When I'd first entered Belize, I found a tourist guide on the shelf of my first hotel. Upon cracking into it, I found a page dedicated to the annual festivals by month. I panned down to May and I found out a town called Crooked Tree, located in a nature reserve off the beaten path, has a get-together called "The Cashew Festival" in mid-May. Perfect. A week later, I find myself here. This town is almost like villages in the Arctic. Super primitive services, nothing but dirt roads, people need to go over an hour away to get groceries, and tons of wildlife. To get to the town you need to pay a small fee to enter the reserve. I've seen Crooked Tree nicknamed the "Inland Island" because rivers flank it on either side, creating an island full of wildlife surrounded by pristine protected fresh waters- perfect for migratory birds. This is a bird-watching hot spot.
There were 3 places on my iOverlander App that showed I could camp here. One was closed, one couldn't answer as the phone was disconnected, and one last one invited me in. The choice was made for me. I decided to arrive before this Cashew Festival to get a feel of the place, maybe even meet some locals before it kicks off. I arrived at the Jacana Inn, a beautiful palm-tree shrouded piece of land overlooking the river. I was told they'll close the gate to the property at night but not because of any robbers or drunks, but because cows and horses might wander in. The hotel was also a place the famous motovlogger "Itchy Boots" had stayed almost a year before.
I received a map of the town upon entry. Before setting off with it, the 'park ranger' of the reserve had to take a pen and mark off all the inaccuracies and changes. This road is gone, that restaurant is abandoned, don't go down this way.....
Restaurants aren't what you would consider to be anything conventional. You find yourself driving up someone's driveway and they have their garage door open, the garage serving as both kitchen and dining room. There's no signs that indicate its existence, but people swing by for take-out and say hey to each other in Creole. I was only able to find restaurants like this after getting lost and locals seeing me looking at a map. They'd strike up conversation, I'd ask some questions about the upcoming festival, and you'd be surprised how easy it is to small talk. It may be inland, but this is Freshwater Caribbean Island life. Things are slow. No problem. "Come by for a juice wheneva."
The hotel is owned by a husband and wife. The wife is Latina and she and I chatter in Spanish about this and that, she voluntarily asks me if I'll be around for meals for her to cook and she brings me coffee by the bucket-full. She's very jolly and happy to see my reaction every time I dig into her food. The husband is the 3rd generation in his family to have this property. He's a tall black man with a big African smile, he is curious about my journey and eager to teach about his ways of life. He has short curly hair, white from sun-bleaching and age, and striking blue eyes. He wields his Belizian accent in a jolly manner of wisdom. We chat about everything from the Guatemalan border dispute, local politics, Belize's many cultures, languages, the history of his family on this land, and how he came to be here.
In the mornings and evenings I've seen him do a sort of ritual. At the beginning and end of day I see him walk out of his property and overlook the river, which is wide enough to be a small lake in front of his house. There are no buildings or trees obstructing the view of the clean, protected waters. He stands out there and looks over the water, sometimes walking right up to the shore and walking in just to get his bare feet wet. He doesn't bring a phone or anything with him, he'll just stare. I've seen him do it at sunrises, sunsets, or even just at night, past twilight, at the official close of day. The wind blows from the east when you're this far south, so the Caribbean sea offshore brings in a nice breeze that's cools off when crossing the river and climbing up the banks to the property.
I believe he is now well into his 70s, well into the golden years of his life. He's happily taking in travelers and listening to our stories, watching the look of wonder in our eyes when he gleefully takes a machete to coconuts from his trees, or teaches us about the process of cashew nut harvesting.
These may be morbid assumptions, but when I see him out there looking over the river, I can't help but wonder what he's reflecting on. He's lived a long and healthy life, raised a family, and has now settled down in the same land as his ancestors. Everything over his long life has lead to moments like this, where feelings of pride and accomplishment are accompanied by gratitude and good fortune. He's made it. This is what it was for. There's no illusion it will last. Take every moment you can, even the boring ones. Remember what it took to get here, take the time to bathe in the moment here: in this simple definition of life-long success.
Most of us yearn for years like this when our lives begin to change from our autumn to our winter. Many of us won't make it. A lot of us will get too caught up in the short-term, illnesses will befall us, complications in our day-to-day will arise and cause us to change course, or we might lose sight of what we want. Life happens and we get caught up in it, going along down the path of least resistance, taking us away from what we've worked for.
There's a kind of calm catharsis in watching Earl look out over the river. It's not that I'd like to live a life exactly like his when I get to his age, but there's an assurance and comfort in the fact that it's possible. The feeling was so strong, I took out my laptop and overlooked the river myself, trying to get even just a piece of that feeling he soaks in when he goes out each morning and evening. I attempted to capture a part of it, and I wrote it down right here for all of you. It's the piece of joy I found at Crooked Tree.
-JT
5/12/2023