We were warned of bribery and corruption at the Guatemalan border crossing into Belize. Sure enough the chappy behind the counter did ask us for 10 Quetzales each departure tax. We said 'no', which translates literally into Spanish as 'no', He went with it. This amount is only around 70p, but it's the principle.
We were excited by the prospect of speaking in our mother tongue. Belizian officials didn't share our enthusiasm. Part of the Commonwealth, there are many reminders of home. Heinz Baked Beans, tinned Spam and Salad Cream. Wonderful. A sort of home coming. Formerly British Honduras, Guatemala has laid claim to this land forever. We are told that our lads flew two Harrier Jump Jets over Guate City some years ago to remind them who rules the roost.
The contrast between Guatemala and Belize is notable. As we drew closer to the Caribbean coast, the Latin population gave way to that of Afro/West Indian descent. The language Creole, the music Reggae and the clothes 50 Cent.
The locals have a reputation for friendliness. Hmm. No one reacts or responds to pleasantries. Picture Phill doing a tap dance, straw boater, stripy jacket, cane, the works. Nothing. The Chinese are here in numbers too. The whole mini-market scene is sewn up.
So we arrived in Caye Caulker and decided after our recent fast travelling to throttle back for a while. Unkempt, though in some way pleasant, this small island provided us with sun, rum and snorkeling. Hooking up with a couple we became aquainted with in Mexico, we headed south to Hopkins. Described as an off the beaten track Garifuna fishing village, we arrived to realise it was, well, a dump. Moving on we are now in the town of Placencia and awaiting our ferry to Honduras tomorrow. "Where's that Spanish phrase book Sue?" PaS