The Long Day

I haven't been taking many pictures - though I've taken more than I ever have before. I'm not an overly visual guy -  I have, on average, one working eye, and, while I'm a concrete thinker, I tend to consider things more from a descriptive point of view. Still, my favorite form of storytelling is the comic book, and there's that shit about a thousand words and pictures, right?

pretty country, huh?

I hadn't made plans for my second full day in Belize City, though my conversations the prior night with former tour guide and raconteur Prince Charles had convinced me of the value of going off to see Xunantunich - and though I'd hoped to contract Richard Long, the prior day's tour guide, I hadn't actually followed through. 
Down at the front desk, I called him around seven thirty, asked if he was available. I'd told him we previously we didn't need to go through the agency, if that could get him a few extra bucks, so he'd given me his number. He came by around eight, and I got into his car. He quoted me a rate of two forty American for the long drive. I talked him down to two hundred, then added ten. I was pretty sure I was being screwed, remembering the agency rates for Xunantunich seemed to be in the hundred plus range, but I'm not used to negotiations - plus, I wonder how entitled I am to money anyway. I don't like being cheated, but if I agree to being cheated... 
He asked if his family can go with us, which sounds both unprofessional and a much better human experience all at once. I agreed, so we went to pick up his two kids and wife. 

This tree in the center of this image is actually in the left of the image above.  

I still don't know how to pronounce Xunantunich, though I know it's a Z-sound up front. It means "Stone Lady," and it's named for the beautiful apparition that people saw in the 19th century that led to them uncovering the huge Mayan religious site near the Guatemalan border. It's like sixty miles away from Belize City, but even on dry days like now, the roads are not direct or super-fast, so we had a couple of hours ahead of us. Luckily, Richard a guide, so he can pepper conversation with useless facts. 

The ferry we haven't quite reached in the narrative yet. 

Richard's kids are eighteen months and seven years. His wife is pretty snarky. Their first language is Kriol. Everyone's first language seems to be Kriol.

"Everyone's first language is Kriol, right?" I asked, "English is the official language -"

"- because of the British, yes -" 

"But really, but people..."

"In their homes, most people speak Broken English."

That's what Richard calls Kriol to me,  I assume, so that I understand what he's talking about. I'm guessing it's a colonial term. I nodded.

The Long Family (they all have names, but I don't remember Richard's wife's).

He drove, the wife and kids in the back of the Odyssey. I'm in the passenger seat. The conversation on both days got mildly political. 

There's a fair amount of foreign investment in Belize. Since the fifties, there's been an increasing Mennonite presence in the country. Since independence in the eighties, more and more expatriate retirees are coming through - more to the cayes and the mountains than the city, but a lot of the country is being bought up by foreign interests. The politicians seem all right with that. 

"I guess a revolution's coming," I suggested, "once people get angry enough." 

The Countryside.

But it's the Caribbean. I said, feeling racist, "Maybe it'll take a lot to angry enough. With great weather, and not bad conditions, maybe people have it all right, so even though things aren't fair here, it's not enough for people to change things?"

Most of this conversation is while the family is asleep. 

Sometimes I'm asleep, too. Hopefully, Richard is never asleep while he drives, but I really can't say for sure.

Near the capital, Belmopan, Richard buys break pads, and goes to a junk shop to have them replaced in his minivan. I took the time to wander the countryside.
I spied a latin-looking guy hacking away with a machete, and I asked to take his picture. He didn't speak English, but we communicated enough for him to refuse. Richard later confirms that he's probably in the country illegally.

I don't know what the fuck this is. 

As we finally approached Xunantunich, there's a ferry, handcranked, that affords access across a tiny river. Horses were drifting on the ferry as we waited for it. 

Ferry cross the river.

I cranked us across myself, thanked the ferryman for the privilege, pointedly did not sing any Chris De Burgh, and we went to climb the final ascent to this Mayan settlement. 
We'd crossed pretty much the width of Belize, which isn't saying much, but we're all the way on the Guatemalan side, so, to defend against potential out-of-country vandals (or, you know, just vandals), there's military subtly patrolling this site (unlike Altun Ha the previous day). 
Unlike most of Belize, which is under sea level, we've arrived at a somewhat mountainous region, so there's some climbing ahead.

Climbing up in Xunantunich

Results of climbing in Xunantunicz

The actual ruins are fairly similar to what I'd experienced the prior day at Actun Ha (a location whose name I found much easier to pronounce - get it together, Xunantunich!): an open field for a violent ball game like soccer/football, great heights from which to worship the moon god, the sun god, ritual bathing... the whole nine yards. There's more construction, more still left standing, and the biggest temple is much bigger here, and when you finally stop climbing it and get to the top...

Behold,, I am Jonny Mandias, Destroyer of Worlds

... you're motherfucking high. The scale is tough to describe, and maybe it's more about lack of proper cordons around the edges, but you're on top of small mountain, on top of substantial temple, looking without any buildings in the vicinity. It's a breathtaking natural view of two nations, and it's scary. Scary for me. After the picture series was taken, I leapt back to the wall and took many breaths. 

Meh.

There's some natural phenomena around the temples. A male black howler monkey was hanging out. They're the second loudest mammal in the world, I'm told, next to the lion, and while Richard was obnoxiously trying to get a rise out of it (I did not encourage this behavior), soon after we moved away, some other tourists came by with a dog, which set him off. The monkey roared. The dog barked. That made the monkey roar more, which flustered the dog, which got the monkey riled, which frustrated the pup, which - we got moving. 

Another Howler Monkey - only this one closer to Guatemala

The trip back to Belize City was quieter, but faster. I noted that Richard traveled as high as 80 MPH. The highway is never more than two lanes, and there seem to be almost no lights in the country - there are apparently only two stoplights in the main city of 50,000. So many of the roads get submerged in the light weather we had yesterday. When real storms come, how do they cope? 

As we drove, I saw some livestock on the side of the road. Horses, for the most part, were not penned. They were, Richard noted, always tied up, but the ropes were so long and loose, I could almost never see it. There was a metaphor in there that a better artist could maybe grasp: the horses' bondage was subtle, but they could live contentedly, and few could easily see their chains. It was only when they needed to practice freedom that they would realize it wasn't theirs. Or something like that. 

Richard dropped me off around five. It had been a long day - more for him than for me. But I was wrecked. 

I needed to decompress. I needed to write. I needed to eat.

ADDENDUM: I may have needed to write, but I clearly didn't need to research. Turns out Richard's last name is Lord, not Long, so the whole central title of this is false. Lord, why have I wasted all of our time?