Belize, formerly known as British Honduras, is third-world a country on the eastern coast of Central America. It has an area of approximately 9,000 square miles and a population of 368,000 people. In April of 2014, the UN reported Belize to be the third most dangerous country in the world, and in March of 2016, a friend and I found ourselves on the verge of taking an extended stay in the heart of the country’s drug and crime riddled capital.
It All Started With One Too Many Belikins
It was about 11 am local time. My friend and I had just taken a tender from our cruise ship, the Norwegian Star, to the shores of Belize City, Belize. After getting off the tender, we explored the pier for about 20 minutes and decided to sit down at a bar to share a bucket of Belize’s finest domestic beer, Belikin. After two buckets of beer and having heard at least 15 reggae remixes of popular American songs, I got the bright idea for us to venture out of the pier and into the city.
Mike From Belize
After making our way through extensive (read: jokingly inadequate) port security, we began looking for a cab to take to beach. In a place like Belize, anyone who looks like a tourist can expect to get a cab with little to no effort. With neon pink swim trunks, Nike flip flops, a bright orange Jägermeister fanny pack, and a tank top that read “Alpha Phi Gives You Wings,” it didn’t take long for my friend and I to be identified as tourists and have a host of cab drivers offering us their services. The first to approach us was a man by the name of Mike (mikeinbelize2015@gmail.com if you’re ever in town) – a cab driver who, according to his business card, specialized in tours, caves, snorkeling, and yes, BIRDS. We hopped into his cab, told him we wanted a quick tour of Belize and then wanted to head to the beach. Little did we know, we’d never make it to the beach.
I Don’t Get High, I Stay High
We had been driving around Belize for about 10 minutes when, in response to an innocent question about whether Marijuana was legal in Belize, Mike informed us that he “doesn’t get high, he stays high.” Ten minutes later, Mike was pulling into his driveway, conveniently located in the heart of the Belizean trap. He took us into his house to meet his wife and child and sat us down at a table in his kitchen where there was a small flat screen TV streaming a press conference by Hillary Clinton – bonus points for staying on top of world politics. Next thing we know, Mike is running across the street to his neighbor’s house, where he would return with a sack of homegrown, Belizean pot. Mike proceeded to roll up a few joints, which he then put into his pocket and told us he was ready to take us to the beach.
Detour to The Belize City Airport
We hadn’t been more than five minutes departed from Mike’s house when he informed us that he had to pick up another fare from the airport, ensuring us that it’d only take 5-10 minutes. We get to the airport – a building smaller than most bus stations, with a single runway in which single propeller planes were landing and taking off from – and then proceed to spend at least an hour waiting on a plane that never showed up. By this point in time, we had about two and a half hours before we had to be back at the pier, so we urged Mike just to take us back to the ship.
Mike Goes to the Beach
We’re headed back to the pier, or so we thought, when Mike pulls into the parking lot of a man-made lake with a bar and swimming area – the pier nowhere in sight. Confused as to why in the hell Mike finally decided to take us to “the beach,” we asked Mike to just take us back to the pier. However, Mike was insistent that we at least have a few beers before we go. Mike was walking us to the bar when he was greeted by another cab driver, “Mike, you crazy motherf*cker!” Somehow ignorant to the red flag that was being waved right in our face, we proceeded to the bar where Mike would leave us ensuring that he’d be back in time to take us to the pier.
T-minus 30 Minutes Until an Extended Stay in Belize
It’s 4 PM local time, the last tender to the ship is in 30 minutes, and Mike is nowhere to be found. At this point, we’re about five minutes from a full blown panic attack – both our passports were on the ship, neither of us had cellphone service, and we had a combined $70 US. Having given up on Mike, we decided to go to the parking lot in search of another cab, but find none. Just as we were beginning to accept the fact that we’d be spending some extra time in Belize, who shows up other than Crazy mother*cking Mike, “ay mane, I told you I’d be back!”
Back to the Pier
After nearly hitting a semi head-on while passing a car in front of us, narrowly dodging a group of adolescent school children crossing the street, and driving at least 20 mph over the speed limit the entire trip, Mike drops us off at a market that is a solid five minute walk from the pier – with only 15 minutes left until the last tender departs. His last words to us, “aye mane, here’s my card if you’re ever in Belize again!”
We ended up making it back onto the cruise ship just in the nick of time, but, needless to say, I will never be contacting Mike from Belize again.
