From Playa Del Carmen we caught a seven hour bus to Chetumal, the capital City of Quintana Roo, and on the border of Belize. This city was definitely not a tourist city, in many ways to our relief.
Getting off the bus I had post traumatic stress about taxi scams, so I was very wary of the taxi drivers standing outside the terminal. After asking over and over, I confirmed that our taxi driver would only charge us about ten dollars for our short trip to the airbnb. We arrived with no trouble at all, which was a huge relief. That night we ate a huge plate of nachos and another of tacos at a truly local Mexican restaurant. We couldn’t believe our eyes. Good food at a very reasonable price! Mexico wins hands down against Costa Rica in the Cuisine competition. In fact it’s not even a race.
The next morning we needed to get into Belize. The only trouble is that there is very little information about how to get over the border online. One source said the bus left at three in the morning, but gave no location from where it left. Finally I decided to walk to the nearest bus station that one article mentioned. When I arrived and asked the local vendors if a bus left from the market there, they all agreed that it did, but disagreed when it would come, or even if it would come the next morning.
But we had to get into Belize! We had already booked a place at the howler monkey lodge for the next night. After hours of searching, and not a little stress, we found the number of a taxi driver that would purportedly take us over the border. To our amazement Jesús responded and arranged to pick us up at five in the morning (talk about early mornings…). We hoped that we would find a bus on the other side of the border, and from there to Belize City, and from Belize City to Bermudian landing. Again, there was no real information on the internet about bus terminals or bus schedules.
At five a friend of Jesús picked us up and drove us to the border. We then met Jesús, he drove us to customs (we were the only people there at such an early hour). By the time we exited customs the sun had begun to rise, lighting up the sky. With no hitch Jesús took us directly to the nearest bus, which departed only a few minutes later. We boarded and paid about $7 US for the three hour journey.
Belize Bus systems are a wonder. All the buses come from abandoned U.S school buses. Because gas is so expensive in the country and few people have enough money to own hundreds, if not thousands of Chicken buses serve as the local transportation. These buses leave from the most remote areas, carrying workers into the cities where they earn an income before returning home for the night. Bus drivers must operate on a strict schedule. If they take too many passengers and thus slow down, arriving late to the terminal, they are issued a fine (partly because they took the business of the buses that would have come 15 minutes later).
The result of these rules has created a fierce bus driver competition. Driving a bus becomes a complicated dance of calculations: if you stop and pick up more people, you will earn more money.
However, if the bus behind you passes you arriving before you to the terminal, you will be fined and lose profit. And so the almighty bus races rage on in the county of Belize. And that is the most terrifying part of riding the otherwise amazing transportation. Busses pass each other on narrow roads through traffic attempting to win their way to the terminal with the balance of the most passengers.
We arrived in Belize city at about ten O’clock.
“Tickets for Belmopan, tickets for Belmopan.” I heard a woman yell. We made our way over to the women, happy to have found our bus so quickly. We bought some snacks of banana bread, plantain chips and coconut water, then boarded the next bus. Two hours later I looked over at Mo.
“I’m so glad that we’ve almost made it and it’s only noon,” I said. It was such a nice contrast to traveling in the small hours of the night in darkness.
I asked people on the bus which stop was for the Community Baboon sanctuary. They looked at me puzzled and said I should ask the driver’s assistant (the assistant collects the money of the passengers after boarding). A few minutes later I made my way up to the front to ask. The assistant gave me a quizzical look.
“What town is it in?” she asked. Then it hit me. We were in Belmopan, not Bermudian Landing! My face fell. Belmopan was the place we were staying for two nights, but not tonight!
“Mo, I think we took the wrong bus.” I said. Feeling defeated, at the terminal I bought tickets retracing our steps to back to Belize city.
Two hours later, when we arrived back to Belize City we were told we just missed the next bus to bermudian landing. We squeezed our way through the busy streets of Belize city trying to find out when and where the next bus would leave from. At a street stand we purchased a giant limeade and a horchata for a few dollars as a condolence. Only my horchata was peanut flavored Bleh! I’m not a fan. Grain and peanuts don't mix. Ask Mo.
After much asking around, a kind bus driver walked us about a block and a half to the school bus set to leave for Bermudian landing, the very last bus of the day. The driver’s name was Elton John, and he lived in Double head cabbage. He was super friendly and told us lots of intense and interesting stories about growing up in Belize.
We were so glad when the bus finally filled up with school kids heading home. Many of the students gave us quizzical glances, what were foreigners doing on their bus? An hour later we arrived at the howler monkey lodge just in time for dinner. Once again, we were so glad to find a place to stay for the night after a long day of travel.
Comments