It is a bad sign when...

It is a bad sign when you wake up an hour earlier than you have to, just because you are excited to leave a place.

It is a bad sign when you arrive at the bus terminal four hours before you have to, just because you are excited to leave a place.

It is a bad sign when you are considering taking that early bus to the airport, waiting five hours for your flight, just because you are excited to leave a place.


Sigh. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't like Belize. I am just really really tired of Belmopan and dealing with the governmental types.

Yesterday, I woke up at six, took a water taxi at seven, rode a bus for a couple of hours to Belmopan, arrived at nine-thirty, checked up on my police report and was told that it hadn't been written yet...I requested this thing last THURSDAY. They had all day Friday AND Monday to get it done. Fine, I said, I will come back in a couple of hours.

When I came back, they told me that they couldn't give me the report because the officer who needed to sign the thing was in a meeting. Fine, I said, I will come back in an hour.

One hour later, I was told that all the officers who were in the meeting had gone to lunch. Fine, I said, I will go to lunch as well.

When I returned from lunch, I was told that the lady who was responsible for the reports (I think they were on her computer), SHE had just left for lunch. Fine, I said, I will wait here.

Two hours later, they apoligized for the wait and I finally got my police report...which I then took to another office so I could officially request new copies of the papers that were lost.

But then they told me that I needed to find a justice of the peace and get HIS signature on something. Did they TELL me where to find a justice of the peace? No, of course not. I had to go wandering around Belmopan. The Butcher was, apparently, the regular justice of the peace, but he was gone for the day. The other well-known justice of the peace died two years ago.

Finally, one of the locals took pity on me, called a friend (who happened to be a justice of the peace as well. Next time, I shall stand on the freaking street corner and shout for one), and finally I got my signature...five minutes before this particular justice of the peace had to leave for the airport.

Fine. I did their little dance. Sang their little songs. I get my papers now, right?

Oh, Kelsey. So young and naive...

I have to wait six weeks and then come pick them up in person. Uggghhhhh... Can you MAIL them to me? No, of course not. You have to come pick them up here. BUT I DON'T LIVE HERE!! Well, you can pay someone to pick them up for you and mail them to you, but you need to give them the right of an attorney and to do that you need a signature by a justice of the peace. (This is when I began to scream inside.)

So. This is why I am in a bit of a hurry to leave this place. The beach was perfect, tranquil and laid-back. But this city makes me edgy and I don't like it. It's like I'm a cat and the damn place is rubbing my fur backwards.

And don't get me started on what happened at the hotel I stayed at...

Love love love the water.

Ha ha ha! I am a new shade of brown! Why wasn't I born here? Why did I have to be smart and all that and not the daughter of a sea captain, with a face all leathered at 25 and skin so dark and soaked with oil that you could see your reflection in it, and with legs long and toned from standing on a rolling deck for hours at a time?

Because I'm a sexy mechanical engineer, damn it.

Sigh...ok. Someday I shall have my sea-going journey...hopefully soon and while I still have time to enjoy being all suntanned and amazonian.

But here is where I went today. Muh ha ha haaaaa....

The story of Will i am and Pete

This is the story of Will i am and Pete, two hippie boys that I met in the San Jose Airport and were the main reason why I missed my flight that day.

(I have fifteen minutes to kill before my snorkeling boat leaves.)

I saw these two boys as they waited in line at the Airport check in. They were hard to miss. One (Will i am) was sporting a do-it-yourself mullet and the other (by default, Pete) was wearing a huck-finn-esque black hat of unknown origin, complete with a smattering of tropical feathers tucked in the brim...And they were grubby. You don't see this type of grubby in Costa Rica...not unless you are sin camiseta and are wielding a machete....and ESPECIALLY not in the airport where people dress waaaay nice to fly somewheres. No, no, no...this type of grubby was a Pacific Northwest type 'o' grubby. I would know it anywhere. I made a mental note of them.

While standing in line to purchase Cinnabon food (evil empire of fatty, sugary, smells like heaven food...evil to have the damn things baking at four in the morning so that you NEED to purchase them, even if you are not hungry, even if you know that eating a whole one will make you sick, even if a single cinnamon roll costs something along the line of SIX DOLLARS...evil and very, very clever...) I saw them again. They were attempting (at five o'clock in the morning) to perform front flips, juggling tricks, and back bends. Ok, I thought, I have to talk to these kids. They are just too interesting to pass up.

And they WERE interesting. These two vagabonds had traveled by various means through Mexico, through the various Central American countries which I am ashamed that I have no idea what order they go in, and rested up in Panama for a while, working at a farm and eating Noni fruits.

If you have never eaten Noni, I do not know how to explain what they taste like. Think of feet. Rather grubby, sweaty feet. Now rub a spicy pepper on those feet. And change the molecular chemistry of the feet to be soft and mushy with crunchy seeds inside about the size of cherry pits. If you bit these feet, they would taste and feel alot like Noni. Why eat this thing? Because it is incredibly good for you. Apparently. The only benefit I experienced was missing my plane. Which to most people, is not a benefit. Thus, I received no benefit from Noni...

Anyhoo. These two kids told me many fun stories about hallucinogens, great bluegrass/psychedelic-sharing festivals, which types of jungle fruits you should smear on your body, and how the government was mind-controlling people through the food we eat. I love people like this. They are the type of troubadours that I will seek out when the world ends and I have to lead people through a post-apocalyptic era.

My 13th Country...not counting Canada...

I am in Belize. To be exact, I am in the town of Placencia, Belize. It is lovely here. And when I say "lovely", I am referring to the fact that I am (whilst within the confines of an internet room) 50 st away from the Atlantic Ocean. Today, the weather was absolutely clear, sparkling blue skies, with a delightfully playful breeze.

And I shall post some pictures to prove it. Meh.

It is strange to be a female and travel alone. Or rather, it is strange to hear what OTHER people thing of me traveling alone. In Costa Rica, it was "Wow! That is so cool! I wish you luck and all that stuff!". Here in Belize, I get a blank look and "You're ALONE?!?", and then they walk me home. I am not sure how I should take this.

Of course, a blond(ish), blue-eyed chick here is a little more rare than in Costa Rica. Belize is mainly populated by those of African decent and Latinos, speaking a rambling mix of Creole, English, and Spanish. However, the Spanish is a little Speedy Gonzalez-like due to the influence of Mexico, so it is a little harder for me to understand. HOWEVER! I am now ensconced in Placencia, which has alot of white people, so I don't stand out too much. In Belmopan, I am like a solitary sheep in a big, green pasture. You really can't miss me.

So, the cities here are a little run down. And everything is smaller. In Costa Rica, there is more infrastructure in place...there are skyscrapers and public transport, chain restaurants and hell, in San Jose, there is even a mall. Belize is a little different. People move differently. It is more roundabout here. (Even more than CR?) Yes, even more than CR...Incredible, I know.

But honestly, some of the most beautiful country that I have ever seen. I am eager to know more of it.

Damn, running out of time for posting pictures...and the internet is spendy here...tomorrow, perhaps. After snorkeling!

Well well well...

I am. Well, that is. Life, being life, has completely turned around again and dumped me in a completely new place.

Que bueno.

Turriabla, Costa Rica is much like Oregon right now. The mornings like to fool you into dressing for heat, and then, while you are burning your brain out attempting to learn Spanish, the clouds roll in and the rain starts...but not the type of rain that you can battle with an umbrella. It is the misty drizzle that you breathe, that permeates your clothes, your hair, eliminates the possibility of your shoes ever drying out, and, when the sun goes down, chills your soul.

I, however, thanks to the aforementioned life, am lucky to have a warm pair of arms to hug me and chase away the chill.

Otro vez, que bueno.

Soon I shall leave Turriabla for little while. There is a possibility of a job in Costa Rica with the Ad Astra Rocket Company, a private, NASA affiliated (no, this is not an oxymoron) company that is researching cool science-y things like plasma engines and such. I also have another interview by phone with the Princeton Plasma Physics Laboratory on Monday. If they both want me I don't know what I will do.

Despues, I have to leave the country to renew my visa. Right now, it's a contest between Belize and Panama. Your throughts...