A bad night’s sleep left my grumpy and tired. When one is grumpy and tired, even the sunrise over the Caribbean Sea can go fuck itself. Yes, Sun, I’m talking to you, ya big hydrogen and helium-y bastard. Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough. Yep, that’s what I thought: it’s easy to be a tough guy when you’re 149.6 million kilometres away and you’ve got Mercury and Venus to back you up.
Being here in Belize, having come here from Mexico in fact, is like reliving the start of my travels in 2008. And it’s giving me a not insignificant amount of wanderlust. Specifically, a desire to fly to Brazil. A friend of mine who lives in Paris, a friend that also loves Brazil recently emailed that she had some pão de queijo at a Brazilian restaurant, and it made me drool. Not literally. But, y’know. I even had a dream last night that I was denied entry when returning to Mexico—something I will be doing on Wednesday—and “had” to fly to Brazil instead.
Took the kayak out again in the morning. I went with my manservant this time. Not as windy as yesterday, so we made relatively light work of the one mile-ish journey to the island. I forget the name of the place, so let’s call it Isla de Shakira. We approached from the northwest and it was all lovely and calm around the west side of the island. Lots of fishes in amongst the sea grass. Pelicans flew by, too, looking for some breakfast. Once we got to the southwest corner of the island, the wind and waves picked up again. We paddled around and found an inlet with a tiny beach. From the island, we heard noises. Human noises. We dragged the kayaks onto the beach and ventured through the trees. Ten minutes or so of hiking (fancy word for “walking”), hearing the voices getting louder, we finally saw moving shapes. We stopped, and I shouted hello. The noise from the trees quieted down. I repeated the greeting and walked forward. And there in front of me: twenty or so women. Beautiful Hispanic women. Naked. All with breasts that one would never confuse with mountains. I turned to my manservant—a happily married man—and told him to go and wait with the kayaks. The leader of the women stepped forward, “You can fuck off with him, ya four-eyed freak.” The women all laughed and I could feel years of erectile problems forming in my loins. Back in the kayaks, we returned to land. Not without some bloody hard work, though. The sea had picked up, and with every paddle forward with the crest of a wave, the trough dragged us back. It was worth it, though: waiting for me there on dry land was a barman who was employed to be nice to me and accept my money in exchange for a bottle of beer.
I’d not had my fill of water, so I had a swim in both the pool and the sea. How decadent is that, eh!?
After yesterday’s magnificent peanut butter ice cream, went back to the same place. Had a mint choc chip ice cream this time. Average. And talking of average, there was a soccer game in progress opposite the ice cream place. Full teams. Matching jerseys and everyfink. Reds vs. yellows. The reds were on fire. Scored three goals which we watched. Kept their shape defensively, too.
On the whole, a moderately lazy day. Caught a bit of sun, too. I now have pink legs instead of off-white legs.