More Vacation Spillover

At many points during our week in a third world country, I came face to face with my ethnocentrism. Sometimes I forget I have it. The first time I noticed myself aghast at something the native population took for granted was watching a fire burning out of control as we drove along in our air conditioned van.

Burned rubble along the road, patches of ground blackened and deserted, homes reduced to charred lumber stood out against the lush green fields and tropical growth. At one point I pointed out to our guide that the grass was on fire and seemed to be spreading along the roadside. “Yeah,” he responded, “It does that.” My mind swirled—shouldn’t we call the fire department? Does my cell phone work in Belize? Hasn’t anyone reported this yet? Then I reoriented myself: third world country; no fire department to call.

How privileged we are here in the U.S. If we run out of stamps, we go to the grocery store or the bank, usually open until 6pm. In Belize, there’s one tiny post office miles away from anywhere which may or may not be open on any given day. If something catches fire, we call 911 and the fire department sends trucks, ambulances, and help in a variety of forms. In Belize, yeah, it burns. If we want to go somewhere, we hop in our car, swing by the gas station if we’re running low on gas, and go. In Belize, one waits at a little bus stop for a rattley old bus that runs between villages on an irregular schedule, and fills its tank at the one gas pump in the district; or hops on a bike, or even more commonly, walks—very long distances—to get where one is going. If we’re cold in our homes, we turn up the heat. In Belize, there may not be heat available except for what the sun brings.

My eyes are more open now to the things I once took for granted; I had become complacent, entitled. A trip to a foreign country and four little words, “yeah, it does that,” have restored a sense of appreciation for the abundance in and the ease of my daily life.

Belize Adventure

Vacations are great inspiration for potential stories. For instance, I just got back from Belize with friends Trudy, Joan, and sister Sus. We flew into the International Airport, walked into a reception area with a Customs desk on the left. Through my jet-lagged eyes, I saw a huge pedestal behind which three or four mean-looking, suspicious men and women glared down at us weary, scraggly travelers, just daring us to try and smuggle a fruit-fly laden apple into their country. They were heavily uniformed—I have a trauma-based aversion to anything uniformed (even head waiters creep me out) from the 60ies, and possibly armed. I told you I was fatigued—and sleep-deprived. Somehow, we cleared Passport inspection with only a question or two about our intent.

Ahead, we aim for the luggage carousel. By implicit agreement, we all keep a look out for each other, two of us never having traveled abroad. Three of us wander to the right of the carousel, Joan wanders to the left. Slowly, the bags are placed on the conveyer. Trudy and Sus pull theirs off and are waiting behind, out of the way. I spot my little bag with the bright red ribbon and hoist it up off the carousel. Smiling with the success of my trip so far, I turn to Trudy and Sus. We glance around for Joan. Hmm, in such a small space (a one room lobby), where could she possibly be? Oh, yeah, the bathrooms. Joan? Joan? No Joan. Okay, don’t panic. There’s the duty free store just across the lobby. Sure, that’s where she is. No Joan.

How many headlines have you seen on the evening news about women or children who disappear without a trace in foreign countries? All those come roaring back to me in my head. Breathe. Don’t jump to conclusions. Okay. OH MY GOD, SHE’S BEEN KIDNAPPED! My head swivels back and forth, up and down (I knew she wasn’t really on the ceiling—it was just reflex). We speak to someone in the office. They have no idea, figure she’s cleared Customs and has probably gone on outside. No, she wouldn’t do that, we mumble between us.

There were forms to fill out before we could even go out and see if she was on the other side. Once out, we can’t return to the lobby. How will we communicate with each other? Group decision: we’ll go out, hope she is returned by the kidnappers and figures out we’re not in the lobby. Perhaps she’ll find her way through customs and meet us outside. Okay—that’s the plan.

We fill out our forms, have them stamped, and are herded out the door to await our connecting plane. I cast a furtive glance behind me as I leave the lobby. Stepping through the door I see Joan to my right, looking bored, tired, wondering where the heck we’ve been. She had grabbed her bags as soon as they’d hit the carousel and in her expedient little way headed on through Customs to wait for us on the other side.

Relief pours out of my body like sweat from the change of climate. Kind of an anticlimactic ending for a potentially great kidnap/ransom mystery, but I’ll trade that any day for the safety of my good friend.

For information about the Belize Jungle Dome Resort and Adventure Tours: www.belizejungledome.com
Check it out; you won’t be disappointed.