As we threw our bags in the trunk, I thought silently to myself, “Well, this is how people get robbed. But I get a good vibe so let’s see.”
We’d arrived in a bustling and quite insane Belize City bus station filled with cramped busses that most certainly did not have bathrooms (it’s my one thing, okay?) I felt anxious and thought about the Valium in my bag.
But first thing was first: we had no Belizean dollars. Cash machine. A guy started speaking to us asking where we were going. “San Ignacio, do you know when the bus goes?” He told us it was every half hour. Awesome. “But first we need some cash.”
He then quickly handed us off to his friend, who was not in fact a taxi driver, to bring us to the nearest cash machine. We headed out with two others we’d met at the hostel back in Bacalar, Mexico.
I looked at Theo as we threw our bags in. “You know this is how you get robbed right?” We shared a glance as if to say we both had a good feeling. Fuck it.
After obtaining cash and dropping the others off at the ferry terminal, our new friend Fred offered to, instead of us having to take the bus, driving us the two hours to San Ignacio, for a fee of course. We weren’t idiots; we knew we were getting swindled. But those cramped busses looked so awful, and our new friend was so helpful, and… Awe hell wouldn’t you rather ride in a chill van across Belize than a cramped and sweaty bus? Thought so.
Before we left the city we grabbed some stellar weed (something that wasn’t existent to us in Mexico), amazing Belkin beer (a Belizean beer that graced our taste buds for the first time), and we were on our way.
“I’m a hustler, but I don’t hustle my friends.”
Never a lie from the man; we gave him money, and he gave us a fucking rad road trip adventure across Belize, and straight to our campground’s door step. We love you, Fred.