A Familiar Face in a Strange Place
Water taxis, tourist circuits, and the rainy afternoon that I fell in love with conch steaks
The ride on the water taxi was bumpy and latticed with salty splashes of water wafting in from the windows. The portholes on the ship were sealed shut — but only in theory. They shimmied themselves ajar no matter how many times the weary tourists of the tropics impudently tried to close and re-close them.
The passengers by the window bore the brunt of pounding, aquatic cannonades while those seated in the center of the vessel were burdened with the choppiest ride of all. They swayed back and forth and fought the beginnings of sea sickness throughout the trek from Mexico to the border crossing of Belize. I put on my headphones and attempted to close my eyes, but the intermittent saltwater incursions prevented me from sinking too deeply into my trance.
The man seated beside me, however, was perturbed neither by the turbulence nor my eyes fluttering with fatigue. He wore a Hawaiian shirt and a chatty grin. An affable affect colored his whole demeanor. More well-rested, I would have entertained the kindly man with whatever rabbit hole he wanted to ferret. But waking up before the sun to begin this bumpy pilgrimage to Belize, I did my best to nod along before making my distaste for our conversation clear.
An hour and 30 sporadically separated batterings of water later, we arrived at the border crossing in the middle of the Caribbean. And while the ride we’d endured was bumpy and formidable, it was nothing compared to the bureaucratic burdens we were each about to undergo. Lining up with our belongings outside of the building on the drizzly afternoon, we passed another hour with light small talk.
Sitting on my suitcase on the dampened dock, sleep was out of the question entirely now. The line gradually dwindled as the first who disembarked the taxi began to be funneled inside the drab concrete structure.
With my wallet, passport, and a few redundantly purposed passes draped around my neck, I was checked into the new country with only a few minor obstacles. Despite Belize being an English-speaking country, and having a few years of Spanish under my belt as well, I was discouraged to find just how often the dialect spoken soared a mile above my comprehension — and traveled in lightning-quick exchanges.
Maintaining their composure as I repeatedly bombarded them with ‘what?’s and ‘come again?’s, I was finally and officially stamped into the new nation. The sun poked its head fortuitously through the clouds as we reboarded our taxi. From there, we continued our odyssey from the barge off the coast and toward the Belizean island of Caye Caulker.
As we neared the destination, the overcast sky widened into a teal and sprawling blue. Following a miserable day of commute for all of us, the air in the cramped taxi brightened noticeably as it pulled into the dock.
Drowsily walking along the boardwalk, my suitcase clacked at my side like a metronome. I pulled out my phone, furiously rubbed my eyelids, and began a route toward the lone lodging on the limited stretch of land at which I’d found a vacancy.
The boardwalk met against a dusty shore. Silt quickly began clogging the element-battered wheels of my luggage. They sputtered and spun in the intrepid mud. The sun spelled a bright and vibrant day, but the soil beneath my feet told tales of miasmic despair. Sandflies swarmed at my feet and tried their best to breach my suitcase; a few managed.
Puddles lined the dirt-covered road that led me toward my destination, but my mapping app on this sparsely serviced island still left some precision to be desired. Standing at a comparatively towering 6 or 7 stories, I quickly found the hotel I was headed toward. With the better part of a kilometer still to go before me, “Ben!!!” I heard cried out suddenly. The sound emerged from a slowly bustling crowd of tourists and vagabonds.
Stopping in my luggage tracks, I looked frantically around me until my gaze landed on a familiar face.
On this middle-of-nowhere tropical island, I was taken aback to see someone I knew. As I quickly pieced together the identity of the stranger calling out to me, the weight of my aggravating day began to dissolve into cerulean waters.
Traveling in a foreign country, there’s rarely a greater reprieve than the chance encounter with a friend. One of the great bittersweet novelties of exploring the world is all the acquaintances we meet along the way who rarely linger in our lives for very long. In meeting new people, there’s an almost implicit understanding that whatever connections are forged in our time together will disintegrate as we move on to the next places on our itineraries.
But inversely, in huge and small countries alike, there can be a level of predictability to the tourist attractions that travelers seek out. Even as we cover enormous swaths of land throughout our trips, we often move in predictable circuits.
I never expected to see this friend I’d met in my rural Belize hostel again. But few travelers traverse the outskirts of San Ignacio without at least being tempted by the siren song of the “Go Slow!”-motto’d island off of the coast.
After a few-day detour into Mexico, I’d begun to give up on the idea of ever seeing the same face twice throughout my travels. But hearing my name called out after arriving in this new town, I suddenly felt at home in a strange place.
We excitedly communed and recapped each other on the past couple of weeks before happily agreeing to get lunch.
I dropped off my belongings at my hotel, washed the remnants of salt and sweat off of my skin after hours confined to a claustrophobic cabin at sea, healthily dosed myself with caffeine, and spent a few minutes reveling in the freedom of my capacious new lodging. After my couple weeks in hostels, I’d nearly forgotten the luxury of lying in bed half-naked.
After an hour, my friend and I decided to rendezvous at a local restaurant — but not before clear skies contorted into a downpour once more. Golf carts labored along the roads of the car-free municipality. Some of them fashioned their vehicles into moving rooms of plastic in preparation for the monsoon. Life was admirably well-adapted to the on-and-off torrents of unrelenting rain.
Dodging thick droplets of water and finding sanctuary at the seaside restaurant of our designated meeting, the aroma of fresh fish suffused the venue with a mouth-watering magnetism. The restaurant’s roof stood on stilts, but the enticing scents stayed housed within non-existent walls.
Rain cocooned the rickety little shack along the shore. Scanning our menus beneath a conversation-drowning deluge, my eyes were frozen by a sudden revelation.
Conch shells are… more than just decorative table displays? There are creatures that live in those colossal things?!
With my curiosity sufficiently piqued and standing before the grandeur of this weighty epiphany, the decision before me was clear. So with a glowing review from our waitress, I ordered the conch steak without hesitation.
Rain sprayed against our backsides with imposing gusts of wind as we eagerly awaited our meals. There was a melodic sort of ecstasy to the pitter-patter on the placid sea.
The rain was still too unceasing for us to meaningfully converse over, but the water around us settled into an eerie still. A sussurous mist hung atop the surface and blanketed the algae-hued tide beneath.
By the time my mysterious new entree arrived, the sound of the squall had softened slightly. It dissipated enough for my friend and I to squeeze in brief quips about our travels. They were crammed hastily between bites into our freshly caught delights.
Some might complain that the animals that reside within those megalithic conch shells are too chewy for many’s tastes. But that perfectly cooked slab of seafood, on that pluvial afternoon with my new old friend beside me, may have been the best meal from my entire time in the country.
This article was originally published on Medium.
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Your amazing descriptions force me to leave my rich imagination at home, while I travel with you. New old friends are so nice, aren't they?
Thanks for this.