Part III: Buses, Cabs, and Boats

We threw our gear into the bus to Belize City and climbed aboard. The bus wasn't filled with leather seats and TVs, but it was air conditioned, there were only two other people on board, and it didn't smell funny. The bus driver - who explained that in Belize they speak English - said it would be about a 5 hour trip. Suddenly finding no need to listen to Coffee Break Spanish, I sat back, relaxed, and watched Mexico disappear.

At the Mexico side of the Belize border we had to pay some bogus fee of $20 U.S. Bending over gladly, I paid the fee and bought some mangoes from a girl's street stand. She asked if I wanted salt, I looked at her like she was nuts. When I said no, she looked at me just the same. Our border crossing was slightly delayed as one of the other passengers - a young woman from England with whom we had struck up some conversation - did not have her Mexico entrance ticket, from three weeks ago. A little extra cash seemed to do the trick. Things on the Belize side went much easier and we were soon back on the road.

The young woman from England explained she was on a five week holiday, that she was traveling alone, and that she had begun her journey in Mexico City and would end it in Nicaragua. She was maybe 19 years old, and pretty. I don't know that I'd let my pretty 19-year old daughter travel Central America alone. I guess that makes me old and lame. Get off my lawn!!

Not only was the Belize bus not as nice as the Mexican one, but also the roads in Belize were crap in comparison. Narrow, bumpy, and filled with huge, randomly placed speed bumps, the roads made the going much slower. Along the way we picked up many more passengers. The driver was kind enough to play for us the Bottom 40 R&B songs from eight years ago, including the all time classic, "Straight Fuckin'". I don't know who the artist was, but his name might as well have been magic because I was definitely ready for some straight fuckin' after hearing that one. At first, I thought I wanted some crooked fuckin', but, nope, straight fuckin' is the way to go.

After way too long, we pulled into Orange Walk, Belize. I didn't know what this town was, or why we were there, but it had tons of kids selling sundry items like chips, things on a stick, dirty fruit, and orange juice in Coke bottles. Having had my fill of fruit at the border crossing, sans salt, I passed. But they kept coming - for 45 minutes. The bus driver chilled outside chatting with some large ladies while we waited for, I don't know, me to buy some fruit. Finally, we started moving again, this time with the bus nearly half full.

Another hour passed and my bladder knocked on my brain and asked to be emptied. No bathroom on the bus, no bathroom stops planned. I was straight fucked. And now the bus seemed to be stopping every three miles to pick someone up or let someone off in the middle of nowhere. But soon, my bladder would be the least of my problems.

The green chili demon shoved my bladder aside and got my full attention as it raced from one side of my intestines, to the other. The sweats and chills traded off pummeling me like a WWF tag-team. "Brett the Hit-Man Heart. Off the top ropes!" Chills all over. "Ooohhh, Randy Macho-Man Savage delivers a drop kick to the face!" Sweat covers my pasty, clammy skin. This was awesome and we were no where near Belize City.

But bladder made a comeback, he pushed forward with all his might, mocking me, taunting me. "You can't hold it. You're going to explode." Realizing he may be right, I finished the water in one of my water bottles and stepped to the back of the bus. The guy sitting two rows behind me, though I couldn't read his mind, knew what I was up to. His eyes followed me and said everything.

If only I had the control over my involuntary muscles so I could pee without shitting myself. That would be great. Instead, green chili demon dared me to try and pee in the bottle. I had a premonition of what would happen if I did. I doubt my shorts could hold the spray that would jet out like a dolphin's blow hole. Despondent, I returned to my seat with a full bladder, puckered asshole, and an empty water bottle. The bus stopped again.

The battle raged on for an eon, until we reached the outskirts of Belize City. Though I thought I'd feel better with the goal in sight, my eyes bulged in horror as I noticed a long, snaking traffic jam on the two lane road in front of us. Sweet, Belizian rush hour. The WWF match in my pants had now turned into an all out cage match, last man standing wins. I went to my happy place, but only saw bathrooms I couldn't use. I tried deep, Sting-zen breathing, that helped, but it's tough to relax while contracting the lower half of your body.

Slowly, tortiously so, we wound through the crowded, desperate streets of Belize City. The bus stopped repeatedly as we inched to the city's center. I was begging to Buddha, the Dali Lama, Jesus, and Allah to kill the green chili demon, but they were all, as usual, no help. Tears squeezed from my eyes as they clenched in unison with various sphincters in places people don't talk about.

Miracles of all miracles! The bus station! I'm saved! I can take a shit! I pushed to the front of the bus and was instantly surrounded by cab drivers begging for my fare. I told one guy, "Ok. But I have to go to the bathroom first." "Where are you going?" he replied. I told him and he gave the worst news I've ever heard, "The last boat leaves in 5 minutes. You don't have time for the bathroom." I slammed by open palm into his nose, it bled all over. I grabbed his head and slammed it into the bus. Not really, I wanted to, but I knew I'd shit myself if I did. Practically sobbing, I climbed into this cab, my wife grabbed the bags, and we headed to the dock. Fortunately, the streets we were on weren't as crowded and we got to the dock quickly. I could feel the shit sloshing in my colon now.

We hopped out, my wife went to the ticket booth. Again we had no cash. I went to the ATM, did the pee-pee dance while the machine did its money making. Ripped the cash out, threw it at the ticket booth and headed into the bathroom. "Oh fuck!" There's no toilet paper. I looked at the front of the bathroom remembering my lesson from the Chetumal bus station. Nope. "Shit, shit shit!" No kidding. I went into the women's bathroom. Nothing. I went to the store next to the ticket booth. "No we don't sell toilet paper." Well, like a baby that wouldn't wait, I was going to give birth to this demon now, paper or not. I'll spare you the gory details, but Rolaids has nothing on this relief.

As the ecstacy coursed through my body, I saw angels slaying the demon. Super-Fly Jimmy Snouka had won the cage match. The smile on my face felt the same the night I lost my virginity. I'm not kidding. This was that good. Don't believe me? Hold your bowels against all hope for two hours. Then you tell me how you feel.

But, to the task at hand. I needed paper and there wasn't a pulp plant within miles. I looked down and saw my socks. Perfect. Thank you, Champion, for making such soft, absorbent socks.

I walked out of the bathroom. Fortunately, they held the last boat for me. My wife looked at me in shock. She commented, "Is everything ok? You look like you're really sick. You've got huge, dark circles under your eyes." I thought to myself, when you've been through battle like I have, your face will show it. I climbed aboard the boat as a dozen eyes watched me gently take my seat. We were off to Cay Caulker.