Easter Vacation

Easter Vacation began two Fridays ago (I wish I was saying only one Friday ago). Our principal decided on a whim on Thursday to make Friday a half day and allow the student’s to wear their “rags” (street cloths) to school. Usually I get frustrated when there are changes like these in the schedule since I usually have my lessons and the periods I teach all mapped out. However, I already anticipated that I would not be able to get anything done given that it is impossible to keep students’ attention the day before a two week break, let alone during regular classes, and that whenever students are not in their uniforms chaos ensues. For some reason students think that rags days are sanctioned opportunities by teachers for them to stroll on the veranda and not do any work (though some of them have this attitude just about everyday). A couple times I tried to control this disorder and would force myself to get through my lessons. However, I would always be frustrated and annoyed in the end. For that reason, I allowed my students to work on the two homework assignments I gave them during classes on Friday.

One of the assignments involved tracing several maps of North America and the Caribbean, labeling the countries, and assembling the maps into an atlas. Most students have never bought their Caribbean Atlas, one of the books they were required to buy at the beginning of the year (that's another thing, high schools students have to buy their textbooks, the schools don't provide them), so I thought it would be a good idea to have them make their own. For math I gave each of my classes a load of problems to solve which drew on things they learned from the beginning of the year. I can't believe I did this but as I was handing out the assignment, during which students objected to doing any of them and made exclamations of "Madas Sir" (expression frustration and anger), I actually gave them the classic and ridiculous speech that was given to me by my teachers.... “When I was in High School I hated when teachers gave us assignments over holidays. But I realize now they were doing it for my own good.” I also told myself that if I'd ever become a teacher I'd let my students call me by my first name. That never happened.

Vacation started off very well. I brewed my third batch of beer. It’s now fermenting in a water cooler jug and am hoping that it does not lack carbonation or taste like vinegar like the previous two batches did. I think my roommates have lost faith in me. This time I used ingredients sent to me by my Godmother whose son just opened up a brewery and spent an two hours sanitizing the kitchen and the utensils I’d be using beforehand. So I have high hopes.

On Thursday I went to San Ignacio (this time by car) for a couple of days. Erin one of the volunteers down in PG is getting married this July. Her fiancée came down to visit her for Easter, rented a car, and was kind enough to drive some of us out into Cayo. On Friday we went on the Ix Chel Medicine Trail. The trail was started by a doctor from the States who came down to Belize during the 80s to study with one of the few remaining Maya Shaman (Bush Doctors), Elijo Panti`. She created a hiking trail out in Cayo named after Ix Chel the Mayan Goddess of Healing. Along the trail trees and plants were identified and labeled for their medicinal purposes. Our guide pointed out the Allspice Tree, whose berries that when mixed with beef fat "make an excellent remedy for foot fungus," and the Poisonwood Tree, which when touched can cause one "terrific suffering" if he does not immediately rub the area with the bark of the Gumbolimbo Tree which usually grows next to it. I also learned that chewing on the bark of the Cockspur can delay the venom from a snakebite from entering the bloodstream. I was both happy to hear this but at the same time became a increasingly anxious as the guide proceeded to talk about the Tommygoff (also known as the fer-de-lance). The Tommygoff is Belize's most deadly and aggressive snake. Its venom is powerful enough to kill a man if he is not treated within twenty minutes. Surprisingly, I have not yet seen a snake in the jungle and hope it stays that way.

Later on that day, being Good Friday, I attended mass. Mass was the same mass that is said in all Churches on Good Friday. However, unlike being read the Stations of the Cross like most Churches do back at home, individual shrines for each station were set outside parishioners homes throughout the town. After mass the priest asked for everyone to form a line outside, the pallbearers of a statue of Jesus in a glass casket in the front, followed by the men of the parish, and then the women. A truck with a megaphone attached to its roof led the way augmenting the voices of the group of people singing Lenten songs in the front. Everyone (about 3-400 of us) walked in silence pausing at each station as one of the leaders read a short description in either in English or Spanish. The walk lasted three hours. We walked from the church to halfway up the hill that culminates in the ancient Mayan ruins of Cahel Pech, through the town which was completely hushed as well, and across the Hawksworth Bridge which three weeks beforehand was lined with hundred of cheering onlookers for the Ruta Maya.

I came back to Belize City Saturday evening. I finished Harry Potter Four on the bus ride back. My roommates and I spent 10% of our stipend a couple months ago to see Harry Potter and the Goblets of Fire in Belize's only movie theater. Afterwards, I read the first book and have been hooked to the series ever since. I realized how obsessed I became with the books after I told Erin that I wish I could create a Patronus for mosquitoes while hiking. A Patronus is a spell used to ward off dementors—hooded creatures that suck the happiness out of anyone who comes in contact with them. I was hoping I could do the same for tiny blood-sucking creatures as well.

Most of us were in Belize City for Easter. A couple of my roommates had friends visiting which made the atmosphere even more festive. That morning we attended mass at St. Martin's. Most Belizeans go to Placencia or to one of the cayes for Easter so it was a smaller crowd than I expected. Later on I went to one of my student’s Church for lunch. Though she invited me personally I think she didn't know how to act around me outside of school so ended up ignoring me most of the time. However, I finally called her out on her behavior and she was fine after that. Afterwards, I went home and started baking the ham. I was hoping that somebody would cook us a traditional Belizean Easter meal, stewed iguana and hicatee (sea turtle), but were given a ham by the Jesuits at St. John's instead. I cooked it in a coke/rum/brown sugar/pineapple glaze trying to give it a Caribbean feel with the rum and pineapple. Along with the ham we ate smoked grilled salmon which Dorothy's mom vacuumed packed and smuggled through customs when she visited a couple weeks ago.

Since Sunday I've been spending my day lesson planning. It’s my hope to finish all my lessons for the rest of the year before the weekend.

If anyone wants me to write about anything specifically please tell me. There are many things that feel very routine but would be glad to tell you about them if your interested. Also the part about only writing to me by hand in my first entry was sarcasm. I hope people realize that. Many times I'll say something sarcastically which will be mistaken for seriousness. I love hearing from everyone and appreciate anything that is sent to me in any form.

RUTA MAYA Part II

DAY TWO

We set our alarms for 5:30 which would give us enough time to eat and get ready before the start at 6:30. However, someone was kind enough to honk the horn of his truck every fifteen minutes starting at 4:30 to ensure everyone had ample time to get ready and scream how many more minutes until "breakfast is serving." This happened for the next two days. By the last day all the rowers were pissed at this guy and cursed him off in unison from their tents in the darkness.

About eight hours into the second day we were extremely exhausted and the last thing we wanted to happen was to tip over to prolong our arrival in Burmudian Landing. There were about a dozen kids swimming in the river. A couple of them started to swim to us. One of them grabbed hold to the stern and almost making us tip. I was hoping that Chris would smack him across the face with his paddle but he didn’t. I guess he is a lot more patient than I am.

Some ways down the river, people were standing on a hill near the shore and were throwing something at the boat ahead of us. When we got closer we realized that they weren't throwing water or food (at least not with the intention of being eaten) like a lot of spectators did but were throwing what seemed to be rocks. One of them hit the Hugh G. Rection and all of the sudden amidst the peaceful buzz of the flies, the chirping of the birds and the howls of monkeys one of the Brits roared in a heavy accent, "Stop throwing plums you f***ing wankers." Belizean plums aren’t the one’s we’re used to. They are picked while they are still hard and are eaten with salt. Having one of them chucked at you from a distance would definitely hurt. I thought it was pretty funny.

Later on we came across the Hugh G. Rection again. One of the Brits asked, "Are we lost?" I gave her a perplexed look and was about to say, "How the hell can anyone get lost on a straight river" but realized she meant "are we 'last?'" My response, "what the hell do you think, of course we're last!"

By the end of the second day there were blisters all over my ass and what appeared to be an open sore on one of the cheeks (sorry for the explicit details). Adam's was worse. We couldn't sit let alone stretch. When you're in the boat, you really don't have the liberty of choosing different sitting positions and when you do you must do so with caution so not to upset the balance. As a result, the weight of your upper body is concentrated on your bottom for an extended period of time. Having to exert these muscles to correct the balance when you tilt only exacerbates and irritates this already sensitive area. On the third day I got it checked out at first aid. I felt embarrassed but the last thing I wanted was to get an infection in that area.

One of the guys on the crew team at Holy Cross got an infection in this area freshman year. He had to have surgery to remove the infected parts and carry a pillow around with him wherever he went. I could only imagine what it'd be like having to explain to my students who are extremely blunt and already try to find ways to mock their teachers why I couldn’t sit down. So I got it cleaned up, padded and patched. They put a very thick piece of tape on it (which almost seemed like the material they make a cast out of) so the bandage wouldn't fall out. The worse part was taking it off after the race on the fourth day. I knew it would be easiest to pull it off with one fast yank. However whenever I tried, the adhesive was so strong that I didn’t have enough strength to do so. I had to yank it in five second intervals and then wait ten minutes to gather enough courage to do it again. It finally came off after an hour and a half.

DAY THREE

On the third day we had a great start and were actually rowing in the middle of the pack. However two hours into the race the fat girl boat snuck up from behind and bumped us into the pricker bushes on the side of the river. The boat tipped causing water to flood the hull and then started to sink. We were able to pull the boat out of the bush but weren't able to flip it over because the water was too deep to stand and the side of the river was lined with thorny plants. So we had to wait about ten minutes for the safety boat which stayed behind the last boat to reach us. They were able to pull the canoe over their boat, empty the water, turn it over, and send us on our way. Though we were able to catch some of the Japanese people and the fatties we weren't able to go back to our previous position.

DAY FOUR

The last day was the shortest of all four. It was only twenty miles and took between four and five hours. Two thirds of the way we approached the mouth of the river which emptied into the sea. But we had to make a sharp right hand turn into Haulover Creek, a tributary of the Belize River, which would take us into the heart of Belize City and to the finish line. Living in Belize City, I'm used to seeing the end of the Creek— a wide waterway surrounded by urban infrastructure. I was surprised to see that the majority was in fact a narrow jungle passageway covered by a cathedral-like canopy of green tropical plants of all shapes and sizes that vines that plummeted into the river and wrapped themselves around trees whose roots extended beyond the soil into the middle of the stream. It was quite a sight.

After an hour of rowing the canopy ended and the creek opened up. We were on the outskirts of the city and rowing through the Back-of-Martin's area (one of the poorer section and most densest sections of the city). It was Baron Bliss day, a holiday that commemorates a man who lived in his yacht off of Belize City and never touched Belizean soil his entire life. He left his entire inheritance to the country, which was enough money to build several libraries, a museum, and a cultural center. Every year Belizeans celebrate his generosity. On this day there was no school. People were blaring Punta from five foot speakers while the aroma of barbequed chicken filled the air. Many of my roommates love Punta but I find it extremely irritating. The fast repeating pulse of drums and horn-like instruments makes it sounds like your listening to a skipping CD. However, hearing this familiar sound and a couple of my student's screaming my name was a great welcome into Belize City.

We were approaching familiar sights—the towers of the flour mill, Save-U shopping center, the Belize City Center and finally Hawksworth Bridge's counterpart, the Belcan Bridge. We paddled under the overpass and docked on the side of the Belize City Center which was filled with food stands and a myriad of rowers, tourists, and Belizeans who came to celebrate the end of the race and Baron Bliss. We stepped out of the boat for the final time, lifted it out of the water, put through the back door of the school bus and went home.

Some of you may still be wondering why anyone would do something like this. After all, it was a long, grueling, and frustrating race, we placed fourth to last, and we rowed in "sorriest piece of shit on the river."

Despite these struggles, participating in such a race or doing something that challenges the body and spirit, I believe, helps one appreciate the amazing things human faculties can accomplish and develops a reverence for how one can derive immense satisfaction, joy, and entertainment, from them. Though I wrote a simple chronology of the race, it is also a description of what happens, what is laughed at, what occurs to your body, and what you'll treasure and hate most about rowing one-hundred and seventy miles instead of doing so in a more convenient and less perilous way.

I'm not trying to condemn modern conveniences or call a retreat for things people did in the past but think that it is important to recognize the exhilaration one feels when using his natural abilities to arrive at a certain place or complete a certain task. As human beings we are given the gift of receiving different sensation from whatever we come in contact with, both pleasing and disagreeable. During the Ruta, I was able to measure our journey not in miles but in touch (through our bodily reaction to the physical demands of exerting it for an extended period of time), in sight (being aware of the currents and the shape of the river for thirty hours— four miles per hour at a time— and in the passing of day to night), and finally in sense of movement (being constantly aware of how to tame our canoe to the forces of nature). The fatigue and the aches of a bruised ass, sore muscles, and a sun burnt scalp, though irritating, were not dampers on the race and should not be considered deterrents or discouraging factors for anyone to try something challenging. They were a fundamental part of the journey. They are testaments to the distance we traveled and are the byproducts of the satisfaction of being able to row the width of Belize.









RUTA MAYA HOME PAGE

Check the times for “My [and your] Favorite Team” on http://www.larutamayabelize.com/rutamaya/startpage.htm


TOP: Me, Adam, Chris (approaching Belcan)
BOTTOM: Starting line at Bermudian Landing
(Pictures taken by Erin)

LA RUTA MAYA Part I

The area flanked by the Hawksworth and Belcan bridges would be our challenge—one hundred and seventy miles of water bordered by dense jungle. One may point out that it only takes a car two hours to travel this distance but would take us four days to complete, thirty-one hours and twenty five minutes of pure rowing, three nights of camping, medical tape, bruises and damaged spirits. So why would anyone do it?


The Ruta Maya is a canoe race on the Macal and Belize Rivers. It starts beneath the Hawksworth Bridge in San Ignazio, a town near Belize's Western border, and ends at the Belcan Bridge, one hundred and seventy miles later in Belize City. The race is broken into four day segments: 44 miles on the first, 60 miles on the second, 35 on the third, and about 25 on the fourth. The Baymen, British pirates turned buccaneers, settled at the mouth of the Belize River and would travel inland to cut mahogany. The logs would float down the Belize River and congregate in what was then Belize Town (today Belize City) waiting to be shaped and exported. Therefore, there is some truth in the saying that Belize City, which was originally swamp, was built on mahogany logs and rum bottles.

THE DAY BEFORE

Thursday afternoon I left school after 6th period to help with last minute preparations for the race. Our support team (the female second year JVs) prepared most of the stuff the night before (food we would eat during the race, the tents, safety kit, medical tape, blankets, etc...) and were going to leave work early the following day to finish packing and pick up the bus along with the paddles, life vests, and possibly a canoe.

You see we were still undecided about the boat we were going to race in. FedEx allowed us to use one of their boats for the race back in January. We practiced in it twice and by the end of our second (and last) practice we were able to row thirty consecutive strokes in a circle on the sea without flipping—a major yet still minimal improvement from our first practice when all three of us couldn't even sit in the boat. I tried to find other places that would be willing to lend us a boat but didn't have much luck. However, Wednesday night Mr. Woods, Adam's boss at the prison, the owner of Old Belize, and a really great guy whose family we've gotten to know over the past months, said that we could use one of the canoes they had at Old Belize. Since the girls weren't able to get off from work I agreed to pick up the vehicle and check out the boat.

Riding my bike to St. John’s (the Jesuit High School that lent us the bus) was pretty nerve racking because our vehicle was actually the 150,000 mile recently repaired mini-school bus that stalled on us right near one of the busiest intersections in Belize City last September. I was becoming increasing anxious about driving this bus, especially when I passed the rotary, which was beginning to become congested with cars, because it would be the first time would be driving in seven months, the first time I'd be driving a school bus, and the first time I'd be driving through a rotary. Luckily, I didn't have any problems and made it to Old Belize with little problem.

When I got to Old Belize I paddled the canoe around the lagoon a couple of times while the manager got life vests in the Woods' boat. Though the boat felt a lot more stable than the FedEx one, it only had two seats. And I'm sure Adam wouldn't have enjoyed rowing on his knees for thirty hours. So we grab the oars, life vests, left the boat, and headed back home to grab our gear then pick up the River Rat at Fed Ex.


It seemed that we underestimated the size of the canoe and overestimated the size of the bus. The boat was sixteen feet long and the bus was a little more than half that size. "Hmmm... ," most of us were thinking, "I guess we'll have to do the safe thing— attach one of our red t-shirts to the bow to warn people that seven feet of boat is protruding from the rear door."

By 4:30 we were driving across the Western Highway, catching glimpses of the Belize River along the way. Belize has three highways (actually three standard sized roads that link the country's six districts)—the Northern, Southern, and Western Highways. We reached San Ignazio, a very inviting and lively town about fifteen miles from the Guatemalan border, at 6:45. We had just enough time to check in our hotel before the start of rowers meeting at the Princess Hotel during which we would hear the important details for the next four days. I was really looking forward to watching the safety video on the race not because I'm a dork but because the JVs from two years ago made it in the part of the video on "what not to do"—in their case it was going left at Big Falls.

Big Falls isn't a waterfall but a series of rapids that are unavigable even for experienced rowers. Matt, Matt, and Mark apparently thought they were supposed to go left, not right. They realized they made a mistake when their canoe crashed into a boulder replacing part of the hull with a hole and throwing them over the gunwales into the river. Two of the boys drifted downstream while Matt (the JV who I replaced) tried holding onto the boat to prevent it from sinking. When the safety boat arrived (which just so happened to have a camera crew with them), in an "overly dramatic way," ordered him to let go of the boat. Surprisingly, most Belizeans don't know how to swim. So seeing someone in the middle of river with a bit of current would cause some to panic. All this was apparently caught on tape.

We arrived at the Princess and the meeting room was packed with excited and energetic men and women both young and old from all over—the States, England, Belize (of course), Japan, and Canada--dressed in their team t-shirts. The great part of the Ruta Maya is that though it draws very experienced and competitive rowers from around the globe, it also attracts those who have no clue what they are doing, like us, but are just in it for the challenge and the fun of it. They informed us that meeting was at 4:30 so unfortunately, we missed the video and any other important information we needed to know.

That said, we went out for dinner--pizza. Though the pizza was relatively good compared to other pizza I've had in Belize, nothing compares to the crust of NY pizza. Pizza here tastes like pizza you'd try to make at home. Its crust is a cross between flavorless foccaccia and a loaf of dry bread. NY pizza, on the other hand, has a crust that is rough and browned on the underside and thin but spongy on the top allowing the rich tomato sauce and the oils from the melted cheese to be absorbed while maintaining its unwavering unique base. At that moment, however, I wasn't dwelling on the crust flaws of Belizean pizza but was trying to figure out how we could stay afloat in a boat that always has an upset stomach and a habit of hurling its contents. So we went to our hotel set our alarms for 4:30 and prayed that we wouldn't embarrass ourselves in front of the hundreds of spectators the following morning.


DAY ONE

I guess God didn't hear our prayers. The following morning when we started paddling to the starting line the River Rat had an affinity for bumping into boats along the way. Some of the rowers were getting angry at us. So we had to get out of the canoe and walk it over. Behind the bridge we held onto some twigs from the trees hanging above for support. When the officials shouted GO we let most of the boats pass before we attempted to push off. Finally, we put our paddles in and started rowing. We weren't flipping, which was a great thing considering the wakes of the other canoes and the motor boat, but we weren't able to steer the boat. It had a mind of its own. Instead of going straight, the boat decided to take the grand tour and travel from bank to bank. About five minutes into the race all the other boats were out of sight while the hundreds of spectators who came out to see the started to stare at us. We crashed into our third or fourth bank about fifty meters from the starting line almost taking out a five year old girl. Chris tried to change his oar because it was too large for him. He gave it to Dorothy who was on the shore but the current pulled us away and turned the boat 180 degrees before Dorothy could hand him the other oar. So she jumped into the river, started swimming after us, and was able to amazingly throw the paddle in the boat before we got sucked through two of the abutments from the upcoming bridge.



By now one of the official boats saw we had no clue what we were doing and drove up to our side. I thought the guy was going to throw us a rope and tow us in but instead he gave us some pointers. Before he let us go he asked where we got the boat from. I told him FedEx let us borrow it. He started to nod his head as if everything just fell into place and said, well "that boat's the sorriest piece of shit on this river." He explained that the boat was designed to be really fast by making a rounded hull and by lowering the gunwales of the bow and stern. But it turned into is an unstable and erratic tub of metal instead. So with those words of encouragement we paddled off.

Surprisingly, Chris was able to implement some of the official’s instructions. We were doing well for the next hour or so until we came across some rapids which propelled us bow first into a tree in the middle of the river. The force of the river against the tree turned the boat sideways and threw us out. We didn't realize until we were twenty yards away that the water was shallow enough to stand in and were therefore able to fight the current by walking back. The good part was that the canoe was lodged between the trunk of the tree and one of its branches thereby preventing it from drifting down stream. The bad and scary part was that it was underwater making us question what would've happened if we weren't able to get out. We were able to pull it out and retain most of our supplies thanks to Dorothy who zip tied all our food and water to the ribs of the canoe.

A few hundred meters downstream we come across another series of rapids very similar to one's before except faster. This time three rowers were standing on the side of the river watching their canoe that was folded in half and wrapped around a tree. Though their canoe was made of plastic and ours of metal it was still a scary sight making me realize the force moving water can have.

Six hours into the race, the water was much calmer, so calm that it fells like weren't moving at all. By this time we were familiar with some of the people who we have been rowing near and would probably be rowing with or near for the next three days--the fat girl boat, the Japanese boats, and the British hippies who were rowing in the Hugh G. Rection and took some time every now and them to observe the local flora and smoke some it's "natural substances."

Nine hours and thirty minutes later we rowed onto the shore at Banana Bank (this time intentionally) and were greeted by our support team and the scores of other rowers who were either watching the sunset or bathing in the river. I felt drunk. One because I was so excited. Two, because I was dehydrated and slightly light headed. Three, because when you sit for nine hours and then try to stand and walk you don't have great coordination. The girls took our boat in and had our lunches waiting for us. The Ruta provides the rowers with all their meals including lunch because the majority of boats are finished by lunchtime, except for the ones like us who make it just in time for dinner. Surprisingly, after nine hours of rowing I wasn't that sore except for my bottom-side which was aching from sitting on a metal seat the whole day.

That day we rowed 44 miles. The next day would be sixteen miles and two hours longer.