You can read the introduction here, which lists everywhere we stayed in Belize and every service we used. It can be used to put together your own itinerary for visiting and touring Belize.

And you can read part one of the travelogue here, about our arrival in Belize and first days in Hopkins.

Heading West 

We walked to Kat's for coffee and breakfast. I was humiliated about my face, which was as bad as the night before - no improvement at all. I wore my hat and sunglasses and wouldn't look at anyone. We sat over at the side, me feeling embarrassed about my face and scared about riding the Honda 150.

Kat's was much busier than the previous day: almost all the seats were taken. I listened to a family - parents and their teens - joke about getting "so drunk" the night before and how this one didn't remember anything after such and such and how that one had to be helped to bed because "geesh, she could barely walk" - I think they meant the mom. They thought it was hilarious. So glad they had enjoyed their first night in Belize (yikes). 

An older white tourist arrived and I could tell he was looking for a one-sided conversation, so I looked away, watching the kids going to school in their brown and yellow uniforms, via bikes and walking. In my hat and sun glasses, it was clear I did not want to talk to anyone. I heard him say to a young couple at another table, "Are you here from Canada?" They weren't. But he'd now opened the door to talk and was now ready to share with them the fact that he had just arrived two weeks ago and had some kind of really successful business in Mexico that he only had to visit a few times a year but he had now been in Belize for two weeks, for the first time, and he was NEVER GOING BACK TO THE USA. He intended to send for what he might need and sell everything else and stay in Belize. "This is paradise. I'm never leaving." The young couple just occasionally said, "Oh, really" or some other "Yes, we're listening" statements. The guy droned on and on. Finally, the couple excused themselves and left. So he started telling the same story to Kat, how Belize was a perfect paradise and he was never going back to the USA. And Stefan and I both heard Kat say at last, with a bit of warning in her voice, "Keep your head." I don't think he got the message.

I totally get the seductiveness of Belize - or so many other places, for that matter. I get that intoxication mixed with inspiration. You are in a place that is so different, new, beautiful - there is a part of you that says, what if I just stay here? There is a comfort is a completely foreign place, especially one as beautiful and fascinating and friendly as Belize. But just like thinking you are in love after meeting someone just once, you need to give it time and you need to dig a little deeper. Most of the time, you will probably find out it's not quite the perfect place - or person - you wanted. 

That said, it can happen - you discover it's the "real thing." I know that feeling. I had that feeling the first time I went to Austin, Texas - I moved there a few months after my first visit, was lucky to get a job after a couple of months and I stayed for more than four years, knowing it was exactly where I needed to be - until it wasn't. I had that feeling when I went to Bonn, Germany the first time: I knew on my first visit I wanted to stay and was lucky enough to get a job offer and move there six months later and I stayed for eight years. It's an amazing feeling to go somewhere and know where it's where you are supposed to be. I'm jealous of Emma and Kat - I so long to feel that feeling again: going to a place and knowing it's where I need to be.

But this guy at the coffee shop in Belize - he was living a fantasy, a rush of emotions. It isn't real. He wasn't having a happy realization, he was thinking every day could be like what he had experienced on vacation. It's like someone going to DisneyWorld and thinking, "I'm moving here, because I want to hang out with Mickey Mouse EVERY DAY and it's ALWAYS GOING TO BE LIKE THIS." It's not going to happen because you aren't experiencing something that is reality (but it's real for you, Carol. It's real for YOU.).

I wonder what happened to that dude.

The evening before this day, I had been alone on the rooftop patio at Crash Pad, feeling poopy about my swollen, sun burned face and the stupidity that I'd done this and feeling nervous about beginning our motorcycle trip the next day. Stefan was off somewhere, I don't remember where. I heard someone coming up the steps and there was Emma, in the most beautiful mesh motorcycle gear I have ever seen. She stopped, posed with her arms wide, and says, "I should come with you on our motorcycle ride tomorrow!"

Here's a short Instagram video that shows her in the mesh gear. The gear is from Mosko Motors. I spent an unhealthy amount of time touching her new pants, pants that I will never wear, because of my large hips and belly. Sigh. But on the other hand... mesh pants? Mesh motorcycle pants exist? I knew mesh jackets were a thing - I have one. But mesh pants? Movable, breathable, airy mesh pants for hot weather? I knew I would be looking into that more when I'm back in the USA after this trip, most definitely. I so hope someone makes them for fat girls and there's somewhere I can try them on before purchase.

Anyway...

It was time for me to put all that I was going to take on my motorcycle - which was everything I brought - into my dry bag or my purse, and to leave my carry-on at the to Crash Pad, to pick up when we returned to Hopkins in 10 days or so. Stefan brought straps to securely tie our bags on the back of the motorcycle, along with the walking stick that Emma somehow found for me to use on my trip - I can't hike without such. We put on our bike pants and jackets at the last possible moment - it was blazing hot already, hotter than it had been on any day we'd been in Belize so far. We had only 140 km to go to San Ignacio, in the Western part of the state. We couldn't check in to our hotel before 4, so we didn't want to get there early. We also weren't sure if we were going to stop at some sites along the way and how long those stops would take. But I was so, so ready to ride. The motorcycle riding was the primary focus of this trip, along with visiting ancient Mayan sites, and I was ready to get busy with those.

We took some photos with the bikes before we left. The Honda 150s take a long while to warm up on the open clutch (same with my KLR). Once we were pretty sure they were warmed up and we would die at the first stop sign, we were off.

It felt amazing to be riding a motorcycle at last - and I immediately felt the difference in riding this versus my own, far bigger bike: this was SO much easier to maneuver. I didn't have to think carefully about how to navigate something complicated or even stopping - the bike was SO light and nimble. Wee!! Through always busy Hopkins, then out of Hopkins, past the flat wetlands, and onto the main road, and then onto the lush, green, hilly Hummingbird Highway that would take us all the way to San Ignacio.

In our mesh jackets, once out of the lowlands and into the jungle landscape of Hummingbird Highway, we weren't dying from the heat - the wind flowing through the jackets was wonderful. I started thinking about how amazing mesh pants must be! Added bonus, it was a bit cloudy and in the higher, jungle-covered hills, things cooled off quite noticeably.

I wasn't going as fast as I should - I was still skittish about being on a bike that was not my own. I also wanted to read any sign, know what any restaurant or roadside stand or business was called, and have a look at how people lived along the way. Traffic wasn't bad at all, other drivers were very respectful, and I knew to get over near the white line for the shoulder whenever someone was behind us, to let them by, per my experience in Mexico - and no one rode our ass waiting for us to do it.

Not sure how long it took us, but we stopped eventually at a roadside bar and restaurant. Every business along the way looked and felt like a juke joint, and this place was no exception, right down to the chain link fence around all the wall openings. I picked a table where we could see the motorcycles. We were alone except for the two women staffing the bar and a little girl belonging to one of them. And, yes, I was drinking Coca Cola. I don't drink it in the USA, but when I am abroad, all bets are off, give me a Coke!

The sign high above the bar suggested:

Please don't urin outside
use the bathroom
Please have on your shirt
at all times
Please don't spit inside the bar

Indeed, we used the bathroom (clean, as always in Belize), we kept our shirts on, and we did not spit inside the bar. Even though I found the Belikin Babe posters offensive. And I wouldn't have found them offensive if there had also been men up there, because I prefer equality in sexism and objectifying people sexually. But we all know THAT'S not going to happen.

Outside, we started up the bikes, and as this was only the second time I had taken off on the Honda 150, I was still not used to the clutch. Much to the amusement of the people sitting across the road in their yard, I popped a small wheelie as I pulled out. I have never popped a wheelie before, ever. And I have not done so since. That I did not drop the bike is a miracle. Lesson learned and I never did that again.

Eventually, we saw a turnoff for something - we weren't sure what - and then a bit farther down, the turnoff for an official natural site: St. Herman's Cave. I really did not want to get to San Ignacio yet and I was in the mood to see something. So we pulled in and parked the bikes. I was so pleased to learn that this site was managed by staff from the Belize Audubon Society. In fact, the staff of the Society manage many of the national parks and wildlife sanctuaries of Belize.

We saw another motorcycle rented from Alternate Adventures in the parking lot - the RENT ME in the front is always the giveaway. It was a Lufin Cobra (LF250), a Chinese-made dual sport bike, with two small carry-on suitcases strapped to the back. You can go two up on this bike, and that's what this couple was doing; they were just finishing up a cave tubing tour.

Since the walk to the cave entrance was so short and a guide wasn't required for the short hike into the cave, we opted to have a go. We paid our admission and walked through the beautiful and densely landscaped trail. It felt unreal. I was in a jungle! Jayne of the Jungle at last! We were walking in our motorcycle pants, so hiking was slow. There was a high road but, of course, I took the low road. I felt a drop in temperature but saw nothing in the landscape change. And then we came to this sign that explained why - it's because of the cave entrance. Pretty incredible, given that the entrance was still many yards away and not at all visible.

I was beyond grateful for my walking stick already, but, wow, I never could have entered or exited the cave without it. I cannot tell you how much I hate being an old woman. My right knee quit working properly when I was about 26, long before I was overweight. My left knee followed suit in my 30s in Germany. The stabbing pain under my knees is horrible unless I pop them regularly, and then the pain is relieved only for a few minutes. I have talked to at least six doctors about it. They do X Rays. They shrug. They say something about arthritis and to take some Advil. One chastised me and said my knees were this way because of my weight (never mind that they felt this way before I gained weight). Sigh. And yet I keep hiking.

The cave is very wet, with a small river running right through it. We later learned that this is the launch point for cave tubing. We were thinking of doing it in the future, even here at this cave, which we would pass again on our way back East in a few days, and which really wasn't that far from San Ignacio for a day trip. Spoiler alert: we never did, for various reasons. But the people who did it loved it.

After exploring the cave and walking back to the parking lot, we had a bathroom break (as always, clean and with flush toilets - you can be in the middle of now where and there will be clean, flush toilets) and headed back on the bikes the way we had come; we wanted to check out the interior St. Herman's Blue Hole, which is the site we had passed earlier without knowing what it was. We showed our ticket from the other site to the attendant, chatted a bit, and headed down to the natural swimming hole.

And we got there and we were alone. And it was so hot. And it was so beautiful. Our bathing suits were back on the bikes. Screw it. We stripped off down to our underwear and in we went.

Ya'll, I had a religious experience, much like the experience I had, for different reasons, at Crystal Crane Hot Springs in the outback of Oregon back in September. This time, I elt my way-too-high core body temperature gently lower, I felt the intense heat raging inside me subside, and in addition, I went from misery to relief to absolute pure joy. I felt spiritually transformed. That water felt unbelievably amazing. I told Stefan, as we swam in that beautiful blue water, that if being Baptized had felt anything like this, I would have actually become and remained a Christian. This swim in this natural swimming pool, unlike my Baptism as a child, was glorious.

Another guy came down to jump in. He was originally from the Dominican Republic but now lives in New York City, and I told him that totally makes him a New Yorker now. He was vacationing and LOVING Belize - and loving this site as much as us. We left him and the pool after a while, him happily taking selfies. Our timing was perfect - as we walked back up the steps to the parking lot, first one group, then another, was descending down. A little girl in the second group told me, "I'm going swimming!" Yes you are, honey child. Yes you are.

Back in the parking lot, a Belizean guy had to tell us how much better our Hondas are than Chinese bikes, and he wanted to know where we rented them from. Later, we were surprised to learn that most people anywhere in Belize know the bikes are rented from someone in Hopkins - but, then again, Emma at Alternate Adventures is the only person in the entire country who legally and officially rents motorcycles.

We got back on the bikes and headed westward again, and I made a discover that changed the rest of the trip and that will change how I ride a motorcycle in the summer FOREVER. And it is this: Riding a motorcycle with a soaking wet bra under a t-shirt and mesh jacket is heaven. It is the best cooling system EVER. Why, why, WHY hasn't anyone ever told me this before? Oh, the misery I could have alleviated on so many trips had I known this!

I was loving the motorcycle riding. I was loving the scenery. I'm in Belize! Riding a motorcycle! And I was thinking, if the trip never gets better than this, that's going to be fine, because I am loving this!

Spoiler alert: the trip got even better.

I was getting hungry. But suddenly, all the many roadside cafes had disappeared. I slowed down at every group of houses - none seemed to be a restaurant or snack shack. At one point, we saw a sign for a resort restaurant and pulled into the driveway to head over to it - and then saw the "closed" sign. ARGH. We rode on.

Then I saw a sign on the side of the road: "Are you hungry?" Well, yes, I am, I said aloud in my helmet. Then came another sign. "Are you tired?" Well, I was a bit tired, but mostly hungry. And finally the payoff: the sign and turnoff for the Warrie Head Resort and Restaurant. YES! We proceeded down a beautiful white gravel and dirt path through a groomed, lush jungle landscape. We passed another sign: "Do you hear the howler monkeys?" Not yet, but I do hope that happens...

I pulled into the little area that said parking and happily jumped off the bike, ready for food. Then Stefan said, "Did you see the sign said this is a 'Naturalist Paradise'?" We both had the same thought: wait, do they actually mean naturist? Is this a nudist camp?!? We sheepishly looked around: no naked people. In fact, no people at all. But surely there would be more signage warning if this was a nudist camp? Surely they really do mean naturalist, not naturist? We slowly walked up to the empty restaurant - like most places in Belize, it had open walls, no windows at all. We could hear someone in the kitchen working and Stefan called out. A fully dressed waiter emerged. The restaurant was, indeed, open and he took our order. I had to pee in a bad way, but the bathrooms for the restaurant were closed for repairs, so the cook sent me to one of the rooms they have for rent, back behind the restaurant, to use that bathroom. I cautiously looked around as I walked to the room. Please, please let this be a naturalist site, as in John James Audubon was a naturalist (also a racist, but not important to this conversation now), and not a naturist site.

And if you are a naturist, good for you. I wish you the best. But I don't want to see you naked.

We never saw any guests at all, so even if it had been a naturist site, we would have been fine. But, happily, it is NOT a naturist site - it is a normal Belizean jungle resort, one focused on enjoying the jungle and, indeed, the sound of howler monkeys, which we did hear. We also had delicious beef burgers that rocked our world.

As we left, I kept thinking how much I'd like to stay there for a night - it really was lovely.

Onward to San Ignacio, passing a fender bender along the way where the driver of a truck got out with a machete and started pounding on the driver's side window of the guy who rear-ended him. We didn't want to stick around for that. We also passed Galen University, Cayo Institute for the Deaf and an agricultural research center funded by Taiwan.

We got into San Ignacio and got lost repeatedly trying to find the Midas Resort. There were a LOT of one way streets, and no street had any street sign. We had come into the city from a different direction than we had looked at on a map, and it turned out we had been really close the moment we had entered the city. After riding through town a few times and finally asking someone, we finally found the hotel.

You might wonder why we weren't using a GPS. Stefan has an old Garmin and he had brought it on the trip, but had forgotten that it needs to be hooked into the motorcycle battery to work properly - using just batteries, it works only for a day. So we used paper maps and, on the bikes, we just guessed sometimes which way to go - old school!

At first, the resort couldn't find our reservations, and I panicked. We had been in touch earlier via email about it! But I guess it was because I had booked one of the budget spare rooms, which I think are actually for short-term workers and for tour group leaders who bring groups to the hotel, and they don't book that in exactly the same way as their standard rooms and bungalows. All we wanted the room for was to sleep, one that was clean, safe, and quiet, and since we hate spending a bunch of money on a hotel room we aren't going to spend much time in, the spare rooms had seemed perfect. At last, they found our reservations (whew!).

In the spare room, we had a shared bathroom with another room, but we never saw that person. Our room was back behind the main hotel, so we didn't hear the large drunken group of people from the USA who were staying there and decided that 9 o'clock was great time to start singing karaoke. We didn't hear other guests coming to and from their rooms. We did have some problems with the air conditioning at first, but we left the room to swim in the huge pool (heaven - had it to ourselves, first time I've really swam, not just soaked, in years) and then to eat in their restaurant, and by the time we got back to the room, it was working fine and we had the temperature we wanted. I knew as soon as I walked in and felt that temperature that I was done with not having air conditioning each night for the remainder of the trip - I couldn't handle it anymore.

Midas turned out to be a wonderful choice: the staff of both the hotel and the restaurant are so, so NICE. They are happy to help you with anything: a taxi to the border, more towels, allowing the motorcycles to stay there while we went to Guatemala, keeping most of our luggage while we went to Guatemala, and on and on. They were chatty and sweet and I loved them.

As for that large group of drunken karaoke singers from the USA - what were they there for, what had brought them together? They were there in their island fashion finest, looking a lot like Jimmy Buffet fans. I knew they were all together, and that there was a common reason they were there, I was curious about what it was, but I just didn't want to talk to them. I've been like this since the election in 2016: I don't want to talk to anyone who might be a Trump supporter. I just can't take them anymore. I just can't. And it's also from living in Oregon, where people don't say "Good morning" or "Good evening" or "how are you?" or "It's so nice to see you", where if you say, "Good morning!" people literally look the other way. Oregon is the opposite of Belize. Oregon has made me less friendly. While I chatted up with the staff at any opportunity in Belize, feeling oh-so-at-home, I avoided all of the guests. We later learned why the big group was there: for a guy who sings something called Trop Rock and holds concerts throughout the Caribbean for his legions of Baby Boomer super fans. And some Google searching revealed that... well, do you know who else sings Trop Rock? Yeah, it's best that I just avoided them altogether. I wish them no ill will at all - love what you love. Even if it is Trop Rock.  

Stefan announced that he had proposal for the next day: instead of waiting until after we went to Guatemala, what if we went to Caracol the very next day? The weather seemed okay, and in Belize, it can rain any time, anywhere, and even in the so-called dry season, you could have rain all day. But we were relatively sure it wasn't going to rain a lot the next day. We could decide when we got up what we wanted to do. But if we tried to go to Caracol now, and it didn't work out, we'd have more chances to try again - if we waited and then tried, we wouldn't have any more chances if we got rained out. I knew he was right: if the weather was good the next day, we should go to Caracol.

It's 85 km - about 50 miles - to Caracol from San Ignacio. Most of the road is still unpaved. Most online info said the ride would take two hours via and all-wheel drive truck that can navigate in off-road conditions. Could I do this on the Honda? I had never done anything like it before, not on roads like that for that long. Would the Honda 150 really make it easier for me?

I was feeling whiney and tired and I begged to NOT have to set the alarm to get up before 7 a.m., as we had every day since we got to Belize. We were on vacation - I wanted to finally get to sleep in!

So we set the alarm for, I think, 7:30 a.m.

If the weather permitted, we were going to Caracol tomorrow instead of two or three days from now.

Gulp.

Part 3: Visiting Caracol.

You can see my favorite photos from our trip here (there are about 500 and most are taken by me or feature ME). You can see Stefan's favorite photos from the trip here (there are about 800 and most are taken by him or feature him).

Return to the main page for our Belize and Guatemala 2023 Adventure.  

 
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