Flip Flop Flying

Belize, day 7: Punta Gorda

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I made some toast. There was no real Marmite but some kind of supermarket own brand copy. I opened the lid and it was rancid. I cut the toast in half diagonally (cos I’m posh) and walked into the lounge. I saw a car pull into the drive and that was when I realised that I wasn’t actually waiting in my mum’s lounge to surprise her with my visit. I looked around and, yes, none of the things here are my mum’s. I don’t know these people getting out of the car, but, fuck, I climbed through their open dining room window and now need to get out of her sharp-ish. No howler monkeys to wake me up in the morning.

I come to Belize to relax. I’ve by no means done everything there is to do in this country, but on previous trips, I’ve kinda done a smattering of the to-do-in-Belize stuff, and living in Mexico City fills me with the desire to do absolutely bugger all on holiday. This was a day where the bugger all really started kicking in.

I cycled into town to eat something. Gomier’s, the good vegetarian place, was closed, so had an average burrito from somewhere else that I forget the name of, and cycled back up the road a little to a place called The Olmec Bar and Restaurant. It was fairly rundown looking place with loud music coming from inside. I went inside and the pretty young woman smiled and got me a Belikin from the big chest fridge. A couple of dudes sat at one side. The back of the room had a stage and a load of music equipment, but on the whole, it kinda looked like a disused scout hall. There was a poster for Guinness Foreign Extra showing the rear of woman from head to thighs. She was wearing a black bra and short denim shorts. She had her back arched and a bottle of stout resting just above her the top of her shorts. None of yer fancy arty Guinness advertising here, no sir: just beer and ass. A tiny black kitten walked by. I took my beer outside and sat on a wooden stump next to the sun-bleached pink wooden fence topped with unfinished wood planks that served as a place to put your beer and an ashtray. A bunch of old timer expats sat out there. They looked like they that been sat there for days, weeks, months, years. To save space in my small backpack, I brought rolling tobacco and papers with me, rather than cartons of cigarettes. (Belizean cigarettes are awful, and you can’t buy Camels or anything here, thus the need to bring stuff.) I got out my tobacco, and started rolling one. The woman behind the bar yelled at me, in a voice that was half stern and half who-the-hell-does-this-guy-think-he-is, “you can’t smoke THAT here!” She, of course, thought I was smoking marijuana. I showed her the packet. She smiled. One of the guys who was drinking inside walked out the door and stopped at the kerb and hocked up a load of phlegm and spat into the street. Then his finger to one of his nostril and nasally spat another load of snot out. He returned to the bar, up-nodded at me and said hello. I paid up. Three dollars for a Belikin; the cheapest I’ve had since being here.

I cycled back to Hickatee Cottages and spend the afternoon reading. Ate some dinner a bit later and went to bed around 9pm. Relaxing really is starting to kick in.

Written by Craig

October 28th, 2014 at 9:54 am

Posted in Travel

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