flying by the seat of my pants

One of my personal goals for my Central American journey was to plan less and do more on a whim. I am very proud to say I am succeeding with the challenge. So far, my best experiences have been those which happen last minute, with little or no planning. The places I decided to go an hour before I left, with no reservations for a hostel or hotel when I got there, are the best places I've been in Central America. Giving myself this flexibility in travel makes it easier to find unique adventures and even stay somewhere longer than intended.

On my last day in Xela I made one of these decisions. This time I decided to change my travel plans from Antigua to Lake Atitlan. I got on the bus headed for Panajachel, the largest city on the lake, not knowing which lakeside town I would stay in or where I would sleep that night. On the bus I asked an American couple heading the same direction for suggestions. They were the right people to ask, not only did they live at the lake, but they were good friends with people who owned a hostel in Santa Cruz (one of the smallest lakeside towns). They gave me their phone and told me to call ahead to book a bed and reserve a spot for the family style dinner.

When I arrived at the boat dock in Panajachel it began to rain, I climbed into the little boat, or launcha, which functioned much like a water taxi, and waited for others to fill the boat. At first only five people were in the boat then suddenly massive groups of locals began to fill the boat with people, sacks of vegetables, animals, anything, everything; it seemed as if this boat, the last boat leaving that day, was the "chicken bus" of the lake. I'm pretty sure the boat had way more weight and people than it was equipped to handle, this concern was proven by the less than two inches between the rim of the boat and the surface of the water, as it's little engine struggled to push us across the lake.

After a loud crack of thunder, the rain became a downpour and several people on the boat were getting soaked. Including a young pregnant woman holding a baby. Nobody seemed to offer her their seat and her baby was screaming as the cold wind and rain assaulted them. I decided to give her my slightly covered/dry seat, and shield her baby with my rain jacket, I then stood in the center of the downpour.

When I arrived in Santa Cruz I was soaking from head to toe, even my water resistant hiking boots were soggy. I looked like a wet rat/bag lady as I walked up to questionably constructed dock towards the hostel. The trash bag I wrapped my backpack in was covered in mud (how it got muddy on a boat still baffles me) and as I carried it, I became covered in mud as well. I was very thankful my hostel, La Iguana Perdida, was directly in front of the dock and I only needed to walk a bit further in the rain.

When I arrived soaked and leaving puddles of water everywhere I stood, the staff were friendly, helpful and immediately offered me a beer to relax after my eventful and wet journey. I had just enough time to change before dinner and trivia night began. I knew at this moment I had made yet another wonderful last minute decision and my one night stay at the lake might become a week or longer; right on the lake with spectacular views and a spectacular atmosphere, so many friendly travelers and a huge dinner, all for very little money.

When I woke up in the morning the views of the lake were spectacular. The sky was clear and previous nights rain left a calm feeling across the lake. I decided to hike around the lake and see what the other towns had to offer. When I reached the second small town past Santa Cruz, I was stopped by two locals who warned me to turn back, apparently many tourists had been robbed along the path in the past year. The local couple then insisted on walking me back to Santa Cruz so they knew I was safe. It totally freaked me out, how could such a quite and relaxed lake have a problem like this? So I did some research (asked more locals), and not only is there a problem with robberies on the hiking trail but, last year some of the local (Maya) caught a few of the robbers immediately after they had mugged some backpackers, and they brought them to "Mayan justice" (tied them up, and lit them on fire in the middle of Panajachel). I decided my future trips around the lake would be with others and without valuables.

That night the hostel hosted a cross dressing party (not in the mood to gender bend I wore my regular clothing) and I meet an older couple from New York. They mentioned they were headed to Antigua in the morning and offered me a ride. I decided it was a good chance to get to Antigua for free and accepted the offer. Again the chance to fly by the seat of my pants and see what happens.

I woke up the next morning to an earthquake, at first it sounded like someone was running across the tin roof, then I felt my bed begin to sway, at that moment everything shook violently and the door of my cabin flew open. It was a medium earthquake by Guatemala standards and as far as I knew did no major damage. Nonetheless, it was the biggest earthquake I've felt and the power was out at the hostel for about an hour. The couple from New York was a bit freaked out and ready to go to Antigua so, I packed my things and said goodbye to the pretty little lakeside town, then climbed into the smallest car I've even seen for my free ride to Antigua.

Pajas

My new favorite Central American Spanish slang word is, paja, a loose translation is, lie although the actual word means straw. How I came to know this word is a funny and pathetic story. Laguna Chicobal, a scared Mayan lake in the middle of a volcanic crater; my lack of physical fitness and some misinformation lead to a very interesting day in the Guatemalan highlands.

The night before, my school had a new student dinner party and many of my fellow Spanish students brought "fire water" (Guatemalan moonshine/everclear like liquor). After many drink offers I finally had some kind of soda and firewater drink and followed that with a small amount of beer. Compared to my fellow students I was taking it easy. In fact, I was thrilled they were drinking the fire water, like...well...WATER! I hoped their impending hangovers would even the physical fitness level for our hike the next morning. Unfortunately, it seems I underestimated the ability of the Swedish to recover from a night of drinking.

When morning came I was the one with a headache, everyone else was fine! My immediate reaction was shock, then as I walked about a mile through Xela to find the "chicken bus" that would take us to, San Martín Sacatepéquez (the village we needed to hike through to get to Chicabol), I realized I was going to have a very hard time keeping up on the hike. I was being out walked in a mostly flat urban environment. The one hour ride on the chicken bus made me sicker and when we finally got off, it was all I could do not to pass out in the middle of the road.

San Martín Sacatepéquez, was a beautiful farming village located on a very steep hillside of the Guatemalan highlands. Getting through the village was painful. Each step uphill felt like I was running a marathon. My breathing was shallow and short. The others flew past me as my slightly nauseous, achy, overweight and asthmatic body fought its way up each progressively steeper hill. At first I was only a small bit behind the group, then further and further until I was so far behind the others had to wait for me. I was by far the week link on the hike.

It was about this time when I started flashing back to the dinner the night before, when so many of the teachers and students at the school were trying reassure me the hike was easy and I should have no problem. I screamed "bull****" towards the sky; causing our guide, Kurt, to look back and notice my struggles. As he walked towards me down the mountain he was yelling words of encouragement, it was nice, but my anger with those who convinced me to do the hike was the only energy getting me up the hill.

With Kurt walking along side me trying to push me to walk faster, I was only angrier still. I asked him and the others to go on ahead. I just needed to do this at my own, less healthy person speed. Kurt refused, I felt guilty for holding the others back and was unsure if I would be able to continue. That's when Kurt taught me, paja. It was the perfect explanation for my frustration with those who pushed me to do the hike. "Chicobal es muy facil", response "ya, paja!" I screamed paja up each of the steep and slippery inclines. I use my anger to get through the village.

Finally, after an excruciating hour or more (it takes a fit person 25-30 minutes) I was through the village and at the base of Chicabol. HA! Pajas! It was an even more difficult and steep climb to the top to the volcano. Then I saw a horse, I joked to Kurt that I should use the horse to climb to the top, Kurt said I probably could negotiate a rental of the horse, although people don't usually do that. Time to test the Spanish skills. Between Kurt and I we negotiate a horse and a guide(young boy to lead the horse - since I didn't know where I was going) for about $12.

I climbed on the horse, Durango, and we began our climb up the mountain to the lake. As I watched Durango fight her way up the mountain I realized how difficult the hike was. There is absolutely no way I could have done it on my own. In fact, the altitude was so high, the air so thin; I was having a hard time breathing while just sitting there on the horse. Once in the crater of the lake. I felt calm. According to the Popul Vu, Mayan creation story, life began in the lake. Walking around the lake many Mayan alters were set up for prayer and people were sitting by the lake praying. It was beautiful.


Back on Durango, I head back out of the crater and down the mountain. Durango was suffering, having problems breathing and walking with me on her back. Eventually, I got off of her and walked alongside to get back down the mountain, all the while thinking. "if this is difficult for a horse that does this climb regularly, I can only imagine how I would have done."

Walking down was more painful than the walk up. Although I could breathe, my knees were taking all the pressure as I worked to walk but not fall down the steep hills. The views as we walked through the village were phenomenal. The people of the village were friendly saying hello as we walked past. Back on the chicken bus I began considering how long the hike would have taken me without the horse, a feeling of sadness over my current state of health set in. I really, thought I had done so much to improve my health in the past year. I realized how much further I still have to go. In pain and exhausted I went home to shower, ice my sore - out of shape self and plan my revenge against those who told me so many pajas about the hike to Laguna Chicobal.

Let's all dance the Quetzaltenango: It happen somewhere in or Around Xela

Xela, after 3 weeks, it holds a special place in my heart. A friendly town filled with a diverse mix of people and industries. It has its own culture, unique in Guatemala and the world. Things move slowly there but with the grace of a European city. Strangers greet each other in the street, locals are intrigued by foreigners travels and traffic overwhelms the tiny cobblestone streets.

In only a short time I meet many wonderful people, learned about local NGO and Peace Corps projects and improved my Spanish. Never a dull moment, the following are some of the many things I did in and around Xela.

*Fuentes Georginas
I showed up for my "shuttle" to Fuentes Georginas (natural hot springs) and discovered it was the back of a truck. Myself and a few of my fellow students jumped inside and we were on our way. As I bounced and braced myself in the back of the truck we ascend up one mountain after the other, the views were spectacular. Afternoon clouds were slowly descending on us and eventually we found ourselves traveling through a cloud.



When we arrived at the park there was a short and beautiful walk through the highlands to the hot springs. The springs were beautiful but I was shocked to find the springs were in structured pools; much like a European bathhouse. The water was very hot and had a slight smell of sulfur. The closer to the mountain run off the hotter the water. It was a very relaxing afternoon.


*Salcaja
A small village near Xela, with a large central market famous for its hand woven cloth. It was a nice afternoon. I saw the oldest Church in Central America, a traditional weaving demonstration and tried very-very strong Guatemalan fruit wine (moonshine).




*San Andres Xecul
The town is famous for this church! Crazy yellow, red and blue facade and dome. It has a circus like look.


But the real reason people come to San Andres Xecul is to pray to the patron saint of cigarettes, alcohol and prostitution. San Simon, also known as Maximon or Ry Laj Man, he an interesting figure in Guatemalan Catholicism and ancient Mayan belief. People come to pray before him, light candles and offer cigarettes.

I made paid my offerings.

Demasiado Español

When I began planning for this trip I knew Spanish language lessons would be on the itinerary. Few people in Central America speak English and I've wanted to learn Spanish for years. I knew a language intensive program would be a challenge; a challenge I was ready to meet. I choose a five hour per day, five day per week Spanish course, with one on one student teacher instruction. I also, decided to live with a local Guatemalan family, where I would be forced to practice my Spanish when not in school.

The first day of school began and I was thrilled with my instructor, Juan, he was my age and loved to discuss linguistics, politics and musicals! We spent the first day talking for the entire lesson. It was wonderful, I understood way more than I thought I would and my Italian language background made understanding and speaking so easy.

After school I went to meet the family I was going to live with for the next 3 weeks. I was nervous about living with a family; fellow travelers had horror stories. I worried about the meals they would serve (fearful every meal would be pork products and beans), apprehensive about the quality of accommodation, concerned I wouldn't be able to converse with the family. Bilma and George were a wonderful and very friendly older couple who frequently hosted language students. Bilma showed me their lovely home and my private room. Introduced me to their very sweet dog, Timi and asked me what foods I can't/don't eat. I was thrilled. Meals were wonderful and although they sometimes include foods I don't enjoy Bilma always made sure there were many options available. Accustomed to beginning level Spanish speakers in their home; they both spoke slowly and clearly, using small words and corrected me when I said something incorrectly.

After two days, I was exhausted I was living, learning and thinking in Spanish. My head hurt from the intensity of the language immersion. I started craving English conversation but it was hard to find opportunities to speak English. In fact, when I did have the chance to speak in English my brain would get stuck and I couldn't get most of the words out. I somewhere between loved and hated the feeling. Finally, after five days of intense language my first week came to an end. According to my instructor, I was going three times faster than the average beginning student and by the end of my 3 weeks should be speaking and reading at an intermediate level.

Juan was right at the end of the 3 weeks I learned 6 of the Spanish verb tenses and had a descent working vocabulary, the only problem...Italian kept working its way into my Spanish. For example, the Italian word for year, "ano" the Spanish word for year, "año". Without the little accent mark and slightly different pronunciation the word is somewhat vulgar. I can't tell you how many times I have said the WRONG word! Juan swore with time it would stop happening, I hope he's right because until it does, I will be running around Central America speaking Spanglitaliano. Deséeme la suerte!

Guatemalan Semanas Santos

My Guatemalan Easter experience began in Flores where the streets where lined with palm branches for Palm Sunday. Holy Week or Semanas Santos seemed to shut down the entire country of Guatemala. Most stores and restaurants were closed or had limited hours, people took time off work, schools had vacation for students. As an outsider looking in on a culture and observing the festivities, there were many moments where I was confused or shocked. My lack of knowledge in Catholicism, Jesus's life and Christianity was apparent.

In Xela, processions filled the streets of the Central town from dawn until late in the night. Every somewhat skilled musician in the Guatemalan Highlands seemed to be there waiting to provide music for the long and slow walks through the aging cobble-stone streets. Large and heavy wooden structures (floats) depicting the last days of Christ were hoisted onto the shoulders of local men and women, dressed in suits and traditional dresses, and then carried through the streets in a slow rocking motion. The bands played somber tones to signify the more serious processions and lighter music accompanied the more celebratory themed processions.

In fact, were it not for the sometimes somber music, someone 100% unfamiliar with the Easter holiday would not have know it was about the death/resurrection of Jesus. Markets, carnivals, vendors selling candy and toys lined the streets. Women and children dresses in bright traditional clothing both participated and looked on ward.

Saturday night fireworks popped in the sky and bands played loud celebratory music in the streets. Early on Easter Sunday, the celebration began again, this time with bigger, brighter and louder processions. The central park and main cathedral were packed. Vendors called out loudly selling toys and candies for children and many people were gathering in small circles to say prayers. That's when I saw it. Across the park from the church and the procession was a man attached to a cross. He stood there for hours, I know it symbolized Christ's crucifixion but, a man stood below him speaking and I think there was more going on; although my Spanish was not good enough to understand exactly what.

After one week of celebration, fireworks and festivities Samanas Santos came to an end. For me it was a unique cultural experience and one I am thankful to have witnessed.

downtime = self reflection

Bad timing with Semanas Santos (Easter holy week)brought my travels to halt. After Flores/Tikal I planned to go to Antigua for holy week/weekend. Alas, by the time I began making travel arrangements for Antigua EVERY hostel and hotel in the entire city, as well as surrounding cities, was booked! I found myself stuck in Flores trying to redo my itinerary, make new plans and find a new language school in another city.

Fellow backpackers mentioned Quetzaltenango, locally know as Xela (Shay-la), a beautiful colonial city in the Guatemalan highlands. After minimal research I discovered studying in Xela cost $60 a week less than Antigua, the city was a better place to practice Spanish and it had a thriving foreign student social scene. SOLD! I board a bus to Xela the next evening, actually I took the overnight bus to Guatemala city and then transferred to another bus heading towards Xela. It was a long, uncomfortable, dirty bus ride.

After sixteen hours in a bus I arrived in Xela, haggard, as I looked around the city it was a ghost town. Every store and restaurant was closed (a combination of afternoon siesta and holy week), finding a taxi was impossible, as was finding a hostel or hotel with an open reception. Once finally settled, rested and showered. I went for a walk in the city. The city was beautiful as were the decorations and processions for Easter. I sat in the park thinking about next steps; next steps in Xela and next steps in my life.

My mind wondered to future travels, to my desire to visit Southeast Asia, India, New Zealand and Antarctica. My wanderlust is only fueled by this journey, I am a travel addict and I want more. I spend lazy days thinking of ways to finance my addiction. In moments of self reflection, I see how my time abroad is special and how it makes me feel happy and alive. Positive and negative experiences are all a part of the experience and they all bring me a kind of satisfaction nothing else in my life can provide.

I have two more months in my Central American odyssey. For now I need to shift my focus to the present, to the experiences and opportunities. My wanderlust can wait. It will still be there when I return home and I am confident it will never truly go away. Indeed, I finally understand how world exploration is the root of self discovery, understanding and knowledge. How routine and monotony, work for some, but stifle my need for something more. I am ready to take on the world and I hope the world is ready for me. Readers I promise you, I will continue to journey near and afar, in my quest for knowledge and intellectual harmony.

my trip to Tikal: from panic to serenity

4:30 am came way to early, especially since I was tossing and turning all night thinking about ants crawling all over me. I got up and dressed for my trip to Tikal in about 3 minutes, I was running late and didn't want to miss the van. Turns out, I didn't need to rush, the van was more than 15 minutes late. In fact, at one point I began to wonder if the driver had taken our money the day before, and was not coming. Finally, a van showed up and we got inside. I spent the one hour van ride drifting in and out of consciousness as the driver kept stopping and getting out of the van for no apparent reason. O Guatemala.

Once at the entrance to the Tikal park we left the van and began our walk to the ruins. At first we went down the wrong path, going the opposite direction of the entrance and more or less to the middle of nowhere. Sensing we were walking in the wrong direction, I asked some hikers who passed us going the other way and they confirmed my suspicion. Once at the actual entrance to the Tikal ruins, we paid a $20 entrance fee*. Showed the guard our ticket and began our search for Temple IV(the tallest temple at Tikal).

The map of the park was slightly inaccurate and very hard to read so we walked the same direction as the tour groups, we passed many small ruins and eventually saw a sign pointing the way to Temple IV. As we began walking down the narrow, windy jungle path I remember thinking the path seemed a bit raw. After another 10 minutes I thought it was odd we hadn't seen any other park visitors. That was when I began freaking out. At the park entrance there was a sign warning visitors, jaguars may be in the area and to stay on the marked trails. The path was getting more narrow, the jungle more dense and I swear I heard something, following us/stalking us in the nearby vegetation. Now twenty minutes down a crude jungle path, the end was nowhere insight and we had no idea where we were on the map. It just didn't feel right.

Fortunately, Melanie was also worried and suggested we turn back before we were too far into the jungle. Amy, who was not worried, wanted to stay on the path and see where it went. As we stopped to discuss turning back and once again check the map, I could hear a faint sound of sticks or leaves cracking in the jungle only a few feet away from us. Something was watching us, I knew it. Turning back the way we came; we walked/ran calmly but rapidly, worried running might encourage whatever was in the jungle around us to run too.

Finally back on the main trail. I felt a bit silly for feeling paranoid. Especially, when I discovered what was following us!

Yes that's right we were running from a very scary, half raccoon - half anteater thing, indigenous to the region, know as a White Nosed Coati or Pizote.

We arrived at the Great Plaza just as the sun finished rising. The ruins were stunning. Each structure constructed for a different purpose, I could stand in the middle and picture Tikal (a UNESCO World Heritage Site) as a city of great importance and wealth in the Mayan world. Settled in 700BCE, Tikal was a cultural, religious and commercial center for the Maya for many hundreds of years. Eventually, around 900CE, Tikal's prominence faded and the city was slowly abandoned allowing the jungle surroundings to engulf the structures. In 1956 archaeologists began restoration and excavation of the temples and other various structures in the area and this work continues today.

As I looked out across the jungle, I saw some of the other temples peaking above the trees. I felt very clam and peaceful. Once again having a moment where I thought, "this is one of the greatest moments of my life." I imagined the Maya working diligently to construct each of the structures in the city, their dedication to community and their gods. It was a moment of awe, echoed by the sounds of the birds in the nearby trees. I resisted the urge to sing, a la the Sound of Music, out across the jungle. Nonetheless, the rest of my day in Tikal was spent in a state of peace and comfort.


* I would not mind the high price tag to see and explore these ruins if I were assured the money was used for excavation/restoration of the site or to assist the ancestors of the Mayan people. However, in Guatemala, a country with a great deal of political corruption, there is no guarantee the entrance fees are used appropriately.

Ants in my Pants!!! (literally)

I have to admit, I was really nervous about going to Guatemala, I'm not sure what I was expecting. Maybe I let the concerns(worries) of other back in AZ get to me or my lack of Spanish language skills made me nervous; regardless, I was trepidatious for the impending border crossing. Which is why I was thrilled three other people from my hostel, two American girls (Amy and Melanie) and a dutch guy(Phillip), were heading in the same direction. At first I figured we would just take the bus together and cross the border, but after the shared experience of crossing the Belize-Guatemala border and sweating out every ounce of water in our bodies riding in a dirty-stuffy bus, we ended up planing to spend more time together.

We decided to stay in Flores, an island village in the middle of Lago de Peten Itza. The hostel we wanted to stay in was full as were a few of the hotels we tried. Finally, we found a hotel room the four of us could share for $7 each. The room was sparse with four twin beds and a small bathroom, it was clean and right on the lake, with a spectacular view. Hot and sweaty from the bus ride and hotel search we decided to go to the lake for a swim. The water was clean and refreshing, I was shocked by the water clarity (I've never swam in a lake where I could see at least 10ft below me). At the lake we met a fellow traveler staying in the hostel on the island. He mentioned the hostel had a great vegetarian restaurant and our group decided to join him for dinner.

Back in the hotel room I began to unpack my bag when I felt a strange itchy sensation on my legs. I reached down to lift up my skirt(O fate, why was i wearing a skirt?) to see what it was and I saw about fifteen ants crawling up my legs, before I had the chance to fully process the ants on my legs, I noticed about 700 more ants crawling all over the Phillip's bed!!! I screamed before I was rendered speechless. I just keep pointing and gasping as the other girls ran over to see why I was freaking out.

Big black ants were pouring out of the wall! It was as if they were colonizing the bed and about 50 of them had made their way to annex my bed as well. We got the owner of the hotel, who acted as if nothing was wrong and offered to spray the ants and kill them. Ummmm, NO! "We need a new room" I said. After a few minutes, we were in two new double bedrooms. It was about this time I remembered there were at least 15 ants crawling on me and biting me. I jumped in the shower to rinse off the ants and discovered so many itchy little red bites I was yet again rendered speechless. I've not had good luck thus far with insect bites.

Am I Getting Old

I imagine, am I getting old?*, is a question commonly asked by people in their mid 20s. Our lives are changing significantly from our college days, we are becoming progressively more responsible, financially independent and self sufficient. Our needs are changing and so is the way we have fun and socialize.

Before I began this trip I was going out most nights, social and having fun with friends. Since the beginning of my travels I found myself exhausted and not in the mood to be social or go out. Bar hopping in a foreign country just didn't sound appealing. In fact, going out in general seems to have lost its appeal. When I was in Belize, I finally caved in to the pressure of fellow backpackers to go out; the bars in Caye Caulker were interesting, many people were barefoot, there was sand on the floor. The bars did not have air conditioning and the music was hip-hop circa 2007. It was an odd beachy, time warp. Theoretically it could have been a fun night, instead I found myself sitting on the side watching others, some older, some younger, some my age having a great night. I just wasn't into it.

Consider the cliche, "age is a state of mind", if this is true, does my current state of mind make me older than other my chronological age? Is my current state flexible or is this a sign of a rapid decent to early bird specials and going to be before 9pm? (just kidding) I am traveling and having a great experience; but I wonder if I am missing out on a part of that experience by not spending late nights at bars and clubs with fellow backpackers. My fellow travelers might argue that I am. As the late nights are just as much a part of their travel as the hikes and chicken buses. I feel boring.

The question at the crux of my dilemma is simple. Am I over going out, late nights to bars and dance clubs or is this feeling temporary? Indeed, another cliche comes to mind, "only time will tell."


*for the purpose of this blog, "getting old" refers to the cultural perception of young vs old behavior. Not the chronological age of any given individual and in no way are the questions/thoughts put forward intended to be offensive or ageist.

The Blue Hole or Don't Touch That Shark!

The Blue Hole or Great Blue Hole, made famous by Jacques Cousteau, is a 400ft deep sink hole in middle of Light House Reef, off the coast of Belize. protected by the reef surrounding it, the blue hole has calm clear water and is a safe haven for marine life.

I was not actually sure if I would dive the Blue Hole while in Belize, it is expensive ($200) and the dive is taken to a depth of 130ft (a bit beyond my comfort zone). However, after discussing it with fellow divers/travelers I decided I should go for it. This trip is an adventure and if I don't push my comfort zone and do the truly spectacular things am I really experiencing the essence of this trip to its fullest extent?

Finding a diving company headed to the Blue Hole was difficult many groups would not go without a certain number of divers, but finally, I found one boat headed there the day I was planning to leave Belize. I figured out how to prolong my time on the island and signed-up to go. The Blue Hole was the first of 3 dives that day, it was beautiful; the water is as clear as they claim and the marine life was vibrant. When we reached the 130ft mark there was a large overhang on the reef wall, where many reef sharks were lurking about. After a very brief period of time at the max depth we ascend. What was peculiar is that the reef sharks did too. They were swimming around us and investigating us while we were doing our safety stop. It was a strange occurrence that has never happened when i have been in the water with reef sharks. I later found out it was because many of the dive boats feed the sharks and our group did not; the sharks were looking for their snacks! I could easily write a whole blog about my thoughts on the ethics behind feeding wild animals, but let's just say I was annoyed.

The second dive was at Turneffe Reef Atoll. I think this dive site is better than the Blue hole and offers a greater variety of wildlife. Including many brightly colored brittle stars. The 3rd dive was my favorite, we went to a location near Shark/Ray Alley (a popular Belize snorkeling destination). The dive was shallow about 40ft and had an abundance of large marine life, including a crab, 2 massive sting rays, a bat ray, 4 sea turtles and too many nurse sharks to count. In fact, there were so many nurse sharks that they were swimming up to the boat as we arrived. Once we were in the water, one of the dive masters grabbed a nurse shark, flipped it over and was cradling it like a baby, many of the divers rushed over to pet its belly. I did not. Again my opinions on appropriate interaction with wild animals, the shark did not ask to be held, the shark did not say it was OK to touch it, so why would people think it is OK to terrorize an animal like that?

The shark petting aside, my day diving in Belize was wonderful. After dive three, the boat had some time before it was scheduled to leave, so I went for a swim around the reef. One of our dive guides, a young boy Javier, was with me and he suggested free diving a cave that was about 18ft deep. It took 3 attempts but I did it, I went down and through the cave. It was really fun to do it with out any gear or the luxury of an air tank, I felt accomplished, especially when Javier admit that he could not do it and most of the people he challenged failed. Yes! Go me!