Great anticipation surged through my soul as I carefully placed my heavy red backpack on the weathered wooden slats of an old decaying pier, resting just three feet above the rippling blue-green Caribbean waters below. Having carefully repacked my belongings, I had placed all short-term items in my daypack and a small duffle bag. Soon, my bulky backpack would be loaded into a wobbly dingy and shuttled out to the Ragga Queen, an old blue fifty-foot sailboat anchored about two hundred feet offshore. I would not be laying eyes on these precious worldly belongings for most of the next three days.
The warm Tuesday morning sun had poked its head above the horizon less than an hour earlier. With time to spare while the crew finished loading our boat, I returned one last time to my cozy private bedroom at Tina’s Hostel in Caye Caulker. After munching down a delicious cinnamon roll and a chunk of rich moist banana bread, I slowly walked back down the stairs, laid my key on the small round table next to the still-closed office door of the hostel, and began a final relaxed barefoot morning stroll northbound along the shores of this tiny island paradise.
Soon I was stepping off the pier into the same small dingy that had already made numerous round trips to the sailboat. As my weight hit the edge of the wooden seat, the tiny boat rocked unexpectedly to the left, almost causing a potato-salad-filled casserole dish at the back of the boat to spill onto the floor. Quickly regaining my balance, I eagerly took my seat as five more of my shipmates-to-be climbed into the little motor boat. Soon we were putt-putt-putting across the smooth water headed right toward our home for the next three days.
After climbing into the back of the Ragga Queen, I began a quick survey of the cabin and surrounding territory. The space in this fifty-foot sailboat was considerably smaller than I expected. Our group of sixteen (including three crew members) would be quite cozy in our long journey across the salty Caribbean waters—but my heart was filled with trust, and I knew we would get along just fine.
The captain’s perch, at the back of the main cabin, was extremely basic and rustic. In addition to the throttle lever and traditional ship steering wheel, the only navigation instrument was a floating compass, encased in a small globe filled with clear fluid, allowing the compass to float on a level plane no matter which way the boat may be leaning as it tosses and turns in the sometimes-wavy seas.
The under-deck cabin at the rear of the boat—the place where we stowed our daypacks—was damp, humid, and musty. A few of the floor boards were so old and saturated with moisture that the floor actually squished and sagged as I walked across on my bare feet. Our shoes had all been confiscated upon boarding the boat, having been sequestered away in a large black garbage bag for the remainder of our voyage. A tiny marine restroom just off this lower rear cabin contained only a small basic toilet, with a small pump at the side that we pulled up and down for flushing.
The front under-deck cabin contained the kitchen and crew’s quarters. The thirteen of us who were passengers on this adventure voyage would be hanging out mostly in the main captain’s cabin area as well as on top of the boat.
To say I was excited would be an understatement as our little mini-cruise ship pulled up anchor and began to chug away from shore. At 9:15 a.m., the morning was clearly shaping into a beautiful calm and sunny day. With virtually no wind with which to propel our sails, we used our backup motors—motors which were heavily utilized throughout the first two days.
Soon, the small island of Caye Caulker was but a speck on the northern horizon as we sailed southward while staying approximately fifteen miles away from the shores of Belize. While we did hit some small waves, the seas were relatively calm. Our journey for the day took us through sheltered waters, protected by Belize’s barrier reef situated a little further out in the Caribbean.
Tiny islands provided excellent landmarks for navigation. No sooner had we passed one small island before another came into view on the distant horizon. Captain Amado seemed to be using these islands as his navigation visual point of reference. For a great deal of his adult life, Amado worked as a fisherman in these waters rich with fish and conch. He seemed intimately familiar with every island, reef, and shallows. Many times our boat would suddenly shift directions as captain Amado steered around hidden coral that could easily have sunk our small boat if we were to run aground head-on into the sharp ragged marine formations below.
Around mid morning, we dropped anchor in shallow sandy waters just a short distance from a beautiful reef. Soon, the crew began preparing lunch while the thirteen of us were kicking around the shallow blue waters enjoying our first great snorkeling experience. The beautiful reef was remote, largely unvisited by most tourists, with an incredible variety of colorful and plentiful coral. Shortly after watching a large eagle ray gently swim by with his black and white polka dots, I spied a small eel hiding in a tiny cave created by two large rocks. Beautiful fish were everywhere, complemented by barrel sponges, and purple sea fans. I was swimming in an underground aquarium—a fishy fantasy land.
As we returned to the comfort of our boat, Renaissance, a crew member with a nickname of Rasta, handed us each a plate of rice and beans with chicken and potato salad—a delicious meal that had been mostly prepared prior to our leaving Caye Caulker. The remainder of our meals would be prepared by our crew along the way.
Our next stop was a small island called English Caye. This isolated two-acre island is inhabited by a lone older gentleman. For fifty years, this sweet and salty man has faithfully operated a lighthouse on the island.
Once we were safely anchored about two hundred feet from shore, I joyfully leapt from the edge of the boat into the warm refreshing waters below. As soon as I started swimming, I began to wish I had brought my mask and fins. The short swim seemed much longer from the jostling surface of the salty water. Ten minutes later I began to carefully place my feet on the sandy bottom near shore. Portions of the shoreline were quite rough and rocky, making walking a wee bit tricky in places—but there were also plenty of patches of course white sand on which to place our bare feet.
On the island, I watched while Jacob, our other crew member, showed Marty how to break open several coconuts that he had retrieved from a small palm tree. After methodically banging them on nearby hard rocks, the soft exterior soon split to the point that it could be ripped off from the exterior of the harder coconut within. But soon I was off on my own short exploration, casing out the small island, walking barefoot around the entire perimeter.
As I reached the hut where the older man lives, captain Amado was just beginning a haggling session with him, negotiating for the purchase of a 13 pound grouper—a large fish which we would use for dinner. Justin, one of our group, had already caught a good-sized barracuda while fishing from the back of the sailboat, but further fishing efforts had come up unsuccessful, and we still needed more food for tonight’s dinner.
After paying $50 Bz ($25 US) for the large meaty fish, captain Amado walked Carolyn and I over to a pile of older mature coconuts. Utilizing a sharp metal spike sticking out of the ground nearby, Amado quickly removed the fleshy exterior before handing one small coconut to each of us, asking us to carry them during our swim back to the boat. Twenty minutes later, we were again sailing southbound, this time while munching away on delicious raw coconut.
For several additional hours we pushed on toward the south through the hot radiant sun and smooth channel waters. We continued to pass by occasional small jungle-covered islands—many of which appeared to have some form of inhabitants—either permanent residents or perhaps fisherman huts.
Finally by late afternoon, we saw it—a tiny spec of an island on the distant horizon.
“There is our home for the night.” Captain Amado told us as we adjusted our heading for this small island called Rendezvous Caye.
I eagerly studied the skyline as the tiny island gradually seemed to increase in both size and clarity. Having once been fully uninhabited, this petite island of perhaps 50 feet wide and 150 feet long now has a population of one—a middle-aged caretaker named Del Ray who guards and cares for the small facilities while watching over the adjacent protected reef.
A large cruise company occasionally brings day-trip passengers to this deserted island paradise. To make tourism easier, a small pier has been constructed, as well as a two small grass-roofed canopy structures for picnicking and for storing backpacks and snorkel equipment. Del Ray also has a tiny block home, a private living space that from the outside looks barely large enough for a bed, a chair, and a place to cook. Del Ray indicates that he loves living on the island. While having a peaceful paradise on which to live in isolation, he also gets frequent visitors to break up the monotony. He told me that the last time he tried to live in Belize City, he started going crazy. He craved returning to the tiny isolated paradise in the middle of nowhere.
Stopover In Paradise
After dropping anchors, our small sailboat also tied up at the end of the dock of Rendezvous Caye. A quick visual survey of the sand-covered island revealed an incredibly inviting white-sand shoreline with around eight or nine palm trees scattered around the middle. A small open area in the very center of the island appeared to be a great spot for our tents—but I wondered how we could possibly fit them all in such a compact space.
Our first task answered my question relatively easily as the crew helped us quickly set up seven tents. My private tent was the northernmost of the group, facing west, about fifteen feet from the gently pulsing Caribbean waters. There was indeed plenty of space for our tents, even on this extremely tiny island—and we all felt quite at home.
Only minutes passed before I was paddling out into the water wearing my mask and fins, eager to check out the beautiful reef on the east side of the island. Because much of the sharp coral is very fragile and shallow, we had been instructed to first swim out to the south before swimming around on the reef’s outside edge—approaching it from the deeper side. As before, the snorkeling was beautiful, colorful, and memorable.
Later, as I changed back into dry, warm, salt-free clothing, I observed that Renaissance was busy starting a wood fire in a large barbeque grill over on the dock near the boat. First, Amado covered the grill with lobster tails that had been frozen in a cooler before we began our morning journey. Soon, large slabs of freshly filleted grouper and barracuda were roasting over the same grill of glowing hot coals. Portions of the fish appeared to be completely black and charred, cooked to a pulverized crisp, but as Renaissance delivered our plates, the gourmet Caribbean sunset meal turned out to be quite moist and delicious.
The evening was topped off with a campfire on the beach near the south end of the island. Most of the group was drinking rum punch and telling jokes—but I engaged in neither, simply observing and enjoying the incredible peaceful evening in tropical paradise.
Feeling quite tired after a long and eventful day under a hot burning sun, I retired early to my tent, going straight to bed—a bed which consisted of a two-inch foam pad and two sheets. The pleasant evening temperatures were perfect, and I was soon dreaming of a beautiful Caribbean sunrise.
Spiritual Sunrise
As the first glimmer of morning light began its faint glow in the eastern skies, my first instinct was to roll over and pull the pillow back over my head—but once I finished a morning scamper out to the boat for a quick restroom break, I knew that I could not go back to bed. Instead I grabbed my camera and began a slow meditative walk around the tiny island. The gentle rippling water provided the only muffled sounds in an otherwise silent and deeply spiritual experience.
In the faint morning grayness, several miles to the north, the dim flickering lights of a large cruise ship were barely visible as the traveling city slowly made its way toward the distant shores of Belize City almost twenty miles away. The shadow of another cruise ship was faintly visible in the east, this one with no lights to reveal its presence. Soon I noticed that Del Ray was silently raking debris, quietly working his way around the island amidst the incredibly energizing silence. Then he grabbed his small kayak and glided seamlessly out into the ocean, quietly fishing the waters at the edge of the reef in the dim morning glow.
Inhaling my sacred surroundings, I soon stepped my bare feet into the gentle pulsing surf, increasing the intimacy of my personal connection with nature. Feelings of magic surged through my soul as I enjoyed the energy of this precious moment—a moment that gradually became shared with others as they began one-by-one to poke their sleepy heads out of their own tents.
Gentle Corrections
Shortly after 7:00 a.m., we were dining on scrambled eggs, toast, papaya, pineapple, and watermelon—a delicious meal prepared by Renaissance.
Eager to begin our second day voyage, we quickly packed up our tents, loaded the boat, and set off for the next leg of our journey with a bright and early 8:00 a.m. start. Day two was sure to involve more snorkeling stops, fishing, and delicious food—and I was enthusiastic to experience it all.
After an early morning snorkeling stop by a beautiful shallow reef, we continued on for a few additional hours. Finally, we stopped for a swimming and lunch break near a small mangrove-covered island, anchoring in a shallow sandy bottom about three hundred feet off shore.
“Can I swim over to that island?” I asked Jacob.
“I don’t think I would do that.” Jacob quickly advised. “There are probably crocodiles over there, and it would not be a wise thing to go stirring around in their territory.”
That was all I needed to hear. Instead of swimming toward the island, I opted to enjoy a few refreshing minutes of circling the boat in deeper water.
The highlight of my afternoon commenced when I took over at the helm, beginning to steer our boat across the still mostly-calm waters toward our next destination of Tobacco Caye. Turning the wheel at the captain’s helm took some getting used to, as changes in the rudder did not result in immediate directional corrections—but I soon got the hang of it all.
For what felt like hours, I skillfully steered the boat toward our destination, while making frequent but gentle corrections. Once-calm waters were now beginning to get increasingly choppy and rough as Captain Amado guided me into deeper, more open waters. Persistent waves began to continuously toss the boat back and forth, but I stayed confidently at the helm, trusting my instincts, thoroughly enjoying the experience, gently and consistently shifting the bow to point toward Tobacco Caye.
I have always loved the feeling of piloting a boat. As I stood there behind the wheel, my mind drifted back to a series of incredible memories from a week-long family houseboat trip—a trip where I treated my children to a week full of memories on Utah’s beautiful Lake Powell, over a decade ago. As I reflect on the experience, I can still feel the energizing passions of sailing through incredible red rock canyons and camping on remote sandy beaches.
As I write about this profound experience, my mind is now drawn to a spiritual analogy regarding life.
Our life is very much like a sail boat—sometimes tied up at shore, sometimes cruising across smooth and shallow waters, and often tossing and turning in rough wind and waves found in deeper waters. Our attempts at steering often seem futile and unresponsive, as adjusting our internal rudders does not always seem to bring immediate results. If we become impatient and untrusting in our course corrections, it is easy to over steer and end up going in the exact opposite direction.
But with a calm, quiet, and peaceful heart to guide us, and a clear focus on our desired spiritual destination, a continuous series of gentle and gradual corrections is all we need to keep us on course, to guide us through life’s often-frightening rough waters. Skills such as learning to trust our intuitions and instincts, learning to remember who we are, and developing the courage to go forward into the unknown—these skills will easily guide us through any storm. In the end we will realize that there was never anything to fear at all—that our own thoughts created the winds and the waves, and that our true divine nature has never been threatened in any way.
A Storm To Remember
As we drew near to our destination of Tobacco Caye, I reluctantly handed the helm back to captain Amado. I knew his experience and skills were very much needed as he dropped both anchors at the front of the boat, and then gradually swung the rear of the boat around so that it was facing the shore. Finally, Amado carefully guided the back ten feet of our sailboat right up alongside the edge of the narrow pier while the crew hurriedly tied us off for the night.
Tobacco Caye is a small five-acre island owned by five Belizean families. A casual ten minute stroll was plenty of time to slowly walk around the entire perimeter of the island.
While the island has a resort flavor, being mostly covered in guest housing facilities and even a few small restaurants, it is also very tiny and intimate. There are no towering high rise hotels or all-inclusive resorts. The guest homes are small, older, rustic, and very inviting. With no source of fresh water, residents drink bottled water and tediously capture rain waters to use for washing and showers. Using rain gutters on their roof, the runoff is channeled into large water storage tanks—tanks that are very similar to those found on the roof of most homes throughout Cozumel and the Yucatan.
Our routine on Tobacco Caye began much the same as it had been on Rendezvous Caye. After setting up our tents, I was soon off with my snorkel and fins, exploring the reefs at the south end of the island. While much of the water was cloudy, having been stirred up from boats and a slight wind, I found some beautiful clear water near the southeast end of the island. When another large eagle ray swam by, I excitedly chased it for several minutes, intently observing its graceful wing motion while it glided gently through blue-green waters surrounding the reef.
Feeling a wind picking up, I soon headed back to shore—a decision that proved to be a wise one. By the time I changed into dry comfortable clothes, the wind had picked up considerable strength. By early evening the winds were beginning to bend palm trees, and blowing sand began to pile up in drifts just about everywhere.
Unlike most storms that I have experienced, this one had no pulsing, gusting winds. Instead, these strong and steady never-ending winds felt as if I were sticking my head out a car window while driving continuously at a speed of at least fifty miles per hour. The intensity of these north-westerly winds was fierce, and relentless—never taking any breaks, not even for a brief moment.
With no place in which to seek cover other than our boat or our tents, the sixteen of us crowded tightly into the main cabin of our sailboat while enjoying our second night of fine cuisine—a delicious meal that was topped off by a little bit of barracuda that one of my shipmates managed to catch earlier in the day.
During dinner, in an attempt to keep the boat from banging its sides into the stiff wooden pier, Captain Amado loosened the ropes holding us tightly to the dock. By 8:00 p.m., as people began to express a desire to go ashore, we soon realized that the winds were so stiff that it was almost impossible to pull the boat back closer to the dock—and the five foot gap of rough splashing water did not appear to be a friendly hurdle across which to jump.
Finally, with the straining muscles of four or five men, the boat was momentarily pulled close enough to the dock for us to jump off. I quickly ran down the pier toward shore in an effort to avoid the random water spray that came forcefully splashing up through the wooden planks atop the walkway.
I watched from shore as Captain Amado guided his crew in shifting the boat such that the bow faced directly into the wind. Then the boat’s right side was tied off about ten feet from the dock. Renaissance even swam out in the turbulent waters to move one of the anchors over to the left side in an effort to hold the boat firm in its present location.
Even though a feeling of peace permeated my soul, I found myself feeling extremely curious as to whether our boat would be able to safely hold its position throughout the long windy night.
Some or my shipmates attempted to hold an outdoor drinking party at a partially sheltered picnic table—but I was not interested in drinking. The noise of the wind made it next to impossible to carry on a conversation, and tiny grains of sand were constantly sandblasting into my face. By 8:30 p.m., I was safely sequestered in my tent, watching from inside as the fierce wind pushed the west end of my tent down toward the ground.
Soon, my earphones were stuffed into my ears and the volume of my IPOD was cranked up loud as I calmly and casually laid back on my comfortable foam pad. I was thoroughly enjoying the energy of this wild and untamed storm.
As I began randomly listening to songs, I came across one that I had never heard before—a song sung by Trace Adkins—a song titled “Untamed.” While not every word rang true with my heart, the overall message was perfect—not only for the weather that I was presently experiencing, but also for the incredible life journey on which I am passionately engaged.
Untamed
Sung by: Trace Adkins
Album: Comin’ On Strong
Songwriters: Monty Criswell and George Teren
I like to be a little wild
I like to raise a little Cain
I wanna keep it on the edge
And let my restless heart remain
Untamed
(Chorus)
I’m gonna live the way I love
And love the way I live
Walk the highest wire
And stay out on a limb
Away from any fences
Free of any chains
Unbound, untied, untamed
I only want what I’ve got comin’
I’ll take the credit and the blame
Even when I’m bent and broken
I pray my spirit always stays
Untamed
(Repeat Chorus)
I take no map, I make no plans
I’ve let go of the reins
I have no rules, I feel no fear
No restraints
Untamed
Away from any fences
Free of any chains
Unbound, untied, untamed
Yes, I will never again allow my heart to be tamed by the logical well-meaning voices of our traditional illusory world. My heart demands that I dance with divinity, walking on the edge, balancing on the high wires, avoiding restrictive fences, free from chains, unbound, untied, and untamed.
Increasingly, over the past few months, I am learning to give up the reins of control, gradually becoming more comfortable with not making plans, not following any map, and pushing aside all fears. The passions of my soul insist that I allow my heart to be my guide, and that I fully surrender to my inner voices as my compass.
The Aftermath
“Be sure to look up at the trees as you walk around at night.” Jacob had warned me. “This wind will surely cause coconuts to fall, and trust me Brenda, you don’t want to be at the receiving end of a falling coconut.”
As I made repeated trips to and from the beach-side restroom throughout Wednesday night, I frequently looked skyward while feeling the sting of blowing sand blasting against my tender cheeks. The stormy winds continued to pound the shoreline with their incredible energy throughout the entire night, only beginning to calm down ever slightly right before daybreak.
As an early morning glow began to light the thickly-clouded sky, I was the first of our group to energetically exit my tent. Only seconds later, I returned to retrieve my camera. There were no sunrises to capture, but the aftermath of the storm was fascinating.
Dried palm branches were scattered everywhere, joined by the occasional fallen coconuts. One particularly large coconut had fallen right at the rear of one of the tents. As I glanced slightly upwind and a little to the south, I noticed a man with a machete chopping away at the top of a heavy coconut-laden treetop that was now conspicuously lying on the ground.
As I drew nearer to see what he was doing, I noticed that the trunk of a tall coconut tree between two beach cabins had completely snapped. The top-heavy tree had come crashing down sometime during the night, only about one hundred feet from our tents.
Soon, a second man pushing a wheelbarrow came into view—and then a third machete carrying man. Two focused on dismantling the fallen tree while the other scurried around picking up fallen branches and coconuts in his wheelbarrow. These men worked in almost complete silence under the still faintly gray morning glow—seeming eager to clean up the debris before the rest of the island even climbed out of bed.
Thirty minutes later, a large fire was burning along the waters of the eastern shore. After pouring gasoline on a pile of stacked fallen branches and other debris, the man with a wheelbarrow tossed a match onto what soon became a roaring bonfire. Any burning ashes that managed to rise into the air were quickly snatched up and carried out to sea by the steady, but not-quite-as-strong northwesterly breezes.
By 7:00 a.m., the island was mostly cleared of all debris, and the fallen tree was nothing more than a broken tree trunk lying on the ground. While the winds had died down somewhat, they were still strong enough that Jacob had a very difficult time pulling the sailboat—which was still safe and secure—back closer to the dock.
“If you get onboard now, you will have to stay on for a while.” Jacob told me. “It is too difficult to keep pulling the boat back and forth.”
I opted to enjoy another peaceful hour on shore, providing me with a delightful opportunity to have an early morning conversation with Carolyn—my friend from Caye Caulker. Just the day before, she had begun to encroach on my protected “prime directive” territory, asking questions about my children, telling me how great I looked for having given birth to six children.
Early Thursday morning, as we sat at a small picnic table overlooking the boat, Carolyn asked me how soon and how much I had worked outside the home when my children were young. Following my intuition, feeling completely safe, I took advantage of this peaceful opportunity.
“You know, Carolyn,” I began, “there are some things about my past that I have not yet shared with you. I am transgendered. While I would love to be able to say that I am my children’s mother, I am not. I am their father. I transitioned and had surgery about thirteen years ago.”
A beautiful and delightful conversation subsequently ensued, and I was thrilled for the peaceful experience of being able to be my true and genuine self around friends—knowing that I no longer need to hide what I once thought to be deep dark secrets of shame.
The Final Voyage
By 8:00 a.m., the winds had subsided just enough, allowing Jacob to securely tie the boat up against the dock. Soon, our entire group was again tightly huddled inside of the main cabin while enjoying yet-another delightful breakfast on the final day of our three-day journey. Within an hour, our tents and sleeping pads were stowed away. As we untied the ropes and began to maneuver out to see, a quick glance back at the shoreline revealed no evidence of our ever having set foot on that beautiful island of Tobacco Caye.
Our first stop of the day turned out to be a non-stop. As Captain Amado pulled along side the shallow reef of cloudy churned-up waters, none of us felt warm enough to want to jump into the bubbling windy spray for a round of snorkeling—so we kept going with a promise that we would look for another spot to snorkel before entering the main channel closer to Belize.
A couple of hours later, as we found that much awaited replacement spot, most of my shipmates were still quite cold and hesitant to get wet—but I jumped in quickly, followed by Marty and Carolyn. I was going to help them dive for Conch Shells, but after only a few minutes into my swim, my foot was beginning to hurt. Anyway, the waters were still quite churned up and cloudy, obscuring visibility in the beautiful reefs.
As I climbed back onto the boat, I noticed that the upper edge of the former burn on my mostly-healed foot was slightly pealing and red. Wearing flippers during repeated diving and snorkeling outings had taken its toll on my softening scabs, and my instincts told me it was time to take a flipper-break. While my foot continues to heal quite nicely, I still have a small thin scab covering an area about three-eights of an inch by three-fourths of an inch—an area which I continue to carefully babysit.
Conch shells in this area were quite sparsely situated on the ocean floor, but Carolyn managed to find two of them, proudly returning to the boat one conch at a time. Captain Amado announced that her catch would be the main ingredient in a Ceviche that he would make during the final segment of our voyage.
By now, the winds had died down even further, making them perfect for sailing. Soon the motors were entirely quiet as we began the final few hours of our voyage—a journey that would take us into the inner channel, closer to the shores of Belize, before continuing southbound toward the small beach-side peninsula town of Placencia.
Almost immediately, Amado asked if I wanted to captain the boat for the rest of the journey. I eagerly replied “Yes” as I hopped up onto his little bench and took over at the helm.
Minutes later, Amado was back at the rear of the boat, cutting open the large conch shells for everyone else to see. I was only able to see glimpses of the process as I frequently turned around to catch a peek through the legs of other bystanders.
For the next hour, I steered the sailboat between a series of small islands, while gradually leaving the outer channel as we headed toward the shores of Belize. As we quietly cruised westward, Amado occasionally poked his head out of the kitchen to check our location, always giving me a smiling thumbs-up.
Finally, as we reached the large inner deep-water channel next to the mainland, the winds died down to the point where we needed to restart the engines. Surprisingly, Amado put me on a course of 250 degrees, and told me Placencia was two hours away. Then, in an act of complete confidence, he promptly curled up on a nearby bench and drifted off to sleep.
I was honored by the confidence Amado showed in me, and I totally understood his need for sleep. In just a few short hours, Amado and his crew would begin an all night twelve-hour return cruise back to Caye Caulker—with their goal being to have the boat back in time for a new crew to take a different group out on yet another sailing adventure early on Friday morning.
A sense of sadness tugged at my heart strings as the small village of Placencia came into view. Our incredible journey would soon be over—yet I was pleasantly warmed by the thought that a new journey was about to begin.
Placencia Pleasures
A feeling of nostalgia filled my heart as we gathered on the boat for group photos, hugged the crew, and walked down the rickety pier toward the shore of Placencia. With a heavy backpack once again strapped to my shoulders, this short journey required considerable focus, as many boards in the pier were either weak, or completely missing—creating the semblance of a small obstacle course.
Within seconds of hitting the sandy shore, our group of thirteen immediately scattered into small groups as we scoured the small beach town looking for economical places to spend the night.
I soon learned that the town has only one street, but this street is not where all of the guest houses reside. Closer to the beach, the main thoroughfare running north-south through town is a narrow concrete sidewalk, lined on both sides by small hotels and guest houses, with a few small restaurants, bakeries, and souvenir shops filling in the gaps.
I stuck with Marty and Carolyn as we hurriedly walked northward along the sidewalk, looking for a budget guest house called “Lydias.” As we talked to the woman in charge, we soon learned that she had only one room available—a tiny bedroom containing both a double bed and a single bed—but the room was only available for one night. We soon learned that much of the town was already near full capacity.
Not wanting to be left high-and-dry, Marty, Carolyn, and I reluctantly decided to grab the one available room. We would share for one night while we each looked for more suitable private accommodations that would work for the remainder of our visit in Placencia.
Soon, many of the rest of our group were scampering down the sidewalk in front of Lydia’s, still having had no luck in finding places of their own. The experience of helping each other find rooms to stay was actually very bonding for our group, and soon, every one of us had a place for the night—although many of them had to pay more than they had hoped for their rooms.
Having only one room key between us, Marty, Carolyn, and I hung out together for Thursday evening. It was not long before we were eating dinner in a small family-owned restaurant called “BJ’s”.
While enjoying pre-dinner conversation, I looked at Carolyn and asked. “Should I share with Marty what I told you this morning?”
“Sure” was her casual reply. Soon my brief life story slid easily off my tongue for the second time in a single day.
The food was delicious, hand prepared from scratch. But the restaurant turned out to have an even bigger impact on my stay. As it turns out, there was a large room available for rent just upstairs—a 20 x 24 foot room with three beds and a private bath, all for $25 US. Soon, I had my little apartment reserved for my next few nights in Placencia, while Marty and Carolyn opted to continue looking for a budget place with kitchen facilities.
Placencia is a sleepy little village situated at the south end of a narrow peninsula about three-fourths of the way down the coast of Belize. The large crescent-moon shaped beach of this tiny water-front town is covered in beautiful, but coarse, white sand. Even though the shores are lined with tiny guest houses, the beaches are remarkably free of any tourist feel. And nearly every person I have met has been extremely friendly—some perhaps even a little too friendly.
Raf Jacob
Friday morning, after dropping off some much needed laundry, I began a short exploration of Placencia’s beautiful beach.
To my surprise, I soon bumped into Nick and Kim, a young couple who had been on the sailing adventure with me. During the three day cruise, we had never had occasion to sit down for any type of intimate conversation, so I was quite surprised by how quickly our unexpected discussion reached the depths of soul-searching spirituality. Within just a few minutes we were sharing details of our similar spiritual paths and our life passions. Our conversation might have gone on for hours had they not needed to check out of their hotel prior to catching a northbound bus.
Not even five minutes later, as I continued my peaceful and casual stroll along the sandy shoreline, a dread-lock-clad Garifuna man, perhaps in his upper thirties, approached me on the beach, asking if I would like to purchase one of his Punta-Rock CDs.
Gracefully, I told him “No” as I attempted to continue my silent stroll in solo fashion.
“Hold these CD’s for me while I run quickly over to give this CD to that couple over there.” He asked me without waiting for an answer.
“No,” I replied, “I don’t want to hold your CD’s for you.
“I’ll be right back,” he called out to me, as he started toward the other couple. We can walk and talk together and I will show you around the area.”
As I tried to figure out how to gracefully bow out of this unwanted offer, a little Jedi-voice feeling inside told me “Don’t run away from this man, just flow with it, see what happens, allow it to unfold naturally.”
Soon, Raf Jacob (not his real name) was walking beside me, talking up a storm. As he encouraged me to walk with him further up the shoreline, I told him, “No, I don’t have time for that. I need to pick up my laundry in a while, and I still need to get some lunch.”
“I’ll show you where to get a great lunch for an incredible price.” He then told me as he shifted his pressure-filled approach.
Soon, we had backtracked down the sidewalk to a small shack where a local woman was selling rice and beans with fish. We both purchased a to-go meal.
“C’mon,” he told me, “I will show you a great spot on the beach where we can sit while eating our food.”
A few minutes later, we were sitting in the white sand under the cool shade of a group of low-lying palm trees. Raf Jacob was right about one thing. The king fish was delicious, and the rice and beans were very moist—the best I have eaten in all of Belize.
As we sat side by side, shoulder to shoulder under that beautiful palm tree, I struggled to find a graceful loving way to tell Raf Jacob that I am not interested in spending the day with him. Soon the opportunity presented itself.
“Excuse me while I smoke my Wxxxxx,” Raf Jacob interjected out of nowhere.
“Smoke your what?” I replied, as I hadn’t understood the strange “W” word that he used.
Soon I realized that Raf Jacob was about to smoke Marijuana beside me—something that I would have no part of.
“I’m not comfortable being around that.” I told Raf Jacob after a brief pause. “I think maybe it is time for me to leave.”
“No, you stay and enjoy your meal … I will leave,” he told me coldly, no longer being friendly in even the slightest way.
Soon Raf Jacob began walking away, acting odd and huffy with me. Seconds later, he turned around, came back, giving me a brief hug and kiss on the cheek.
“It was nice meeting you.” I told him, as he turned and walked away for the second time.
How I wished I had simply told him something like, “Raf Jacob, I have no judgment whatsoever toward you, and you are definitely free to smoke whatever you want, but I choose to not engage in these activities for myself.”
I also wish I had told him earlier on that, “While I enjoy visiting with people, I am in no way interested in partnering up with you or anyone else, for any reason.”
The whole event was a huge learning experience. While some might say that I was in grave danger, I know that I was always in deep contact with my heart throughout the entire unfolding process. There was never a moment when I was not accompanied by a peaceful knowing that all was well, that I was protected, and that the experience would be valuable—facts that all turned out to be true.
Several times in the past two days, Raf Jacob and I have crossed paths in this tiny village. As expected, he has, for the most part, completely ignored me, as I have him.
As I encounter future “Raf Jacob’s” along my journey, I know that I am now much more prepared to gracefully and lovingly bow out of such awkward situations.
Roommate Compliments
Yesterday afternoon, after spending most of my Saturday morning with my laptop while writing on the beach, I began to feel especially tired. Soon, I decided to lie down for a few minutes, hoping to catch a brief nap—a nap that quickly consumed over three hours.
“Tap, Tap.” I heard what sounded like muffled knocks on my door—but I was not quite sure.
“Brenda, are you there.” Someone called out.
As I groggily opened the front door of my little apartment, I was surprised to discover Marty standing just outside.
“Carolyn and I stayed at Elouise’s Guest house last night, and we simply did not feel comfortable there.” Marty began. “We can get back into Lydia’s tomorrow night, but we were wondering if we could still take you up on your offer to share your room for tonight?”
“Of course,” I eagerly replied.
I knew it would be fun having roommates for another evening—and if I didn’t get around to finish my writing, there was always another day in which to do it.
Were it not for Marty and Carolyn, I would probably have been in bed last night before 8:30 p.m., but instead, we went for a delightful nighttime walk along the beautiful Placencia shoreline. Carolyn and I talked and walked barefoot in the shallow surf while Marty and another friend walked ahead on drier sand. The full moon above cast a bright and beautiful glow on the white sand, now illuminated all around us. The evening was both energizing and relaxing—the perfect way to end a perfect Saturday.
Just before turning off the lights last night, Carolyn looked over at my bed and said, “You know Brenda, when Marty and I began this trip we never expected that we would share a room with anyone. There are very few people with whom we would even feel comfortable sharing a room.”
As I drifted off to sleep amidst the noisy band playing at a nearby nightclub, I could not think of a higher compliment than the one that Carolyn had just paid me.
Untamed
While I reflect back on the past few days, my energized heart is clear with one powerful message. Now is indeed the time in my life to continue removing all artificial fences, to walk on the edge, to plow right through all of my fears, and to access and liberate all of the deep yearnings within my soul.
Life has a way of taming us, domesticating us, convincing us that the voices in our hearts do not really matter, telling us that we have to fit in, be conventional, do things they way they are supposed to be done—the way things have always been done.
It is time to be untied, unbound, and untamed.
Copyright © 2010 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved