Once upon a time, Belize was damned as the orphan child of the British Empire, a lawless backwater only a pirate could love. More recently it starred as the stumper in geography bees, the country on the far side of the Central American isthmus that nobody could quite place.
But in the modern, eco-traveling era, Belize has emerged triumphant. It is truly an explorer's paradise-and not bad for anyone seeking sun-swamped relaxation either.
The world's second-longest barrier reef parallels one side of the country and an unbroken emerald-green cloud forest lines the other. A mere 75 miles separate the two, with nature preserves-and their resident jaguars, sea cows, and other rare animals-scattered throughout. In the morning you can find yourself under a broadleaf canopy with monkeys screeching and the voices of Mayans past whispering in your ear. In the afternoon you can snorkel in turquoise water so clear that the seafloor crustaceans haven't a chance. And in the evening you can sit on a coconut-palmed island and sip rum punch.
A tropical country no bigger than Massachusetts, Belize is bordered by Mexico, Guatemala, and the Caribbean Sea. English is the official language (a holdover from its days as a British colony), but Creole-speaking, dreadlocked men will wave you onto the cay-bound water taxis down by the docks in Belize City. A few blocks away, Swiss Mennonites hawk expertly carved mahogany furniture. The people you'll encounter are the kind you'll remember: crusty archaeologists, macho shark divers, punta "danceholics" (punta being a dance fondly described as "sex with your clothes on"), and eccentric former British Army officers turned backcountry innkeepers. This is an exotic country made more so by the people who live here or repeatedly find their way back.
I first visited Belize 10 years ago, after three months of traveling through Central America. I couldn't wait to get to the barrier reef, but I found myself sidetracked by San Ignacio. On the westernmost end of the Western Highway, San Ignacio is the gateway to the jungle, a lovely, breeze-graced town on a hill straddling the toffee-colored Macal River. Faded Colonial architecture backdrops lively mestizo and Mayan markets as well as a clot of narrow streets. Think of anything you've seen in a travel brochure and you can do it here: white-water kayaking, hiking, birding, horseback riding, mountain biking, photo safaris, and the somewhat chancy-sounding "black-water cave tubing," which entails floating down a river that flows through a limestone cave. In the verdant backcountry, the ruins of ancient Mayan villages are still being unearthed and puzzled over. Transportation and guides can be arranged at Eva's Restaurant and Bar, a beloved ramshackle tavern that is acknowledged as the official tourism information office for western Belize, even though it's owned and run by a Brit. Why not?
For accommodations, most choose to stay in the cabana-style lodges on the lush hillsides just outside of town. The lodges serve some of the best food in Belize. Fresh tropical produce is used with creative gusto; staple rice and bean dishes are spiced up into veggie delicacies. The tangy okra soup is one of the tastiest dishes I've ever had.
On my last visit to San Ignacio, I stayed at Cahal Pech Village, which sits next to a restored Mayan site of the same name. Forty-five dollars got me a thatched-roof hut, a large patio hammock, a sweeping jungle river view, and a flurry of ruby-throated hummingbirds each morning. The best bar in town is on the other side of the hill, a tin shed where punta dancing goes all night and the satellite dish somehow finds Lakers games. I call that bliss.
There's no limit to what you might get involved in deep in the jungle, including working a live Mayan dig, but do leave a few R&R days for the Caribbean islands. On Caye Caulker, a 40-minute water-taxi ride from Belize City, island life is extremely low-key, with pastel cottage hostelries dotting the southern part of the island and a few restaurants and bars near the docks. Swim, snorkel, or buy a bottle of rum at the Reef Bar, and make fast friends. Days begin, days end, and nothing seems remotely urgent, with the possible exception of finding a Rastaman named Denny who has seven cats, a cool pair of Vuarnets, and a skiff to take you to the nearby reef.
Caye Caulker is a lovely outpost, but a castaway experience it isn't. The best wilderness beaches are near Placencia, a tiny village at the end of a long narrow peninsula 60 miles south of Belize City (a word of advice: Fly, don't drive, to Placencia). Even Caribbean snobs will find themselves dabbing their toes in the white coral sand, then marveling at the exquisite way it sticks, gemlike, to the skin. Get your bearings at Main Street in town (Main Street being a ribbony concrete sidewalk), then set out for a hideaway beach to call your own. Seven miles of uninterrupted sand lie between Placencia and its northern neighbor, Seine Bight, and even short explorations will be rewarded.
If you find an ambitious, active impulse percolating within, try snorkeling in the coral gardens around Scipio and Colson Cayes. Or hire a sport-fishing guide and stalk the island shallows for bonefish, tarpon, and permit. Or don't. In the face of prolonged exposure to sun, sea, and long horizons, the urge to do anything in Belize never lasts long.
