As I was about to embark on my journey to Belize, both anticipation and dread added to the surplus of weight I carried on my shoulders. Although I had been sceptical about my arrival at Philip Goldson; the possibly of a lost bag, reluctant customs officer or an absent transfer, arriving on Caye Caulker was as much a breeze as the one that greeted me at the airport exit.
Making our way through the rural areas of Belize gave me a better insight to the contrast of basic local living and tourist luxury, a matter not to have any effect on how well received tourists are to the renowned charm of laidback Belizean culture. Following a short journey from the airport to Belize City, myself and Dagny were accompanied by two familiar faces that she had previously met on the island, a comforting reminder of just how easy it is to make new friends out here. I loaded my bags onto the ferry and all previous scepticism had completely subsided.
I still had another stretch of boat rides to reach camp on the north side, but stepping out in the midday heat of January and across onto the first boat was the point to which I knew I’d made a great decision. For every wave further from the stresses of the city was one closer to nature and its expanse of living things, the mangroves being one of the communities once untouched, now yet another wing on the butterfly effect of our ecosystem. These are issues I will cover throughout the duration of my time here, and something making me evermore cynical of tourist influx, lending into a much larger debate of our intrusion of nature. All that was left for me to do was take my first step into the white sand and bury with them, the disposition of what I know to be the obliviousness of our culture.