Have 'em Eating Out of Your Hands...

I got to sleep early last night (because I slept very little the night before) and Belize is two hours later than New York (they don't obey Daylight Savings, which means nothing to me, but might make sense to someone else out there, who respects the sun's power). So I passed out, I think, around eleven my time, nine local time
and woke up around five thirty in the morning. Apparently that's all the sleep I need.
Sunday morning, however, does not have very many services available in Belize City Princess Casino, the classier name the Ramada throws around. I stumbled downstairs around six to discover the continental breakfast (I go only to classy hotels) didn't begin for another hour, and the tour service for the hotel didn't open for another two.
I went on walkabout, retracing some of my steps from the night before, seeing a little bit in daylight and recognizing some things a little better.
People fish on the Caribbean Sea.
I asked a guy about the Celebrity Restaurant, trying to get his opinion on something more authentic, but how do you ask for something authentic? "I want food, but not food that everybody says is good. I want something that's real."
He told me the Celebrity would be fine.
The streets were not packed. It was Sunday. I was in the wealthier part of town. It was early. Tourist season ended a month ago. Storm season started around the same time.
I could have done more research on my trip before boarding the plane. Something to consider for the next trip.

uh... Belize?

The free breakfast was fine. Nothing great - nothing I really needed to eat, now that I'm seeking sveltitude, or whatever it is a fat guy calls being slightly less fat. What was listed under the buffet label as Sausage looked like a hot dog to me. They made me a simple omelette to order; that was nice.
A little after eight, I went to the tourist office to talk about what I could do today, and what I should consider for the rest of my time in town.
Turns out, there was a long list of options available within an hour's planning, so I opted for a couple of things that had looked good in the guide books.

The Sun God's Temple at Altun Ha

Around ten o'clock, I met Richard, who would be my personal tour guide, and would drive me to the locations I'd selected. First up: Altun Ha, one of the more excavated Mayan temple compounds near Belize City. Composing of six or eight mostl-maintained structures dating back to the ninth century, Altun Ha took over an hour to get to, an hour which comprised on several rainstorms and a variety of conversations about what makes Belize Belize. 

There's a multiple cultures in Belize. Not with the breadth of diversity like in NYC, but there doesn't seem to be the kind of racist rhetoric that's tearing my country apart. At least, not according to my tour guide.
Tons of expatriates moving to Belize. Tax rates are pretty good. If they live in Belize City, they're housed right around my hotel. They come from North America, but also Australia, the UK, other Commonwealth nations.
Belize is part of the British Commonwealth.
Richard's a nice guy, and when we're in the car, the conversation seems comfortable, but when we reach a site, he becomes more of a Tour Guide, and sounds a bit more officious. I'm not positive how deeply knowledgeable about his material he is, but he surely knows orders of magnitude more than me, so we're good.

All of Altun Ha, if you approve of my panorama filming abilities

Richard left me to climb the heights of the religious altars on my own. Almost no one else is around, so I have each temple top to myself. At the end, I finished up at the bathroom and hit the gift shops. 

I'd been warned about the gift shops, and I normally don't get suckered in by mindless tchotchkes, but the price on the ancient Mayan hot sauce was too good to miss out on. By the time I was done, I'd squandered all my cash. 

Next up: roadside lunch, which Richard paid for (I later looked over the itinerary; it turns out that was included in the deal I'd bought - he was obliged to buy me lunch, like we were friends), and then a rainy trip through bumpy roads that I may or may not have kept my eyes opened for. It's too soon to tell. Following that? A jaunt over to the Black Howler Monkey Conservancy. 

Look: up, in the sky. Are those sacks in the tree?

It was all right. 

Richard and I waited for a Conervancy guide, Robert, to come around, and sing a bit, to let the monkeys know we were on the way. The rains had only recently stopped. It was unclear how frightened of the moisture they were.

Me & a Monkey

They weren't too frightened by moisture. In fact...

I just guess the monkey likes bald guys

Though signs up front at the Conservancy says don't feed the monkeys, I was handled a small bit of banana, after Robert made proper introductions, and this young boy (Robert showed me his dick) came on down and dined away.

The father figure yells out, to play out some long-established social war against his enemies, and also, maybe, to maintain his alpha status. That's the Howler part of the Howler Monkey. I had his son feeding out of the palm of my hand.

After my time with the monkeys, I was pretty worn out, but we had to get back into Belize City, and there, Richard showed me a little bit more about what there was to see. He reminded me repeatedly that the yout's in the south side might take advantage of someone like me, at night, if I travel alone, but that I shouldn't worry, because nothing'll ever happen to me.

What you are seeing is not what you are seeing. 

Some of the houses in the southern part of Belize City are better than shantytowns, certainly, but maybe not by much. It's very different than where the expats live. Because of the rains we had traveled through earlier, some streets were mostl submerged. Still, families roamed the streets.
I was warned repeatedly, not to walk the dirty streets alone.

I got home exhausted, and it was only the late afternoon. When could I allow myself to get to sleep now?