My Honeymoon: Second Stop- Belize

Part three of my honeymoon cruise around the Caribbean. Previously I described the murdership we sailed out on, and our first port of call - Costa Maya. The next day we descended on the small third world country of Belize. Unlike Costa Maya, they did not attempt to cover up the poverty.

Belize City, Belize

          For those who are unaware, the country of Belize used to be called British Honduras. It’s roughly about the size of Massachusetts with less than half a million people living in it. Belize was officially given independence in 1981 due to the place being a money pit. But despite the poverty, the place has two things which the standard American tourist will appreciate:

1) Plenty of cheap booze.

2) Everyone speaks English.

          There wasn’t much going on at the port, so we had booked a tour of the city, culminating in a trip to a Mayan ruin. My newly minted wife wasn’t too interested, this was the part I had insisted upon. The pyramids in Egypt have become too commercialized for my tastes and this was the next best thing.

Beautiful Belize City

 

We began by leaving our beloved murder ship with its constant air conditioning, and settled on a rattling ex-school bus where the air cut off after every jolt over a pot hole. The tour brought us through what I initially took to the ruins of a town, only to discover the place was one of their major cities. Apart from some standout government and business buildings, the place looked like Sarajevo after six months of siege. To be fair, some of it was due to a typhoon hitting the city two years earlier.  

Most of the buildings were left over from British rule, having been constructed in the 1940s and 50s, then patched up with various floating debris in further decades. There were a large number of unfinished cement foundations, where story or two had been laid out, then abandoned. Rusty cables stuck out of tops of pillars where the next floor was intended to go. It was as if they started construction then suddenly ran out of money.

All the while, my wife noticed one particular detail. A lack of businesses, or at least chain businesses, in the city. While an occasional market or small taxi ring popped up, there didn’t seem to be a lot of jobs flourishing. Which may have been why our tour guide was so upbeat and happy. They actually had employment.

 

Due to a snafu with misplacing the tickets (not my fault), we were placed in one group and then transferred to another upon reaching our destination. So we had two tour guides, but they were speaking off of the same script and made the same corny jokes.

“You better Belize it!” was repeated over and over again.

Eventually we hit the highlight of the trip (for me, someone else wasn’t too impressed), the Mayan ruins of Lamanai. After a nice rum coconut- they cut a hole in the top and filled it up with rum for $5- we took a mud skip over to the island were the Mayan’s once held dominion. Our new guide, a former member of the Belize Defense Force, explained to us that while the once Mayan Empire had collapsed, the culture had never really gone away. It had simply been suppressed and ignored by first the Aztecs and then the Spanish. The theoretical reasons for the collapse vary from climate change, to civil war, to disease, to famine. We will probably never know.

Mask Temple of Lamanai

 

I know my demeanor in these blogs tends to of a disinterested sarcasm, but I have to admit getting all giddy on witnessing these structures built over three thousand years ago. Ancient houses, temples, courtyards, game courts. Several million feet must’ve trampled across that ground over the millennia. High priests, princes, slaves, and laborers. Lost, gone, and forgotten in time’s void. God damn, I’m depressing myself.

It was damn hot in that jungle, surprise, surprise, and I was blinded by constant sweat that dripped off my forehead. Yet I heroically pushed on to the climax of the trip, The High Temple of Lamanai. We’d already gone past the Jaguar and Mask Temples, but this one was special because we got to climb it.

One hundred and eight feet tall. Those steps you see in the picture are incredibly steep and large. Considering the average Mayan back in the day measured about 5’4”, it would’ve been an ordeal for most people. The last set of stairs to the top were so steep that we can to crawl up them. Our guide said that this was deliberate, so everyone was forced to prostrate themselves in the presence of the Gods.

High Temple of Lamanai

             As you may not know, I have a problem with heights. Specifically looking down from them. So the moment I reacted the top, where no safety railings dwelled, vertigo hit. My wife was fine, dancing about, taking in the view. But I stood up, grew dizzy, and nearly fell off the top. I crawled down to the bottom. But for those few seconds I had done it.

Mission accomplished, we went back to the ship to indulge our drinks package and playing bar trivia with questions asked by someone who could barely speak English.

 For more readings, try books by Rex Hurst. 

My Honeymoon: First Stop - Costa Maya

With the preliminaries all covered in the previous blog, the wedding and the murder ship - The Rhapsody of the Seas, let’s move onto all of the exotic sights my child bride and I saw. But let’s remember, every night was a party aboard with unlimited drinks, so we tended to be somewhat groggy during the day, often not stirring until 10 am before embarking on our adventure.  

First Stop: Costa Maya, Mexico

The actual original name of this fishing village is Mahahual, but once cruise ships staring going there it was redubbed to make the place sound more exotic. This was my first taste of Mexico, apart from certain disastrous parts of my childhood, so I was a little curious. Everyone flips back and forth on Mexico. Either the place is run by drug cartels and corrupt cops and who will kidnap you and rape your children, or it was a wonderful place where everyone was happy, happy, happy. I didn’t see either of these.

As we got off the ship, we had to show, not our passport, but our cruise card to the waiting officials. While also being our room key, this little beauty acted as our personal magic wand all over the ship, every time we wanted something we had to display the card to charge us later on or determine if we were part of a pre-paid package. Here it was more important than our US government documentation. It allowed entrance and, more importantly, exit from the country. Drug dogs sniffed our bags going into the port, but not going back on.

 

We walked down a long pier and into one of the greatest man made tourist traps ever devised. It was a three block long, twisty-turny collection of open air bistros, souvenir shops, and bars. As a visiting gringo, everything you could want was in this maze: tchotchkes, knick-knacks, bric-a-brac, t-shirts, mugs, souvenir spoons, magnets imprinted with the Mexican flag, Cuban cigars, leather wallets, sombreros, maracas, and so on. This was topped off by a large artificial pool right in the center of the complex, where one could soak in the sun’s rays or, for a modest fee, play around with inflatable animals. The one thing you couldn’t do was swim in the ocean, which is one of the main reasons for going to the Caribbean.

Knowing this ahead of time, my wife, master of discovering new things, had arraigned for us to travel to a little spot away from the main drag. A wonderful joint called the Krazy Lobster. But first we had to get out of this maze. My wife had actually watched a video about a person navigating this area, but the officials must’ve added onto it since then, as she became confused after a certain spot.

 

As she tried to figure out the correct path to the cab lot, the heat began getting to me. Normally there’s a nice ocean breeze to offset the high temperature, but the ring of stalls blocked this. A powerful thirst descended on me, but my natural frugalness (called “cheapness” by some) stopped me. I had a full drinks package on ship. Why would I pay for some overpriced Mexican Pepsi, when I could get it for free not very far away?

My wife was starting to become very upset, this forced us to cut behind some stalls and walk through some forbidden paths until we emerged on the outside of the boardwalk. Here is where the reality of this fishing village began to take shape. The tourist boardwalk was nice and happily framed, everything was freshly painted and presented with a positive image. The actual village was much more depressed (not as much as what we saw in Honduras and Belize, as you will read), but the contrast caused me to start. Let’s say it’s the difference between being in Disney World and a regular American neighborhood.

View of the Krazy Lobster

            We took a short cab ride to The Krazy Lobster. I had thought it was just a little restaurant by the beach, but it turned out to be much more. The whole of the beach was roped off, with tables and parasols provided right up to the shoreline. Wi-fi was offered, a rarity. The cruise line demanded we give them $10 day to use there’s. I used it as an excuse to turn my cell phone off for the week, which was a rare treat for me.

Buckets of Mexican beer (there are other brands beyond Corona) were brought out. I justified the purchase by saying these were brands not available on the ship. Then we dug into what I was really waiting for: The Lobster. As you can tell from the photo below this is not a Maine Lobster, but one indigenous to the Caribbean. The main difference being a lack of front claws. These were cooked in a savory cheese sauce, with chunks of papaya and mango. We ate four between us. Rarely have I ever been so fat and happy. Fat, yes. Happy, no. We’d eat a lobster, have a beer, run the five steps into the ocean, flounder around for an hour, get out, and repeat the process. Loads of fun.

Caribbean Lobster

 

The original plan was to go elsewhere and soak in more culture, but it was so nice that we ended staying the whole day. During that time I saw a lot of other tourists come and go and I noticed one bizarre fact. None of them ordered the lobster. It was all, “Can I get a plate of nachos?” or “I’ll have the hamburger and fries”. Who the hell goes to Mexico to order a hamburger? Granted, their main dish was pricey, but don’t you want to try something different when in a foreign country? Not sit around and compare this fast food to that in the USA.

The only other annoyance was that the place was deluged with people hawking their wares. While this was a step up from the normal beggars I was used to, it was still a never ending stream. Every five minutes someone came by to ask us if we were interested in their crappy merchandise. After we said no they moved on without a hassle, but having to say no over and over was a bit of a grind. I did relent and pick up a few Cuban cigars and a leather wallet. The guy claimed it was handmade by his family, who had personally shot and skinned the cow it came from, but I was skeptical. It sure looked like a lot of the wallets I saw in the tourist trap. Little tip, it’s expected to haggle with these beach vendors. Never pay the first asking price.

My new wallet

 

After such a relaxing day, we wandered back to the ship to soak in more on-board atmosphere and speculate on our next stop: Belize. More on that in the next post.

  For more readings, try books by Rex Hurst. 

My Honeymoon

Well I did it. I tied the knot. Left the MGTOW world behind and settled down as a responsible man, full of determination and seriousness. And after a healthy dose of breaking my back as a good provider and new devotee to the Protestant Work Ethic, I will be able to retire in several decades and devote myself full time to my two new hobbies- drinking and being bitter. 

Well, maybe not. Still I did get married to a woman I could easily dominate with my masculinity. One whiff of my armpit and she swoons. I take off my socks and she rushes to wash them and clean my feet. I am master of my household and that’s the way I like it.

The ceremony? I barely remember it. The plan was to elope with a quickie wedding and spend our wad on a decent honeymoon. Then her family comes along and offers to pay for the whole thing: venue, open bar, ritzy meal. I wasn’t going to say no. So my and bride and I subjected ourselves to the tedious formalities and humiliation of the modern wedding:

 A lot of people I didn’t know and would never see again shaking my hand; me stumbling through the vows, saying 'I do' too early, and putting the ring on the wrong finger; people saying “I know you have a registry, but I wanted to get you something special.” And special always seems to translate to a picture frame for our wedding photos (received 10 of them) or a fucking candlestick (received 6 of them).  Lights work in my house, I don’t need any alternate illumination. The registry is there for a reason. It’s what a person actually needs in their household, and carefully balanced so the place isn’t littered with candlesticks.

With the formalities out of the way, my newly minted wife and I could concentrate on the part we were really interested in: The Honeymoon! The time when we could actually have fun. For our trip, we had decided to take a cruise around the Caribbean. Stopping in Costa Maya and Cozumel, Mexico; Belize City, Belize; and Roatan, Honduras. A seven day journey with all of the amenities paid for and a full drink package- meaning all the booze we could slurp.

The Ship

My virginal bride and I took off from Tampa on board the Rhapsody of the Seas, I name that I immediately remembered from an Unsolved Mystery episode back in the day. It was the same vessel where Amy Lynn Bradley went missing. If you remember, there was a scandal because Royal Caribbean (owners of the boat) did nothing to try and find her after she was reported missing, but claimed that they had searched the ship, effectively stalling any real investigation. Rumors as to what had happened to her ran the gamut of her being drunk and falling overboard, to being raped and murdered by crew members, to her being kidnapped and forced into the white slave trade.

Somehow this didn’t stop me from getting on the vessel. My wife had been several cruises without disappearing, while I had never stepped foot on a boat, but remembered that it was mostly females likely to go missing. That’s my “male privilege”. I would be the one forced to track down my wife’s kidnappers like Liam Neeson in Taken.

Once we ran around the various checkpoints and had our passports checked, we installed ourselves in an incredibly small cabin. One thing I learned quickly was that every time we emerged to take in the ship, our room was cleaned, sheets changed, and fresh towels provided. After I slipped the cabin caretaker (or whatever his title is) $5, the towels from then on were folded into elephant shapes. 

Luckily my wife knew just how to play things on board ship. We went around to every bar there was on the first day to find the best bartenders. After comparing notes, we singled out the ones we liked and tipped them. We got the best service ever after that and with our unlimited drinks package, we used their services a lot.

What took me the most to get used to, apart from hangovers from the unlimited booze, was the constant swaying of the boat. Rhapsody of the Seas being one of the smaller vessels in Royal Caribbean's fleet, you could definitely feel the movement of the boat through the water. I found this sensation incredibly soothing. Combine that with decent climate control and a bed (not so decent; one of the worst beds I ever slept in) and it was like being in a giant cradle. It successfully rocked me to sleep, over and over. So much that I was in danger of just sleeping the entire day away. Even when I walked about it was as if I was in a daze. Barely lucid, like a dream.

The entertainment was as good as you might expect on a cruise ship. Song and dance, one dirty comic, weird haphazard shows on the tv, pools, saunas, buffets, a casino, and booze. Most of it was perfect for sitting around and staring at through a drunken lens- which is what you do when you have UNLIMITED alcohol. I know I keep harping on this, but it made a real difference in the trip. We paid $400 each for it, and I’m not sure we got our full money’s worth in booze, but it was so satisfying to not worry about the cost of things. All we did was hand over our ship’s card and BOOM as much as we wanted. That’s what makes it Royal Caribbean better than Carnival. On Carnival they limit you to 15 drinks a day and make you wait five minutes before ordering a second drink. That will not do.

As such I didn’t do much on sea days, except eat and drink. I tried the spa but it was incredibly annoying. The treatments weren’t included in the regular ship price and then they kept trying to upsell me services. Hot rocks, seaweed wraps, and no matter what I got, there was always another higher service to pimp to me. I got so irritated that it ruined the treatment and got me even more stressed out than when I began.

The food? Good and bad. There were three specialty restaurants on the ship: A chop house, an Italian eatery, and a Japanese joint. The last two were fantastic. The chop house- I suppose it would be good, but I now live with a gourmet chef, who knows how to prepare the best tasting steaks I’ve ever had. There were also sit down dinners that were terrible- not enough cooks- all the food was lukewarm at best and hastily thrown together. We never went back after the first night, opting for the buffet every time.

But the ship was not the main point of the honeymoon. We were all about the destinations. And I will discuss them in the next blog.

 For more readings, try books by Rex Hurst.