July 4, 2008
Honeymoon Chronicles, Part 9
July 2, 2002
We quickly attempt to establish ourselves as regulars at the local diner, George's. Tumbling out of bed, sleepy-eyed, we throw on clothes and journey a scarce 100 steps up the lane and seat ourselves at the counter. George's wife is bustling about, a sturdy woman with short black hair who appears to be a native Belizean. She helps us to good, full bodied coffee with fresh cream in a small glass tumbler. The sugar is stuck and we have to shift among the gnats to get pure granules. Undaunted by this, we pursue and satiate our daily caffeine fix.
Returning back home (Playador 3A), we have a little breakfast feast of cinnamon rolls we got from the bakery downtown yesterday and peach juice, thick and sweet and deep, rusty orange. We are slow moving and luxuriously lazy and it is much closer to noon before we are ready to begin our day and play in earnest.
George and I, already committed to snorkeling tomorrow, have never snorkeled in our lives and are starting to feel some anxiety about our approaching trip on El Gato. Taking Tony's advice, we go to the dive shop at the end of the Playador dock and rent equipment from a long haired, young islander who gives the impression of being a bit of a snake. I insist on a trial run in the pool.
We wait until the coast is clear, a bit embarrassed to be two grown adults in the swimming pool with flippers and masks. But nearly anything is endurable in good company. Our first initial trial goes well. although it is easy and not so easy at the same time to breathe exclusively through your mouth. Both George and I have difficulty when we tilt our heads up too far and get water in our tubes, which sends us up sputtering and coughing to the surface. As hard as I try, I can never clear all the water no matter how I huff and puff and we give up on perfection and head to try out our new found skills under the dock of Ramon's Village.
Tony at Fido's recommended Ramon's because there is a great deal of rock, fish, coral, etc. both naturally grown and placed under the waves and it is fairly shallow and calm. Best of all, it's free. Also, the swimming platform and steps into the water make it easy for newbie snorkelers like us. Despite my fears of the murky depths and my inadequacies as a swimmer, I plunge in and quickly feel at home while George struggles with water in his tube and mask. The waves are at times a bit choppy, dancing in the wake of rocking boats and passing barges and water taxis, but I amazed at how easily I float in the unbelievably salty water and find it easier and more enjoyable than my usual flailing attempts at swimming.
After only a half hour or so we find ourselves weary and have explored most of the underwater action around and under the dock. Jaunting home along the beach to change, we retrace our steps back downtown for lunch at Celi's. Celi's is a small restaurant with a street side deli counter and a small, screened in dining room beach side noted for good sandwiches and local favorites. We are the last to slide in under the 2pm deadline for lunch and enjoy our inexpensive meals. Mine is a delicious chicken salad sandwich and George partakes of a local dish with Mayan marinated meat on small squares of fried pastry topped with cheese, salsa and shredded lettuce.
With a free afternoon stretching out before us, we opt to rent a jet ski from Tony for some high adventure. George encourages me to get my own but I refuse as a first timer and insist on hanging onto the poor guy. It becomes quickly apparent that this was probably a bad idea on my part. While the force with which the motor blasts us across the blue faceted shallows and shimmering waters is exhilarating, it is nearly impossible to keep hold as a passenger. Despite my death grip around George's waist, thumbs hooked into the belts of his life jacket, my ass slides back on the slippery vinyl surface and no amount of griping my thighs viselike will keep me from bouncing. Every wave we smack into resounds through my bones with a vibrating thud. Secondly, we realize goggles would have been an invaluable asset due to the brine and excessive salt in the waters here. Despite sunglasses, the water slaps up into our faces when we turn, head into waves or even slow down and it stings like hell. Several times we have to stop, allow our eyes to tear and clear a bit before we can go on.
Despite the discomfort and feeling of loss of control that comes with so much speed, force and jarring, it is still a beautiful, exhilarating thing to skim and bounce and challenge the momentum of the ocean under a perfect sky in a warm, Carribean place. I even consent to drive for awhile and as George promised, I find it a much more pleasant experience although I still feel somewhat discomforted by the intense speed and torque.
Back at Fido's an hour later, we are blessedly invited to wash off under their dockside shower and we pad once again back down the beach and home to our transient abode, to relax and regroup.
Later, showered and dressed, we enjoy a drink (strong- the bartender's specialty at Crazy Canuck's "Mango Tango") and some pre-dinner chat with Pirate and company. We have dinner reservations at Capricorn's, a restaurant on the North end of the island touted both in the guidebook and by the locals as fabulous. Run by a French and British couple who want to keep things small, it is a restaurant with a bed and breakfast feel. We reach it, along with a few other guests by water taxi and only get mildly splashed in the dimming light that grows dark by the time we reach the restaurant dock. The "woman" of the house, a short-haired, older, somewhat eccentric looking blonde woman with a lovely Brit accent, shows us to our table and situates me on one side of the table because of the wind. "So you won't be eating your hair, dear," she explains. There is quite a good breeze stirring the night air and playing among the waves and it makes eating on the porch seem special and quaint.
A bottle of wine and bruschetta with tomatoes so fresh and crisp they taste off the vine today, and George and I become involved in deep conversation about our lives, our purposes. It seems a perfect, romantic situation and when the talk turns too intense, it is easy to remember why we are here and enjoy it. Then enters our entree- we have both ordered Filet Mignon. One sensuous, tender mouthful tell us all we need to know about our chef- he loves his steak. From the amazing taste of it we can imagine him in the kitchen at night, kneading it by hand. By this time, quite giddy with our pre dinner drinks and having knocked off an entire bottle of wine, we are contemplating approaching the kitchen window and complimenting him on the best steak we've ever had the honor to eat.
The night has really fallen now and the sea is calm and mirrors the open vibrancy of the night sky. George and I, with no water taxi in sight, are not in the least bit distressed in being stranded in such a lovely place and belly up to the adjoining bar to order Mai Tais. They are mixed so strong they make me wince and we sip happily in little wooden lounge chairs under the vaulted ceiling of an enormous, clear sky. I even give the hammock a try and find it a perfect spot and difficult to abandon when the water taxi finally presents itself.
Perhaps the best part of our night, even the best part of our honeymoon, happens now with our drinks in "to go" cups, sitting side by side in the water taxi. Two local girls are hitching a ride home, but otherwise it is just us and it is quiet as we set off. The driver guns it and sends us skimming across the dark mass of ocean under a canopy of stars that seems like a symphony. All the constellations here are strange to me and even the ones I know seem tipped on their sides, but the milky way is clear as day and lays like a glimmering fog drawing a ribbon across the heavens. Words would only destroy the clarity of those few minutes and so we sit silent, hands clasped.
Momentarily disappointed to be back on land, we return to the bar and find Pirate still holding court with the bartender. We rejoin and briefly continue our evening, but liquored drowsiness sets in and finds us retreating towards sleep, relishing another beautiful day.