Long Day's Saunter into Night

I started off shaky. I didn't know where I was going, and more important, didn't want to look like I didn't know where I was going. My color, I feared, made me a target in this foreign land. Had anyone ever felt quite so vulnerable?

So though I had a guide book on hand, I was reticent to use it. I walked into a nearby park where a couple of stalls were open, and I bought a little coconut tart. I misunderstood the exchange rate, but the girl behind the counter was kind, treated me like an idiot, and gave me the right change back.  

I walked past kids fishing on the Caribbean Sea, as the winds jumped the waves excitedly onto our shirts. 

The winds picked up and I picked up steam. 

I took out my map/book, sneaked a peak, and decided to head south, where there were more restaurants. The book quickly went back into the bag, and I walked away from the water, into the interior of town. 

People said hello in the street - or I did. I'm not sure who initiated. We were all being friendly, is the upshot. 

As the sun setted, I bought donuts, and prescription-meds, and some fruit that has been pretty much disproven to be lychee or longan. I paid everybody cash, like I do in the states, too. 

The streets were not that active, but the streets were certainly not hostile to me. 

I was doing all right.

Taken later in the story.

I asked at the pharmacy (she gave me an extra pill - for free!) where to eat, and she said Celebrity, which is in the guide books, but... it's called Celebrity. That sounded like a place for tourists, which is why I was being sent there. 

Instead, I found a street vendor, and asked what she had. She served me styrofoam filled with rice and beans and chicken - nothing I didn't know - and potato salad - something I didn't like. 

I paid a dollar too much (she claimed she didn't have the right change) and I went with my bag and my box of street food, along with a spoon. 

When the humidity got too much, a block or two later, the skies opened up and all god's tears came out to cry. 

I sat under an empty awning, took out my plastic spoon, and ate dinner. 

The dogs aren't wild in Belize, though they look it. Collars aren't required, so no dog need be identified, or come home at night. They roam where they wish. 

I didn't know all this when I finished my food. 

I just saw a mid-sized dog in the rain, sans collar, coming close, as my meal is shoveled speedily into my gullet. 

When the rains stop, I throw my abandoned potato salad at him, pass the police checkpoint, and stride back to the gates of my hotel to get some sleep. 

It was enough for day one.