Jungle Night and a Cave to Swim in (2022)

We waved down a bus on the outskirts of Belmopan heading towards St. Herman's Blue Hole National Park.  It stopped.  A skinny man with light, tan skin, and dark, wavy hair pointed to the tight luggage compartments under the bus where we squeezed our bulky packs, stuffing and punching the bottoms to slam the metal doors shut.

I walked the aisle looking at a myriad of unfamiliar faces, strangers from different parts of Belize, most on their way home from work or simply to the next town, sitting patiently, resting their eyes, nodding off, a few on their phones speaking Creole and Spanish as their eyes slowly shifted toward us, the gringos who had just stepped on the bus.  I had not set foot on a school bus full of new people since the Vagabus that went nowhere from Arcata to Eureka in 2016, and before that it was the switch from elementary school to 4th grade.  I remember both experiences had made me nervous and anxious, taking me out of my comfort bubble, and walking on this bus felt the same, since we were still quite unfamiliar with the schedule and procedure.  

As the bus rolled on, Kelly and I squished into separate seats.  I sat next to a young kid listening to Spanish hip-hop on speakerphone with his head resting on the back of the seat in front of us, that old, brown, slick fabric that stuck to your skin like the plastic covers my grandparents used to preserve their worthless couches.  It didn't look too comfortable, especially on a hot, sticky day in the tropics where the sun blazed through the half-open windows and the only relief came from the constant breeze pillowing in when the wheels of the bus went round and round.  Even with the slight wind, my body felt like a cesspool of sweat dripping down from my scalp into my eyes and meandering to my forearms, palms, and fingertips.

The James and Ritchie bus, hell any bus in Belize, were like riding the Greyhound on steroids.  Speed limit laws and passing over double lines didn't really exist in Belize. Much of the ride through the mountains I locked onto the back of the seat with my hands.  The bus driver drove like a Formula One racer swerving around clunkers, and the slow drivers in no rush to get anywhere fast, taking sharp turns around windy bends of road, flooring it and slamming the brakes at speed bumps and bus stops.  The bus paused, lasting long enough for a person to get in the aisle, and bam, he cranked that pedal quickly to get her back up to speed as we roared down Hummingbird Highway for the next 12 kilometers.

The money tender, who had originally helped us check our bags when we got on the bus, smiled as we made eye contact.  The dimples on his cheeks blended between pits of acne scars as he walked the aisle towards the back, where I sat, pulling out his money pouch and collecting our fare, as we slowly reached our stop at St. Herman's.

When the bus stopped we got off quickly, shimmying our hips side-to-side to avoid brushing our sides against the elbows and legs of other passengers.  He yanked on our packs, dislodging them from the janky storage bins with a few tugs and we were on our way.

As soon as we arrived, I walked to the information desk and met Pablo, a small Mayan man, no taller than 4'10", with a burly frame, jet-black hair, and effervescent smile.  He walked with his chest pumped out, jolly, like Santa Claus, a storyteller at heart.  He took such interest in our travels, where we had been, where we were going, and when he found out we wanted to camp at the park, he insisted we join him for a swim in one of the caves.

I noticed the park was managed by the Audubon Society, which from our time in Guanacaste gave me hope about conservation efforts Belize is making to preserve its jungle and over 600 species of birds among other endangered animals.  All the money from the guided tours and entrance fees go towards actual conservation.  It's not just a way to skirt taxes and drive in bookoo bucks, which is prevalent in capitalism, especially in America, simply heeding the illusion of "conservation" strictly for greed.

I wrapped my hammock straps around two wooden posts of the park pavilion, yanking both until they cinched each block tight.  I clipped each carabiner to an end making sure the hammock fabric was a few feet off the ground and setup a bungee on each side to string up my mosquito net, which as I've learned is only effective against mosquitoes, but does little to inhibit sandflies and noseeums without the application of Deet 100 to my skin or setting up Frog King mosquito coils.

Kelly read.  I sat around, swinging in my hammock, listening to the soft sound of birds singing distant melodies while the small doves played beyond the hedges, in the grass, ruffling feathers and pestering one another like little kids playing tag at the playground.  Ants marched in aggressive synchrony, determined, carrying torn, jagged clippings of leaves atop their backs, the green resting there like an injured wing.  They danced across the brown dirt as leaf gods until drifting peacefully into the underground on a mission to spawn fungus needed to feed their intricate society.

The longer I sat, the more the canopy came to life as the beckoning of darkness fused into the skyline and Pablo approached.

"You guys want to swim tonight?"

"Yeah man.  Definitely."

"Ok…we hike to the cave after dinner?  Juan come with us too."

Most of what we had packed for food was all dry, noodle-based and required cooking, which we couldn't eat in a conservation area.  You can't have fires in protected jungle.  So we sat around and waited for the others to finish their dinner.  Pablo walked down the steps from the staff cabana and dipped his head in through the hedges.  He noticed we weren't eating and didn't see any signs that we had, having no soiled bowls, empty wrappers out or dirty pots and pans; so he asked us…

"You didn't eat your dinner yet?"

"Nah man…can't cook our food without fire and the fruit we have is for breakfast tomorrow."

"Come eat with us.  We have extra.  You like burritos with veggie and sausage?"

"We don't wanna impose and eat all your food."

"It's okay.  Really no problem.  We eat and then hike and swim.  Follow me."

Kelly and I left the pavilion, walking across the gravel parking lot and wandered up the wooden steps to the porch of the cabana. 

"This is James here and his girlfriend.  They cook food tonight for us.  We each take turns.  Tonight his turn."

"Nice to meet you both."

"James, my twin brother.  We both Mayan and round."  Pablo rubbed his tummy and a huge smile broke out across his face.  They both laughed, their cheeks and chuckling grins swallowing their eyes with each burst of laughter.

Pablo pointed at his other friend.  "This Juan.  He knows a lotta bout birds and the jungle.  He also a tour guide.  We all guides here at Audubon.  Come eat."

We ate an authentic Belizean dinner prepared from the very kind souls of new friends from the Audubon Society, typical Central American cuisine at its finest.  I felt bad though and refrained from gluttony until they instructed me to eat more or it would go to waste, and that I did.  I slipped Pablo a twenty towards groceries for their next store run.

Pablo clapped.  "Alright.  We go now.  We have headlamps for you, for cave, and swimming.  You will like this." He smiled with a twinkle in his eyes and broke out with rosy cheeks as he stomped down the steps, reaching into the staff closet to pull out four headlamps. 

I yanked the elastic band, put the lamp on my big head, and we followed the two Mayan men into the jungle, wandering along a narrow hiking trail as pebbles crunched underfoot with banana and bayleaf palms draping overhead.  Scattered traces of hog plum and cocoplum that the howler monkeys feasted on stood tall. 

Instances of poisonwood that spreads a painful rash like fire when touched producing 2nd and 3rd degree burns with gumbo limbo, its antidote, hid within mixed groves of hardwood.  We wandered past stilts of bamboo, furry at each rib along their stalks like husks of corn.  Sorosi vines meandered through the canopy like tentacles of party decor.  Massive mahogany trees stood as citadels, hidden in the dense jungle, engulfed by lush shades of green.  It was a tropical wonderland of birds, mammals, and reptiles, as well as, bloodthirsty mosquitoes, determined ants, and countless other bugs whose names were unknown to me.  The jungle was both a beautiful sight in its wild, untouched state, and a playground for the cute and harmless to the vicious and deadly.

We continued walking along the lowland trail, past the corn fields, and the limestone walls as the verdance began to fade from a fallen sky.  The lightshow, in its vibrance bursted through the clouds, and quickly thereafter, darkness filled the void between the trunks and vines, creating a silhouette that tunneled through the jungle all the way to the cave.  Cicadas sang a screeching song, loud, yet oddly pleasing as beasts swung and tiptoed in silence through the canopy, unheard by man.

I saw a thousand glowing beads hidden in the grass and between the leaves like little stars spread out along the jungle floor, perfectly spherical and round in their bioluminescence, the eyes of the spider.

When we reached the entrance, stairs led down to an endless black hole.  After death, the Mayans believed that all spirits journeyed to the caverns, residing in hell before traveling up through the stalactites and stalagmites to the surface where the Ceiba tree sent them on their way through the clouds and onto heaven.

We wandered 200 meters down the slippery set of stairs, and slope of spongy clay, seeing fragments of stalagmites and stalactites peeping out of the cavern walls.  I looked at my feet, following the others as scorpion spiders crawled along the cave floor, hiding in the open cracks and orifices with the crickets, tiny insects, and fruit bats.

I took off my mangled boots and looked at the motionless pool of crystal clear water in front of me.  Blind fish hugged the cavern walls, swimming along the floor of smooth stones.  After a few moments, I mustered up enough courage to dip my feet into the water, breaking the glass surface as ripples traveled off into darkness.  Its cold touch sent chills up my spine as I plunged deeper, wading up to my neck.

Fruit bats hid in the shadows, poking out of dark orifices and cracks, swooping down through the crystal pool of cave water over our heads and into the abyss.  They're the only bats who can't and never could use echolocation.

I stood in what felt like a glacial lake listening to Pablo speak of the jungle, the Mopan Mayas, and ghost stories as the chorus of stalactites echoed in the background, their distant, dripping water resonating throughout the cave like whispers, and in that moment, I realized we were swimming in a cave at night in Belize with two random strangers who we had only known a few hours and this is why I love wandering.  You never know where you'll end up at the end of the day or who you'll meet.