Monday was a travel day. It was the closest thing we experienced to a Central American version of “Planes, Trains, and Automobiles.” I suppose you would call it, “Cars, Colectivos, Chicken Buses, and Taxis.” We planned to use our last full day in Central America to do some Caribbean stuff. We had collectively determined that Belize City was not all that impressive. Some of my children may have referred to it as a “dump.” It certainly wasn’t the source of the photos used on Belize’s travel advertising. There were no resorts, beaches, or cute huts serving slushy alcoholic drinks. Some other travelers told me that the cheap place to get a nice Caribbean experience was Caye Caulker. I decided to head toward that place, and spend Tuesday there.

But, we began the day in Coban, Guatemala. As the crow flies, it is just over 200 miles from Coban to the East Coast of Belize. This may seem like an easy trip, doable in a few hours. That’s definitely not the case anywhere in Central America, particularly in Guatemala. The GPS said it would take us some five and a half hours to get to Flores where we needed to return the rental car. From there, we would have to hop a colectivo to Melchor de Mencos, on the Belizean border. We would walk across the border, then hike three kilometers to the West Line bus terminal where we would catch the chicken bus back to Belize City. If time permitted, we would jump on the water taxi and spend the night on Caye Caulker. All of that seemed a bit optimistic. I anticipated we might need to sleep in Belize City and catch the morning water taxi to the island.

We got off to a great start. As had been the case the night before, the drive may have been stressful, but we gained time traveling during off peak hours. There was one river ferry on the highway to Flores, but we did not have to wait long to cross. The roads continually improved in quality as we neared Flores. The return process was smooth. Andrew grabbed a drink and a snack, and we awaited the colectivo bound for the Belize border. We spent about two hours on the colectivo, and for a cost of only Q40, arrived at the boundary at about lunch time. Belize has a bit more administrative paperwork to navigate than Honduras or Guatemala, but not much. We were through and on schedule to make the last water taxi, which I had learned departed at 5:00 p.m.

Seeing that there was apparently plenty of time, Andrew and I decided we would hike the three km to the West Line bus terminal. The total distance was less than two miles, and we were packing light. When Audrey was with us, we grabbed a cab for that distance, but that seemed unnecessary now. Sadly, no one anywhere along the way informed us that the tropical storm which had hit the coast while we were in Southern Guatemala had swollen the rivers in Belize to the point that buses could not reach Benque Viejo del Carmen, where the bus terminal was. We walked all the way there to find an empty, unmanned terminal posted with a few contact numbers, none of which anyone was answering. As I tried these lines, a wandering druggie showed up to offer us advice. We could go to the next bus stop on the other side of the river. It was “over there on the top of the hill.” But there were several hills “over there,” we were a little tired already, and it certainly was not apparent that he really knew where he was telling us to go. What was certain was that he couldn’t explain it to us in coherent terms. It was also clear that no bus was coming to this terminal, so we set out walking toward what looked like a busier part of town.

Along the way, we offered help to an older Guatemalteca who was far more heavily burdened than we. She had called for a taxi to pick her up on the main road. We carried her bags for her to the main road, and then paid for her cab and shared it to the next bus stop. The bus stop proved to be clear over in the town of San Ignacio, about a twenty minute drive. There was no way we could have walked to it. Once there, we waited another hour for a bus to arrive. It turned out that had we just caught a cab from the border, we would have probably paid the same amount and ended up at the bus stop about an hour and a half earlier and a lot less tired and sweaty. Had I done that, though, I would have almost certainly not believed the cab driver when he told me the river was up and that the bus wouldn’t go to the West Line terminus. I would have suspected him of fibbing to get a longer cab fare. As it was, we caught our chicken bus, and arrived in Belize City right at 5:00, about twenty minutes too late to catch the last water taxi to the island. We tried to walk to a guest house in Belize City. It, too, was closed. I again belatedly hopped a cab to a hostel which had a room, and we were finally in for the night, a very long 298 road miles from Coban. We were happy to be there, and entertained by the myriad of transportation adventures we had encountered along the way. Of course, we met interesting people there, too. There was a very frustrated Brit, dealing with his disorganized but eternally cheerful female “mate.” There were a couple of fellows from France traveling. One guy from Belgium knew more the more he drank. All of them felt we were spendthrifts for having paid $B35 for our Chinese food. The room was cool, the bed was firm, and we were set to enjoy the Caribbean coast the last day of our trip. Life was good.

(Continued)