Stretching along the north-eastern coast of Central America’s newest nation are a group of islands synonymous with tranquillity, relaxation and an initially unsettling unhurried pace of daily living. “Go slow” is the motto that resounds, a collective philosophy echoed almost unwaveringly by every inhabitant local to the island. Moving past it to discern what to do on Caye Caulker is perhaps the single greatest challenge following arrival.
The motto – coined obviously in accord with native customs and traditions - is neither superfluous nor sustained by hollow words: after a short stay on Caye Caulker, the Belizeans proved - through action - the pace at which life should be led. Their relaxed behaviour gave testimony to their rudimentary ideology. Personal persuasion occurred rapidly and, shortly thereafter, I was lulled into the diurnal swing of hammock-living.
Getting to Belize’s Popular Island Group
From Mexico, getting to Belize’s famous island group was simple: I arrived in Chetumal, emptied the bulk of notes out of my money belt and was transported - in three short hours - via water taxi to Caye Caulker. The Belize Express Water Taxi, albeit small and perched noticeably close to the surface, moved swiftly along the Gulf’s rippling waters to the end destination: island living amid paradisiac surrounds.
Border formalities departing Mexico were completed at the terminal in Chetumal, and the Belizean part was done during a short stop in San Pedro. It was a seamless, comfortable and enjoyable crossing, despite the lack of a local presence on board.
Unfortunately, avoiding the hefty and variable Mexican departure tax (usually included in most airfares arriving in the country) is nigh impossible at this crossing. Unless your flight itinerary for arrival into Mexico explicitly lists the tax, any reasonable argument presented to the ‘man at the window’ at the Chetumal ferry immigration office is futile.
But voiding the hefty $30 to $50 fee (depending on the month of the year and current disposition of the Mexican Government) is avoidable if crossing into Belize by bus ... or so I’ve been told.
Other options for arrival are numerous and varied, including propulsion across the channel from the mainland’s Belize City in a twin-engine airplane or slumming it on a ferry.
Caye Caulker’s Allure
As I stepped off the jetty onto the island’s sandy shores, golf carts – operated by young and old alike – moved languorously past, swerving occasionally to avoid a really-low-impact collision with a burned cyclist or a dog lazily strewn across the road. With one chief sand-covered thoroughfare linking the northern and southern frontiers, getting to ‘Go Slow Key Caulker’ was breezy.
I walked four blocks toward the split, turned left and was greeted heartily by the bed and breakfast owners. As the front gate opened, smiles radiated off the faces of several travel-weary guests: all too relaxed to raise a hand as a gestural ‘welcome’, they swung indolently in the hammocks on the property’s deck.
My initiation to Caye Caulker was carefree.
Another Caye Caulker motto, “No shirt, no shoes … no problem. No money, big problem,” was seen plastered across several shop and restaurant walls during a bicycle ride around the island the following day.
With a distinct Rastafarian undercurrent and links to Creole beginnings, Caye Caulker’s second central philosophy is a no-brainer. The relationship between both ideals is symbiotic; they’ve been adopted by locals and visitors alike, who mosey around scantily clad.
Realistically, when surrounded by the lustre of azure resplendence, time is critical: removing unnecessary layers before diving in is wasteful.
When not swinging in a hammock, indulging on fresh fish or swimming among swarming schools of vibrant fish, then every other valuable moment in slow-island-time should be spent living beneath the water’s surface.
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Life Under the Sea
“Don’t worry, be happy” was the Marley sentiment that floated across the balmy breeze from the luscious lips of the Rastafarian yacht captain as he steered the vessel toward Hol Chan.
As his dark dreadlocks got caught by the midmorning wind, he soulfully pounded out further lyrics of wisdom while wielding a killer smile – a refined penchant for entertaining. “No worries man, it’s gonna be fine yah. Shiiiit.”
Stopping at three key snorkelling locations, the full day tour – operated by Ragamuffin Tours – was but one itinerary offered by the unusually high number of operators on the island. They’d come highly recommended, and it didn’t take long to understand why. Vocal acoustics and on-board antics aside, the first official stop took us on an underwater adventure. As we dropped – all bedecked in full snorkelling attire - like sardines from the yacht’s side, it appeared: a giant sea turtle ‘propped up’ by a baby nurse shark.
Moving as though in slow motion - seamlessly through the shallow waters, she remained unperturbed by our presence. The beauty and elegance of her graceful movements held me captive; I was lulled into a trance.
It wasn’t long before we were sailing under the mighty orb’s gleaming rays to the second location: an opportunity to swim with nurse sharks at Shark and Ray Alley. “They can’t bite; their mouths are too small” were the words of solemnity Shane bestowed - while wielding a cheeky smile - before we plunged, once again, into the balmy waters.
“But if you see one ‘this big’ maan (with arms outstretched), then swim like hell because it’s gunna get you.”
As he laughed heartily, we collectively submerged our faces in the water, and there they were: at least fifteen nurse sharks, swimming peacefully, close to the sands of the sea floor. I was mesmerised and weirdly calm. None greater than two metres in length, they displayed disinterest in the human presence close by. Swimming as close as two metres to them, I outstretched an arm in a gesture of respect. They were graceful and non-threatening. In fact, they raised no sense of alarm. Rather, they invoked a feeling of great appreciation and respect for the life that exists in the underwater world.
Moments later, several great stingrays passed underneath, one moving almost purposefully under the feet of another snorkeler. Memories of Steve Irwin’s death returned, and I was momentarily afraid. However, they too were non-threating and moved to the beat of their own underwater-drum, not unlike the pace on Caye Caulker.
Moving On
After a week of indulgence, it was time to move on to another Central American destination. My time spent in Belizean paradise, albeit slow, was ideal for sustenance and replenishment. It gave me the opportunity to appreciate life’s fundamentals, and get a slice of Belizean life while surrounded by idyllic conditions.
