Making Myself At Home

I have so much freedom, I don’t know what to do with it all. A common phrase around here is “no worry ‘bout nothin’.” I am often told to “free up,” and “relax myself.” So I have been taking my time to play soccer with the local boys (who call me Miss Kaela), spending time on the porch on the hammock, playing my ukelele (I am beginning to elaborate on the simple tunes I taught myself and might put words to the music soon), taking naps, and visiting some of the most amazing archaeological sites on the planet.
About soccer: there's a field about a half mile from Smith’s Family Farm where I’m staying (it’s actually not a farm so much as a villa of cabanas with fluffy, scavenging chickens bobbing around, friendly families and their playful children, a couple scraggly horses, some clotheslines, all situated among a well manicured, tropical garden with well swept concrete walkways and dirt pathways). At about five o’clock, about twelve guys on average, most of them around my age, convene and get in a straight line, divide themselves into two teams by having each boy step to left or right, one by one down the line, and then start playing until dark. Tedron, a Rasta kid close to my age, who is the nephew of the guy who owns the family farm where I stay, got me to come down and play defense. Just like old times (I used to play for years when I was younger), when the ball would come my way I’d boot it as hard as I could as far away as possible. The most fun was yesterday when I played goalie and I dropkicked the ball as hard as I could to the other side of the field, each time it came my way. The final score was 4-2 (our side won). It was fun to get the guys going by showing off my skill – yes, I admit it. I can be a showoff but I do my best to remain humble. They are not used to seeing girls out there, though Ilana sometimes plays as well. I now have the reputation of being an all star on the field. Life is easy.
Today I took a tour with a native Belizean guide to the Barton Creek Cave. It is/was considered by the Mayans to be the passageway to the underworld. They buried their dead there, and it was thought that their soul would leave their body after three days, move into the void and reemerge as either as either a jaguar or a monkey – who according to David (the guide), you never see “fussing and fighting.” (The Mayans didn’t enjoy being subservient to royalty, so they wished to be reborn as powerful animals). At a couple points in the cave, we turned off our flashlights and moved along in the pitch black darkness in our canoe, with only the sounds of the droplets hitting the water, resonating throughout the empty space. The air was so still, the silence so pervasive. Never before has my mind been so clear of thoughts without the aid of meditation. We turned off the flashlights once more as we moved out of the cave after our one mile journey, so that we could use our imagination to experience what it was like to come back from the dead.
Later, Tedron and I walked down the road to a close-by village. To get to it, we had to walk across a buoyant wooden bridge over the river, When we got to other side, we were met with a field of lightning bugs, gracefully flickering on and off as the sky darkened above us. At one point during our walk back, we came to an area of the road where the crickets were especially loud. Slowly, the noise of a rattle emerged from the already melodic natural sounds, and we heard a group of Belizeans singing church songs in Spanish – it was almost like a unique version of gospel music. They were singing in celebration.
I'm getting better at understanding creole, though when I first arrived here, there was lots of smiling and nodding and saying "Mm-hm, okay . . ." (Creole is a form of broken English, sort of like the Belizean version of pidgin (sp?)) But, since all of Steven's friends speak it, I have lots of opportunities to get used to the language, and at this point, I am able to participate in conversation. They all get a kick out of it when I end my sentences with "Ya check?" or "No, true?" They look to the ground and nod their heads as if they're thinking "Now you're getting it . . ." So, I'm not living the life of an average tourist, as you may have surmised. Yesterday, I helped Steven and a few of his friends mix concrete on the ground in preparation for the underground septic tank they were building in Steven's mother's backyard. At first, they were hesitant to even let me help. Like, they just sort of laughed when I asked them to give me a shovel. But I persisted, and one of the guys, Chino, finally said "Here, take this one." Then he took a bucket of water and poured it over the pile of cement (they didn't have a mechanized mixer, of course) and showed me how to shovel in from the edges. After a few minutes, one of the other dreads showed me how to further break up clumpy cement by using a chopping motion. As beads of sweat rolled down my face and my whole body started to perspire, they all seemed to become more friendly towards me. Instead of treating me with skepticism, they started to enjoy teaching me the trade. Now, I no longer have to ask for a shovel. When I come by (Steven’s house is on the way to town) they just hand me one with huge grins on their faces.
I know a lot of what I write sounds pretty idyllic, but there are things here that concern me, I must admit. First of all, none of the cars here seem to get smog checks, and I am constantly inhaling exhaust fumes when walking along the side of the road. Also, there are pretty apparent divisions among the men and women. There seems to be a good amount of wives who spend most of their time at home while their husbands hang out on the street hailing young girls and/or sipping beer (Belikin is the main brand). Most children live in broken homes and domestic abuse is common. They still use corporal punishment in the educational system, and based on the descriptions that Tedron has offered me about being whacked in the hand by a two by four for not doing his homework, their schools sound more like military camps. The health care system is poor and inadequate -- they'll write drug prescriptions for illnesses they can't identify, and facilities are limited in space. But, people here are happy. Really happy. I have seen virtually no deeply depressed individuals. All you have to do is smile at a person (no matter what age or gender) to see how open hearted they are. The children almost always return it more beautifully and genuinely than I -- their faces light up. All in all the warm heartedness of the people here is a good climate in which to remain an optimist. Attitudinally, they're doing better here than most busy (and not so busy) people in the states.

Belize: Papayas, Eels, and Corn Rows

I'm still here in Belize and have decided that I am going to take up residence for the month of January in the beautiful small town of San Ignacio, located in the country next to the Guatemalan border. It's one of the ideal locations to stay in if you want to see what this area of the country has to offer -- the Mayan monuments (like Cahal Pech and Xunantunich), the caves, if you want to float down the Mopan River on an inner tube. And I think this town is a great place to stay in general. Not only does it have cheap internet access and phone use, a farmer's market EVERYDAY a half mile up the road where I can buy, like five pounds of Papayas for only a couple bucks, but almost everyone smiles at me in passing. People here are happy and mellow. I can have my own furnished and serviced cabin, in a small little village among the locals (3/4 mile from town), utilities included for $150.00 US. Honestly, most of my days here so far have been spent lounging around with my friend Ilana and her Belizean man Steven in her cabana in between eating Ital food, going to the soccer field with all of the Belizean boys who have been playing the sport their whole lives, and strolling around town. I like to take it REALLY easy sometimes. That's one reason why I am going to spend another month here -- to get to know the place better. Right now I'm just sinking into it, and learning how to understand creole.
We spent a few days in San Pedro (an island among the cayes) and did some amazing snorkeling. We got a private tour (the three of us), a half day for $35.00 US. I held a shark. At first it resisted, but once I started rubbing its white belly, it became a little more subdued. It just kind of laid back onto my other hand (it was sandwiched in between the both of them) which was holding its sandpaper like brown back, and hesitantly enjoyed. Then it squirmed away. I never thought of sharks as cute until that day. There were also sting rays. One of the tour guides from another boat picked one up from the ocean floor and lifted it up to the surface of the water, and put it on his head for all to see. Then a few of the surrounding people who were also on tours pet it. At one point, our guide took me to a part of the reef where a green, grinch like eel was hiding. He started to approach it, but as he got closer, the eel angrily emerged from its hole, threatening to attack. My heart got a chill of a fear, but luckily, my guide backed away soon enough for the eel to be satisfied and retreat back to its home. We also encountered a school of huge silver colored fish, probably weighing about forty pounds, with huge, thick lips and yellow tails. They swam past my head and I'm surprised they didn't ram me.
Later in the day, Steven and Ilana took me to get my hair braided in corn rows by a mother and daughter who live on the island. It took about a couple hours. We conversed the entire time, mostly about how hard it was to find a good man in Belize (she was telling Ilana how lucky she was to find Steven, who is extraordinarily sweet, intelligent and trustworthy) and she invited me to stay in her home in a small village with her family for a couple months in April/May. She told me I wouldn't need to worry about paying money for a hotel or food -- that I would be taken care of, and could have my own room. I told her I'd give her a call next year if/when I was ready to come, upon which her 15 year old daughter clapped her hands and said I was going to be her big sister. A part of me thinks the mother wants to set me up with her 23 year old son, who according to her is one of the "good ones" -- intelligent and very artistic, but who has no interest in Belizean women --who only wants a "special girl he can trust." Well, I don't know if that's going to happen, but I think I may just take up her offer.

Challenging the Rip Tide at Black Sand Beach

Yesterday I went to a beach I had never been to before, with Dave (who works on the farm with me), on the back of his motorcycle. It was situated at the bottom of a winding road, through a relatively recent lava flow. From the top, it looked almost like an abandoned industrial area, and surprisingly, houses are selling there for about $500,000 a piece. Only a year or so ago (I think), most were going for $30,000. That's how fast prices are skyrocketing over here (though they've pretty much capped). Anyway, it was called Miloli'i, also known as the Last Fishing Village. It's populated my locals mostly, many who seem to be in touch with the "old ways," and who don't like to to see too many haoles (white people). Once we reached the parking lot, we walked for about fifteen minutes along a mostly rock trail, lined with wooden handrails made from surrounding trees. Before we came to the strip of black sand, the trail opened up to a point where there were no trees on the right hand side of us -- just tall waves approaching us with increasing momentum as they crashed violently onto the boulders before us. It was intimidating, like the rock wall was a mediator keeping the ocean from mercilessly attacking us. With each crash, it sounded as if an avalanche was being released -- the ground practically shook. There was something special about the whole scene, as I was in the midst of an ethereal beauty that seems to exist on a different plane than what I'm used to in California. It is effervescent here. The palm trees glowed with an orange hue against the backdrop of the mist topped mountain, and we made our way to the sandy shore. There, the waves fell onto the shore, stretching themselves out in exhaustion before the rip tide possessively pulled them back, the ocean collecting itself to hurl itself once more onto the compacted jet black sand. In the distance, plumes of white froth were rising thirty feet out of the air as larger waves were beat against the cliff side. After another set crashed and receded, I stripped to my bathing suit, ran and jumped into the water. I tried to situate myself in the place where most of the waves just begin to break, so I could achieve the greatest height possible as I rose with them, but the current was so strong that I was pulled into the ocean where there was no ground beneath my feet to push off of. I dismissed the short pang of anxiety of getting out without being pummeled, and just submitted to the water, letting the waves move through me, pushing and pulling me gently. They rose about three feet above my head before I naturally bobbed up to meet the crest, and then moved past.
In one moment, as a gigantic wall of water was heading right for me, I was reminded of a couple of dreams I've had lately, of unpredictable oceans delivering catastrophic tidal waves. In these dreams, instead of being on the shore, trying to run out of harm's way (as most of my other past dreams have involved), I have actually BEEN IN the water, rising and falling in the deep end, not even thinking about how I'm going to get out. And here I was in waking reality, mostly confident and patient, only slightly apprehensive. When it came time for me to come out, the crest of a large wave crashed past my head and moved me into the pebbly shallow area. The rip tide pulled like a force of gravity, making it hard for me to even attempt to take a step forward. As I looked behind me to see if there were any large waves coming, the strong force subsided as a medium sized one headed my way, and I was able to RUN as fast as I could to where my clothes were lying. It felt like coming off of an exhilarating, breathtaking rollercoaster ride. I was glad I was safe.
And now, my tide (whoops, I meant time, but tide works) has come, and I am being whisked away to Belize (Central America) to see one of my best friends of all time (Ilana). She has just finished her field study teaching permaculture to kids, and has a few week vacation. I am going to stay in her humble home in the country (in San Ignacio) and see if I can live just as simple and natural of a lifestyle as I am here. It's a one way ticket, leaving tonight. From there, who knows where I'll go. Maybe Costa Rica? I am FREE.
At Ke-ei beach a couple days ago, facing the mountain, I asked the island if I could come back to live and work again, and all I felt was the same opening in my chest that happens with each sunset, the influx of mana rising and moving through me, a source of energy that is limitless. It will rise and rise, making me stronger and stronger as long as I LET it. This will always be a place of power for me, I can always come back.
So, friends of Santa Cruz, I don't know when you'll see me again, because this is where it's at! I am going to travel the world, coming back to Hawaii to make money so I may go off again. I don't know for how long I'll do this, but for now that's the plan. Santa Cruz -- I love it. I will miss the redwoods, West Cliff, the farmer's market on Wednesdays with all that cheap, high quality organic produce, and all of the truly wonderful people I know. But it's just too expensive for me right now, and I want something new. I plan on seeing you all again though when I visit. And I will definitely keep sending the updates and hopefully some pictures soon too. You'll hear from me. Just because I am geographically distant doesn't mean I won't keep you close . . .