Pixie in Paradise

This week is going by way too fast. I’ve officially lived on an island in Belize for ten days! The learning curve is steep folks – if you only knew, so I’m going to try to tell you.

First off, it’s the rainy season (hurricane season), and bugs are real when humidity is this high. We have huge mosquitoes and tiny sandflies. I’ve seen many tourists walk down the street with huge mosquito bite welts but the sandflies seem to really love my ankles most. It’s like gang initiation – definitely Bloods, not Crips. I just let them do their thing, creating little bright red dots on my legs. The sandflies are so tiny but you really feel them bite, almost harder than a mosquito. Always thankful for a little breeze which seems to keep most bugs off of us but even then sometimes I’m comfortable in the hammock on our second floor balcony – my new favorite sport, “hammocking” – and those pesky little assholes will come and try to land on me causing a retreat to the indoors. Most locals tell me that in a short while I will develop some sort of antibody to these creatures and they’ll lose interest in me, as even the bugs will figure out that I’m local, and not just a tourist.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, there’s so much to say. (We may have to turn this blog into a podcast because I can speak faster than I type)! Upon arrival last Monday, I discovered there were no keys to the apartment, and there was no hot water. At all. And, many other small surprises. For example, I was also not aware that even if you’re lucky enough to have a washing machine – which we are – that everyone hangs their clothes on clotheslines strung from one side of your house or balcony to the other. When Mandy and I stayed at that gorgeous resort in March, we had filtered water piped through our kitchen faucet, A/C, hot and cold water, a stackable washer and dryer in the hallway and every amenity you can imagine in a modern 1200-square foot condo. Believe me when I tell you, I had NO idea that most people on the island – and Belize as a whole – don’t have hot water in their residences. I was more concerned with not having apartment keys as I wanted to explore the island right away while keeping my belongings safe. After all I have to make a living on the laptop computers, so we must protect them – and my passport! – at all costs.

Back to the water situation. Having not washed my hair or shaved my legs since the night before I moved here, I was getting cranky and crusty. The wind was turning my hair into a bird nest, combined with sweat and heat and the sheer dog-like texture of this blonde mane. I could only stay in the cold water shower for 30-60 seconds without wondering how long it would really take for my vagus nerve to get stimulated, and someone to find me passed out on the shower floor.Because I have a wild distaste for being cold, the Wim Hof ™ method and accompanying ice bath regimen completely agitate me to even think about. Those people are fanatical in proclaiming the healing effects of their frigid practices – they’re diehard, like CrossFit ™ addicts! I lasted three days like that and then I told the landlord I couldn’t live this way. There was a small on-demand hot water heater under the cabinet in the bathroom already but it was broken, so I told her we needed a new one in there. She agreed to go halfsies on a new one with me and a worker was there within three hours. 

HOWEVER, as the plumber stood up and demonstrated that the right faucet did need to be replaced because it was completely stripped, I asked what type of water would come out of the left one. He said, “Hot.” Um. Sir, I can’t be scalded while bathing. This was a moment I was very glad I talk to strangers and ask a lot of questions. In this case I could have hot water finally, but I couldn’t have any cold water! I told him I can’t just be in hot water; it will burn badly, so I explained he needed to turn off the hot water heater until we get both faucets functioning. Oh my god, close one. I took a shower that night just grateful for the two minutes of bone chilling water, then back out into the swampy humid air to sweat my nuts off. No biggie, we lived to tell the tale another day and at 10am the following day my landlord’s husband had put two working faucets in the shower. By that night I took my first warm shower. Ironically, I only take warm showers for those longer ones now. It’s way too hot and humid for warm showers all the time so the rest are all cold water only, just like the locals!

I bothered my landlord a bit those first three days, but have tried to get by fairly self-sufficiently since. And by “self-sufficiently” I mean my roommate, Rasta, now has to deal with me. And by “roommate,” I mean the man I share the apartment with. (One of my dear cousins had lots of questions a few weeks ago at the family get together in Wisconsin, as I was visiting before my international departure. He was trying to wrap his brain around all the information about my upcoming trip I’d just laid on them. He asked, “So are you living with this guy, like, are you roommates?” To which I replied, “Yes, we are roommates, who sleep in the same bed…without pants on.”)

Despite all of the changes and differences and culture shock that I may never get over, it’s been a great time so far. As you can see below, a few decent meals got made. A request for hot dogs and my “famous” salad was the first meal I cooked, on Day 3. (Rasta used to see photos of meals when long distance dating required lots of calls, messages, photos and video chats). The floor still isn’t mopped and to the horror of my dear friend back in Tucson, who got a home tour on video chat last night, I’m still not fully unpacked. She looked so horrified that even though I was exhausted – which takes on a whole new meaning when you pipe 80% humidity into a desert rat who’s used to more like 12% humidity – I was compelled to do a little straightening in bedroom and bathroom. But that’s all she gets!

This morning we stood in the kitchen making guacamole with the craziest avocado I’d ever seen. It was a team effort, as the avocado wasn’t quite ripe enough for guac and the forks are not high quality. He grabbed a short heavy glass from the cabinet to smash the avocado with. As we finished I asked, “Can you believe five months later we are standing in our apartment listening to reggae music and making guacamole?” He says, “For sure babe, it was meant to be.”