There is a superstitious side of me that thinks there's a lot of karma points to be gained in sharing kindness with strangers. Many of you know that I hosted several travelers at my house in Austin (often to the chagrin of my roommate) through a social network called Couchsurfing. It's often difficult to explain the concept of Couchsurfing to others, because most people tend to be cynical and mistrustful of strangers. I will be the first to admit that one has to have a certain level of faith in their fellow man (not to mention a healthy dose of common sense), or the system won't work. Nevertheless, after a LOT of research, I took a chance and started opening up our spare room to visitors from all over, each guest more gracious and unique than the next. I became an active member of the kooky Austin-CS community, some of whom have become close friends and showed me sides of the city I never would have seen otherwise.
After nearly 6 months of hosting, I was very excited to experience the surfer's perspective. A couple weeks before our trip, I was able to arrange a couple nights with the CS ambassador of the Cayo district in Belize. Although his place was located a little outside of the city center, we figured a couple free nights with somebody who really knew the area would make up for it. Little did we know that we would meet Marcus, this out-of-this world character with a huge personality and an even bigger heart. I remember that he always walked around in this pair of faded, whitewashed 80's style jean shorts. They call him the “White Mayan” because he did everything shirtless and barefoot, including our memorable Actun Tunichil Muknal tour (ATM is a ridiculously well-preserved Mayan site that is only accessible by hiking through the jungle, fording 3 rivers, swimming through a foreboding cave entrance, and finally climbing a ladder into the burial chamber). The moment we stepped foot at his place, he greeted us with a suffocating bear hug. That set the precedent for what would be several memorable nights in Belize.
To begin, their place is a freaking tropical paradise on the banks of the Mopan River. They call it the “Parrot Nest Lodge,” and it was just a fun, weird, jungle-living experience.
In the mornings, the place was bustling with the noise and activity you would expect from a busy household – kids getting ready for school, pots clanging in the kitchen, the washing machine whirring at all times. At any given time, you could open your door and see the family dogs hanging out on your porch. Yet at the same time, there was the wonderfully undomesticated aspect – fireflies which would swarm the backyard at night, unpredictable thunderstorms that would leaves us in the dark for hours. A wild agudi (we called it a muskrabbit) had made its unofficial home on the premises, so it became a regular visitor in the mornings. At night, dinner was a communal affair. We all sat at a big wooden table, enjoying Theo's (Marcus' lovely wife) unbelievable homecooked meals and drinking whatever wine or spirits guests were sharing that day. There was a blend of travelers like us who were just passing through, a few long-term guests who couldn't bring themselves to leave, and a few friends of the family who would swing by unexpectedly. Everybody was welcome.
In particular, there was one couple who we grew particularly close to. From what we could glean from the little snippets of their “other life,” they were fairly successful B-list film stars who had decided to buy land in Belize. During the day they would meet their realtor and and visit different properties. Since there are no shuttles that go to and from Parrot Nest (besides Theo dropping off the kids at school), they would often drive us to town on their way to house shopping. I don't know if it was just our age, our resemblance to their own kids (probably more Zack than me), or just natural parenting instinct, but for some reason the took it upon themselves to be our caretakers during the trip. In addition to driving us back and forth, they fawned over us in the way only empty-nesters can. When were around them, we never went hungry or got lost. We joked about them being our “second parents.” To be fair, you can't help but feel a little childish begging for a ride. It's like being 14 years old all over again. As fun as it is to be a rough, free-spirit backpacker, I gotta say, once in a while, it just feels good to be taken care of. I guess kids will always be kids.
P.S. Incidentally, joining Couchsurfing has been one of the best decisions I've ever made. It got me through the rest of Central America, and it has been an immense help in Argentina. I've listed my CS profile as a link, so please feel free to check it out and contact me for more info.
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