I've been in Los Angeles for over 24 hours now. It should be almost 48, but things transpired differently than planned.
On what was supposed to be my last night, Monday night, I didn't get to a restaurant for dinner until just before 9. The place I wanted to eat was closing, so I went next door to a Chinese restaurant. I had what might have been the most disappointing fried rice I've ever eaten. The bread pudding was okay. I really like bread pudding.
A boy maybe a few years younger than me sat at the bar a few stools down. He kept trying to strike up conversation, but I was tired and not super interested. The snorkeling experience had taken it out of me, and being friendly to strangers could be a lot of work.
"Long day?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said.
"Yeah, I noticed you were eating alone."
"I'm traveling alone."
There was a little more conversation, about as boring as everything I transcribed. Another American entered the restaurant. Loud. He seemed to be a regular. He was a cook, working at some other restaurant nearby. He ordered a shot of whiskey I seriously doubt he needed (like, I hope he walked over to pick up his food, because the man seriously shouldn't have been driving) and started shooting the shit with the others.
I asked for the bill and looked through my purse for my wallet but couldn't find it. That's when I remembered I had ordered a drink at the bar at my hotel and had taken only my wallet to the hotel bar and left the rest of my purse at home. When I got back to my room I must not have put the wallet back in my purse. This is a smart move, taking your wallet out of your purse for small things like that, and I was mentally punching myself in the face about it.
"I'm so sorry," I told the bartender, Amy, a demure girl from southwestern China who had been in Belize for about 9 years now. "I left my wallet in my room. Here, I'll leave my passport so you know I'm coming back."
"Don't worry about it," the American slurred. "It's Belize! Why are you so anxious? What are you so stressed about? It's Belize!"
"Okay… okay, I'll come right back, I'm just going to grab my wallet from my room-"
"Where are you staying?" the American asked me.
"Laru Beya."
"Oh, that… all the way over… that's far, man, just come back tomorrow!"
"Really?"
"Yeah, Amy will be okay with that, won't you Amy?"
"That's fine," Amy agreed. "Just bring it tomorrow."
"Oh. Um. Okay. Thank you."
"Where are you from?" the American asked.
"Los Angeles."
"Really? You sound Australian."
I should mention that I've been talking how I normally talk. I mentally high-fived myself for sounding Australian. I've gotten British and German and suburbs of New York (I've gotten this one a bunch of times, and I sort of hate it because, like, why couldn't I just be from legit New York?), but this was a first.
"No. Where are you from?"
"Boston, but I haven't been there in 25 years!" he cackled. What a funny statement!
"Oh, cool, I went to school there."
"I've worked all over the world. I've been to 57 countries and I've worked in 8. Belize is the only one I've ever been back to. I love it here."
"Where have you worked?" the boy I was sort of talking to earlier asked.
"Malawi, Belize, Japan, Boston, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Hawaii-"
I started to mention that the last four places were all in the same country but I could tell nobody cared so I just let it go.
"Malawi, man, I hated working there. So much poverty, man. When I was working there, I was making $1000 US per week. They were charging $1200 US a night at the hotel. The other workers, they were making 65 cents a day. $1200 a night per room they were making, and they were paying their workers 65 cents a day. Couldn't take it."
I counted my blessings real quick.
"A round of shots for the boys!" the American yelled. "A round of shots for the boys! Whiskey! Let's get some whiskey shots for the boys, Amy!"
There were four customers here, including me. I was the only female customer. I was trying to figure out if he meant boys figuratively (which included me) or literally (which did not). He turned to me.
"Where are you from?" he asked me.
"Los Angeles."
"Really? You don't seem like you're from there. You seem like you're from, um… like you're from… hmm…"
"Australia?"
"Yeah! Australia! You got that kind of vibe."
Amy brought shots for the boys in the literal sense, and I took that as my cue to leave. The American offered to pay my tab, and I stupidly said no. I wish I had said yes. I wish he had paid for it. Why did I not take him up on that offer? Or maybe he was too drunk, and he would have forgotten. I declined his offer and came back the next morning to pay my tab.
The next morning I slept in. I ate breakfast. I checked out. I paid Amy back. I got lunch at the Maya Beach Resort. I ran into Connecticut from Brenda's Restaurant. We talked about how fun that afternoon was, and how good that Seahawks-Packers game was. I began the drive back to the airport so I could leave.
The drive started out uneventful. I had learned how to drive over the speed bumps. I checked the map and saw the fastest way to Belize was Manatee Highway. I followed the map best I could and took a right on Manatee Highway.
Manatee Highway was a little rougher than the other highways. I thought it would clear up, because the map gave no indication it was a lesser highway. I only realized my mistake when my car broke down, and I was literally in the middle of nowhere.
I took the key out. I put the key back in. I turned the key. I took the key out again. I put the key back in again. I turned the key again. Nothing.
"No. No. No. This isn't happening. How is this happening?"
I got out of the car. I opened the hood and checked under the hood like I knew what I was doing, but I didn't know what I was doing, or what to look for, so I closed the hood again. I got back in the car. Maybe it had overheated? I put the key in the ignition. I turned the key. Nothing.
"How is this happening right now? How is this real?"
It didn't seem real. It was ridiculous that my car would break down in the middle of nowhere in Belize. That is not my life right now. I am not that person right now. I tried laughing because this was so stupid, but it felt hollow. I was going to miss my flight. I didn't even pretend I wasn't going to. There was no denying that. There was no false hope that I might make my flight.
I figured the only thing to do was to keep going towards the airport. I grabbed my suitcase and started walking north. Every few minutes I would stop and look both ways. Nothing. No cars. Literally nobody.
"How is nobody here right now?" I wailed loudly. I kept walking. I complained. "How is this my life? How am I here? How is nobody else here? Where am I right now? How am I literally in the middle of now-"
Was that a growl? Did I hear a growl? I was worried about snakes, which is why I was walking in the middle of the road, but I didn't think about other animals. There wasn't enough foliage to remain all that hidden. Was that a bear? No, shut up, there are no bears in Central America. Was that a bear? Are there bears in Central America? No. No. What animal growls in Central America?
Jaguars.
There are no jaguars this far east, are there? In Guatemala, yes. In the Cayo District, yes. Wait, was there a resort called Jaguar Reef in Placencia? I couldn't remember. Maybe that was in the Cayo. That was west. Or maybe it was Placencia, and it was just, like, a cute name that didn't mean anything. Oh my god. This couldn't be real life. If I came across a jaguar right now I have literally nothing I can use to fight it off. At least with a person I can barter, I can use words, I can pretend there's something I can do to convince them not to kill me. This is not true with a jaguar. I am alone, I am weak, and I've gained like fifteen pounds in the past year. There is only one way an encounter with a jaguar could go.
I would stop. I would look around. How am I so alone right now? How has nobody come? I would check the time. Twenty minutes. Nobody. Thirty minutes. Nobody. I would keep walking. I didn't see my car after a while anymore. How could there be nobody here? How-
I heard a motor. Finally. Thank God. I saw a tent. I saw multiple tents. I saw a makeshift covering. I saw a sign on the side of the road.
BRITISH ARMY. DO NOT ENTER. TRAINING FACILITY. WEAPONS.
Well, maybe they would accidentally shoot me. Fine. There were finally people here.
I walked onto the property. Must have been a sight - a girl in a floral H&M skirt, covered in mosquito bites and dust, with a tank top and a bandana and cheap purple sunglasses and a purse and a large suitcase trailing behind her. Meanwhile, these gentlemen were all in training for Her Majesty's military service.
They immediately offered me water. They asked if I was hungry. Do I need anything? How long have I been walking? And in this heat! Do I need a phone? Do I have someone to call?
I called the car rental agency. They didn't seem happy about having to come down, but they said they'd see me soon. The military guys went off to do jungle drills, but they offered to share dinner with me.
Next step was to see when my next flight would be. I texted four different people. My cousin John came back with nothing. My friend Alex tried a few more ideas but also came up blank. Turns out, Belize City airport closes at 6 PM. My brother Eamon also had nothing.
"I think I'm screwed," I texted him.
"Yeah, probably."
"Well, I guess this is that mid-twenties rite of passage where you get stuck in the middle of nowhere in Central America and miss your flight home."
"I mean, there was really no way you could have avoided this? You ran out of gas on the way to the airport just last week."
Okay, yes, I did, that is true, but totally unrelated, thanks.
Finally, the military guys came back. They offered me more water. They offered me more snacks. One of them, who somehow miraculously just showed up, was a mechanic. They said they could drive to my car and maybe fix it. We drove a ways and finally found my car.
"This is more than a mile and a half," the mechanic said. I had guessed a mile and a half based on the fact that I had walked an hour in flip flops on a dirt road with a suitcase and I kept stopping every four minutes with the hope that somebody would materialize.
"Really? How far did I walk?"
"I don't know, two and a half or three miles."
A weird sense of pride came over me. One and a half miles is not that crazy of a story. Three miles makes a much better story, and I wasn't even the one who had come up with the number.
The mechanic fixed my car, and I drove back to base. It was dinner time. I texted my coworker and told him I missed my flight. He was not sympathetic, and told me I was needed at work the next day. I took a breath and tried to figure out how I was going to get home before 8 PM. My friend Sara had looked up flights for the next day for me, and the earliest one she could find left Belize City at noon.
The rental car guys came. They didn't seem pleased that my car was working again, because it meant they had driven all that way for nothing. They asked if I wanted to drive back with them. I said yes. They asked if I wanted somebody else to drive the car. I said yes again and climbed in.
The road was bumpy until we got to George Price Highway, where it cleared up. As we drove on the rocky road, the guy driving my car said to me, "bumpy road here."
I started crying. I don't know how I did it, but I had royally screwed up. There had to have been a way I didn't end up in this situation. Everything I did, I did impulsively. I was twenty-five and still unable to be a normal adult. For every one thing I managed to do right in my life, I did twenty-eight things wrong. And now I'm sitting in the passenger seat as this big Belizean man silently drives my rental car to an airport hotel and I'm trying to be quiet as I sob. I wanted so badly to be back in my own bed tonight. I am bad at everything. I spent the night trying to figure out if I could get to Cancun for a 6 AM flight to LA so I could arrive there by 1:30 PM, but with no luck. I was stuck.
I am a terrible traveler. I never remember bug spray. I forgot to bring enough underwear. I didn't bring my contact case for my contacts. I don't have a medium-sized bag that's somewhere between my suitcase and my little purse, like I totally should. I never have cash on me.
But I will say I'm fun. I have experiences that most others haven't had, because they travel much smarter than I travel (although the contact case thing was stupid; I really do regret not bringing my contact case with me). They spend less money by not having to buy another plane ticket home, and they don't break down in the middle of nowhere and rely on the kindness of strangers and lack of wildlife to keep them safe. But they also… okay, there's something good in here that I do, somewhere, right? Where fun is something more than a cute nickname for irresponsible?
I don't know. I'm tired. I'm home. I still need to do laundry. I had a great week, and I would 100% recommend Belize to anyone. What a beautiful country, a fascinating history, a lovely culture, and an amazing week. Just stay away from Manatee Highway.
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