There’s always mañana.
We finally made it to San Pedro on Wednesday evening, a day later than planned and really rather frazzled, only to get up early on Thursday morning to catch a morning flight to the mainland to begin our journey to the Maya city of Caracal. The ruins of this city are deep in the jungle and we were lucky enough to be camping there to witness the end of the Maya calendar, and some say the end of the world.
Our journey to the end of the world began appropriately enough with airport chaos. I guess it was our fault for believing that having survived China, the second half of our adventure would be a little easier. The first problem was visas. We don’t need them for Belize and as we were originally transiting through Canada, we had not thought any further about them. However, the paranoid Americans need everyone to have transit paperwork and since our altered flight plans took us to Washington, we needed a visa. Our travel advisor had failed to point this out when she changed our plans. Luckily we were still on Hong Kong time and had awoken early and got to Heathrow with plenty of time. A frantic and shaky 45 minutes at an airport internet café and we’d applied for ‘Esta’s. Unfortunately, with no working printing facilities and no-one to ask, I couldn’t be sure that the applications had been approved. Well that’s not entirely true – I had made my application first as a test and when that had worked, I had then put the rest of the family through as a group. Unfortunately, the automated response then said that their application may take 72 hours to process. There was nothing I could do but hope it was just a standard response to group applications. I returned to the check-in desk, where Jo and the kids had been waiting, trying my best to look and sound as if all was fine but unsure if I was about to start the next journey on my own.
United Airlines soon diverted my attention from such worries; the flight to Washington was cancelled and we were now going to Chicago instead. This entailed an extra 2.5 hours in Heathrow and more time in Chicago. Still reeling from the visa panic, I wasn’t really concentrating otherwise I might have tried to negotiate a flight to Belize City rather than Cancun. Instead we walked away with fairly useless vouchers for future discounted flights and alcoholic drinks. The only good thing was an ‘upgrade’ to economy plus but the poor food, grumpy staff and tired, dated aircraft meant this didn’t amount to much in reality.
Our arrival in Chicago did nothing to improve our weariness. In Rome and Paris, transit meant that we’d had minimal security checks before being efficiently streamed into the appropriate international departure lounges. Our luggage was simply transferred from one plane to another without us ever seeing it. In the good old US of A, we queued with several hundred others to be scanned and checked by immigration. The checkpoints bristled with shiny new equipment but were mostly unmanned and it took us almost 2 hours to be processed through one of the few open ones. We then collected our baggage which had been patiently going round the carousel, dodged passed the customs lady shouting aggressively at some poor lady who’d not dotted the i’s correctly on her declaration form and returned our bags to the airline for the next leg of the journey. Due to the change in plans, this leg was with American not United so we made our way over to terminal 3 and then had to queue and check in. Here we learned that there would be no food on this plane so I headed across the airport to United’s terminal to get food vouchers before queuing through more security and finally getting to the departure lounge. Despite a four hour lay-over in Chicago, we had less than 20 minutes to eat that most American of meals, MacDonalds and Dunkin’ Donuts. As I got on the plane to Mexico, I could feel my waist expanding and my weary heart faltering.
On the final flight, Will was asleep before take-off despite having the window seat. The Mexican customs were much more efficient but it was still 6 hours later than we’d planned when we finally stepped off a bus in Playa Del Carmen. Instead of the planned leisurely afternoon’s rest, we headed straight to bed. One consolation was that our late arrival meant that the first bus the next day with spaces wasn’t until 9.20 am so we’d be able to lie in (if our body clocks allowed) and get breakfast.
Unfortunately, we’d also not be in Chetumal until 2pm and the boat to Belize left at 3pm. I’d had some email contact with the company but wasn’t certain we had a reservation. After a mad dash across Chetumal, it became clear that we hadn’t and the boat was full. Less than 2 hours from our destination, after 36 hours of travel, we were stuck for another 24 hours. We booked for the next day and made our way, exhausted and disconsolate, back into Chetumal with no Mexican money, no idea about the place and little wish to be there. Fortunately, the hotel recommended by the water taxi staff had a pool which helped splash away some of the disappointment.
We finally arrived on Ambergris Caye on Wednesday evening with the welcoming sight of Noah and Chris at the pier. The familiar smell of the sea and the faint crash of the swell on the reef mixed with the relief of having arrived. It was so good to be here that even getting up at 5.30am the next day to fly and drive to Caracol for the Maya end of the world ceremony didn’t seem too much of an effort. This is laid back Belize after all, where there’s always time mañana, mañana.
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