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...