4,000 Years of Civilization in a 40 Year-old Village

January 26, 2010

The dirt road that separates the Nu'uk Cheil Cottages and the Jaguar Preserve is only 10 kilometers, but due to bumpy terrain and unpredictable roadblocks, the ride usually takes 20 minutes each way. During this time, our Mayan guide Julio Saqui kept us entertained with stories about how the area had grown over the last several decades. He told us about Dr. Alan Rabinowitz, the famous environmentalist who established the world's first jaguar sanctuary here in the Stann Creek district. He told us about the British knight who taught English in his Dangriga high school, and helped him master his now impeccable English. He told us about his brother Ernesto, an accomplished conservationist recognized by the Audubon Society and a prominent member of the village council. Ever the modest and humble guide, it took us a while to finally learn anything about Julio himself.

He revealed to us that his long-time dream was to open a Mayan Culture Museum, and after many years of playing with the idea, he finally came up with a working prototype. Before he finally dropped us off at the doorstep of our hotel, he sheepishly asked whether we might be interested in seeing it before our tour the next morning. It's official opening would not be for another few weeks, so we would be getting a “sneak peek.” Deeply moved and honored that he was willing to share such a personal project with us, we accepted.

When we first arrived at the Maya Village Center, we walked past a thatched house on the way to our hotel. It was adjacent to Julio's tour office, so we assumed it must have been his home. Turns out, it was the actual museum. To better demonstrate the Mayan lifestyle, he had recreated a Mayan-styled house, complete with all the goodies you would find inside. As far as he knew, this full-sized model of the Mayan household was the first of its kind. While the lodgings may at first sight seem sparse and modest, a closer inspection (and a little more education) would reflect an economy of style that was beautiful, elegant, resourceful, and richly immersed in a deep tradition.

From top to bottom, the entire construction was handmade from the surrounding forest, whether it was the thatched-leaf roof bound together by dried vines to the woven hammock which swung in the common area. The real treasures, however, were the small details- the homemade broom which sat by the door, the various gourds and sticks which functioned as cooking utensils, even the simple artwork that decorated the walls. At one point we sat down at a table which turned out to be the stump of a mahogany tree – loggers had cannibalized the tree for lumber, but left behind a stump, which Julio was able to use. What was truly remarkable was that the entire home was completely functional in its current state. If he were to have lit the hearth, a typical household could have begun its daily routine with very little trouble. Nothing to move-in or “turn-on” - no electricity, no refrigeration, no running water. Every challenge we could fathom, this house came fully loaded. Even more fascinating, having lived with his British teacher and experiencing the so-called “privileged life,” Julio confessed to us that he still preferred the comfort of a hammock to a bed, and cooking from scratch everyday rather than re-heating food that was prepared before. That's no joke, as we learned that harvesting rice from the chaff, grinding corn for tortillas, and drying out coffee beans were all long, tedious processes. That morning, his wife had generously woken up before sunrise to make us some tasty, homemade chicken burritos for lunch. While it's a lifestyle I don't necessarily envy, it's one that I can't help but marvel at. The values of wasting nothing and using everything, the respect for nature, and perhaps most of all, the undeniable dignity and quiet satisfaction that stems from difficult, often thankless work – things which I feel us “first-worlders” sometimes lose sight of. As one of my friends in Honduras described it, “It's like camping all the time!”

The presentation came full circle, as it made the actual trek through the rainforest all the more meaningful. Now whenever he pointed out a particular species of tree or plant, we could visualize the final product and truly appreciate the immense amount of work that went into making it. If you ever have the opportunity to take an interpretive nature tour with a native guide, take advantage of it. Sure, you can follow the trails on your own and admire the prettiness of all the leaves and flowers, but it's a completely different perspective to experience the forest as the source of somebody's entire livelihood. We got to play with the sap from a rubber tree, smell wild vanilla bean, taste wild plums and nuts, and even learned about medicinal plants which are used as poison ivy treatment, breath freshener, or even birth control. (I'm not sure when I'll necessarily be putting any of this knowledge to practice, but I figure that it doesn't hurt to know).

Between staying in a family-owned cottage and hiking through an immaculately maintained nature preserve, I was impressed with how the entire town came together not only to protect their strong traditions, but to share them with others. I was particularly moved by Julio's Maya Culture Museum, a labor of love and a level of passion we should all strive for. When it comes to locally-owned and operated businesses, you just want to see them succeed. Hopefully, more travelers in Belize will take a chance and visit this truly unique living community – scorpions and all.

A typical Mayan living room/bedroom

The various stages of making coffee

Zack, Sophia, and our Mayan guide Julio

Unexpected Visitor: Roughing it Maya Style

January 25, 2010

On the crowded Southbound bus, we were the only two people who requested a stop at the Maya Center Village. As it turns out, we were the only two people who were visiting the entire town. That suited us just fine – after three days of lounging on the beach, we had wanted an intrepid leg of the trip to improve our travel street cred. Our plan? To march through the Cockscomb Basin Jaguar Preserve. Twice. Once during the day, and again at night, when a different set of crawlies and beasties come out. Because we were arriving in the afternoon, we actually did the evening tour first.

With nothing but our flashlights and our Mopan Mayan guide, we spent two hours hiking through the trail. We crept in silence, straining to listen for the slightest movements –a rustling in the bushes, the whisper of the tree branches above. Although we could not see much, there was ample evidence that we were not alone in the forest. Some of the interesting things we lucky enough to catch were some nocturnal pigeons (just as dumb as their circadian brethren), a kinkajou leaping through the treetops, a dizzying queue of leafcutter ants which stretched for several meters, leftover nutshells from wild boars, and the proverbial jackpot: a fresh pair of jaguar paw prints from an adult female and her young cub. At one point during our walk, our fearless guide suddenly slammed his palm onto a log. He emerged with a coral snake slithering in his hands - yes, a “red and yellow, kill a fellow” snake. That's a level of badassery that deserves its own special category. By the time we returned to our hotel room, we were feeling pretty pumped up. That is, until we noticed an unexpected visitor in our room:


It's one thing to pay to see potentially dangerous animals in their natural habitat, it's another thing entirely to see one suspended inches above where you planned to sleep. Our immediate feelings were a healthy level of shock, followed by a less natural feeling of bemusement. After assessing the situation, Zack ripped off his boot and heaved it at the wall, knocking most of the scorpion off the wall behind the bed (I say “most of,” because various parts of it were still stuck... I leave that to your imagination). We hadn't had 30 seconds to catch our breath when a tail-less scorpion emerged from under the bed, scurrying wildly along the floor. Wide-eyed, I screamed, “IT'S NOT DEAD! IT'S NOT DEAD!” It was headed directly towards me, so I was yelling more to myself than anything. Since I was perched over the bed, I had the most optimal angle. Lifting my hiking boot into the air, I waited until it skittered directly underneath its sole and let gravity do its work. There was a satisfying thud and subsequent crunch. Direct hit. Tentatively I lifted my boot, only to find the thing feebly skittering around, refusing to die. Stubborn bastard. By that point, Zack had retrieved his boot from behind the bed and put an end to it once and for all. My hero.

Needless to say, that night we took the extra time to hang the mosquito net, AKA the “scorpion guard.” Additionally, we safeguarded ourselves by zipping up all our luggage, putting our shoes in bags, etc - not that it would have done much good, considering these scorpions seemed to have Wolverine-level healing powers.


The next morning, we casually mentioned to the owner that a large scorpion had somehow made it into our room. Unfazed, she shrugged and smiled. “It would hurt you, but it wouldn't kill you.” She seemed completely unperturbed by the incident, and it probably at that exact moment that we had our Avatar “You're not in Kansas anymore” moment. At any reputable hotel or guesthouse in the US, a poisonous pest in the room would have triggered a wave of obsequious apologies directly from the manager, empty promises of immediate action, comp'd rooms, free breakfasts, a voucher for a future stay – just some good, old-fashioned American ass-kissing. Here, apparently anything less than death is not a cause for immediate concern. Oddly enough, that experience only added to our stay. It was terrifying, but also kind of charming. Welcome to Belize.