 1635 and because they weren't terribly cooperative, having decided to throw their lot in with the French, got deported by the British. Only after thousands had died on route, the survivors arrived in Belize and today, continue to preserve their traditions in and around the Hopkins and Dangriga area.
How about that? Some actual facts and some history too! I had a good chat with a Garifuna guy who told me a bit about their community in Hopkins, their language (he spoke to me in Creole English but they have a dialect between themselves that is unintelligible to outsiders) and how fiercely proud they are to be Garifuna.
After the not unexpected uncertainty over whether we'd actually booked a car, where we were supposed to pick it up and what it would actually look like, we finally found and jumped in our jalopy and set off down the Hummingbird Highway. There are only four paved roads in Belize and this was one. It's kinda like their M1. All other roads are just dirt track.
I was driving and I'll admit to being slightly apprehensive about sitting behind the wheel of an unfamiliar car, in a country with a poor reputation for road discipline, which had the steering wheel on the wrong side, which was manual (I own an automatic) in sandals, after three months of not driving. I decided to not tell the car hire guy about any of this and anyway, it was fine after about five minutes.
The journey itself was a complete joy. One of the most pleasurable drives I can remember.
We wound our way through orange groves, which were being harvested by Guatemalans. We passed long lines of lorries heaving with the sunshine fruit beginning their own long journey to Miami. We travelled through mahogany and teak plantations, the latter taking a mere 35 years to reach maturity, the former, only coming to full growth after 75 years and grown for the benefit of some lucky Belizian grandchild or other. We traversed vast tropical valleys and thick mountain jungle along the largely deserted main artery in Belize and both thoroughly enjoyed it. It was a genuine mini adventure.
Although our destination was Hopkins, we decided to stop off in the largest town in the area, Dangriga. Dangriga it turns out has little to recommend it. Hopkins lies a few miles south off the main road and several miles down a dusty track. It's partly a backpacker haven and partly a resort hotel town. Now that I'm travelling in company, I have been persuaded to accept a higher than average checkout bill. So resort hotel it was. And very nice it was too.
With characteristic honesty, my companion pointed out yesterday that the balance between brown and silver hair on my head has shifted since travelling and it's not been in favour of brown. This is in part due to the sun, part because my hair is longer at the moment and it shows more but mostly because of the Georgian homestay I think. In any event, I don't mind. It makes me look more intelligent than I really am, it marks me out as a grown up, which I am, and it prevents young people talking to me. So it's all good.
In a rare moment of sensitivity, he avoided commenting on the bit at the back of my head which has refused to produce as much hair as it ought since I reached 40. For some reason, all the energy that used to go into hair production on the back of my head has been redirected to my nose. This affliction I am less happy with and blame my father for. I imagine my travels have done nothing to promote further growth up top but as I can't see it I'm not sure what has been going on. The fewer reminders of what might have happened up there, the better.
Rush hour on the Hummingbird Highway
Check out the towel monkey!
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