Belize > 'Go Slow' on Caye Caulker

I am woken up by the construction workers at the hotel. I look at my clock and see that it is already eight o’clock. I take a shower. Just as I have given up hope of getting warm water and wash my hair under the cold stream, the water finally turns warm. On Mainstreet, I order a breakfast and a fresh orange juice. From the veranda, I watch the life of Caye Caulker pass by.

Belize - The cozy main street of Caye Caulker

The island is not very large. The southern part is mostly taken up by private houses, while the northernmost part is the tourist area. I walk along Mainstreet to the split. During a hurricane in 1961, the island broke in two at this point. Now, this location near Café The Lighthouse is the prime spot for swimming during the day. I jump from the pier into the clear water. The water is wonderfully warm, although there is a strong current, especially near the split. It is almost impossible to swim against it. To be safe, I stay in the section behind the pier. On the rocky beach, I let myself dry off while enjoying a drink. The sun is strong, and I have to be careful not to burn. I estimate that about fifty tourists are enjoying the sun and the sea on this part of Caye Caulker. If this is the main tourist attraction on the island, I estimate that there are no more than one hundred to one hundred fifty tourists on the entire island. All the locals try to take advantage of these tourists with restaurants, tours, and souvenirs. I move to a small bar with tables under the palm trees.

Belize - Bar The Lighthouse on Caye Caulker

A delightful breeze completes the experience. It’s wonderful to take it easy today. I can completely understand the island’s motto: “Go Slow.” In the evening, I go to eat at a typical local restaurant. When I arrive, it looks more like a messy backyard. All sorts of tables are scattered about, and the chairs have to be gathered. Meat is being grilled on a barbecue. The owner, a large Rastafarian man, comes to explain what’s on the menu today—all for a fixed price. I am not surprised that there is no menu. Nevertheless, the food tastes excellent, and there is a cheerful atmosphere. After the meal, an extra plate of shrimp is brought to the table. “On the house,” the owner says. One plate had been made too many, and we would finish it. A whole jug of rum punch is also placed on the table, and glasses are quickly added. “Taste it,” he says. The owner seems unconcerned about anything. When the rum in the rum punch is mentioned, he brings a small glass of rum. He warns me to taste it carefully. The stuff smells very strong, like spirits. I cautiously sip a tiny bit. Yuck. I quickly take a drink of the rum punch instead. “Homemade rum,” he says proudly. On the way back to the hotel, there are still a few lively bars. I take a seat on one of the swings at the bar—a very special barstool. I order a Cuba Libre. I finish the evening in the Reggae Bar, first on the rooftop, but when it closes at eleven, I continue with a drink inside the bar. Around midnight, I return to my hotel.