By
Ken McCormick
I
had fallen out of a tree crossing a rain-swollen stream in Belize on a rickety
suspension bridge, and I could just barely hobble around on an injured
leg. There was to be no more hiking
around for a while for me. I wished I
had a cane. I had waded across a ford
that ordinarily had a water level low enough that small trucks and SUV’s could
drive across, but the water was now crotch-high and rushing. This was a tributary to the stream with the
suspension bridge, so there was to be no wading that flow. Somebody had built a suspension bridge from
up in the lower branches of one tree to the lower branches of a tree on the
other side.
The
boards on which to tread on the bridge were weak and flexed quite noticeably,
threatening to give way altogether and send one plunging into the rushing water
below. The cables twisted and swayed,
and the whole thing seemed as though it might twist over and turn upside down
at any moment, but it was the tree that finally got me. These trees had boards nailed to them to
make crude ladders to the bridge. Most
kid’s tree houses have got more well-constructed ladders than these, but of
course it wasn’t the ladder’s fault that I fell. I fell because I had become careless after having crossed the
bridge.
I
don’t know whether my foot slipped on the wet rung of the ladder or whether I
missed the rung altogether because the rung between it and the next highest
rung was missing and I was being careless and had my eyes full of rainwater,
but one second I was falling with one foot on the inside of the ladder and the
rest of me outside the ladder, and the next second I was lying at the water’s
edge with my hands full of splinters.
It
rained almost constantly the whole time I was in Belize. Being laid up with a game leg and other
injuries, there was nothing much to do but hobble over to the restaurant to eat
or to lie in bed in the hotel. This was
the second-best hotel in town, at over $30 per night an outrageously
high-priced hotel for this part of the world.
San Ignacio is a backpacker's Mecca, and this keeps the prices
inflated. Internet access there is an
amazing $10 per hour. Right now in
Flores, a city on an island in Lago Peten Itza, I'm paying under $2 per hour,
and in most of Guatemala, it costs $1.30 or less per hour. Anyway, I got tired of lying in bed in the
rain with the roof leaking and the constant hammering all day of workmen tearing
out a wall in the hotel. It must have
been some well-constructed wall, because they were really going at it for the
two days I was there. So I hobbled on
up to the bus station and headed for the border.
The
bus doesn't normally run all the way to the border, so I had to split cab fare
with a couple of Brits to get to the frontier.
We were met by the usual screaming horde of money changers. Belize charges a BZ$27.50 exit fee, and I
had just enough to get out with only about 25 cents left over in BZ coinage, so
they didn't make any money off me today.
I already had all the Quetzales I needed for use in Guatemala, too.
We
were also assaulted by cab drivers and minivan drivers who wanted us to pay
outrageous sums to get to Flores. I
already knew the going rate was $2 from having passed this way before, so we
thanked them politely and went over to the bus station. At the bus station, the ticket lady said
there would not be another bus for some time, and suggested we walk up to the
gas station and catch a minivan. These
are the same price as the bus, and are used by the locals.
We
threw our bags on the roof rack and struggled aboard. I say "struggled" not only because of my game leg, but
also because there were already 19 other people and two chickens aboard this
standard-size Mitsubishi minivan. I
thought 22 might be some sort of a record for a minivan. Little did I know! Granted two of the riders were children small enough to sit in
laps, but still, that seemed like a lot.
One can achieve a much higher density in a regular bus, because the roof
is high enough that people can stand, and people take up a lot less floor space
when standing. I told the Brits
"Welcome to Guatemala!"
Actually,
not everyone was in the minivan, exactly.
The ayudante had his feet on the floor, but had the door open, and was
hanging on outside the van. This
provided the first mishap of the journey, as the open door jolted off its
hinges on the muddy, potholed road and crashed first against the side of the
van, and then into the road. The
ayudante, a kid of about 13, fortunately was not dragged off by the falling
door, but was somehow left with the entire ripped-off weather stripping from
the side of the van wrapped about his arm.
A passerby helped the driver and the ayudante take some cord and tie the
somewhat banged-up door to the roof rack and frame so that it pretty much
covered the hole in the side of the van and stopped most of the mud from flying
in as we continued on our somewhat less merry way.
The engine quit another half-hour down the road, but the
driver used a hill to jump-start it again.
I gave a sidelong look to one of my British companions. Apparently, the starter on this vehicle
didn't work. In another 10 or 15
minutes, midway between the border and Flores, the engine quit for good. Another minivan came along, and the driver
of it suggested to the driver of ours that if the engine wouldn't turn over,
the battery might be dead. Our diver
accordingly removed the battery. We
were jammed in the back of the van, and thought maybe this was to send it to be
charged, but when we finally did break free, we saw that the battery was just
sitting in the road next to the crippled van.
Then, maybe because he didn't know what else to do, the driver decided
to change a tire. This tire-changing
operation seemed to take about a half-hour, and included the van falling off
the jack a couple of times.
I
finally forced my way off the van and started looking up the road for
approaching rescuers. I was like a rat
ready to abandon a sinking ship.
Another tourist minivan did come along, but the driver wanted $10 each
to take us into Flores. We decided to
wait and hope the regular bus would come along in another half-hour or so. Soon, though, another local minivan happened
by and the driver invited everyone to climb aboard at no extra charge. Ladies first. When there were 25 people aboard, the driver asked if I wanted to
come, too. I asked how that was
possible, for I didn’t see any way to squeeze anyone else aboard. This just shows I haven’t been in Guatemala
long enough. The driver told me to get
my bags and showed me where he wanted me to cram myself aboard. We left the hapless driver of the other van
and his ayudante standing in the road scratching their heads, but apparently
relieved to be rid of us.
So this was 23 adults and 3 small kids in a minivan. The ayudante was hanging on the outside, so I guess you can't really say there were 26 people all in the van. His feet were inside, though. I had a small girl in my lap. Off we went, music blasting, the girl in my lap and the baby girl next to us bopping their heads in time to the music.