June 27, 2008
Honeymoon Chronicles, Part 2
June 25th 2002
Awake to the noisy joy of a jungle morning, the sun seems to already be soaking Belize. We rouse shortly before 8, unusual for us, and decide to forgo showers in order to schedule horseback riding at the front desk at 10 and grab breakfast. A small buffet of fresh melons and pineapple as well as scones and granola greets us. The coffee if full bodied but not too bitter and goes down easily thanks to the warmed creamed. And the sugar, unmilled, is sweet and softly grainy to the touch.
Our appearance at 10 donned in jeans and suitable shoes at the front desk rouses Michael and a golf cart that whisks us off to the stables. On the way we pass Blancaneaux's extensive garden and groves and see men at work in the midday heat. Clouds are beginning to overtake the sky and I glance up worriedly.
At the stables our horses are waiting, saddled and calm, as well as our guide, Frances. Young and dark skinned, Frances introduces our mounts. Mine, Cocoa, is a deep chocolate and has a serious affection for any plant trailside that he can jam into his mouth. George's horse is Katie, who gingerly plods along behind the pack and avoids puddles and mud like a true lady. Frances is riding a thoroughbred, a retired racehorse he informs me, who tosses his head and prances his muscular hind quarters without once deigning to nibble a single tempting bush or a blade of grass.
I chat with Frances along the way, mostly about the Lodge, glancing behind my should to check on George's slow progress behind us. He says his whole family works at Blancaneaux and while he has been riding horses for 17 years, he has only been at the Lodge for three and lives on the premises. He knows quite a bit about the flora and fauna we pass and points out tidbits as we plod serenely along. It rains pretty steadily at one point and though we get wet- no one comments or complains.
After forty five minutes, the forest becomes suddenly denser and muddier and then we are there. Dismounting Frances leads us down a steep, wet descent to the even slipperier rocks below. Belizeans call this BIG ROCK and the falls, while fairly short, are pretty spectacular. The water, muddy green, crashes quite fast off the large jagged rocks into a pool that cascades again and opens wider to flow into the wide, placid river it was before its fall. We scramble and slide across mossy wet tables of rock to reach the water and strip into swimsuits.
The water is fairly chilly, but not enough to daunt us. We both ease ourselves along in the murky depths, unable to see even a hint of what lies below. By hand and foot we feel our way out and while I am held back by my fear of water, clinging precipitously to a rocky ledge, George plunges ahead. Scraping his stomach against an unexpected , shallow rock, he swims out into the open pool which our guide says is 15 feet deep. The current becomes swift at the other end and I watch George fight it and emerge on the rock shelf that encircles the falls. Our guide, who has stripped to his shorts, is climbing an impossible cliff and diving 20 feet or more into the pool below the falls. He is nothing but lean muscle and must do this fairly often.
George is begging me to make the terrifying crossover and I am staunchly refusing, shaking my head and shivering form my shallow post. Finally, he swims over and coaxes me into the adventure. The hardest part is swallowing the fear and beginning and from there it is easy until I reach the sucking, swirling current of the falls that churns water into my face and makes me gasp for air. Sputtering, George heaves me to safety and we scramble close to the falls. Showered and pelted with water, we marvel at Frances as he fights the current and emerges on the other side of the pool below the falls. I am frigid in the moist, cool air and we somehow manage the swim back and after an athletic, steep descent, are once again on horseback,
The ride back is calm and quiet and no one feels compelled to talk. Allowing the slow fluidity of the horse's movement to permeate our bones and listening to the wind rustling softly among he palms, time seems long and sleepy and lovely.
It is only on the short walk back from the stables that we realize how ravenously hungry we are. Lunch is perfect and delicious. We both order Bloody Mary's and they are spicy and obviously made from fresh tomatoes and handpicked spices....mmmmm. Toasted, warm sandwiches- ham & cheese and smoked chicken & cheese as well as garden fresh salad greens top off our tummies.
Our afternoon is spent as honeymoon afternoons should be spent. After a short exploration of the hydroelectric plant and river paths, we get real lazy reading and writing in our cabana. George, spooned into the hammock, revels in rocking back and forth and it isn't long before I give in and tumble into bed for a nap. George joins me later and we sleep until almost dinner.
Showered, we spend our evening eating pizza and Belikin beer, ordering exotic drinks, chatting with the bartender, and playing cards. The air seems restless and I have difficult sleeping. Not George, luxuriantly fast asleep in the hammock.
Posted by Kaz at June 27, 2008 10:41 PM