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Sunday: Kicking Back in the Keys
Caye Caulker: The REAL Margaritaville After our incredible adventure of sloshing through the ATM Cave, we all hopped back in the mini-bus and rode out of the jungle and back to the highway. Cecelia and Laurie were heading east to the Belize airport near Belize City to catch a flight back to America that afternoon and I was heading in the same direction, though to Caye Caulker. Everyone else in the group was going the other way, back to San Ignacio to spend another night there and to visit the Mayan ruins at Tikal in Guatemala the next day, so we had arranged for a taxi to meet us at the highway turnoff to the ATM Cave.
Sure enough, the taxi was there waiting for us, so Cecelia, Laurie and I bid everyone farewell and hopped in the cab, bound for the airport. The two women wanted to change out of their wet clothes but knew they wouldn’t have time to do it at the airport, so they decided to sit in the back seat and told the driver and I not to look in the mirror for a few minutes. And so, racing down the Western Highway to the Belize International Airport at 60 miles an hour, they somehow squished and squirmed and changed into dry clothes – don’t ask me how, though, because I wasn’t looking.
I said goodbye to them at the airport and got back in the taxi, then headed to the Caye Caulker water taxi. The water taxi depot is located in downtown Belize City in a pretty rough part of town – so rough, in fact, that some Belizeans in San Ignacio warned me not to visit the area, not even during the day.
The driver dropped me off at the water taxi depot but, being an hour early, I walked (cautiously) around Belize City to check it out. Then shortly before sunset, I walked back to the depot and boarded a 30-foot powerboat with a few dozen other folks and we hit the water for a thrilling (and salty) ride. We pulled up to the dock at Caye Caulker about an hour later, as it was getting dark, and I hopped on a golf cart/taxi for a short ride to my destination, a well-kept triplex on the outskirts of “town” called Picololo.
The owner of Picololo, a Canadian woman in her mid-30s, showed me around my cheerful and pleasant room. It was a delightful place. I quickly unpacked, then walked back into town where I spent an hour strolling around the lively main street, checking out Caye Caulker. “Street” is a loose term because it’s simply a wide, sandy lane lined on both sides with colorful shops and small family-run motels.
A large and boisterous group was gathering in the town center that evening to celebrate the recent victory by the U.D.P presidential candidate and the air was filled with the wonderful aroma of barbeque chicken from several open grills, while lively reggae music blared from loudspeakers. I spent a half-hour walking up the main street to the end of town, then turned around and headed back, stopping at a take-out seafood place to pick up some dinner, which I would eat back at Picololo.
From my brief tour of Caye Caulker that evening I immediately loved it and my affection for the island would only grow over the next three days. It was the personification of the tropical paradise I had always wanted to visit and experience. I’ve been to many tropical areas: Key West in Florida, all over Hawaii, the northeast coast of Australia, the Cook Islands in the South Pacific. But Caye Caulker, more than anyplace I’ve ever been, was the REAL Margaritaville.
Picololo, the triplex where I was staying, was terrific and just my kind of place: small, quiet and away from the semi-craziness of the town. It was owned by a young couple, a Canadian woman who was married to a Belizean, and they lived upstairs while renting out the two one-bedroom units downstairs. No one was occupying the adjacent room so it was very quiet and I slept blissfully that night in my room under the whirring ceiling fan. I got up the next morning, Sunday, and spent much of it on the sunny front porch while keeping their cat company and working on my laptop, processing digital photos I'd taken of my trip. Around mid-day I headed into town and spent much of the afternoon seeing more of Caye Caulker, then capped it off with a dinner of delicious and freshly-caught lobster at a waterfront restaurant.
Only a few thousand folks live on Caye Caulker and very few cars are allowed on the island. Almost everyone here either walks, bikes or rides a golf cart. The name “Caulker” refers to caulking repair work that was performed on sailing ships hundreds of years ago, as they were purposely beached here and laid on their sides, then caulked with the chicle gum that’s so common in Belize. Our lodge in San Ignacio, Chiclero, refers to harvesters of gum from the Chicle tree and the term “chiclets,” which older readers of this website may remember, refers to a type of chewing gum popular back when I was a kid.
Caye Caulker is a much-downscaled version of its sister island, Ambergris Caye (also known as San Pedro), which is about five miles to the north. The two islands, although close in proximity, are world's apart. San Pedro is fancy, high-class, expensive and geared to affluent Americans, while Caye Caulker is modest, down-to-earth and geared much more to native Belizeans. If you want to spend lots of money and hang out with snobby Americans, go to San Pedro, but if you want an authentic tropical Belizean experience, go to Caye Caulker.
Caye Caulker is definitely my kind of island and, in fact, is a place I’ve been looking for my whole life. Could I ever live here? Probably not because it would be like eating ice cream every day: I love it but only want it once in a while. Nevertheless, Caye Caulker is one of the most idyllic places I’ve ever been, giving Aitutaki in the Cook Islands of the South Pacific a run for its money, though with a totally different vibe.
Above left: Shortly after finishing our hike in the ATM Cave, we rendezvoused with a taxi driver who took Cecelia, Laurie and me to the Belize Airport. Above right: These speed bumps are called topes ("toe-pays") and are also known as "sleeping policemen." You find them on the outskirts of just about every town in Belize – and Mexico and Central America, in general. They're a much cheaper speed deterrent than hiring policemen. And they work 24/7.
Above left: Our friendly and talkative taxi driver, a very interesting guy. Above center: A Salvador Dali-esqe selfie at the Belize International Airport. Above right: My boots were still sopping wet, two hours after the hike through ATM Cave.
Above left: Heading through a rather seedy part of Belize City on the way to the water taxi. Above right: The transit depot in Belize City. From here you can take a bus to anywhere in Belize – or in my case, a water taxi out to Caye Caulker.
Above left: Pulling into Caye Caulker an hour after sunset after an exhilarating ride. There are two main ways of getting to Caye Caulker. Flying is faster but more expensive, while the water taxi is slower but much cheaper. I chose Option #2. Above right: After unpacking my bags at Picololo, I walked into Caye Caulker on Saturday evening. The UDP party was having a celebration in town after their candidate had been elected president of Belize a week earlier. I can still smell the wonderful aroma of barbeque chicken from the outdoor grills.
Above left: This is Picololo, my comfortable lodging on Caye Caulker, a quarter-mile from town. It was a perfect place for me. Above right: And my room. It comes complete with a friendly cat who enjoys being petted.
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