Stepping Out with Royalty

Pretty sure I disappointed Prince Charles. 

I needed to wind down after bowling storms and howler monkeys, but after dark, I needed to eat. All the chats I'd had, all the sentences I'd read, discouraged a tourist from going out alone at night. "Be advised," they said, "be smart."

They also said the risk wasn't terribly great, and that my tourist dollars were safe - the industry needed my kind too much to risk me, they said. 

It was hard for me to read between the lines. 

I'd gone out last night, conquering fears, and survived, but had done more reading and had more conversations since. I didn't feel any more clearly informed. 
Twenty five years ago, despite warnings, I roamed the night time south side of Chicago, just to say I did. I hadn't been raped or killed once (or any other number of times - just to be clear); I guess that would be my model. I took to the streets, which had names, but I didn't look for them. I wouldn't consult my map at night, fearing being targeted as a target.

It was Sunday. The night was quiet. Nothing seemed open. The place that earlier I thought I'd be able to pick up some fry chicken looked closed up tight - as did every other establishment I passed. Begrudgingly, I headed to the water, and to Celebrity Restaurant. 

On the final approach to the place, I spied one of the few other bodies on the road. I'd been wary, but he looked old, carried a bucket, and I felt sure, with all my fighting prowess, I could take him. 

From a distance, he called, "Welcome to beautiful country!" and I yelled back, "Thank you very much, sir!" and then he closed the gap. 

He was old. You're a cracked, black Caribbean male, you could conceivably be anywhere between forty five and a thousand forty five, especially when viewed from ignorant American eyes, of which I have four. 

But wherever he was on the old spectrum, he was right there, definitely, on the old spectrum. 

"You are a good man," he said, "for talking to me. I shall make you an honorary ambassador to Belize."

He introduced himself as Prince Charles Perez, and said I could look him up later. He was one of those chatty street people and I was fully prepared to be picked up. 

He said I was a very special sort, because I was willing to engage him, but really, I was happy to have a companion, especially when he said he was "a professor, a tour guide, an entertainer, and one of god's children."

"Excellent!" I replied, "maybe you can help me figure out what I should do next."

I didn't take any pictures of Prince Charles, but there's this thing called the internet...?  (earlydocbird.com)

I took him to dinner - he said not to go to Celebrity, it was too "fancy" which was fine, since I'd overshot it anyhow. Prince Charles suggested a pizza place by the water, as he regaled with tales of the etymology of Belize, the history of its citizens, and whether or not I should take a drive out to Xunantunich the next day.
Web searches do seem to support that Prince Charles is the very personable personality he appears to be; some kind of huckster flim-flam touristy man (with a bucket available to wash windows, if he needed to make some real money). His speech was well-performed, well-reasoned, and he'd explained repeatedly that all he was asking for was alms, but when our time reached its end, and I paid for our meal and gave him my cash, he was disappointed. 
He wanted more. 
Of course, when I went out for walkabout, I had brought only a certain amount of money, so if I were harassed, I could only look so much. I gave him all the money I had left, which amount to about thirty dollars, Belize.
"That is small cheese, indeed," Prince Charles said sadly, "for the service I have offered, I would normally have gotten one hundred dollars."
"Oh, come on," I replied, "When you primed the pump, earlier, you described the the exaggerated price. You told me that one man gave you a whole sixty dollars American. That was to give the high end of what you wanted me to pay."
"No, no..." he said.
"Then why did you subtly mention that an hour ago?" I was feeling defensive. I wasn't going to get to an ATM to provide him more cash, but I felt bad that he felt cheated. On the other hand, I don't think the Prince would have found anyone else that late in the empty evening to regale with tales of Belize. The money and meal I provided were unlikely to have been offered by anyone else.
I did, in fact, have more money stored in my sock - but if I admitted that, we would have entered into a whole 'nother argument.
We parted, the Prince and I, on far less happy terms than we had met, but he had offered me a blessing - or maybe a curse. He said the woman I would marry would come from Massachusetts - or Louisiana - and we would be together, if I offered her this special compliment, and I should remember it exactly:
oh, shit.