deco_martini
Contributor
Day1:
We woke up at 4:30, rolled out of bed, and hit the airport (respectively). We pretty much slept the entire flight to Houston. In Houston we hit the international terminal, got some breakfast, and pretty much boarded our flight as we got done eating.
We landed in Belize a few hours later, got off the plane into a very hot and humid enviroment as we hoofed across the tarmac to the airport. The airport is about the size of a junior high school. Outside of customs we were met by someone from our resort who informed us that 2 more people were due shortly on another flight. He then pointed us upstairs to a bar to pass the time. We passed the time sipping the local beer "Belikin" which was crafted by German brewers. This airport lounge is the greasiest bar I have even been in. Which was fine once you got used to the smell.
40 minutes later the resort guy came and got us. We got in his shuttle van with a 60-ish looking couple and headed to Belize municipal airport. Which it turned out was a gravel road along a piece of coast with a bar larger than the "terminal". I've seen backyard toolsheds larger than the terminal in fact. I've seen backyard sheds larger than the airplane we got on (which was cool with us). There were five seats in it, 2 in front, 2 in middle, 1 in back. Mike and I spent the 20 minute flight to Turneffe Atoll using our laps for luggage space. We landed on a very similar dirt and grit "runway" on Blackbird Cay a short time later after flying over cays and mangroves that entire time. The saving grace of the leg of the journey was the view from the puddle jumper. Good times.
We went to the dining hall and filled out some forms and met the heavily medicated resort manager who we later nicknamed "2 sheets". Then they served us lunch. Holy crap. They brought out huge servings of spaghetti with meat sauce with tiny parmesan covered garlic breadstick with some side salad and watermelon slice. The sauce was classic Italian but with a kick of habanero. Not enough to get hot but enough to go "wow, this is effing good". The noodles were almost like Pad Thai noodles. Not just plain round generic spaghetti.
We dutifully found our cabana after that and took naps.
We explored the resort later, took some kayaks out, and met a couple who arrived later. They look to be late forties. Dude has Just-for-Men dyed hair and a solid grey beard. His wife looks like Alannis Morisette in her late forties. They are the only other divers with us at the resort this week.
That evening we had roast beef cutlets with pepper gravy (as in chopped peppers). There were fresh rolls, mashed potatoes, and a filet of grouper covered in dill sauce. For dessert there was this amazing key lime pie. After dinner, we split a real old style sugar cane made Coca-cola that burns the roof of your mouth. Anyone younger than 28 or so probably won't even remember that this was how they made American Coke back before they switched to corn syrup.
We went out the boat dock and there he was, Mr. Meaty. Mr. Meaty is a 6 foot saltwater crocodile who moves from the brackish Mangroves at night to rest beneath the resorts boat dock. We have been assured that there has never been a crocodile attack near the resort (yet*). Later we found out his name was Jack. We kept calling him Mr. Meaty.
Continued in next post....
We woke up at 4:30, rolled out of bed, and hit the airport (respectively). We pretty much slept the entire flight to Houston. In Houston we hit the international terminal, got some breakfast, and pretty much boarded our flight as we got done eating.
We landed in Belize a few hours later, got off the plane into a very hot and humid enviroment as we hoofed across the tarmac to the airport. The airport is about the size of a junior high school. Outside of customs we were met by someone from our resort who informed us that 2 more people were due shortly on another flight. He then pointed us upstairs to a bar to pass the time. We passed the time sipping the local beer "Belikin" which was crafted by German brewers. This airport lounge is the greasiest bar I have even been in. Which was fine once you got used to the smell.
40 minutes later the resort guy came and got us. We got in his shuttle van with a 60-ish looking couple and headed to Belize municipal airport. Which it turned out was a gravel road along a piece of coast with a bar larger than the "terminal". I've seen backyard toolsheds larger than the terminal in fact. I've seen backyard sheds larger than the airplane we got on (which was cool with us). There were five seats in it, 2 in front, 2 in middle, 1 in back. Mike and I spent the 20 minute flight to Turneffe Atoll using our laps for luggage space. We landed on a very similar dirt and grit "runway" on Blackbird Cay a short time later after flying over cays and mangroves that entire time. The saving grace of the leg of the journey was the view from the puddle jumper. Good times.
We went to the dining hall and filled out some forms and met the heavily medicated resort manager who we later nicknamed "2 sheets". Then they served us lunch. Holy crap. They brought out huge servings of spaghetti with meat sauce with tiny parmesan covered garlic breadstick with some side salad and watermelon slice. The sauce was classic Italian but with a kick of habanero. Not enough to get hot but enough to go "wow, this is effing good". The noodles were almost like Pad Thai noodles. Not just plain round generic spaghetti.
We dutifully found our cabana after that and took naps.
We explored the resort later, took some kayaks out, and met a couple who arrived later. They look to be late forties. Dude has Just-for-Men dyed hair and a solid grey beard. His wife looks like Alannis Morisette in her late forties. They are the only other divers with us at the resort this week.
That evening we had roast beef cutlets with pepper gravy (as in chopped peppers). There were fresh rolls, mashed potatoes, and a filet of grouper covered in dill sauce. For dessert there was this amazing key lime pie. After dinner, we split a real old style sugar cane made Coca-cola that burns the roof of your mouth. Anyone younger than 28 or so probably won't even remember that this was how they made American Coke back before they switched to corn syrup.
We went out the boat dock and there he was, Mr. Meaty. Mr. Meaty is a 6 foot saltwater crocodile who moves from the brackish Mangroves at night to rest beneath the resorts boat dock. We have been assured that there has never been a crocodile attack near the resort (yet*). Later we found out his name was Jack. We kept calling him Mr. Meaty.
Continued in next post....
