Homeward Bound

So its Sunday morning, and the last morning of our little adventure. I'm sound asleep (quick aside, our routine in Belize was that Sander would wake up, wander into my room and we'd lie there and talk about the day before and what we wanted to do that day-just a great beginning to each day. I mean, things would have to epically bad to ruin that start) when I hear him stirring around excitedly. Holy smokes, I totally forgot it was Easter Sunday!

Well, apparently the Easter Bunny didn't because he came. The Easter Bunny's a he right? That's the way I remember it, but it sure seems like the Easter Bunny should be a girl. What with the eggs and all the pastel colors. But only a guy would give out candy to start the day. Tough one. I need a ruling on this. Anyway, the Easter Bunny showed up with candy and toys, plus the Easter Bunny hid plastic eggs around the hotel room for Sander to find (until I get a ruling, I'm forced to write "Easter Bunny" instead of he or she, please hurry). So Sander went a huntin' plastic eggs. That's Sander with his loot in the first picture. I know he's my boy, but you cannot possibly tell me that's not the cutest picture you've ever seen, totally blows away the "Hang in there" kitten. So we eat our breakfast (and, OK, for breakfast we had Reeses Peanut Butter Easter Eggs and leftover milk. But we figured it was a special occasion.), and ride the massive sugar buzz all the way to the airport.

We arrive at the airport, no security check point, no one weighs our bags (didn't love that actually) and get our boarding passes. What does a boarding pass look like in Belize you ask? Why naturally they're laminated green cards that say, appropriately, "Boarding Pass." In case you think I'm making this up, there's Sander holding our boarding passes (his idea for the shot by the way). Green for Belize International Airport, Red for some other airport. I'm also including another picture we took for no other reason than I thought it was hilarious. And one last shot of our "air port." That's Master Cat Burglar Sander thwarting their iron clad security and breaking our final international law.

And here's where I have to launch my one complaint for the trip. We have an 11.30 flight, and the hotel tells us we need to leave the hotel by 7.30 to make the 8.00 flight to the mainland. OK, cool. But it only takes 15 minutes to fly from our Island to the Belize International Airport. So we show up at 8.15, head to the counter to only find no one there. However, we do find a sign that says that the counter will open at 9.30. Sander, the world traveler that he is, quickly picks up on the fact that this is a first for us. I thought airports were like casinos, they're always open, and there's always some nice lady working behind the check-in counter. Not so, I guess. But my question is this? Why were we there over an hour before the counter even opens? Surely our hotel knows this, right? Plus, everything else in Belize was sooooo laid back. Our guides kept saying things like, "oh the trip out to 'X' takes a Belezian hour." Which I immediately loved. See, back where I'm from we have a concept called "Greek Time" which we invoke anytime we're late for anything, "oh, hey, we're running Greek Time" and all's forgiven. Heck, if people know you, they may invoke it for you, "Where's Jason, he's late? Oh, he's probably running Greek Time." In retrospect, maybe its not so surprising that Greece is no longer the most importantly nation in the world. I'm telling you, Belizian boat people are my peeps, we understand each other. But back to the point, why are we there THREE hours before our flight? Heck, DFW only asks for two, and they have things like crowds, lines, cars, security, 17,000 destinations, and planes. By way of example, our security screening at the airport was us walking through a metal detector that may, or may not, be a prop. Followed by the security guy asking if there was a laptop in my backpack that just went through the X-Ray machine, leading to this exchange. Nice security man, "Was there a laptop in your bag?" Me, "Oh, jeeze. Yes. Sorry. Do you need to rerun it through the machine?" Split second pause, and a slight headshake, "Na." And he hands it to me. And here's where I give my own catch and release, "you just want me to let it go?" look, and amble off.

But since getting there early is really just not that a big deal, Sander and I hang out in the airport eating a second breakfast of Doritos and Snickers (they really satisfy). And unless you speculate that I'm completely worthless as a father, I made him drink orange juice instead of Sprite. I know, I'm a total tyrant, but I do believe in rules. What?

Speaking of the Good Dad/Bad Dad debate that's been raging since we started this little journey, I humbly ask that you review the pics from the final few days. Go ahead, I'll wait. Doo, de doo. Ok, what do you notice? Yes, he's very cute, but besides that? OK, yes, I'm and awesome photographer. Besides that? That's right folks, no sunburn! HA! Eat that Mr. Jason's clueless. Final check mark goes into the "Good Dad" column. I win! Victory! USA! USA! We spent an entire week in the Yucatan and not so much as a deep tan for the boy. Yes he wore the same shirt all day everyday for a week, and no I never washed it. And yes we ate terribly, but his skin looks so nice and unred. Sure we took some risks in other ways, but the sun was defeated! And while we broke international laws like Bruce Lee breaks boards, we honored the law of "slather your child in sunscreen." It was a tough battle, the sun tried valiantly to get us, and took many others (oh man were there some reddies in Belize), but we made it! I'd like to humbly acknowledge my opponent the sun, he put up a great fight, but this was just my day. I know he wants a rematch, but we'll see, I have to talk to our agent (read, Kelly).

So we finally board our plane for home. I settle into my chair, reflect on the trip, and ponder the differences between life in Belize and life in America. Then the Captain pipes in and tells us that due to a fuel shortage in Belize that will "probably only last a few more days," we only have enough gas to get to Cozumel, Mexico. So we'll fly there, refuel, and then head to Miami.

I could not have come up with a more classic ending.

So that was our little trip to Belize. A foundation memory trip if there ever was one. Perhaps somewhat bitter sweet, but only in the most distant sense. I know that at some point he won't amble into my room to talk to start our day. I also know, that while he loves it now, at some point he's going to outgrow tickling. And being goofy with Dad will be uncool. But these thoughts feel like playing outside on a beautiful day and worrying about the weather in six months. Right now the sun is bright, there's a nice breeze, and THIS day is begging us to come out and play. So that's what we're going to do.

Saturday Night Fever

So we grab a quick bite, pizza again, and zip back to the dock for our night dive. And here I reflect on the great part of being guys. We went fishing all morning, docked, jumped in our little golf cart, ate pizza, drove back, threw on swim trunks and split for the boat. The ocean was our bath, and the salt air was our cologne. At least as it seemed to me. Maybe if you were there you would say that the "fish juice was your bath, and diesel smoke was your cologne." But you weren't and this is my flashback. Also for some reason in Belize I remember being 6'4" and build like a linebacker...

For the night snorkel we are reacquainted with our fist Ho Chan guide, Enrique. We really liked him, and were happy to see him again. Also, its just Sander and I on the boat, so again, its like the ocean is ours. We had to arrive at Ho Chan early to set up shop before dark and then just sit and wait for the sun to go down. Sander, by the way, is so excited that he's jumping up and down, waddling around with his flippers on just chomping at the bit to get in. That's him, holding his flash light "like a light saber." You might think he put on the mask and snorkel for the picture, but you'd be wrong. I'm telling you, he was R-E-A-D-Y. Finally, its time to get in. I have to be honest, normally, ocean night swimming makes me a bit nervous. Well, to be a bit more honest, it totally freaks me out. I mean, people are already a bit helpless in the water (there's a reason fish don't vacation on land), take away the ability to see what's around you (or more to the point, coming AT you) and you wind up feeling like, like, like, well like something that's blind and helpless anyway (I tried desperately to come up with the right analogy here. Tried a bad, a Helen Keller, but I felt wrong even thinking about that one, a piñata, even a mole, but nothing really worked. So yes, I quit). But for whatever reason, I didn't feel like that at all in Belize. I think its a daddy instinct. When you're in the goofy spot with your child something kicks in that keeps you calm and focused. So I when I entered the water, I wasn't the least bit spooked, but it was bizarre.

And awesome! Its very difficult to describe underwater snorkeling. With all the swimmers at the surface, when you look around all you see is darkness and flashlight beams. Its kind of like one of those Post Apocalyptic movies, where its all smoggy and all you can see are futuristic helicopters and their search lights. Anyway, when you see something of interest, you have two choices. When you're calm, you point your flashlight beam at the object and kind of wave it around drawing attention to said object. When you're real excited you yell through your snorkel and grab franticly at whomever your swimming with. And here's where you see the difference between an eight year old boy, and his 37 year old father. It's a maturity thing, and can't be helped so you should cut everyone a little slack, no need to make fun of anyone or anything. So when Sander saw something, he did a great job of patiently waiving his light at it so I could enjoy it too. A great example is the second picture. He kept waving his light around that lobster, but I thought he was just waving it a rock. Actually I thought, "Why is Sander's light flashing on that rock? Is it moving because he's cold? Is he looking somewhere else and that's just his light bobbing in the ocean? Come on Sander, focus." Somehow, through the night ocean and a snorkel I felt him sigh and so I dove down and took a closer look. Lo and behold, it wasn't a rock, it was a Spanish Lobster, or what I like to call a "walkie rock."

While Sander and the guide did a great job of pointing with the light, I tended to get Sander's attention with the second method, which sounds like this, "HRMSANDBLER, HRMSANDLBER! OOOK, OOOK! HRMSADBLER!" With me grabbing at him and waving my flashlight all over the place, but in looking at him I inevitably drifted in the current away from what ever I was screeching for him to see, so by the time he swam up next to me, I had to refind the object. All in all a very cumbersome method, but he was very patient with me. That's him swimming in the third picture. Which brings me to my final point about snorkeling. Since the reef is so close to the surface, it actually sticks out above the water in some areas, there's no real benefit to SCUBA. You can easily reach whatever you need in one breath, and because you're not making any bubbles and noise you can get much closer to the fish. You can also really explore the reef because you don't have to worry about all your gear dinging the coral. And yes, in four years when Sander can night dive, I'll be writing about how great night diving is in Ho Chan compared to snorkeling. No hobgoblins trouble this little mind. No siree. Last picture is of some huge crab that Sander found. Somehow I didn't see it at first. I'm telling you, I would be barracuda food in 17 minutes without the boy to look out for me.

Speaking of, Ho Chan is a channel. You start out on one side, snorkel around for a bit, then cross the channel. The channel is where all the big fish hang out. We saw huge grouper, tarpon and giant snapper, plus some other big fish of the big fish variety. And the channel is fairly wide and deep. So we're swimming across it looking at all the large fish and currently labeled "sucker" SCUBA divers when the guide taps me and shines the light near the surface and lights up a barracuda. A big one. Now if you're paying attention you've already guessed that a snorkel is not the longest device in the world, so when I write that the barracuda is at the surface, what I mean is that he's eye level. And just for clarity when I write that he was "big" what I mean is that he was as long as Sander. But he's lit up real nice and I can see him. Then he swims out of the range of my little flashlight and I lose him. Then he swims back into range, then out. I'm telling you, he's messing with me. Like a puppy darting real close, getting down on his front legs, and then jumping back when you go to grab him. Except puppies are cute, and barracudas are like big silver bullets with huge nasty teeth. Keep in mind, I probably killed this guys cousin about four hours earlier, so I'm hoping that with my mask and snorkel he doesn't recognize me. As a precaution, I put Sander between me and the guide as we finish swimming through the channel. Later, bristling with pride, when I tell Sander that I put him between me and Enrique to protect him, he quickly find the fault in my little Maginot Line and points out that the barracuda could have swam up between us because the front and back were open. Hey look kid, I'm just happy I saw the thing. But it was definitely weird to see one in the water with us.

So finally he swims off, the barracuda not Sander, and we resume our looking on the other side of the channel. But then we start to notice that this side stings. A lot. At first I didn't really notice it, but the stinging sensation ramped up pretty quick. Enrique told us to turn off the lights, but it didn't help. It was time to get out, no way around it. At the boat, Enrique said we swam through a bunch of sea lice. Later we found out that see lice are actually jelly fish larvae. Fun. I'll let you imagine what its like when they get down your shorts...

So we had to cut our swim a bit short, but it was a great time. Kind of a "Other than that Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play?" evening.

So we go home and order room service. But we're both too tired to really eat it so we pick at just enough to not go to bed hungry and rack out. It was our last night, and it was like all the others. We hit the bed happy and exhausted.

Next up, homeward bound.

Last Dance

So now its Saturday, or the day between Big Friday and Easter Sunday. Possibly the only stretch in the calendar where Saturday is the boring day. You know Wednesday is all "Ha, who's the 'humpday' now!"

Today is fishing day. Seeing how I get seasick in a mud-puddle, I've successfully avoided open water fishing for 25 years. But also seeing how I'm in Belize with my son who loves the water and wants to fish more than breathe at this point, it looks like the streak is over.

We book the trip, but being Colordoans and fish lovers, we make the stipulation that this trip will be "catch and release." This, for whatever reason, completely befuddles the guides (more on the plurality of that word later). Without jumping ahead, the first big fish we caught, the guide looks at me and says, "Soooo now I just throw it overboard?" "Yes" says the wacky gringo. "Ummmm, OK" (toss), and he just watches it swim away. It was like we just found the gateway to the Lost City of Gold and I said, "Now just cover it up. We'll leave it for the next people to enjoy."

But on to the story. Our first guide hurt his back tossing the net to catch the bait fish. He was really hurt, and he took us back after about 45 minutes and a load of fish later. That right folks, the Elliott boys were on fire. I think when fish know that you're going "catch and release" they jump on the line. I guess its their way of promoting the idea.

So we had to hope we could find another guide or that would be our fishing expedition. With little initial luck, and one very sad little boy sitting on the shore looking forlornly at the water, things were looking glum. But then a call came in that a guide was found and we were back in the game. Sort of. I guess the fish were in a seminar or something when we went back out because they weren't biting. I was getting some nibbles, but nothing hooked, and Sander was getting bubkiss. Leading to this conversation. Sander, "Daddy, can I fish on your side of the boat?" Now, keep in mind we're fishing in the ocean. Not a steam, not a river, not a brook, the OCEAN. The difference between "my" side of the boat and "his" side of the boat is all of 6 feet. Me, "Sure, but its not going to make a difference." "Please?" "OK, but its not going to make a, ulp, hold on, got a nibble, rat's missed it, difference." "See." "OK, come on over, but understand that I'm going to catch a fish on your old side." "Why?" "Because that's the way these things usually work out." Followed by perplexed look from Sander and a knowing look from our new guide (I may redub this trip the "The Knowing Look" tour. Belizian boat guides are my peeps). Now ,the only thing I needed for this little moment of fatherly wisdom to work, and wow the boy, was for Sander to catch the next fish. Sometimes you just get lucky. Sander caught a fish, and we were off to the races. That's him fighting one in the first pic. We caught Yellowtail Snapper and Trigger Fish. I call Trigger Fish "English Actor Fish" because they are these beautiful fish, and terrific fighters, but man do they have ugly teeth. They all point forward and they're this dingy brown color, plus they all mangle up over each other. That's our proud little fisherman posing with one in the second pic. To be fair, the guide said they bite and he was very weary of them. He kept saying, "They will bite you, rip your hand all up" then hold him up and ask if we wanted a picture next to it. Sander's no fool.

So we trolled around for a bit, catching fish all over the place (quick aside, Sander and I were talking and what makes ocean fishing fun is that its always a surprise. When something tugs the line, it a genuine surprise. Not just that you caught something, but "what" was it?). Case in point, I asked the guide if we could fish for something bigger, he said "sure, but you may have to wait." "No problem," says I, "What will we be after?" "Ohhhh, lots of things, but you never know. You put your bait down and see what bites it." I try desperately to try to turn this into some sort of grizzled life advice from the weathered fisherman, but everything felt forced, so I punt and say, "Barracuda?" He sighs and shrugs. Definitely feel like I lost a "moment" there. So we head for deeper water (again, feels like some sort of metaphor, but...I...can't...make...it...work). Sander gets all rigged up in this special harness that will hold the rod for him if he get a big one, and we wait...and wait...and wait. As we're waiting my genetics kick in. See I have what you call "greasy skin." And by "greasy" I mean, "can solve current oil deficit" greasy. So long hot days with lots of sweat and sun screen mixing rarely end well for me. If any of that awesome mixture of sweat, grease and sunscreen hits my eyes I feel like one of the Nazi's at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark. Oh, mama it burns. So, as my eyes start to melt out of their sockets, you guessed it, we got a hit. A BIG hit. But I can't see a thing, my eyes are watering like I've just watched an Old Yeller marathon and the Captain's yelling for me to take the rod. The boats pitching, and Sander's yelling, "I GOT A HIT! I GOT A HIT!" The Captain's yelling, "Its a real hit, its big...BARRACUDA." Holy Smokes! So I grope/stagger my over and grab the rod.

And then begins one of the great memories of my life. Sander and I reel this big thing in together. He's on the reel, I'm on the rod (the rods plugged into his little harness so he can feel the power). I lift the rod, then as I'm done lifting, I yell, "Reel," and as I lower it, Sander reels in feverishly. And so forth. Captain's saying over and over again, "Great Job!" and since I still can't see a thing, its like my other senses are heightened, and I swear I can feel Sander's excitement through the rod. He's spinning that thing for all he's worth. And then he starts yelling encouraging words, "Come on Dad! We're doing it!" We're laughing and pulling/reeling, and its a beautiful day.

30 minutes later we get that big barracuda on the boat, I think. All I can see is something shiny (that's it in the picture). Then the Captain pulls out a club and...WHACK. So much for catch and release. He says the barracuda swallowed the triple hook so there was nothing we could do, and that he's going to eat it. I'm blind, elated and a bit stunned so I shrug and say, "OK."

We head in, buzzed and tired. Grab a quick bite, and get ready for the next trip, night snorkeling.

Friday Part B

Since we leave on Sunday, and its now Friday afternoon, we absolutely need something to do with the rest of the day.

What would any father suggest as an activity in a third world country on a day when most competent people are taking the day off? If you said "why Jason, clearly you should go parasailing" you're with me. If you gasped in horror and anticipation and said, "whatever you do, don't go PARASAILING!" you're a good parent and I need to give you a call sometime for tips and advice. But since you weren't around then, we went parasailing.

And it was fun. As proof, I present the first picture. In the second one, it looks like Sander is concerned that we may hit a giant floating tree or something. Anyway, it was great, you slowly lift up as the driver lets out the rope you're attached to. It's not the least bit jarring, and there's no feeling of "taking off" or a rollercoaster like stomach fall (hmmmmm, maybe I shouldn't mention "fall" when I'm writing about parasailing). So you slowly float upwards and the whole off the reef unfolds below you. Because its so clear you can see pretty much everything. Some folks we talked to when I was asking about the safety of the parasailing outfit (see?) said they saw sharks, and one person said they saw a hammerhead. We say stingrays, I think. Anyway, the third picture is our boat, we were really up there. Plus from waaaaay up there you could see the entire island. Really cool. The whole trip was incredibly smooth and it felt like you were hardly moving. Just as smooth as this author. That last picture is of a rainbow I saw, this was just before it started to absolutely pour. I should mention to all the mommies out there, that we were safely down on the boat when I took the picture of the rainbow and when it started raining. We weren't a giant lightning rod or anything (whew, right?). But, like all our other boat trips, we finished cold and wet.

After the parasailing we were off to finish a high stakes negotiation with a local street vendor. Before we went parasailing we were killing time looking at local wares, and he found a wooden shark he really loved. The guy said it was $35 US (the Belizian dollar is pegged 2-1 to the good ol' USD, so the two are accepted everywhere-I think the rest of the world should do this, sure makes it easy). And we moved on to other tables. While we were sitting on the dock waiting for our parasailing boat, he said that he really liked it, and could he have it. I told him he could buy it with his money (before you roll your eyes, I paid for the travel, the room, the food and all the trips, the little leech can pitch in for something. Right? Right? No, no, you're right. Put a big ol' check mark in the lousy daddy column. And like all bad decisions this one spirals totally out of control). He said "OK" and then to really push me over the top for "Lousy Daddy of the Year" I told him he had to go negotiate the sale. So we slicked back his hair and put a little Armani suit on him, but his documents in a brief case, and I gave him my cell phone and told him to periodically pick it up and yell into it, "I said SELL 1000 shares you moron, now get off your can and do it!" Anyway, we talked before he went in. I said he needs to figure out now the most he'll pay for the shark. He decided on $20. I told him that, at some point, the guy will definitely laugh at him and say something along the lines of "your crazy" but that the guys not really laughing at him, its just part of the negotiating game and not to get rattled by it. Also, and most importantly, that he's always free to just walk away if its not going like he wants or if he needs time to think. So, off my 8 year old boy goes to negotiate his first big deal against a local barter who was at least 6'2", 220lbs. Well here's what happened according to young Mr. Elliott. When he went in and asked about the shark the guy immediately dropped his price to $20 USD (our goal price). Great right? Nope. Sander figured that if he went down that much, that fast that he could probably get it for $15. So they haggled for a looooong time as I'm pacing in the restaurant down the beach (I can only see Sander's little legs and the guys big legs). At some point the guy tells Sander that $15 was a "horrible" offer and laughs (who called it baby?), as does the guy's two buddies. Bad move on the vendor guy's part. Now Sander's feeling like, "Oh no you din'nt" that the man was just rude and mean, and walks.

So we go get ice cream and talk it over. Beyond thinking there was no need to be insulting, Sander figured that while the guy may think its worth $20, and maybe did $20 worth of work, he strongly felt that was not worth $20. Can't argue with that. So I say, "listen, we're getting ready to leave. If you still want the shark at $15, go up to the guy and say that we're getting ready to leave, and that you'll pay $15 for the shark." He doesn't want to deal with the guy anymore, but he does really like the shark, so he says, "OK." He goes in with his money, and, and, and the guy...passes. Sander walks and that's that. Now, I have to say, I figured 100% he was going to get the shark. I mean, in the entire history of third world street vending, the immediate drop down price has never once been the final price. Ever. I'm not sure where this guy went to street vending school, but he needs a refresher course. So we leave sharkless. I'm trying to tell Sander that we now know the guy's bottom price is $20, since he was willing to let Sander walk twice, so there's no shame in paying $20. "Let's go get the shark" says this now horribly guilt ridden daddy. I mean he was soooo excited about that shark. He kept saying that he wanted to start collecting wooden sharks from all the places he visits, how cool they'll look in his room and he was jumping and skipping just thinking about it before this whole mess started. But your hero, Captain Cheapo has now blown all this to bits. "Nope," says Sander, "its not worth it." But I'm thinking, "Oh no little boy, you don't understand. I'll pay ANYTHING to rid myself of this guilt. Seriously, name the price." Remember the check mark I mentioned earlier? Well, now its turned into a big red "REJECTED" stamp on my daddy qualifications. But here's the thing, Sander was RIGHT. On the way out of town we passed another guy with a bigger, better shark with a starting price of $25 USD. Holy smokes! So I figure either the first vendor guy didn't want to get shown up in front of his boys by an 8 year old, or he figured he could sell it for $20 to some other sucker, but either way, Sander's instincts and complete immunity to pressure insured that he wasn't going to be that sucker. Very proud moment for this daddy. Oh, and we wound up getting an even larger, even better shark a few days later. Yes, I know a loooong story, but I was so proud of the boy.

That night we ate at a Greek restaurant run by Canadians. Yup, that's right folks, I found a Greek restaurant on a tiny island in Belize. Thus proving my long held theory that every town in the world is required to have a Greek restaurant or you don't get a charter. I guess its a little something the Greeks worked into the bylaws when they were inventing democracy.

So that was our Friday. Next up? You guessed it, Saturday.

Water 2, The Return

Now that the weather was on our side, we decided to pack the days chock full-o-fun. So we booked another snorkeling trip, which sounds much easier than it was, for it was Good Friday, or as Sander called it, "Big Friday." He was very curious why no one worked on "Big Friday." Then as I was explaining that it was the Friday before Easter, there was this loooooong pause, then a gasp. "Wait, I didn't know it was Easter this Sunday, no one told me THAT." Like he struck some kind of Faustian bargain with me and that this trip to Belize would require him to miss Easter and only eat spinach for the rest of his life. "Yes little boy, you got to leave the country and go diving on a world class reef like you've always wanted, but now, bwa ha ha, now you will have to miss Easter!!!!" I told him that the Easter Bunny would, indeed find him in Belize and not to sweat it. However, being Big Friday, I had to call around to every dive shop in town looking for a guide, to no avail. Then, and this is where those that say "Crime doesn't pay" are wrong, after Sander was done illegally driving in the "country" we passed a dive shop. Being the "never say die" types, we stopped in and asked if they would take us snorkeling on Big Friday. "Yes" came the reply. Now, before you get to the same place I was, which is, "do I really WANT to go out on a boat with the only guy working on Big Friday?" I had seen their boats all around the island, and the dive shop was located in a resort. Good enough for me in Belize I say. I mean it wasn't like we were going parasailing or anything. So anyway, if we weren't breaking international law we would not have stumbled on the little dive shop that could. Let that be a lesson to the kids.

So we booked our trip, and now it was time to go on said trip. We met another nice family on the boat and off we went. Let me just say that Good Friday was good to us. The first time we went to Ho Chan, it was a parking lot. There with people and boats everywhere. But this time, because all the dive shops were telling the tourists that no one worked Good Friday, and since those squares weren't the cool lawbreaking types they believed "the man," we were the only boat on the reef. Unbelievable. With less crowds there were less people to spook the fish, and the fish were everywhere. Check out this spotted eagle ray I spotted. Or this tarpon I swam up on. This last shot is my favorite, just the classic shot of a green moray eel. I also got a shot of the elusive Sandernaut (notice the distinctive blue shirt of the Belizian variety). Just incredible. All you could hear was either me or Sander shouting through our snorkel for the other to hurry up and look "over here," "over there," "over everywhere" and frantically pointing something out. It was like we had a reservation for the preservation (ok, I pushed that). Ho Chan was great.

But like I always say, when life opens a door, God slams a window shut. If you recall from the last trip (I'll wait while you consult your notes...) Ho Chan was followed up with a trip to Shark Ray Alley. Well, this time it was just Ray Alley. No sharks. This guide used a different method, and I don't mean "different good." The first guide had a pvc pipe pierced with hole and stuffed with some kind of dead sea creatures, I'm thinking either smelt or squid. Well, the pipe kept the jacks and the rays from eating the bait so the smell and "stuff" could seep out and attract the sharks. Today's guide just pitched small dead fish into the water, where they lasted approximately 1.5 milliseconds before the jacks got them. So there was nothing to attract the sharks, and like divas everywhere, if your not giving them special attention, they're not showing up for the show. So we swam around for a while looking at basically nothing, freezing. Funny how cold works. When you're in cold water excitedly looking at things, not so cold. When you're in cold water looking at seaweed, very cold. Anyway, we did this until a guide from another boat somehow caught a nurse shark and physically swam it over to his group, but he had to pass our group to do so. So we technically saw a shark and were allowed to leave the water and get into the boat. But really, what can you expect from the only guide desperate enough to work on Big Friday?

So that was our Friday morning. What's next you ask? That's right, Friday afternoon.

Water, Water, Everywhere

So we finally made it into the water.

But first, a digression.

I took Sander through the "poor" part of the island. I felt like it was important for him to see how other people live. I mean, why bring him to a Third World country, and not show him the third world? So we drove around the poorest part of the island in our little golf cart (feel free to groan here). We saw little boys playing soccer barefoot on rocky streets, houses with no doors, scrap metal roofs, and fences made of every random thing you could imagine. I explained that as hot as it was, there were no air conditioners, and as buggy as it was there were no doors or screens or even windows, and asked him to imagine living there on dirt floors. I think it impacted him, not terribly, not traumatically, but it raised his awareness that all life is not Aspen. We talked about it periodically for days, the image of the kids playing soccer with no shoes is what stuck the most, and the fences. Having said that, we never for a second felt in danger, or like intruders. Just life here. No pics, I felt like these people's lives were not for display.

But then, it was time for the boat trip to the ocean, at last. How's that for a digression? I feel like the perky blond anchor woman, "Top story this evening, the crushing poverty in Belize, will the children eat today? But first, Happy Easter everyone! Yaaaaaaaaaay! Did the Easter bunny come to your house and leave lots of candy?" But if it works for her...

We finally went snorkeling, and man was it worth the wait. There are two stops on the snorkeling trip, first is Ho Chan, a fish preserve and an absolutely amazing reef. We saw (big breath) parrot fish, snapper, moray eels, black eels, tarpon, sting rays, jack, spotted eagle rays, one fish, two fish, red fish blue fish. I'd show pics here, but they aren't very good (better ones to come). Then off to Shark Ray Alley (which is going to be the name of the cool jazz bar I open up after Hungry Like the Wolf takes off). Anyway, Shark Ray Alley is named after the abundance of nurse sharks and stingrays you see there. It was also where Sanderquese Elliottsteau made his debut in Belize. We were on the boat with another family, father, mother, young son, high school daughter, high school daughter's friend, and, either creepy loner guy, or semi-creepy uncle, never quite sure which. On the way there Kansas family (this is where they were from, not their last name. Well, it may have been their last name, I didn't ask, but wouldn't that be odd?) was getting pretty anxious about swimming with sharks. So Sander, whom they called Snorkel Bob because that's what his shirt said (this greatly offended Sander, who kept saying his name wasn't "Bob" but that it was the name of the place where he got the shirt. And so this went on the whole boat ride, "Where are you from Snorkel Bob?" ""My name is Sander, not Snorkel Bob. I'm from Aspen." "So, Snorkel Bob, are you having fun in Belize?" "My name is Sander, not Snorkel Bob. Yeah, I really like it here." Until finally, Sander proposed that they call him "Snorkel Sander." And lo there was peace in the land.). So anyway, Snorkel Sander launches into a whole speech about sharks, how they're really harmless, how nurse sharks never attack, they eat crustaceans, etc. And I kid you not, the whole boat is sitting there mesmerized. I mean, they're getting a full on lesson in sharks and shark behavior, with facts, from this little kid in a goofy blue shirt. But then one of the girls asks him if they bite (take that in, a 16-17 year old girl is asking an 8 year old a question about a shark she's about to dive with, and there's no hint of joke to it, she's looking at him like he's he the expert, which, I guess, he is and waiting for an answer). So he pauses for a second, and says, "You're more likely to get bit by your pet goldfish than a nurse shark." The boat just loses it here.

So we get to the alley, and everyone's standing around looking at all the sharks, and there were a lot of them, but the nice Kansas family isn't getting in, but they're blocking the ladder. Sander's doing the get ready fire drill, mask, snorkel, fins jumping around, and frantically trying to get INTO the water. He's absolutely beside himself that he's so close but not in. He wasn't this excited to meet Santa. So I push through the crowd and jump in, and he's in a half second later. It was amazing. Sharks everywhere, here's a pic. Then the guide grabs one, turns it over (turning a shark over renders it immobile, keep this in mind if you're ever in the water with a Great White). So we were able to look at it real, real close and touch it. Very cool. By the way, Kansas family was shamed into getting into the water and they had a great time. We had a blast, that's us in the water, Sander giving his "Yessssss" fist. Anyway, he came out of the water taking 1,000,000 miles per second and smiling so bright we were attracting moths.

That night we went to dinner. Now keep in mind, that its been windy the whole trip. So I'm sitting around thinking this is some kind of tropical paradise, island vibe, sunny, but not hot and no bugs. But the wind died down to zero, the very wind that kept the bugs and heat at bay. So dinner was a universal dinner as the bugs came out to make up for lost time. At which point I realized that a bug visiting from somewhere else was probably saying to his wife, "Geez honey this is like an island paradise. Nice and hot, no wind, and lots to eat." So we grab our pizza and walk home to eat near the beach where its still a little windy. After dinner when I asked him to brush his teeth (see, its not totally Lord of the Flies with me) he comes running out saying, "Daddy, daddy, look!" And he looks at me with little blops of toothpaste all over his face (see pic). He tells me he discovered a cure for mosquito bite itch, toothpaste! Ok, so maybe we're a little like Lord of the Flies, but at least we have minty fresh breath.

Quick aside about the wind and island vibe. For three straight days I kept asking people when the wind would die so I could book our snorkel and fishing trips. Dive shops, fishing shops, actual guides, hotel people, locals, everyone. They all had the same response, "Probably tomorrow. You'd be surprised, it can blow like this and be perfectly calm the next day." To which I kept thinking, "True, but I bet I wouldn't be surprised if someone checked a weather report and told me what it said." But that's the thing, I couldn't find a local paper and the TV came from a satellite feed that showed the local news from NY, Dallas, Denver and LA. No one anywhere I could see was watching anything like local TV. They have to have it, but I think they hide it from the tourists like the Mayans hid the gold.

Last thing before bed (for him, not you, but you may be ready after plowing through this email). We saw a lot of pirate flags in Belize, I guess everyone's trying to cash in on the whole Pirates of the Caribbean phenomena. So Sander created his own version of the Skull and Crossbones. Then he asked to hold the conch shell...

Next, more snorkeling and parasailing.

Insiders Day

The next day we took it easy schmeazy. We heard that there was a place where you could feed the tarpon, and alas, there was. It was called the Sunset Grill. Now, I have a general aversion to all places named after songs, too many bad Homecoming dances I guess. So places like, "Margaritaville," "Desperados," "Cheeseburger in Paradise," etc don't get my business (as a side note, what was it about the 70's that makes people want to name restaurants after songs? And why so heavy on Jimmy Buffet and the Eagles? I grew up in the 80's and have no desire to open a restaurant called "Hungry Like the Wolfs"). But since they also let you feed Tarpon, which Sander and I have been talking about, well they had me hooked (I think I should get bonus points here for the fishing reference).

So has we were eating down at the Sunset Grill (Ha), we did indeed, get to feed the tarpon (see the pic). Since this is a Third World country, they give you the leftover shrimp parts BEFORE you eat. So Sander's reaching into this bucket of leftover raw shrimp, happily throwing the bits and parts to the tarpon who are huge and fast and fun to watch eat, and then when he's out of shrimp to toss, like any 8 year old boy worth his salt, he promptly wipes his hands on his shirt! At which point I react like a cop in a buddy movie who's partner's about the be gunned down (slow motion jump from the chair, drinks spilling, vain attempt to reach the hands in time, screaming "noooooooooo") and like said cop in said movie, I miss. Shrimp juices all over his shirt. And he looks at me like, "what?" So off we go to the bathroom to wash up. Now if you've been paying attention to the pictures you will notice the same blue long sleeve shirt in pretty much every shot. Its because in my efforts to win "Father of the Year" I decided it was best to pack him one, and exactly one, long sleeve SPF shirt for his trip to the equator, and honestly it was the one Kelly put into his bag of stuff for me. Why would I need more than one sun protection shirt when heading to the equator, in the midst of global warming and depleating ozone? We don't have no sissy skin! Anyway, the neat thing about third world countries, they don't really have the time to sweat things like sunburns and skin cancer. When I asked someone where I could a SPF shirt, I got the same reaction I would expect if I asked where I could buy a flux capacitor. So we had to make do with the one. The one that is now smothered in raw shrimp "juice." Oh, then we got to eat. Lovely.

The next photo is of us having discovered our version of the Lost City of Gold. We love a terrible drink called Yoohoo, which, as the label says, is "chocolate flavored drink." That's right folks, not chocolate milk, not even chocolate flavored milk, but chocolate flavored "drink." Mmmmmmm, tasty. But it is! Its absolutely AWESOME! And we're huge fans. So we decide that it would be great to have some Yoohoo. So we go on a quest. A quest to find a terrible drink that you have a hard time finding in the US in a small tourist island in Belize, but hey, the Hawaiians dig Spam right? As you may have guessed, no luck. But after the fourth store, the kid working it says, "never heard of Yoohoo, but we do have another chocolate flavored drink." That's right folks, he called it a chocolate flavored drink. Sander and I were on it. A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet, and a chocolate flavored drink by any other name would still taste as chocolate flavored drinky. So we bought ourselves some "Choq." Tastes exactly the same. We figure its the same company selling it under two different names. That's us holding it. And for proof, that's Sander drinking it. And yes, that's me in the Yoohoo shirt. Take a second and soak that in. Anyway, it made it easy to ask for. Rather than trying to describe "chocolate flavored drink" Sander could just point at my shirt and I could stand there smiling widely. Yes, we're a father and son team. Some part of me thinks I hit a new low in dorkitood. Like I should be Sir Dorkalot, or Lord Dorky Dork by now.

Last photo is a quickie. Walking along we passed a little office. It was a Doctor's office, a pharmacy and a lottery center. For whatever reason, it just killed me. For fun, you can insert you own joke here.

Also that night Sander and worked on our continual word game. It goes like this. Find a word that has several meanings, or even spellings and use it repeatedly in a sentence. We don't have a name for it yet, but are some examples. "I saw a saw saw," "I knew a new gnu," and "I bear a bare bear." Those are our three. Happy to hear what anyone else can come up with. Don't worry, I'll never let Sander wear a pocket protector.

Anyway, it was nice to walk along the streets listening to local music, seeing all the food vendors, and just milling about with the locals. Fun night.

Next, at last the water...

A River Runs Through It

So now its time for the second part of our mainland trip, the cave tubing. First we ate at some jungle restaurant, props to Sander here for eating outside of his comfort zone. Outside the eatery, there was a monkey (that's him in the picture). This monkey would be the equivalent to the Woody Creek Tavern cat (or at least that's what I told myself when he grabbed onto Sander's leg). Really neat little guy, he would jump up on peoples heads, climb around, hang out, work the crowd for a bit, move on, the guy was a pro.

Then we hike 30 minutes to the river for our cave tubing tour. This was really neat. The river runs through a series of caves, but here I think, "can they really be caves if they have a front and back? Aren't caves sort of one entrance...things? These are more like tunnels." But whatever, even I'm not nerdy enough to point that out. "Um excuse me, jungle person, I think these are technically NOT caves, but rather 'cave like' structures, tunnels at best really." Nope not me. By the way, yes, as I wrote this I went online and looked up the definition of "cave." "#1 A hollow or natural passage under or into the earth, especially one with an opening to the surface." A bit murky, but I think I'm right, you be the judge. Anyway, its really cool. They give you an inner-tube and headlamp, and then guide you through the "cave" system. Pretty neat. We saw bats, and in the second "cave" there was a green section with light coming through it. I'd show you the picture but it didn't really come out. But it was very fun. The first picture is of the cave opening looking back, the second is Sander chillin with his feet on my shoulders.

So it was time to go back, the weather broke and the wind really died down. So it was a nice, pleasant ride back. Oh, another perk of riding in the back with the Captain, if you get lucky, your son gets to drive the boat for a bit (back to being a good daddy!).

More to come tomorrow...

Welcome To The Jungle

So now we're in the Jungle.

We went zip-lining, cave tubing, and monkey playing.

First a little background. It was insanely windy the first four days of our trip. I can't overstate this. It was like a hurricane on the beach. If you walked on the beach, it felt like you were getting hit with a sand blaster. After a few days on a five mile island, you run out of things to do if you can't do island things. So there was a slight break in the wind so we made a break for the mainland. The whole time we were on the island, as I looked out at the horizon I thought, "wow, I didn't know Belize had such a mountainous coast," because waaay in the distance towards the mainland all you could see were these craggy shapes. So we get into our boat, and the captain has, no joke, the Morton's Fisherman outfit on (yellow hat and yellow rain jacket, only the Morton's Captain didn't have dreadlocks). Everyone was sitting at the front of the boat and Sander starts heading that way, but having grown up in FL with the severe handicap of getting sea sick in a mud puddle I know a thing or two about boats, I tell Sander to sit in the back. At which point all the other people in the boat rush to tell me that this is a bad idea. And by "rush" you would have thought I told Sander to grab a rope and jump off the side to be towed to the mainland. Literally, people getting up off the bench and walking towards me to urge me to put him forward. Why you ask? Because "you'll get wet in the back." I'm looking at the waves and Morton's Fisherman and thinking, "We're ALL going to get wet." But I wanted Sander in the back because the boat moves least by the engine, its the smoothest ride. So me and Captain Marley exchange knowing nods and he smiles at me as I put Sander in the stern, or "back" of the boat for you land lubbers. So as we get going, everyone in the front is getting pounded and I, for the first time this trip, begin to feel like a fit father. Until...

As we get close to the reef that sits between the mainland and our Island (Belize has the worlds second largest reef) I realize that those "craggy mountains" I saw from our hotel room were actually waves breaking on the reef. Oh, and we're heading right for them. "Holey smokes, we're going to jump the waves!" I think to myself. I don't know if any of you saw "The Perfect Storm" or saw the movie poster, but that's what it looked like, and you know how THAT ended. So now I'm sitting there with my 8 year old boy thinking, "Nope, back to being an unfit father. No wonder the guy at customs wanted to make sure his mommy knew we were here, I'm clearly a moron." Just as I'm getting ready to say something, we veer parallel to the waves of doom and Captain Marley says, "Hey mon, we are going close to da reef fer smooth water, an den we cut trew da channel." "Yeah, that's what I figured, cool" I reply. Remember, me and him have a bond, and I couldn't let him see that I just about to knock him down and take the wheel because I thought we were going to plow through the waves. Best part? As we're sitting on land talking about the ride over, Sander says to me, "I thought we were going to go through those big waves." "Me too buddy," I say. I think its important to scar kids at an early age. It better prepares them for life.

But the trip over was very nice, Captain Marley and the Wailers did a great job of captaining, and we made it to the zip line center. The first picture is of Sander in his gear. The raw excitement on his face is enough to warm the heart. The next one is of him zip-lining and the last is of him rappelling down from the last station. Overall it was very fun. You really get moving and I guess its kind of what Tarzan felt whipping through the jungle. Sandman loved it. But even though it was 8 stations, it went by real quick. But I have to say, after the boat ride it felt a bit tame.

Next the cave tubing...

Belize it!

Hello everyone,

We've returned from our trip to Belize and we had a B-last

First one is a pic of Sander and I breaking our second international law. The first is that technically I guess you're not allowed to travel to Belize without the expressed written (and notarized) consent of whatever parent doesn't come along. So I'm standing there at immigration when the guy asks, "How many?" "Two," says I. "Who's that?" says the nice man, "my boy" I say proudly. "Where's his mom?" "Colorado." "Do you have a notarized paper saying he can be here?" And this is where I stare blankly at the nice man who can now deny me entrance and make us sit in a room for a long, long time. "Um, no sir" I say, using my best manners and trying my best to not look like a kidnapper, but since I've never met or seen a kidnapper I'm not exactly sure what I'm not supposed to look like. All of which is very confusing to me, until I realize that a kidnapper surely looks nervous, and now I look nervous, but a good kidnapper probably knows this and tries to look calm, so a good cop would know this and probably be looking for calm, so I try to strike the right blend of "hey I'm nervous because I don't have the paper, but I'm calm because he's my boy and his mom knows we're here." I guess it worked because he said, "Next time have the notarized paper." "Yes sir" I say and walk into the baggage claim area where I promptly break International Law number two.

I take a picture of me and Sander in the baggage area because I'm jazzed that we're in a foreign country. That's us in the first picture. Well, of course that's illegal, duh. So a man comes up and says, "No pictures in the baggage area, see the sign" and points off towards the distance. I have to be honest, here, even with him pointing, I still don't see said sign. But I am smart enough to know that regardless of the existence of this alleged sign, the smart thing to do is to look towards the end of his finer and say, "Oh, no sir, I didn't see that sign." So that's what I say. He just shakes his head like I'm a total moron, or maybe it was more of a "I can't believe this idiot just said he saw a sign that doesn't exist. Maybe if I say, 'those fairies over there in the magical forest are waving at you,' I can make him wave back" nod of disapproval. In any case, he didn't take my camera and we were off.

Off on the plane you see next. Neat thing about this plane? One pilot. That's right folks, the co-pilot seat is reserved for paying customers. Good business decision if you ask me. Tropic Air (the "Airline") could either PAY someone to sit there and mostly do nothing, or have someone pay them to sit there and mostly do nothing. So if something happens to the actual pilot, the guy who has the stick is some random Spring Breaker with a "Belize Kissing Instrutctor-First lesson free" T-shirt. Oh, and has Sander noted, it sounded like the end of the plane was going to pop off. But it was only a 15 minute flight, so even if the pilot passed out and the tail fell off we could probably still glide in. Right? Neat thing is that when we landed on our island, there was a family with their dog picnicking on the runway. This actually gave me great comfort. I mean if the pilots were bad and/or the planes fell from the sky, would you picnic under where they have to land? I think not.

The next picture is of Sander driving. On San Pedro Island, everyone drives golf-carts. Really cool. But, you have to be 17, and you have to sign a waver to rent a cart that notes this and says in big, bold letters, "DO NOT LET YOUR CHILDRED DRIVE THE CARTS!" and it may have also said, "WE'RE TALKING TO YOU JASON ELLIOTT OF ASPEN COLORADO, FATHER OF SANDER ELLIOTT. DON'T LOOK AROUND WITH THAT FAKE 'WHO ME?' LOOK, YOU KNOW WE'RE TALKING TO YOU!" So naturally as soon as we pulled out of the rental place, Sander says, "Can I drive." Being the good daddy that I am, and remembering the pointed waiver I just signed, said "Nope." But then we found a dirt road, and the waiver didn't mention dirt roads, so I say to Sander, "Hey buddy, ready to drive?" Sander, takes 1,000,000th of a second and says, "Yes." That's him in the pic. Don't worry that his eyes are closed, he had it covered. He was a little concerned when I told him that if the cops pull us over to "be cool and let me do the talking." "Why?" says Captain Innocent. "Because its illegal for you to drive. If we get into trouble our story is that back home, we live on a farm and kids can drive on dirt roads there. So we figured it was OK here." I admit, very flimsy, but it was the best I could come up with. The good news is that there are only two cops on San Pedro Island and apparently they don't spend much time on rural dirt roads. By the way, Sander doesn't like these pics because they are "evidence." I told him it doesn't matter because "them coppers will never take me alive!" Then he gives me the same look and nod that the guy in the baggage claim area gave me. Any way, he loved it! He drove that cart for hours, we learned how to turn, how to avoid potholes, how to drive through huge mud-puddles, reversing, and other "off road" stuff. So everyday he asked if we could rent a cart and drive "in the country." The island is something like 5 miles long, so "in the country" is essentially everywhere but the paved center of town. Anyway, by the end of the trip he was an excellent driver, smoothing out potholes, picking his line through the water and avoiding obstacles of all shapes and sizes. That an avowed law breaker.

That's the first batch, next batch is of our trip into the Jungle...