Welcome to Belize City
Sorry to all my adoring fans (mom) for the long delay in blog posting, but it's hard finding a wireless signal in the dense jungles of western Belize. Annie and I spent the last week of September working at Barton Creek Outpost, an eco-hostel hidden away in the heavily forested hills that surround San Ignacio, Belize. It's only 9 miles from town, but given the haphazardly carved-out “road” and lack of public transport save for the occasional Mennonite carriage, it's a real bitch to get out there. Despite its remoteness (or because of it) the hostel is nestled (such a cliché descriptor but really is the most appropriate) in quite the jungle oasis, surrounded by palms, a lively creek, and toucans. There's a large friendly Mennonite community in the area who speak mostly German. I met a few. They look like 15th century New England pilgrims that wear Crocs and reside in the tropics.
Hitching a ride to Barton Creek
laundry and bath 
breakfast: fried breadfruit, beans, and sausage
Working for the Britt family was an exhausting, intensive but and ultimately rewarding and self-realizing experience. Each day involved getting up at 7 am every morning and following a list of chores that changed day to day and sometime hour to hour, often without prior notice. Although the end of every “shift” was 1:30 pm, the work never really seemed to end. Jumping in the creek after being covered in hours worth of mud, sweat, mosquito bites and chicken poop was heaven. Oh, and there was no electricity, and one day, no gas. Bathing and laundry are done at the creek. Learned a lot about myself that week. It was pretty easy adapting to the simplicity at Barton Creek and easier remembering how much I fucking love living on-the-grid.
Other self-obsessed revelations include: a narcissistic satisfaction from lifting plants and chopping bamboo with a machete while wearing cutoffs, a surprising willingness to stick my hands in chicken poop yet utter repulsion when handling wet rags with thumb and index finger, breadfruit ain't so bad when fried and salted, I prefer washing dishes to drying, pets are neeeeedy. Also, I have excessively romanticized the plebeian lifestyle.
Our neighbor and acrobatic friend, Mango
Ode to Jungle Banana:
The fresh-picked bananas here are unbelievable. Seriously. I've never respected a piece of fruit before but these are worthy . The peel is thick like some kind of testament to the goodness inside. Tropical gladiators of evolutionary excellence. Sometimes back home I bite into a ripe banana of the Chiquita sort and wish my banana was more...banana. This banana has soul. He knows how to dance and sing and hit the high notes. He's had many lovers but only mates with the best to perfect the species. A banana's banana.
Stay tuned for border-crossing mishaps, Guatemalan chicken buses, and volcanic marshmallow roasties...
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