Sadly, this will be my last piece of writing here. My adventure/journey/life in Belize is over, whatever that may mean. Even now, as I type this on my new BlackBerry while sipping a latte and watching CNN, it all seems like a crazy dream. I have yet to have any freak-outs or breakdowns, but I have been too busy catching up my life here to really process it all. To close this out, I will simple say thank you to everyone, both in the USA and in Belize (my two homes). Without all of your love and support these past 25 months would have been impossible. And to those who have read my wandering musings, either faithfully or occasionally, you have my gratitude. Finally, here is a piece of unsolicited advice: take those risks, live your dreams, and do those things that you have always wanted to do, not just despite the fact that people may think that you are crazy, but perhaps because being the crazy one is just what you need.

Props go to Michael, Aurelio, and Adriano for making sure that I didn't get stuck in Blue Creek.

Receiving my gift from counterpart at my going away party

Dancing with council member, Manuel

Dancing a marimba dance with my village chairman, Adriano

A 5am self pic with Roseann and JJ

Today was my last day in Blue Creek. I was all packed up, had said goodbye to my friends and colleagues in the village, and was mentally prepared to be on my way home, only one thing separated me from that journey...my old friend and nemesis...the river. For nearly a week straight, the river has been running over, rather than under, the bridge in Blue Creek. At some points people, trucks, and buses have been able to pass and at others we have been left to stare at each other from different banks as people stare at a camp fire when there is nothing else to focus on. Jeff left on Friday morning to take care of some last minute business up in Belize City, my friends left on Saturday morning, and both times the river was low enough for the buses to pass. On Sunday (today), however, the river stubbornly refused to go down quick enough for my arranged ride to get across as some more rain clouds rolled in. I started to panic, thinking that I was going to be stuck in Blue Creek, not get to say goodbye to all of my fellow Toledo Volunteers, and would have to call Peace Corps to order a helicopter to get me out.

My friend Michael stood on the other bank with the vehicle that would be my ticket out of the village. The river was just low enough for people to wade across the bridge through the rushing water, but not low enough for a high-centered truck to go through. I started going slowly through the swift, thigh-deep water and Michael started across his side. I was going to tell him to go on without me, that I would arrange another way out, but when he reached me he said that he refused to leave me there and that he would carry my bags across. I tried to convince him that my huge 55 pound rolling suitcase was a bit much for wading across a slippery flooded bridge, but he seemed determined. He grabbed my massive suitcase and equally heavy backpack and I grabbed my laptop and a few random bags of stuff that I was giving away. We marched down the river, took our shoes off, and began shuttling my parcels across. My counterpart saw the show from the other side and quickly waded in to help, with assistance from the chairman. At one point, four people were carrying my things across a bridge that was flooded nearly to my waist. We made it the other side and I said some quick goodbyes to my friends, and we were off.

The rain is coming down hard now as I sit in Punta Gorda in my air-conditioned hotel room. I imagine that the bridge never did come down all the way. I am sad to be gone, but it is not quit real, not yet.

And then all of a sudden it hit me. I am leaving Blue Creek. I have known and anticipated for months that I will be returning to the states, and for that I am excited, giddy even, but the whole leaving part was just too difficult to absorb. Then last night I was invited over to my counterpart's house for a last minute "meeting." I knew that they were planning something thanks to the inability of small children to keep a secret, but I wasn't at all prepared for the event.

All of the members of the village council and other families that I have been close with during my time in Blue Creek were there to surprise me with my final Caldo (traditional soup) and hot tortilla dinner, along with my favorite meal, Cohune cabbage which is heart of palm stewed with lots of spices and spooned onto a tortilla. They presented me with a letter of their appreciation and an embroidered version of the Blue Creek Tourism Committee logo. I was nearly in tears as I got up to say my gratitude for the welcome and experience that Blue Creek was able to provide me. Then we enjoyed some rum and Guatemalan beer and I took turns dancing with all the council members and I began to absorb what it means to leave a place that has, for better or worse, truly been a home to me.

Now I know what they mean when they say "come hell or high water." Today it is the high water, and I am determined to make it to town to meet my friends who should be arriving from Guatemala sometime this afternoon. The thought of them wandering around Punta Gorda is a sad one, meanwhile I am stuck behind a wall of water and the buses didn't even bother to come through today. Just 3 full days of village life left, which means soon I will think fondly of the times when I was trapped in my tiny little village by torrential rains and a decrepit bridge. But today, I just want to get to town. Let’s just hope that come Sunday when I plan to make my final departure, the rain Gods will hold off for just a little bit so that I can start my journey back home.

Yummy... Nothing like armadillo tacos to start my final week in Blue Creek. They don’t taste exactly like chicken, but still a tasty addition to the “things I ate in Belize” list. Last weekend in Placencia was an event full of loading up on fresh lobster and soaking in the Caribbean Sea (see picture of me with fellow Toledo girls Liz and Rachel) and then a week full of medical fun in Belize City. I passed, no worries, they will let me back in the USA.

With all the ups and downs, wishing and hoping, and unpredictable emotional swings, my last week in Blue Creek has arrived, bringing it with it a certain amount of sadness mixed with celebration. I am ready to come home, and am confident that I have worked hard and contributed all that I was able to, given the limitations of working in a small isolated village. And that is all that a Peace Corps volunteer can hope to accomplish. Now I will spend my week visiting with friends, both those from Blue Creek and those who have made the journey to Blue Creek from other places, and packing and selling everything that has contributed to my survival and sanity over these past two years. The only things coming back with me are an ugly (though amazingly comfortable) hammock, a few baskets, a couple of less ragged outfits and as much Marie Sharps hot sauce as I can fit on top. Actually, if anyone back in Seattle wants to check in the hot sauce aisle for Marie Sharps and report back to me, I would grateful. Rumor has it that they export, but I can’t hinge my severe Marie Sharps addiction on speculation alone, so a little investigative reporting would be great. If they do have it, buy a bottle (fiery hot), and put it on everything from eggs to chow mein. You wont be sorry.

11 days and 2 ours from the time I am writing this email I will be getting on a plane in Cancun bound for Spokane via Phoenix. Until then I will listen to the crazy rain on my tin roof, hoping that the river doesn’t flood so I can go to town tomorrow and close my bank account and cancel my light bill.

Okay – I am doing better than the last post. Sometimes you just have to vent, let the world know that each day isn’t always cheery and fun. I am in Placencia now, saying goodbye to my favorite little beach village. I am enjoying a final Gelato, a few goodbye rum and cokes, last dips in the Caribbean sea, and plenty of laughs with my favorite people. It is great. Three weeks from today, I will be home, enjoying BBQ and listening to my sweet little 4-year old niece tell me about her day. Amazing.

I want to cry and scream right now.

I want to cry because I miss home so much and I just want to close my eyes and be there, cool breezes and unimaginable freedoms. I want to cry because I am leaving Blue Creek in 18 days, leaving this life that I have worked so hard to build. I want to cry at the thought of the end of this impossible dream. I want to cry because it is all a little too much right now.

I want to scream because I am frustrated, depressed, and overwhelmed all at the same time. I want to scream because there is so much more that I could have done and I didn’t, so many boxes left unchecked and plans yet to be realized. And I want to scream because one more day of this mud, heat, and bugs may be my undoing.

I want to know how to deal with it all, to stay focused on the work yet to be done, to pack up my entire life, and to rise above the bitterness that makes me want to shut myself away from all of the needs that I couldn’t address and the people whom I imagine will not understand why I am leaving. I want to know how to end this two years with a feeling of accomplishment rather than abandonment.

I want to cry and scream because life is a big contradiction and it is impossible to make sense of it all.

I dropped off the face of the earth last week, it was great. No email, electricity, cars, phones, or shoes. Myself and 4 of my favorite fellow volunteers headed out to a little slice of rustic paradise called Glovers Reef, a coral atoll some 35 miles off the coast of Belize. For a mere pittance, we got a cabin over the water for a week, all the snorkeling we could handle, and more barracuda, lobster, and conch than we could possibly eat (though we managed). All that was required was a commitment to a full week of absolute relaxation on an island paradise, a week supply of food and water, and sunscreen.

Highlights of the trip included the guys lobster hunting with home-made tools (and hands), a feast of 4 fresh Barracuda and a Grouper that the guys brought home, endless hours of card games, and snorkeling in a coral paradise of colorful fish, sharks, and rays. I also perfected the art of coconut identification (what is a good coconut?), procurement (how do I get it out of the tree?), opening (now that I have the coconut, how do I get it open?), and enjoyment (first you drink da sweet sweet wata, den yu put a lita lime on di coconut...). I got a little tanner, learned how to fillet a fish, and that feeding a Nurse Shark by hand off our dock is not all that dangerous (they don’t have teeth). It was a perfect way to begin my transition from Peace Corps Shella back to USA Shella. Enjoy some pictures and I’ll be seeing you soon.

All is well in Belize, things are calming down from last week's storms, but we are still completely cut off from the Northern half of the country. Here is a good and thorough article, http://www.huntingtonnews.net/columns/080610-kinchen-columnsbelizediary.html

I am planning to travel north on Friday before a week out at Glovers Reef with some dear friends. Keeping my fingers crossed on the weather.

Lots of love,

Shella

May 25th – May 31st
52: I appreciate the return of the rainy season and the end of the hot and dusty
51: I appreciate a cloudless, moonless night when the power is out and you can see every star
50: I appreciate a job interview over the phone that went very well, even if I didn’t get the job
49: I appreciate NPR podcasts and the news that they deliver
48: I appreciate postcards on beer coasters from friends that miss me
47: I appreciate the energy to go for a run and the cloudy skies for making it tolerable
46: I appreciate hungry PCV’s who appreciate my homemade curry

Rainy Season has arrived very suddenly and dramatically. After two months of very dry weather, the past 10 days have brought us two Tropical Depressions, flash flooding, and the country being completely paralyzed due to the collapse of a main bridge on the Southern Highway, the only source of food and gas to my part of Belize. I may be evacuated up North, but am on standfast right now waiting to see what happens. There has been a rush on all food staples and many roads where I am at are impassable. Read the AP article here. I will keep you all updated as I figure out what the heck is going on.

Love.

May 18 – May 24 59: I appreciate long bike rides through the jungle, listening to Howler Monkeys, frogs, and the many birds
58: I appreciate the sunrise over the Caribbean as I turn the corner into Punta Gorda at 6:00am after an hour on the bus
57: I appreciate coffee, a morning routine that has traveled with me where ever I go
56: I appreciate my washing spot, an excuse to cool down, slow down, and relax while doing a chore
55: I appreciate friends that visit from other sites in Belize, they break up the routine
54: I appreciate the calming turquoise of the Caribbean Sea and kayaking on a clear day
53: I appreciate whole wheat flour that allows me to make pizza crust

In the spirit of embracing and recognizing all the great things that have made up these past two years, I am going to devote a moment each day to an appreciation. Over the next two months, I will compile and share these recognitions once a week, so that by the time I leave Belize I will have 66 reminders of the great things that I too often take for granted.
May 11 – May 18 66: I appreciate my hammock and the time to enjoy it. Even the worse days (like today) are rectified by a little R&R in my hammock in front of my fan.
65: I appreciate my mosquito net. Even when it is too hot to bring it down, the magical canopy keeps the fantasy of my jungle life alive.
64: I appreciate the sound of the water coming through the bridge. A low gurgling complemented by the whistling birds and rustling iguanas.
63: I appreciate the bittersweet, slightly gritty chocolate made from fresh, organic cacao grown in my backyard.
62: I appreciate the “pool,” a deep, shaded, waterfall-fed spot in my river that turns hot afternoons into paradise
61: I appreciate the Snack Shack, my PG breakfast spot with real coffee, wireless internet, and a giant burrito by the sea.
60: I appreciate mango season and all the 13 varieties of sticky, juicy, sweet, mangoes that are now at the market

Today is Mother's Day and it is also my Mom's birthday, which makes it doubly difficult to be absent for the second year in a row. Instead, I am dying of a relentless heat and facing a reality that does not include water. The village well, for the first time ever, has run dry. Thank you climate change. But today, it's not about me, it's about moms.

Really, my mom only has herself to blame for me being here, so far from home. Had I had a more conventional, less passionate person for a role-model, I might have been content to stay where I was instead of pursuing a dream. Without her love of travel and other cultures, that deep-seeded curiosity and wonder that drove me out of the PNW may never have surfaced. And had it not been for her ability to face and conquer insurmountable challenges, I am not sure that I would have known how to summon my own inner strengths during the times when life has been less than ideal. So mom, it may your fault that I am not there today for brunch and a historical home tour, but I am truly grateful for that. These past two years have been difficult, but they also have been important, and amazing, and irreplaceable. And the good news is that soon I will be home, where I can continue being your stubborn, self-righteous, rigid daughter.

And then there is my sister, a mother as well as my best friend. I know she thinks me crazy for being here, but that has never stopped her from being there whenever I needed her and to listening to all my crazy stories and reading all my ranting, boring, and occasionally sentimental blogs. Like our own mother, she has met challenges that I don’t think I would have been able to face. Everyday she works towards being a better person and a better mother to my beautiful niece, whom I miss more than anything. I don’t think she knows how much I admire her for her strength.

And to all the mothers, thanks for raising some amazing people, especially the ones I have had the good fortune to know and work with closely. And if your child tells you one day that they want to run away from you two years to join the Peace Corps, chances are, you have only yourself to thank, and for that you should be proud.

My Toledo Buddies: Jeff, Matty, and Michael

Peace Corps Belize: 2006 - 2008

The countdown has begun, officially I have 68 days of being a Peace Corps Volunteer left and now that my training group has completed our "Close of Service" conference, I can truly feel that only a couple of months, some hard work, a little traveling, and a bunch of sad goodbyes (not to mention a whole host of medical tests) separate me from that plane ride back to "reality." I have, of course, mixed emotions about leaving; mostly I am excited and looking forward to being home, but I also have a very real and fulfilling life here in Belize that I will wrap up and process. Today, I said goodbye to close friends, some of whom I know I will see again, but who knows what will happen as we all start to focus on the journeys that we will take following Peace Corps Belize and whether our paths will cross again. Above is a photo of our group, down from the original 40 but still close and strong, in Corozal with the beautiful Caribbean Sea at our backs. 

The rooster's voice cracks mid cock-a-doodle,
The palm trees loose their pride;
The hot breeze brings negative relief,
And the jungle waits for rain.

The Iguana searches for a shady pool,
The river stalls then reverses;
The off-white clouds melt into a haze,
And the jungle waits for rain.

The buses stampede past the boiling school,
The students stare into their ice dreams;
The laundry collects a coat of dust,
And the jungle waits for rain.

The throat begs silently for something cool,
The damp skin is gritty to touch;
The eyes burn from the billowing smoke,
And I am waiting for rain.

Continued...
-- Day 4 --
Because Lanquin was a good thing, it did have to come to an end. After a quick breakfast and a few last goodbyes to some new friends, we joined a group of 5 Israelis in a chartered truck to Rio Dulce. For the next 5 hours we curved around steep slopes, through sleepy little Maya villages, and up and down some of the most picturesque scenery I had seen in Central America. Mike and I had spent our last Quetzals (Q’s) on breakfast, so by the time we arrived at the gas station on the other side of the mountains, a feast of trail mix, yogurt, and soda thanks to my VISA was a God send. We eventually arrived in Rio Dulce, a busy transit center on the shores of Lago de Izabel, where we loaded up on cheap coffee, wine, and dehydrated soy meat that we could smuggle back into Belize. We ditched the Israeli’s, who had proven to be less than enjoyable travel companions (who brings two HUGE backpacks and a large roller suitcase, per person, when they are backpacking through Central America?) and made our way by boat to the Tortugal Hostel and Marina. A unique mix of budget travelers and long-term sailors, I absolutely loved this place and would encourage anyone to stop in if they are traveling through Guatemala. You can stay in a large thatch “dorm” for $10 US a night, or get a private bungalow for about $30 US. They have free internet, satellite TV, Kayaks, and a great kitchen and bar. We talked with people who had been sailing for months, and were even offered a ride back to Belize on one boat, if only we could wait for a couple of days. I was bummed about turning that offer down, but it was fun to imagine what life would be like living on a 40 foot sail boat.
-- Day 5 --
Vacations must end, so this one did. We left Rio Dulce and Tortugal and headed for Puerto Barrios via some crowded mini-buses, a bus and some walking. In Barrios I dragged Mike to the very small, but clean and A/C’ed mall to get a McFlurry, Chicken Panini sandwich and some new shoes. I love Guatemala! Then it was back on the boat, and back to PG and Blue Creek where life continues on for these last 80 days.

I realize that it may seem that I have been in a constant state of travel lately, as that is the only thing that I end up publishing for the world to see. But the truth is that I have been busy and satisfied with my work in the village and haven’t really had all that much crazy or interesting happening, so this installment follows yet another vacation, to Guatemala, again. It was my last real out of country vacation, since it is under 3 months until I leave and leaving the country is discouraged in a PCV’s last 90 days of service.
--Day 1--
Myself and another Toledo volunteer (Michael of Big Falls) headed over to Guate by boat from PG, where we then caught a bus headed to Guatemala City. We enjoyed the Spanish dubbed version of American Gangster for a few hours before getting off at a dusty little junction called El Rancho. From El Rancho we were loaded into a mini-bus (a glorified van) with 24 other passengers and one small cat. Three very crowded hours on some crazy winding, narrow, steep roads and we arrived in Coban, a decent sized city in the Mayan heartland of Guatemala. It was getting late, and we were tempted to stay there, but our final destination of Lanquin, a small highland village, was only about 1.5 hours away (or so we were told), so we pressed on. We arrived in Lanquin about 3 hours after that, only to find our 1st choice hostel full. Because it was now after 9pm, and we were tired and hungry, we settled on the closest cheap hotel we could find. For $4.00 US, we each had a semi-padded pallet, a toilet with no paper or seat, and an ice cold shower, but I actually slept pretty well and didn’t see a single insect. Our goal for the following day would be to get a bed at El Retiro, eat some good food, and see a cave full of bats and their guano.

--Day 2--
The turkeys and roosters outside the window at our luxury Lanquin accommodations woke me early, so we packed up and headed back to the hostel that we were originally planning on stay at, El Retiro. Thankfully there were plenty of people moving on, as is usually the case with backpackers, so we got a private not too far from the showers and bathroom, both at which were clean and functioning. It was a Sunday, which at El Retiro means an all you can eat breakfast buffet of some of the tastiest food you can imagine. For over 2 hours Mike and I sat in the beautiful thatch dining area over looking the river while feasting on eggs cooked to order, fresh fruit, bread, tortillas, yogurt, nutella, granola, and coffee. I can’t remember the last time I was that full yet completely happy. Most of the rest of the day was spent digesting, losing a couple of games of Chess to Mike, and preparing for our evening hike to see the local cave and the furry flying creatures that live there. The cave itself was fine, but unfortunately damaged by excessive tourism and lit by electric lights. Seeing the impact that mass tourism can have on an archaeologically important cave made me realize how important my work has been in Blue Creek with working to protect our own amazingly pristine and valuable resource. Before the bats made their appearance, we jumped in the icy blue waters of the river that emerges from the cave, and then waited. Before long, hundreds, if not thousands, of small fruit bats were darting out of the cave while we sat in the mouth trying to believe that they would not run into us. We got a couple of pretty awesome pictures before returning to El Retiro for another amazing meal, some Red Label Whiskey, and some Guatemalan beer.
-- Day 3 --
After a much needed good nights sleep, we woke up early to prepare for our full day tour to Semuch Champey, a nearby series of caves and natural pools and waterfalls. Riding in the back of a truck from the hostel, we reached the area in about 45 minutes. The scenery was beautiful, though not too dissimilar to the jungle covered hills that I am used to seeing everyday around Blue Creek. Once we reached the river, we headed into a cave with a tour guide with only candles to light our path. I have done caves before, but I have to say going through the cave with only the light from a candle flame was a unique experience, especially swimming with the candle in hand. After the cave we tubed down the river, where some of the more adventurous folks took a jump off a 35 foot bridge. We ate our packed lunch of bread and mangoes (yeah for mango season!) and then started the hike up to the pools and hilltop view (see all the cool pics). The view was definitely worth the hike, and then being able to go jump into the pools after the fairly challenging hike. We relaxed in the pools for a bit, and then our guide tossed a rope ladder down the face of a cliff, where we then climbed down into the unknown. It turned out to be the where the river emerges out from under the pools, and from there the only option was to jump into the river from a 15 foot rock face. I sucked it up and jumped into the raging river, emerging safely on the other side. That was about all the adrenaline I could handle for the day, which was good because we were heading back to the hostel for another amazing family style meal. That night we splurged on lots of good Guatemalan beer while playing some good old fashioned card games with some other travelers.

I was burglarized a week or so back, in the middle of the day, in my sleepy village of 280 people. Worse, 3 fellow PCV's and good friends were visiting me for the weekend also found there cash and ipods missing. I guess it was just my time, having gone nearly 2 years living in a poor, Central American country and traveling to poorer Central American countries without incident. It seems that a trio of wayward youth from another, larger, village had wandered into Blue Creek in search of some easy money. Me being the naïve soul that I am left a window open a crack for ventilation while the 4 of us visited Jeff for a short while. After returning 40 mins later, one of the girls noticed her ipod and cash gone, prompting us to check our own belongings. Seems that our visitors weren’t amateurs and had replaced our wallets back in our bags and left everything as-is, taking only cash and 3 ipods (mine was somewhat hidden and remained).

A freak thunderstorm downed the satellite phone signal for a couple of hours, so by the time we got a hold of the Punta Gorda police department, they were gone for their dinner “refreshment” and would be out to Blue Creek for their report in an hour or so. I was less shocked by the fact that we would have to wait for the police due to a meal break than by the idea that they would be driving out to my village at all. I honestly expected a request to come to town at my earliest convenience, where I would then be treated with indifference and skepticism while I waiting for hours in a stuffy police station while half-drunk crazies yelled obscenities at me from the stinking holding cell. Instead, the police, a forensics expert, a photographer, and a couple of people whose titles or purposes I’m still not sure of arrived promptly at 9:30pm at my house in Blue Creek. We explained the situation and showed the police the “evidence” that our own investigation had turned up, namely a full set of toe prints in the dust on my chair near the guilty window and a set of boot prints high on my wall where one of the guys had tried to get into the neighboring rooms of my shared house. The forensics expert got out his dusting kit while the photographer walked around my house taking crime scene photos. The Alcaldes (village security/leaders) hung around outside enjoying the show as much as we were. The police probably thought that we were awfully jolly for 4 girls that had just had hundreds of dollars worth of cash and ipods stolen, but watching a full-fledged investigation taking place in 12’ x 18’ shack was just too unlikely. Once they had lifted the prints off my chair and one of the ipod covers that was left behind, they packed up the show and headed back into town, leaving us to wonder what were the chances of matching a set of toe prints to a likely perpetrator, and what happens if they get a pedicure?

Update: Two ipods have been recovered and the third is being tracked down. The three youth have admitted to stealing the ipods, and will go before the courts to plead their case in the coming month. Case Closed.

Well, there wasn't any foam parties and I certainly didn't do any body shots, but I did enjoy my few days of semi-spring break on the beaches of Mexico, just south of Cancun in Tulum. Though I can hardly call it Spring Break since I live in a climate of perpetual summer and don't really work hard enough to earn a break, but a couple of days at the beach was pleasant none the less. Plus, you know you need a break when upon entering Mexico your first thought is one of shock at how clean, organized, and well-developed everything is.

Tulum is one of the most beautiful spots in the world, made even better by having my friend from Seattle, Jana, there to greet me as I stumbled blindly up the wide expanse of powdered sugar beach in search of a place called Playa Paradise. We quickly caught up, comparing our respective lives in Mexico and Belize and then got down to the business of sun-tanning and relaxing. Tulum is an interesting destination in that it’s caught in the middle of it's backpacker roots and the encroaching ultra-lux resorts that are creeping down from Cancun. We went the backpacker route, riding rented jalopy bikes out to the Maya ruins (they sure picked a great spot) and then scanned the streets for the best local street foods (and ice cream!). I basked in the glow of a real grocery store and mexican beer while Jana enjoyed her new found freedom as a recently graduated student (2 MA's in 3 years, way to go!).

After Tulum, we headed to Belize so that I could show Jana what a real developing country looks like. We spent a night in Belize City, hitting up the Princess Casino, where a few dollars spent at the nickel slots gets you endless free drinks and amusing pick-up lines for hours (i.e. - could you please show me how to work this slot machine, I’m from England and they don't work like this back home).

The following two days were spent in the laid back atmosphere of San Ignacio. Ever since I arrived in Belize I have been wanting to visit a much-lauded cave, the Actun Tunichil Muknal (Cave of the Sacred Sepulcher) where hundreds of pieces of pottery and at least 12 skeletons have been preserved in the rock by calcification. After swimming and wading up the underground river, you have to literally step over the pottery and skulls as you make your way to one of the most beautiful caverns I have ever seen. Look for pics on the right --->.

Returning to Blue Creek after a couple of days in town for the Easter holiday, I was looking forward to getting back to my routine and my own bed. After unpacking my bag and my groceries, I unrolled my yoga mat for my usual afternoon exercise, only to find a dead lizard pressed into my mat like a preserved autumn maple leaf. Rather than shock or disgust, my initial reaction was one of complacency, followed by the thought that this is something that isn't likely to happen to me back in the states. I chucked the lizard outside for the ants to take care of and cleaned my mat with some bleach water, hanging it out to dry so that I could eventually get around to the yoga part of my day. The lizard/yoga mat incident is just the latest in a string of recent close encounters with wild life that would be so very strange in my other life. Small fish getting stuck in my t-shirts when I am doing my laundry in the river, frogs jumping on my leg during my shower, snakes crossing my path on my way to the bathroom at night, and bats flying just a little too close when I am outside doing my dishes at the water-pipe; all just part of living this life. The good news is that with just 117 days left before I return home, I can look on these encounters with a bit of amusement, knowing that someday soon it will all be just a fond memory of those wacky 2 years I spent in the jungles of Belize.

PS – So that you don’t feel too bad for me, tomorrow I am taking off for a short vacation up in Mexico, just a couple hours south of Cancun. Goodbye critters and hello Margaritas and beaches. I guess my life isn’t all that hard after all.

Some things were never meant to take place via the casual anonymity of the internet, like extending inviting someone to sleep on your couch. Perhaps you've heard of the website couchsurfers.com, which allows wandering vagabonds to connect to willing hosts via the internet, show up at their door, and sleep in their houses all for the price of a meal and some interesting conversation. I'm not going to judge those who choose to take part in this free exchange of short-term housing, but what do you do when you find yourself being perceived as a "couch-surfing" location by accident?

A week and a half ago, I found myself in this exact position after meeting a professional traveler at a friends house. This friend had indeed signed himself up as a couch-surfing location, and was hosting his first visitor when I showed up to crash in his guest room after a full day of traveling on the bus. I was a little surprised, but just figured, hey, to each his own, right? The next morning I exchanged friendly conversation with the backpacker and then went on to catch my bus back to my village. I must have mentioned the name of my village and expressed my good fortune at having such a beautiful home, but in no way did I encourage the traveling organic farmer/musician to stop in for a visit. I have enough to worry about without having to play host to a random stranger. So imagine my surprise when Mr. Backpacker peeps his head in my open door a couple of days later, saying “hello, the ladies by the river told me you live here, mind if I set my bags down while I look around the village?” Being the gracious, non-confrontational American that I am, I offered him a corner for his bags and figured that he would set up his tent with a local family and eat with them. He came in, took a seat on the floor (I do own chairs, but apparently that was too conventional), and started asking about where he could find some local vegetables to cook for dinner. This is where I realized that he had confused me with a couch surfing host, and I began racking my brain for a way to get out of this. Unfortunately, having never been faced with the dilemma of a complete stranger waltzing into my house and assuming complete familiarity, I was at a loss.

I was on the way to the store anyways, so I took him around to some houses where people grew vegetables, and he picked up the makings for some sort of rice and vegetable dish. Back at my house, I needed to go do some work down the road, so I innocently let him stay in my house, I figured he had stayed at my friends house without ransacking the place. A few hours later I returned to find nearly every pot and pan in my kitchen in use and every kid in my village staring at this strange man who was making himself at home in my house. The last thing I wanted was for everyone in the village to think that I was in the habit of having strange, male house guests, but what was I to do? He was basically inviting me to dinner in my own house and I had no choice but to sit down and wonder how I was to get him to leave. The control freak inside me was scratching to get out, to tell this guy to quit cooking on my cast-iron pan, to use a little bleach on the dishes, and to take it easy on the olive oil, a pricey commodity. After dinner I feigned tiredness and my site-mate and another PCV made sure that Mr. Backpacker had set-up his tent and was on his way out the door. Thankfully I didn’t even own a couch that could serve as a bed and I was not about to offer up my hammock.

After a night spent developing a so-called exit strategy, I got up the next morning and boldly informed the wayward traveler that I was very busy, and it would be best if he found another place to park his tent. Chances are I will never see this guy again, and I really needed to regain control of my house before I completely lost it. Later, as I was processing the whole situation, I realized that I was so aggravated because this was my home, not some hostel or half-way house. Backpackers flock to Central America in hoards, sleeping in hostels and relishing in the communal living and sharing that happens in those places, but I live here. For me, it was as if someone had knocked on my apartment in Seattle, invited themselves in, pitched a tent in the front yard and then started rummaging through my cupboards and whipping up a meal, albeit one that is graciously shared. It was that strange. After I dismissed the foreign traveler along with his guitar, tent, and drawstring hemp capris, I cleaned up and took a deep breath of relief.

No matter how many pictures I post or how many too lengthy blog pieces I write, it is just so hard to convey what my life is really like here in Belize. I can't accurately describe the oppressive heat, the foreign smells, or the contagious smiles and laughter through the internet, which is why

personal visits from friends and family are so important to me. For a short period of time I get to be the expert, the one who actually knows what is going on, instead of the bumbling, culturally awkward idiot that I usually am. This past week I hosted my mother. After 21 months, I finally felt prepared to share with her my version of Belize. Eight days is not really enough, but we did and saw as much as possible. I think she has a clearer picture of what my days are like and why I made the decision to give up two years of good coffee and comfortable temperatures to attempt the impossible down here in the jungles of Central America. We saw the major sites of Cayo and Placencia, and the not so major site of Blue Creek. We took boats up jungle rivers and swam in the Caribbean. She even indulged me in my desire to see nearly every resort property between here and Belize City, since I so rarely have the luxury of private transportation. I even managed to get some work done on my masters project. So thanks mom for coming to visit me, it was a great week! Oh, and thanks for taking Felix, my little jungle cat back to the states for me. I hope he enjoys life up there and I will see you both in July.

In a moment of self-assured eco-ego, I took the ecological footprint quiz that is featured at http://www.earthday.net/footprint/. I did the quiz twice, once based on how I live here in Belize and again based on my lifestyle that I was living in Seattle before I came to Belize. The way the quiz works is that you answer questions on how you shop, how you travel, and what you eat. Based on those answers, the quiz determines how many planet earths would be needed if everyone in the world were to live exactly as you do. It was obvious that my life in Seattle would have more of an impact, a footprint, on the earth than my one here in Belize, but I thought that the comparison would be interesting. After all, I don’t even have indoor plumbing, a car, or access to a shopping mall. I use 1 fluorescent light bulb for about 3 hours in the evening, I use about 8 gallons of water for all my drinking, washing, bathing, and I walk, hitchhike, or take a crowded bus when I need to travel. I am the picture of a sustainable lifestyle, I humbly thought while taking the quiz for the second time.

Apparently it is possible, and therefore necessary. Turns out that if everyone in the world were to live as an extravagantly as I do here in the jungles of Belize, we would need 2.3 earths. Living in Seattle, it goes up just a little to 3.1 earths. Not a comforting thought when you think about the millions and billions of people around the world, including people here in my own village, who are doing everything in their power to catch up to the consumption habits of people in the United States and their only slightly less consumption driven counterparts in Europe. The biggest mark against me in both my Seattle and Belize eco-footprints was my use of air travel. My habit of traveling half-way around the world on a biannual basis is not at all good for planet earth. Add to that the problem of garbage disposal, where my choices include burning it, burying, or carrying it to the district town where it is then collected, burned or buried. Burning it releases all sorts of toxins and carbon dioxide into the air and burying it has the potential of leaking the same bad things into the ground surface waters. My heart sank at the impossibility of this task that humanity has in front of it, namely saving our home.

So what can I do? What can we all do? Short of doing away with indoor plumbing, forgoing all traveling or joining the Peace Corps for a couple of years, there are some things we can do. Money is a powerful thing, so use it for good. Buy food that is local, organic, or both. Invest in and shop at companies that are supportive of green building and transportation initiatives (build their HQ’s up to LEED standards and give their employees bus passes). Instead of taking 2 one week trips a year, take a two-week vacation, you’ll enjoy it more anyways. Ride a bike or walk every once in awhile, you know you need to anyways. And support local and national leaders that are committed to taking climate change seriously. I don’t like to preach, but this was an awakening, realizing that even living the way I do right now, there are still things that I can do better.