In October, 1999, I was in Guatemala taking Spanish lessons. But I wanted to see Caye Caulker—an island in Belize—before I went back home.
"Want to go to Belize?" I'd asked Yancey this a few months ago when planning my trip. He'd agreed, but only on the condition that he could fly in. He knew I was taking the bus from Antigua, and then catching the local ferry. His knees and butt still hadn't forgotten the hellish service taxi ride in Jordan from the past summer. He'd ended up super-cranky with me and the way I travel. Understandably so. The ride was bad enough to make it onto the radio on a Savvy Travel piece on bad taxi rides.
Yancey's method of transport is in the photo below. My ride from the Guatemalan border was a rickety bus.
We got a cabana on the beach for a few dollars a night. The bathroom wall only extended about 3/4 of the way up the cabana wall, which was uncomfortable for us as we knew each other well but not that well. And it rained most of our trip. But neither of us got sick while scuba diving, which was a first.