To reach nirvana, Bob would have to drive our rental car into the Pine Ridge Forest Reserve, past Pine Ridge Lodge, Blancaneaux, and the Rio On to an obscure little cave beyond the Douglas D’Silva Forest Station. We’d heard the road was now paved all the way to Caracol, then learned later it was only partially paved and that it could take another seven years.

It had rained enough to make mud. We didn’t see any other vehicles on the narrowing road. I began urging Bob to turn back, but he said, “It isn’t as bad as it looks.  He tapped the brakes to prove we still had traction, and on we went.

We’d driven to see the Mayan ruins at Caracol twenty-five years ago in an unreliable Isuzu Trooper, and it had been a harrowing trip. But we’d been in our forties, so there’s that.

Journal entry 9/9/97

We drove to Caracol to check it out. Its a rough road, impassable when wet. It takes two hours to drive the forty miles from Mountain Equestrian Trails. We met a logging truck on the way and had to wait on the other side while he eased his truck onto the long, concrete bridge, almost dropping a front tire off the edge into the Macal River. He stopped his truck in the middle and got out to fill up with water. When he had crossed, we continued on to Caracol.

I told myself that as long as we didn’t have to pass anyone, we’d be all right.

And then, sure enough here came a bus, just barreling on by without hesitating.

I felt like a weenie then, cringing in the passenger seat, and I started to laugh at myself. Then another bus whizzed by, followed by a caravan of military vehicles, and the joke got old.

When we saw a civilian vehicle on the side of the road, Bob got out and spoke with the driver. Timmy, it turned out, was hoping to reach the same cave with his friends Claribelle and Alo. We joined forces, and I took great comfort from their presence.

At least one puddle gave us pause. This time everyone got out, and Timmy, Claribelle, and Alo tossed rocks into the puddle to assess the situation. The water seemed shallow enough, so we got back in and drove onward.

We knew we were close when we reached the Douglas D’Silva Forest Station.

A little further, and the mud got too thick to drive.

Thick clay built up on my shoes and Alo’s treaded sandals but not on Claribelle’s flip-flops, so we asked what she was doing differently. She said it was partly how she walked—stepping down firmly without twisting—and partly because her shoes were too flat to hold the mud. Alo and I mimicked Claribelle’s walk and decided we’d wear flat soles the next time we had to off-road it in the mud.

Bob was beaming when we reached the cave. He had done it!

We both remember well the buttressed tree at the mouth of the cave.

There were no other people here. We had it all to ourselves as we had all those years ago with the kids. So now I was happy about the wet, unpaved road.

There was no trash or litter of any kind, proof that “No Tampering” signs—or unnavigable roads—work.

The five of us mingled at the entrance, giddy with success and strangely hesitant to walk up the tiny stone steps and claim our bliss.

But up we went into the holiest place on earth. Now you might sneer, thinking, what about Notre Dame? What about Jerusalem? But I assure you, this cave holds the power of absolute peace better than any man-made structure on this earth.

No matter your state of body or mind, put yourself in the middle of the Rio Frio, and all cares vanish. It may have something to do with air and water moving from one side to the other, creating negative ions that collect in the great stone dome.

Our adventure buddies made it down to the sand bar at the belly of the cave. The ladies told me later that they found it immensely calming and could have stayed there for hours.

We knew we would get the full effect of those ions—100% as opposed to 95%—by scaling the rocks to the bottom, but we kept our age in mind, knowing how easily a twisted ankle could ruin a spectacular day.

Funny how bright the world appears after spending a little time in the monochrome underworld. Yet, I find the black-and-white experience extremely comforting.

There’s a question I’ve deployed as a dinner party icebreaker that goes like this: Close your eyes and imagine that you are resting on a white bed in a white room. White ceiling, floor, and walls. There are no windows or doors. How do you feel?

I’ve gotten all kinds of answers through the years. Some people feel panic while others feel boredom. And some, like me, feel relief or a sense of freedom. “This is an allegory for death,” I say after everyone has described their feelings.

The Rio Frio is a place of ancient rock, tiny Mayan steps, and water running through a great, domed room. Its monochrome cave interior soothes my nervous system in the same way I imagine a completely white room might, giving me a break from all the colors of the world, from my phone, my calendar, texts, emails, newsletters, and task lists.

Jan and Tineke were great fun, extremely knowledgeable, and supportive as we navigated our new landscape. It was they we called when a scorpion stung our daughter, or some other critter showed up unbidden.

Jan and Tineke have since moved on, but we were keen to revisit Green Hills and spend some time with the butterflies.

We couldn’t help notice the house looked the same and the landscaping was as pretty as ever.

Odaly met us in the parking lot and ushered us into the butterfly house where insects sipped on Gatorade-soaked dish sponges.

One butterfly was drawn to Bob’s shorts.

Another found Camille’s bicep interesting.

Next stop, the caterpillar house, where butterfly eggs are brought to hatch and feed and pupate.

One of their jobs, Odaly told us, was to harvest the chrysalises and hang them from microfiber-covered shelves. She showed us how easy it was to detach and reattach each little gem.

When we were finished gawking at the butterfly circle of life, we sat and watched the hummingbirds.

These tiny little guys were immensely fun to photograph, so we lingered, but eventually, we gave up our seats to a new wave of visitors.

As we were leaving, we took a long look at the MET Driveway, one we had driven, walked, and ridden down so many, many times. It still looked the same, wildly inviting and promising adventure.

What a year that was, fourteen months of trial, error, and triumph that tested our mettle and turned us into a power couple—committed to each other, resilient, and not afraid of anything.

Belize Botanic Gardens

BBG’s Judy duPlooy told Bob he looked familiar, and it is true he hasn’t changed so much over the years. Ms. duPlooy and her husband, Ken, moved to Belize with their five children from South Carolina in 1987, ten years before we arrived in Cayo. You’ll find more of their story here.

Sadly, Ken passed in 2001, but his botanical legacy endures.

Our guide, Rommel, took us all around and up to the top of the fire tower for a bird’s-eye view of the forest.

Selwin loaned Camille his rain slicker after he caught her rubbing her chilly, bare arms, and Rommel was full of good information when he could get it past the big talkers.

Rommel showed us the startling color of Logwood sap which is used to dye textiles and leather.

Before leaving BBG, Selwin pulled out a hot lunch of beans and rice, fried chicken, plantains, and cole slaw, and we all ate on the gift shop deck. By signing up for this tour, Selwin explained, we were providing revenue to him, the lodge, and the people who prepared our meal.

Canoeing the Macal

Selwin unlashed the canoe from the top of his vehicle while Eduardo and Cookie looked on. Once we were launched, Eduardo drove to San Ignacio and waited for us to float down river.

Camille felt quite important sitting up front with her paddle, using it when prompted by Selwin to steer or propel.

Bob was tasked with keeping the canoe upright—no sudden movements—and Selwin was our engine and navigator.

The trip was delightful, with a few mildly rough spots to make things interesting. The sun had come out, and the river absorbed the busy sounds of human life, giving us the impression we were alone with the wildlife. We relaxed into easy conversation with our happy, witty guide, gawking at iguanas and birds along the way.

We knew we were nearing the finish line when we again began hearing the buzz of human life. Another bend, and we could see San Ignacio’s Hawkesworth Bridge ahead. This one-lane suspension bridge was built in 1949 and named after the former governor of British Honduras, Sir Edward Gerald Hawkesworth.

We crossed beneath the bridge and paddled towards the shore where Eduardo was waiting as planned.

Camille made a pit stop behind an enormous tree. And then we were off, driving through busy San Ignacio, catching sight of familiar shops and streets from Bob’s many shopping trips a couple of decades ago.

We looked for stamps for our stack of postcards but were turned away by a postal worker who refused to do any more business on a Friday afternoon even though the post office was still officially open.

Another day well spent, and plenty more gossip gleaned and exchanged.

Bird Walk, January 26

Agusto arrived at Mariposa at 6:00 AM on our first morning in Cayo. He walked the short distance from his house and we went looking for birds. During our walk we talked about the people we knew in common, people we’d worked with twenty-five years ago and others in the area.

Although I kept track of which bird species we saw or heard, I was not able to match this little yellow bird to anything on my list until Deb Ragno identified it as a female Summer Tanager. Deb’s daughter is married to our nephew, so that makes her family.

The morning was abloom with new life, and we were transported back in time to this place as if we’d never left.

Yikes! Bob got into poisonwood while clearing bush in the ’90s, and ended up with a fever and oozing sores that took over his legs and kept him out of the saddle for weeks.

Like many large hardwoods, this Nargusta has a shallow root system accompanied by buttresses which help keep it upright.

Bay Leaf palms (Sabal mauritiiformis) are good for thatching roofs and should be harvested when the moon is full because that’s when they are heaviest with the sap that keeps them water tight and repels critters.

We paused to enjoy the view from Mariposa’s fire tower deck.

And watch Black-faced grosbeaks feeding on yellow flowers.

We saw a lot of impressive vines which made me think of the Tarzan rope swing in the back lot behind my childhood home.

Epiphytes all around.

Medicine Trail, January 29

Agusto told us he was one of Mariposa’s first employees and that he helped clear the trails around the property.

Our Medicine Trail guide, Josh, had intimate knowledge of local plant medicine from a lifetime of living close to nature.

An aromatherapy tree! We burn copal resin at home.

Camille keeps notes. She is dutiful that way.

The broadleaf rainforest is the most beautiful ecosystem on earth, bursting with oxygen and crawling with life. I felt extremely calm after hanging out here for five days, and it occurred to me that I may be experiencing seasonal food and shelter anxiety from living so far north of the equator.

I nicknamed this little plant the Rehab Plant because Josh said it will cure substance dependency.

Ahhh, the beautifully wretched strangler fig. It climbs a tree and sucks it dead, growing stronger by the year as its host slowly declines.

Delicate flowers draped in fairy vines. From sturdy to fanciful, we find it all here in the forest.

A baby orchid, so eager for life that it barely waits to root before setting on leaves and a pseudobulb.

At some point, I was so immersed in the beauty around me, I wasn’t even interested in the medicine. It was enough to know that no matter what ailed me, I could find someone who knew the cure and where to find it.

First off, the staff was intelligent, engaged, kind, and hard-working, so that hadn’t changed about this part of the world.

Bob’s jokes for Glad were, “I’m happy to see you, Glad,” or “I’m glad to see you happy.”

The well-groomed walkways quickly gave way to luxuriant wildness.

The cabana were named after plant and animals. We stayed in the Jaguar.

Bob booked the jaguar because he knew I would enjoy the non-airconditioned screen porch.

It also featured an outdoor shower, which he greatly enjoyed.

Our bed. Comfortable, spacious, and lit for nighttime reading.

We woke in darkness to the otherworldly roar of howler monkeys calling for rain. That was our first morning, and it did rain, but not until later, after we’d gone for a long, guided bird hike where we heard and/or saw thirty different species.

Camille at the breakfast table, appetite sharpened by exercise and anticipation.

A very Belizean breakfast of fry jacks, black beans refried in coconut oil, freshly squeezed orange juice, fruit, a muffin, and—special for Camille—scrambled tofu. All the meals were above the cut. Good, wholesome, food, extraordinarily presented, stunning in its simplicity.

Chef Norma generously shared her refried bean secrets with Camille.

We often went hiking in the morning, but the afternoons were perfect for a cool dip.

You may not know this, but Bob is a water baby.

Bob and Sevilla. She and Robbie were servers who worked behind the scenes the rest of the time to make our stay comfortable. One afternoon Sevilla saw me scrubbing our shoes after a particularly muddy hike and she talked me into letting her clean them for me.

Bob, with his eye for orchids, found these gems beyond our back deck.

By now we were giddy with jungle vibes, good food, and exercise.

Could it be that Camille’s family line erupted from Central America?

The rooms filled up over the weekend and the tables moved outdoors. Out came the tiki torches, giving dinner a fairytale vibe.

The howlers woke us again on our last morning. We rolled towards the center of the bed, grinning in the darkness. When the monkeys were finished, we laughed to hear a laughing falcon calling, “Hah hah hah haaah!” And when it was finished, the chachalacas started in. All calling for rain, the forest’s life blood. Making magic happen just for us.

Will we come back? people ask. Why, yes we will. Yes, indeedy.

On our fifth day in Belize, we drove north again towards the Western Highway. We would stay another five nights up in Cayo close to where we lived twenty-five years ago.

If we were to move back to Belize—and I assure you, we are not—we would consider somewhere along the lush corridor along the  Hummingbird Highway.

It appeared that the road had been recently improved in places with carved cuts and guard rails.

A large White hawk flew, settled, then turned as if making sure we had seen it.

Nothing says money better than a row of royal palms.

We have fond memories of Belmopan’s Art Box. Bob would often take the girls there for lunch when they accompanied him on his errands. They, of course, called it the Fart Box. My how it has grown since the ’90s!

The entire building was a work of art, filled with affordable treasures, and furniture on the second floor.

They don’t serve lunch anymore, so we settled for ice cream. We met a woman named Yvette and she said her favorite Art Box ice cream flavors were Mango and Coffee, so we got one of each.

Naturally, we talked about people we knew and it occurred to Bob to ask about Gloria at BCSL. “Yes, I believe she is still there,” said Yvette.

And sure enough, she was, and she remembered us from so long ago. Gloria would patch in our telephone calls via radio phone, so her voice had been our main connection with the outside world.

Nothing had changed about the little house where BCSL headquarters, but Gloria will soon be starting work on a new facility.

We turned west towards Cayo after leaving Belmopan, my heart beating harder with every mile.

The Chiquibul road was vastly improved with signage, paving, and safety reflectors and we did not miss the old road one bit. The eight miles to Mountain Equestrian trails used to take forty minutes, depending on the weather, the mud, and how recently it had been graded.

Next stop: Mariposa Jungle Lodge. Stay tuned.

Stare at the sky. Listen to the clacking palms. Breathe in the salt air.

Recline on the pool deck with coffee and your laptop. Or, if you are Bob, lean over a balcony to photograph Sean reclining on the pool deck.

Choose one of a hundred comfortable chairs and tell stories. I toyed with the idea of sitting in every chair in the place, both inside and out, but the task seemed too onerous.

Work on your bird list with a beer. Banter with your friends.

Eat. Or, if you are Sean, think of something else fun to make for everyone to eat.

Go to Turtle Inn’s Mare Restaurant for dinner. Sit at a long table with a dozen others and dig into the Dutch-Indonesian Style Rijstaffel (rice table). Lean back in your chair, rub your stomach, and search the crowd for celebrities.

Watch the young guys polish off dribs and drabs until all food is consumed.

Go shopping at the local Publics. Laugh at the Belizean Creole. Buy beans, not chicken.

Cook alone.

Cook together.

Highlight your snorkel burn by wearing pink.

Grill lobster.

Thank the powers that be for our good fortune.

Watch the sun rise over the ocean, one last time.

Watch it through the palms.

Enjoy a foot massage.

Wax philosophical in your jammies against an unbelievable back drop.

Bob and I rode quite a lot while managing Mountain Equestrian Trails—he more than me—upwards of fifty miles per week. Our guests booked a riding holiday package which included two all-day rides—one to Big Rock Falls for lunch and a swim and the other to Barton Creek for lunch and a paddle into the cave, one half-day ride to the Vega and Red Tiger Cave, and an all-day vehicle tour to San Ignacio and the Mayan ruins at Xunantunich. While Bob rode with the guests, I often stayed behind to work in the kitchen or with the other horses. It was always a treat to ride together.

I could have booked a riding tour through the resort, but I only wanted a morning ride, not an all-day-with-lunch-and-swimming experience, and since we were renting a car, we could transport ourselves. So I searched and found Outback Trails on the south bank of the Sittee River in Stann Creek—adjacent to Silk Grass Farms, as it turned out—and began corresponding with Michelle Gonzalez.

I asked the group if anyone else were interested, and Sean said, “I’m in!” because he’s the kind of guy who doesn’t say no to anything. Michelle answered all my questions with warmth and humor, reserved the Monday morning ride for us, and I packed my riding tights and helmet.

The original forecast was cloudy with a chance of rain, but we drew a perfect, sunny day when the day arrived.

Bob and Sean walked over to where Ken had tied our horses, and Michelle and I hung back in the sunshine, chit-chatting and watching the men. “Ken likes to talk,” she said. I nodded. “Well, this’ll be fun. Bob’s gonna give him a run for his money.”

Ken took us across the farm towards the forest, pointing out trees and wildlife, cracking jokes, and trading horse stories. He rode with a lead rope attached to a halter, and I loved how well his mare responded to a lifted rein or a shift of his leg.

At fifteen, Silver was the oldest horse on the ranch. He tested me right off, then quickly relaxed and let me call the shots. Like Buddy and Gallen, the horses I’ve been working with back home, Silver spent his youth pulling Amish buggies. Ken said it had been a process helping Silver unlearn his bone-jarring trot, and I found it reassuring to ride the finished product.

Our horses were confident and sure-footed even when the mud was fetlock (ankle) deep. Ken would bathe them after the ride, just as he had done before tacking them up. He had fed them each three pounds of grain and would feed them another three pounds in the evening.

Michelle has a breeding program in which she crosses the hardy, sure-footed local mares with kind-hearted, sturdy Appaloosa stallions, which explains why her horses are so lovely.

Ken stopped his horse and pointed to a tree limb in the distance. “It’s a Scarlet Macaw,” he said, “I’d been waiting for them to come back.”

I squinted in the direction of his arm and finally saw the form of a large bird. We had hoped to see one but thought it would be when we took a canoe down the Macal River this coming weekend, not on this ride.

According to Caribbean Lifestyle, “Every year, beginning in December, scarlet macaws migrate to Belize’s Stann Creek District to feed. These brilliantly colored birds fly all the way from their usual breeding grounds in the Chiquibul Forest Reserve to the village of Red Bank.”

The last time we saw one of these gorgeous birds was in 1998, and Bob and his phone did a remarkable job capturing our prize. We had left our big cameras behind on purpose, not wanting to risk damaging them. I like that the macaws are vegetarians, mate for life, and have a wingspan of 100 centimeters (~40 inches). Our group at Solvei was working on identifying as many birds as possible, and the macaw was an excellent addition to our list.

When we reached the river, we dismounted, and Ken tied the horses together in pairs, then tethered two of them to trees.

The Sittee looked very much as it did when we saw it from the north bank during the Silk Grass Farms tour.

As he had done the other day, Sean skipped a few rocks over the clear river water.

The horses napped in the shade until it was time to mount back up.

Sean and Duffy look as if they were made for each other.

Our smiles were even broader after our three-hour tour. Everything about the day exceeded my expectations. The horses, our guide, the rainforest, and the weather were as spectacular as my most golden memory of Belize, and it was a dream come true to share the experience with my best friend, Bob! I climbed into the car thinking I honestly could die right now, in a state of bliss, with no regrets.

Mandy, our host and co-founder of  27,500 acre Silk Grass Farms in Stann Creek invited us for a tour of the farm on our first day in Belize.  She and co-founding partner Henry loaded up three cars for a look-see at the many projects in play. Mandy’s husband, Peter, the third founder, did not to join us on the tour, but we got to know him when we all went to dinner at Turtle Inn a few days later.

Sean, Caroyln, Bob, and I rode with Mandy across open fields and down muddy tracks with Henry leading the show in his pick up truck, followed by Bryan in a jeep.

We went places I thought we had no business going, but never once got stuck. That’s Belize for you. Forge ahead and don’t look back.

In previous generations, the land grew oranges and coconuts.

I tried and failed to get a good photo of silk grass, so here is a picture I pinched from Silk Grass Farms’ website. Mandy told me that silk grass is a sign of healthy land. They named the farm after the nearby town of Silk Grass.

They took out the aging oranges and planted more coconut trees, added thousands of mahogany trees, are planting cacao, growing vanilla orchids in a greenhouse, and keeping tiny, stingless melipona bees to pollinate the vanilla. They built employee housing, a school, a cafeteria, and a factory, and are also growing food.

We paused behind Bryan’s jeep when they stopped to look at a sunbathing crocodile. When Anthony stepped out, it swung around and splashed into the water, then swam away to safety. More afraid of us then we are of them, I told myself, but I was not convinced.

Mandy’s pet project is renovating the Great House for use as lab and lodging for research. I love that she reached out to scientists and asked them what they would need before talking with the builders. Floor space and a lab, they said, so that’s what they’re going to get.

We birders noticed a Gartered Trogon (Trogon caligatus) feeding on insects and vegetation in a palm off the second floor of the great house. After it was full, it perched on a branch and gave us the eye, then posed for our cameras.

We all stopped and got out for a leg stretch at the beautiful Sittee River.

Anthony, Sean, and Arlo took turns skipping rocks. Looks like Sean just threw a good one!

Our last stop was the factory where they process juices including the best tasting coconut water I have ever tasted.

After the tour, we drove to nearby Hopkins for lunch.

Tired of sitting, I wandered over to the water side for a short stroll down the beach, thinking all the while about Joe Bageant, one of our favored authors (Deer Hunting with Jesus and Rainbow Pie). Years ago—before he died, naturally—Joe helped a couple in Hopkins Village build a cabana with the caveat that he could stay in it for free when in country.

You can read that essay, here.

And then we went home to the big house at Naia to swim and cook and eat. Stay tuned for more stories about our grand return to Belize.

It’s still early and we were running on fumes. Got up at 2:45 AM, re-heated some coffee—stars bright, bags already in the car, our exit staged before we lay down to sleep—and drove to the airport. After twenty-five years, we were headed to a place so rich in memories that I might have been born there.

The young lady at the rental counter unfolds a map and reaches for a pen. “You want to take this road,” she says, drawing a line on the map not far from the airport. “Lots of speed bumps.”

Bob guides the car in a graceful arc over the first few concrete barriers, but then they begin sneaking up on us. We hit a few so hard the bags jump. But he soldiers on, mastering the challenge, and draws us ever closer to an extravagant beach vacation in Placencia.

And then we are whizzing along the Western Highway, immersed in the familiar landscape of Coca Cola signs, bicycles, scooters, palms, and roadside tiendas.

I heard that in Belize the tax man can’t collect as long as your home is still under construction. That would explain the inordinate number of cinderblock walls with rusted rebar poking out of the top.

When we reach the Hummingbird Highway the scenery becomes even more lush as it winds through the hills.

Finally, we pull up to the Naia resort gate, check in at the front desk, and drive our bags over to Solvei, their Ultimate Beach House, digs so over-the-top I find myself searching for the camera crew.

I thought places like this only existed in the movies. Seriously, this five-bedroom house (sleeps 10 adults and 5 children) features heated toilet seats with bidets, a pool with a waterfall, a state-of-the-art kitchen, and enough glass to sink the Titanic. All free, thanks to our host, Mandy.

The next morning, before touring Mandy’s farm (stay tuned), Bob and I walk the beach at dawn.

Down to the pier where we sit for awhile, soaking it in. We are back in Belize!

And then we head back up the beach towards our movie star house to change into our farm touring duds.