I’d probably never been so nervous to get on a flight. 

I was excited, of course, unbelievably so. But I was also terrified. Not just because of the whole flying-off-to-strange-new-locales-completely-alone thing, though that was certainly a factor. I was leaving at a time of great uncertainty; omicron was blooming, and while I’d known that covid would still factor into the travel experience, I hadn’t realized that there would be an entire new wave to contend with. But nevertheless, it was time, and I was leaving.

We got to the airport at a heinously early hour (thanks, Mom), and as the sun rose over the mountains, my plane took off. Soon I was in Dallas, killing time with an appropriately patriotic meal: 7-Eleven coffee and a gigantic soft pretzel. (Yes, the Dallas airport has a fully functioning 7-Eleven, minus the gas pumps. Clearly, a vital part of Americana to share with travelers). And then, finally, almost unbelievably, I was off. My companions on the flight were a fascinating hodgepodge: gaggles of families off to the resorts, elderly women chatting cheerfully in Creole English, some party-ready college kids, and a couple of Mennonites. (More on that in a moment). I was intrigued, but mostly, I was a bit dazed. After years of planning, saving, and drafting eight million itineraries, I was actually starting the journey. Finally, the plane touched down, and I walked out into Belize. 

My immediate thought was, “Huh, this feels… like Florida. Looks like it too.” Humid and warm, with swaying palm trees and tropical shrubs, it looked identical to my drive through the Sunshine State a few years before. But there was also that sense of differentness, of newness, in the air and in the trees – and in the bustling line for customs. Sweating through the winter clothes that had seemed so smart that morning, I hopped to. 

Belize opened its borders fairly early, which is unsurprising, given that nearly half of its income came from tourism in 2019. Their process, at least when I was visiting, was simple: a test before entering, or a test immediately upon arrival. If you test on arrival, they immediately send you on your way, saying that they’ll call if anything’s awry. It’s a surprisingly laissez-faire system, given that the country as a whole is very strict with its covid precautions. Indeed, I saw more attention to hygiene and masks during the week I was there than the entire previous two years in the United States.

The country itself is spectacular, and deeply fascinating. It’s a prime example of the tourism industrial complex in action, with a touch of expatriate colonialism. But it’s also a hotbed for ecotourism, marine conservation, and cultural diversity. Strictly speaking, it’s a newer nation, only officially forming in 1981. But of course, its cultural roots run much deeper than that. It was a British territory for 141 years, and before that, (long before that), it was part of the vast Mayan empire. It is undeniably a Caribbean country, but it is also inextricably linked to Central America, geographically and socially. Many Mayans still live in the area, and two of the other major ethnic groups represent different aspects of the history of slavery and migration in the region. The Creole people are descended from slaves and British settlers, while the Garifuna are descended from escapees of a wrecked slave ship that intermarried with the Arawak indigenous tribe. There’s also a large population of Mennonites, one of the first (but certainly not last) waves of expats seeking a new way of life in this land. 

And what a land it is, as diverse as its populace, notable for its jungles and sea. The latter is especially beloved, and its conservation is an ongoing passion project for visitors and locals alike. This is, after all, the home of the Blue Hole, a vast and almost unfathomably deep ocean sinkhole teeming with life; not to mention the largest barrier reef in the northern hemisphere, an intricate ecosystem all its own. To look at the water for even a moment – slowly rippling or still, occasionally brackish, but often a deep, dazzling blue – is to feel inspired; to snorkel across its surface or dive beneath its waves, I’ve been told, is a near transcendent experience. Unsurprisingly, these natural wonders are the primary draw for tourism. The landscape offers tranquility and adventures in equal measure, and quite often, in conjunction with one another.

Belize City, where I landed, is a remarkably unimpressive capital city, at least in this author’s opinion. A quick walk through its streets was enough to get a sense of it, and a small cross-section of the country’s demographics. Creole, English, and Spanish flew back and forth, fruit and souvenir vendors hawked their wares, hordes of be-Rolexed cruisers stared out at us from little trains geared solely towards them. Frankly, I wouldn’t say that it’s worth visiting, except as a point of transit. That being said, the hostel was lovely, and it was nice to gain some camaraderie and pick up tips while readjusting to long-term international travel for the first time in half a decade. Although all of my hostelmates were great, perhaps the most interesting one was the Israeli who had hitchhiked his way up through Central America, and, after a day touring the city with the rest of us, decided he was ready to go, and headed off into the night to find a ride to Mexico. I respect and somewhat fear that kind of gumption, proof positive of the old travel rule: no matter how wild or audacious you think you’re being, there’s always someone braver/crazier than you. 

I was in Belize City for two days – the perfect amount of time to get settled and oriented to the country, with some light tourism thrown in. Then it was off to the next adventure.