| | Old School | New School |
| Building | More recently renovated,one story means many windowless classrooms. I was stuck on a cart! Hallways are extremely narrow, resulting in crazy human gridlock (which is bad news when you’re on a cart). | More natural light, slightly more run-down. Fewer faculty bathrooms. I HAVE MY OWN CLASSROOM!!! THIS IS HUGE! |
| Technology | Interactive white-boards, at least on copy machine for each department, numerous lap-top carts. | No interactive white boards, only three fully functioning copy machines on the first floor, laptop carts seem sparse. |
| IT guys | Won’t speak to you without a formal online tech request, but highly organized and efficient. | Less formal, but they have already forgotten to set my passwords and issued me a laptop with a dead battery. |
| Security/Building Use Coordinator | Obnoxiously self-important at times; efficient to the point of being OCD. | Seems pretty lax. No attendance forms required during fire drills. |
| ESOL department | Young, motivated, well-informed group of 7. Larger department means everyone has three preps. | 2 of us! I’m department chair, which means new responsibilities. Smaller department means four preps, significantly more work. |
| ESOL within the school | Most of the faculty is well-informed; principal and assistant principal over ESOL highly aware of ESOL issues. | No one seems to know (or care much) what is going on with ESOL, BUT we do have total autonomy. Counselors seem a bit clueless. |
| Student body | Highly diverse in terms of race/ethnicity, socioeconomic status, and language background. | Largely white and higher income. |
| Potential for influence | Small. ESOL department already ran efficiently and the Biology team, who could have used some ESOL strategies, was not interested. | Larger. While the ESOL department is small, I see the level 1 kids for three periods. Some issues which were perhaps handled inefficiently before can be re-evaluated. Looking to develop relationships with other departments. |
Saturday, September 12, 2009
The High School Switcheroo
In April, I had to choose between staying at my current high school with a schedule split between ESOL and French and going to a new school and staying with ESOL. It was a difficult decision because of the great ESOL department we had (good friends and fantastic teachers who had developed a highly efficient curriculum), but I finally decided that making the move would allow me to better progress in the job I valued most.
After two weeks at my new school (one week prep, one week with students), I keep making obnoxious comparisons between the two, saying things like "At my last school, we . . . ". So as a means of moving beyond such thoughts and comments, I made a comprehensive comparison of the two schools. I am fairly certain this will be unbearably dull to just about everyone, so feel free to skip over it and hope for more interesting posts soon to come!
Updates!
I'm going to start posting again. First, I thought I'd link to my blog in China. While I was there blogger was blocked, so I had to use another blog site which unfortunately had a less pleasing layout:
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
The Power of Tests
The above is actually the title of a book written by my Language Testing professor in grad school, Elana Shohamy. Angered by the way our culture bows down to horrible tests, I actually bought a copy of the book on Amazon today. I say "actually" because at the time I was in her course I thought she was brilliant, but a little over the top.
Then I started to write an angry blog about all the flaws in the No Child Left Behind law. Fortunately, before I had wasted too much time, I found an article that expresses many of the same frustrations I feel. While I don't agree with every point the author makes (I fail to see the logic as to how she equates fewer articles on teacher morale, number 14, with lower morale in general), I appreciate how she manages to be both succinct and thorough.
Here it is:
http://nochildleft.com/2006/sept06killing.html
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Reflections on a Ruined Day
Contrary to popular belief, teaching, at least in my own experience, is not a thankless job. Especially since it's known that I'll be leaving next year, I've been getting a disproportionate amount of praise lately. Students, colleagues, administrators seem to be going out of their way with kind thanks and appreciation.
That background puts bad days like today into perspective. How can you ruin a teacher's day? Ask a student we'll call Jose from my teamed Biology class who succeeded royally in making me feel rotten today. It began as I was looking at Jose's recent exam grades and noting with some satisfaction that he had improved his grade by quite a bit from the last exam. Flipping through the other scantrons, I noticed that the student seated next to him had received an identical grade. I looked more closely: they had missed the same items. I still held some hope that it might be a coincidence--perhaps they were the most difficult items? Unfortunately, they missed the same items with the same wrong responses.
I still felt hesitant about making an accusation of cheating without more than circumstantial proof, so I informed Jose of what I had discovered and told him he would need to retake the test. I explained that both students would need to redo it and that I did not even know if one person had copied without the other's knowledge or who had copied from whom. His reaction? "Why? You don't believe that it is my grade unless I get an F because I am Latino? I don't want to take it again. I did a good job the first time."
I tried to explain to him my rationale, and of course it didn't work. I left in a very bad mood and feeling like a failure. Here we were at the end of the school year, and not only had my student not notably improved, but he was resorting to cheating to get ahead AND refused to take responsibility for it. Worse, his stinging accusation was hard to shake. I began to think of some other Latino students struggling in my classes and had to ask myself: was I unconsciously racist? Were my Latino students doing poorly because I had somehow stacked the odds against them? Images of studies I have read about flashed through my head, such as one mentioned by Malcolm Gladwell in Blink, where people struggle to match positive terms with African American faces as quickly as they can with negative words like "steal" and "bad." How horrifying to feel that you lived free of prejudice, only to discover that in your gut, at the most basic level, your racism overcame your conscious will! I began to understand how damaging reinforcing stereotypes really can be. Every episode you watch of "Law and Order" that portrays petty thugs and gangsters as belonging to a certain race reinforces that stereotype until it takes on a life of its own, overpowering your professed open-mindedness by sheer, mind-numbing repetition.
Still, when I thought through the steps that had led to this confrontation, I had to admit that the evidence was so strong against him that I could not in good conscience have ignored it. But I did not really start feeling better until my last class of the day as I taught my beginning level students. Here my Latino students were universally thriving, and they were also defying stereotypes. There was the student with a limited educational background who had received a surprisingly high reading test score, the polite girl whose vocabulary and grammar had improved so quickly I could not understand where the new words and structures came from, and the class clown whose writing revealed an astonishing depth and sensitivity. I cherish these students because as I have come to know them they become real as people, not Latinos, not even as ESOL students.
What a delicate balance it is between protecting ourselves from being wronged, taken advantage of, and abused, and facing up to constructive criticism and correction. To Jose and all my students I would say never let yourselves be degraded, but always be ready for an opportunity to better yourself, to take correction, and to become refined.
That background puts bad days like today into perspective. How can you ruin a teacher's day? Ask a student we'll call Jose from my teamed Biology class who succeeded royally in making me feel rotten today. It began as I was looking at Jose's recent exam grades and noting with some satisfaction that he had improved his grade by quite a bit from the last exam. Flipping through the other scantrons, I noticed that the student seated next to him had received an identical grade. I looked more closely: they had missed the same items. I still held some hope that it might be a coincidence--perhaps they were the most difficult items? Unfortunately, they missed the same items with the same wrong responses.
I still felt hesitant about making an accusation of cheating without more than circumstantial proof, so I informed Jose of what I had discovered and told him he would need to retake the test. I explained that both students would need to redo it and that I did not even know if one person had copied without the other's knowledge or who had copied from whom. His reaction? "Why? You don't believe that it is my grade unless I get an F because I am Latino? I don't want to take it again. I did a good job the first time."
I tried to explain to him my rationale, and of course it didn't work. I left in a very bad mood and feeling like a failure. Here we were at the end of the school year, and not only had my student not notably improved, but he was resorting to cheating to get ahead AND refused to take responsibility for it. Worse, his stinging accusation was hard to shake. I began to think of some other Latino students struggling in my classes and had to ask myself: was I unconsciously racist? Were my Latino students doing poorly because I had somehow stacked the odds against them? Images of studies I have read about flashed through my head, such as one mentioned by Malcolm Gladwell in Blink, where people struggle to match positive terms with African American faces as quickly as they can with negative words like "steal" and "bad." How horrifying to feel that you lived free of prejudice, only to discover that in your gut, at the most basic level, your racism overcame your conscious will! I began to understand how damaging reinforcing stereotypes really can be. Every episode you watch of "Law and Order" that portrays petty thugs and gangsters as belonging to a certain race reinforces that stereotype until it takes on a life of its own, overpowering your professed open-mindedness by sheer, mind-numbing repetition.
Still, when I thought through the steps that had led to this confrontation, I had to admit that the evidence was so strong against him that I could not in good conscience have ignored it. But I did not really start feeling better until my last class of the day as I taught my beginning level students. Here my Latino students were universally thriving, and they were also defying stereotypes. There was the student with a limited educational background who had received a surprisingly high reading test score, the polite girl whose vocabulary and grammar had improved so quickly I could not understand where the new words and structures came from, and the class clown whose writing revealed an astonishing depth and sensitivity. I cherish these students because as I have come to know them they become real as people, not Latinos, not even as ESOL students.
What a delicate balance it is between protecting ourselves from being wronged, taken advantage of, and abused, and facing up to constructive criticism and correction. To Jose and all my students I would say never let yourselves be degraded, but always be ready for an opportunity to better yourself, to take correction, and to become refined.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Job Drama
I dislike change. I have always steered away from risks, whether they be physical (no crazy skiing maneuvers), social (I hate throwing parties for fear they'll come out poorly), or professional. And as the known is always less unsettling than the unknown, which of necessity requires some risk, I tend to stick things out until I get shoved out of a situation or it becomes glaringly obvious that it is time to move on. The latter happened when I lived in Prague: after almost two years, I realized I had no savings and had made little professional headway and needed to move on.
I recently found out what it feels like to be forced into a new situation, as I got booted from my job. Allow me to provide some background. I have been teaching at the same school now for three years. There are some less than desirable parts of my job: as the newest ESOL teacher, I often get stuck teaching classes that no one else wants, like team-taught Biology or World History for beginning ESOL students (a ton of work but actually a joy to teach). I do not have my own classroom but am relegated to a traveling cart. I somehow allowed myself to become an indentured servant to the track team. But the job is still fantastic in many ways, largely because the school itself is such a great place. We have an unusually supportive administration who values ESOL, a department filled with hard-working and bright people, and what I believe is the best population of students you could possibly imagine: a mix of well-educated kids, students with limited first language literacy who can really benefit from care and attention, and a wide range of nationalities and backgrounds. I have been really happy and often find myself pleasantly surprised that I enjoy my job so much.
A few weeks ago, my assistant principal called me into her office. I knew the news was bad from the tone of her "hi" and her body language: she was clearly prepared to give bad news and wanted to convey her own disappointment. Our ESOL numbers dropped significantly this year, with the result that I, again as the lowest man on the totem pole, have been destaffed. She was kindness personified, letting me know that she regretted losing me and wished I hadn't been forced to leave. She expressed some hope that I would be able to stay on through teaching a combination of French and perhaps another subject, but acknowledged that it was not certain that it would work out.
I was devastated. While I knew that there would be a likely drop in numbers, last year they somehow managed to find the funding for me to keep my position. I think I hoped it would be possible again this year. I went back to my office and told my two favorite co-workers and then lost it a little bit (I could not completely hold back a few tears--which I completely, utterly hate doing). I barely made it through my last class of the day. Then I emailed the Fairfax County ESOL specialist and let her know my situation. She promptly replied and gave me the name of the department chair at a nearby school and told me to apply for an opening. I spent the weekend updating my resume and applied on Monday.
That same day, my boss called me back in to let me know there would still be a full-time position for me, but teaching half French, half AVID, a study skills class to help kids from disadvantaged backgrounds prepare for college. While both would be interesting, neither is my passion. She said she'd see what she could do about getting ESOL for me, and I let her know I was looking elsewhere. On Tuesday, she called me in again to tell me that my colleague had offered to teach the AVID classes so I could keep at least a bit of ESOL. I was thrilled.
What next? I had heard from the other school and was planning an interview. I figured it didn't hurt to keep my options open, and my boss knew I was looking other places. At this point I felt like staying at Fairfax was a relief and I would just see what the other school offered. Then the night before the interview, the science department chair sent out the schedule for Biology next year. Contrary to my request and the request of my team teacher, he had not placed us together for next year. Instead, my period of Biology was the rogue class, the extra period left for whoever was willing to take on an extra class. I loved teaching Biology with my team teacher, and I have hated it with anyone else. I am a complete control freak when it comes to teaching and am miserable working with anyone who is less than fantastic. So my schedule for next year now was: three sections of French, one section of Biology with someone I probably would not enjoy teaching with, and one bona fide section of ESOL. Suddenly, the position at the other school was looking much better.
I went for the interview and felt great about the school. I could tell I had the right answers to their questions and felt they were responding well. By the end of the interview, I felt fairly confident that the job would be mine. My only concern now was that I worried about my assistant principal: she had worked with multiple departments to rearrange things and keep my job for me, and I worried that she would be frustrated when I left after all her work. When I spoke to her, her response was, "That's a great opportunity. I wouldn't blame you at all for taking it." And that was that. When they offered it to me a few days later, I said yes.
I am grateful I found a good position and that life goes on. I am having a hard time imagining what it will be like not to see my colleagues or the students that I have come to care so much about, and I cannot help feeling bitter that I could not stay at a place I loved, where my work was appreciated, because of an antiquated tenure law. I say out with tenure! Let the best teachers remain--not the oldest.
I recently found out what it feels like to be forced into a new situation, as I got booted from my job. Allow me to provide some background. I have been teaching at the same school now for three years. There are some less than desirable parts of my job: as the newest ESOL teacher, I often get stuck teaching classes that no one else wants, like team-taught Biology or World History for beginning ESOL students (a ton of work but actually a joy to teach). I do not have my own classroom but am relegated to a traveling cart. I somehow allowed myself to become an indentured servant to the track team. But the job is still fantastic in many ways, largely because the school itself is such a great place. We have an unusually supportive administration who values ESOL, a department filled with hard-working and bright people, and what I believe is the best population of students you could possibly imagine: a mix of well-educated kids, students with limited first language literacy who can really benefit from care and attention, and a wide range of nationalities and backgrounds. I have been really happy and often find myself pleasantly surprised that I enjoy my job so much.
A few weeks ago, my assistant principal called me into her office. I knew the news was bad from the tone of her "hi" and her body language: she was clearly prepared to give bad news and wanted to convey her own disappointment. Our ESOL numbers dropped significantly this year, with the result that I, again as the lowest man on the totem pole, have been destaffed. She was kindness personified, letting me know that she regretted losing me and wished I hadn't been forced to leave. She expressed some hope that I would be able to stay on through teaching a combination of French and perhaps another subject, but acknowledged that it was not certain that it would work out.
I was devastated. While I knew that there would be a likely drop in numbers, last year they somehow managed to find the funding for me to keep my position. I think I hoped it would be possible again this year. I went back to my office and told my two favorite co-workers and then lost it a little bit (I could not completely hold back a few tears--which I completely, utterly hate doing). I barely made it through my last class of the day. Then I emailed the Fairfax County ESOL specialist and let her know my situation. She promptly replied and gave me the name of the department chair at a nearby school and told me to apply for an opening. I spent the weekend updating my resume and applied on Monday.
That same day, my boss called me back in to let me know there would still be a full-time position for me, but teaching half French, half AVID, a study skills class to help kids from disadvantaged backgrounds prepare for college. While both would be interesting, neither is my passion. She said she'd see what she could do about getting ESOL for me, and I let her know I was looking elsewhere. On Tuesday, she called me in again to tell me that my colleague had offered to teach the AVID classes so I could keep at least a bit of ESOL. I was thrilled.
What next? I had heard from the other school and was planning an interview. I figured it didn't hurt to keep my options open, and my boss knew I was looking other places. At this point I felt like staying at Fairfax was a relief and I would just see what the other school offered. Then the night before the interview, the science department chair sent out the schedule for Biology next year. Contrary to my request and the request of my team teacher, he had not placed us together for next year. Instead, my period of Biology was the rogue class, the extra period left for whoever was willing to take on an extra class. I loved teaching Biology with my team teacher, and I have hated it with anyone else. I am a complete control freak when it comes to teaching and am miserable working with anyone who is less than fantastic. So my schedule for next year now was: three sections of French, one section of Biology with someone I probably would not enjoy teaching with, and one bona fide section of ESOL. Suddenly, the position at the other school was looking much better.
I went for the interview and felt great about the school. I could tell I had the right answers to their questions and felt they were responding well. By the end of the interview, I felt fairly confident that the job would be mine. My only concern now was that I worried about my assistant principal: she had worked with multiple departments to rearrange things and keep my job for me, and I worried that she would be frustrated when I left after all her work. When I spoke to her, her response was, "That's a great opportunity. I wouldn't blame you at all for taking it." And that was that. When they offered it to me a few days later, I said yes.
I am grateful I found a good position and that life goes on. I am having a hard time imagining what it will be like not to see my colleagues or the students that I have come to care so much about, and I cannot help feeling bitter that I could not stay at a place I loved, where my work was appreciated, because of an antiquated tenure law. I say out with tenure! Let the best teachers remain--not the oldest.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Illiterate
I have been studying Chinese since September. The class is relatively low-key: we meet once a week for two hours, most of us are working professionals with limited time to devote to language study, and our teacher has virtually no expectations for us to study outside of class.
Even with my slacker study habits, I have really enjoyed myself and learned a little bit, although how functional I would be in an authentic context is another story. Feeling that the new vocabulary demands and tones were enough to take on, I made no effort for months at learning any characters. Our teacher writes everything in pinyin and that seemed like enough.
A few weeks ago, however, I learned I would have the opportunity to travel to China for a month this summer. Suddenly, Chinese class has taken on a new urgency and relevance. I am more diligent in my studies, and I also see the need to learn characters if I am to be of any use in reading signs, menus, etc. in China.
To my chagrin, what I have found is that characters are every bit as difficult as I had feared. I am finally able to recognize a few of the most common characters, but I can only reproduce a very few without cheating and glancing in my textbook. Even then, I am not at all sure that what I write would be decipherable to a Chinese person. And so my Chinese, weak as it is in any case, is basically the Chinese of an illiterate person!
I have now spent a few good hours staring at these symbols, and I am fascinated by what a different experience it is from studying an alphabetic language. I have always been visually weak: I draw poorly because I am not a good judge of perspective or relative size, I make a poor observer, I am utterly uncreative in fashion or design. Trying to learn characters requires me to analyze visual patterns, whereas before, the shape of the word on the page would be inextricably linked to its sound when I tried to recall it later. For example, if you said "Nemocnice Krc" (Krc Hospital) in Czech to me, I would see the written word and hear it in my head.
The experience now is so different. When reading, the process is frustratingly slow: I make a connection to the sound in Chinese, and then its meaning. Writing is even worse! While in reading, at least at this rudimentary level, I can grasp what the word is based on only a basic idea of a character's shape, writing requires more precision: what radical is used in this character? At what angle do lines intersect? How many horizontal lines are there? How does this character relate to another with a similar sound or meaning? While similar questions must occur to anyone studying an unfamiliar alphabet, the difference is in sheet size: 26 letters in the alphabet (give or take a few, depending on the language) versus tens of thousands of characters. I haven't yet figured out a good mnemonic system for remembering them, but have just been trying to commit new characters to memory through dogged repetition.
In my language experience thus far, I have been relatively successful. I wonder if this will change because this new system requires talent in an area where I am so weak? The pinyin and oral come to me quickly, it seems, compared to other students. I am sure I would not compare so well in characters.
Still, I can't say I don't enjoy the challenge. It is a totally new experience, which is what I was looking for when I decided to take Chinese and not go the practical route of improving my very poor Spanish!
Even with my slacker study habits, I have really enjoyed myself and learned a little bit, although how functional I would be in an authentic context is another story. Feeling that the new vocabulary demands and tones were enough to take on, I made no effort for months at learning any characters. Our teacher writes everything in pinyin and that seemed like enough.
A few weeks ago, however, I learned I would have the opportunity to travel to China for a month this summer. Suddenly, Chinese class has taken on a new urgency and relevance. I am more diligent in my studies, and I also see the need to learn characters if I am to be of any use in reading signs, menus, etc. in China.
To my chagrin, what I have found is that characters are every bit as difficult as I had feared. I am finally able to recognize a few of the most common characters, but I can only reproduce a very few without cheating and glancing in my textbook. Even then, I am not at all sure that what I write would be decipherable to a Chinese person. And so my Chinese, weak as it is in any case, is basically the Chinese of an illiterate person!
I have now spent a few good hours staring at these symbols, and I am fascinated by what a different experience it is from studying an alphabetic language. I have always been visually weak: I draw poorly because I am not a good judge of perspective or relative size, I make a poor observer, I am utterly uncreative in fashion or design. Trying to learn characters requires me to analyze visual patterns, whereas before, the shape of the word on the page would be inextricably linked to its sound when I tried to recall it later. For example, if you said "Nemocnice Krc" (Krc Hospital) in Czech to me, I would see the written word and hear it in my head.
The experience now is so different. When reading, the process is frustratingly slow: I make a connection to the sound in Chinese, and then its meaning. Writing is even worse! While in reading, at least at this rudimentary level, I can grasp what the word is based on only a basic idea of a character's shape, writing requires more precision: what radical is used in this character? At what angle do lines intersect? How many horizontal lines are there? How does this character relate to another with a similar sound or meaning? While similar questions must occur to anyone studying an unfamiliar alphabet, the difference is in sheet size: 26 letters in the alphabet (give or take a few, depending on the language) versus tens of thousands of characters. I haven't yet figured out a good mnemonic system for remembering them, but have just been trying to commit new characters to memory through dogged repetition.
In my language experience thus far, I have been relatively successful. I wonder if this will change because this new system requires talent in an area where I am so weak? The pinyin and oral come to me quickly, it seems, compared to other students. I am sure I would not compare so well in characters.
Still, I can't say I don't enjoy the challenge. It is a totally new experience, which is what I was looking for when I decided to take Chinese and not go the practical route of improving my very poor Spanish!
Belize!
I recently got back from a spring break trip to Belize. Aside from the mild annoyance of a delayed bag on the return trip, the experience was everything I had anticipated!
I traveled with Diedra, one of those friends who I see rarely but would always like to see more of. Having extensive travel experience and a practical, quick mind, she was an ideal travel companion. Most of the smoothness and well-planned efficiency of our trip can be attributed to her.
We arrived in Belize on Friday afternoon. We walked off the plane, onto the tarmac, and into the airport. I have vague recollections of having done this at American airports as a child, but that would have to be more than 25 years ago. I assume the change is security-related in the U.S., but the simplicity of simply walking into the airport made me feel that our American "improvement" was not much of one at all.
The air was heavy and hot, the sun was bright, and the Belize City airport was surprisingly small and crowded. As we exited the airport we spotted Manny, a driver for our all-purpose tourist needs company, MayaWalk, bearing a sign with our names. Manny's task was to drive us from Belize City, a place widely panned by guide books and Manny himself as a "slum", to San Ignacio, a town in the hills near the Guatemala border and a perfect point of departure for the Mayan ruins we planned to see.
The car Manny was driving was a dusty 1980's mini-van, missing its stereo and without air-conditioning, but as we drove with the windows down, the heat was not as oppressive as I had expected. The 90 minute drive was a great way to get introduced to Belize. The countryside was flat and swampy with tropical-looking trees and shrubs in clusters at irregular intervals. The houses lining the two-lane highway were mostly on stilts (to protect from flood damage, according to Manny), and often brightly colored, although many had faded, peeling paint and looked in poor repair. Laundry hung from lines and most houses had outhouses and no visible pipes under their stilted floors, although many had a car or two parked in the dirt driveway. We saw children and women walking along the dusty road, but also crowded, ancient-looking buses (including converted American school buses) headed in the opposited direction.
San Ignacio itself is located just across the river from its "twin town", Santa Elena. The streets of Santa Elena were dusty, brightly painted, crowded with brightly painted, peeling signs and buildings. The river itself was full of children playing, women bathing babies, and even cars being washed. San Ignacio seemed a slightly cleaner and less crowded version of Santa Elena. Manny drove us up a steep hill to our hotel, Cahal Pech, named after a nearby site of Mayan ruins. We were thrilled to arrive and discover the spectacular views from our hill-top location, overlooking the city and farmland below and receiving a gentle breeze. The open-deck restaurant and bar faced a beautiful pool and tropical garden, including palms and banana trees. Best, we chose to stay in one of the one-room cabanas instead of a traditional hotel room. Our cabana had a fantastic view and included a screened in porch area with a hammock. Heaven! After unpacking, we had a delicious and relatively cheap dinner from the hotel restaurant, and then ordered virgin strawberry daiquiris in what became a daily routine. The hint of lime made them delicious!
On Saturday, we had an early breakfast (tropical fruit, locally produced granola, and delicious yogurt, yum!) and then were picked up by MayaWalk for a trip to Guatemala to see Tikal. We stopped at the MayaWalk office to pick up another traveler and switch drivers, then drove the 10 miles or so to the Guatemala border. To pass into Guatemala from Belize you must pay a $30 "exit fee", so our tour guides let us walk through customs to be met on the other side with a Guatemalan driver. Unlike Manny's mini-van, both cars this day were air-conditioned. This was especially nice during the Guatemalan portion of our trip, as the roads were sometimes paved, but often just dirt where we drove through clouds of dust. The vegetation on the western border of Belize and this part of Guatemala was much lusher and denser than on our journey from the airport, and the terrain was hilly rather than flat. I felt a little nauseated in the car as we bumped over the potholes and rough roads.
As we neared Tikal, we stopped in a town called El Remate to pick up Ismael, our guide. The town is on a large lake. I would love to explore it more someday! We stopped only to use the restrooms (more likely also to encourage us to buy souvenirs) at a shop filled with European and American tourists.
As we neared Tikal, we saw signs for various animal crossings, including jaguars and strange turkey shaped birds. We finally arrived at Tikal. There were a surprising number of Guatemalans there, as entry to the park is many times more expensive for foreigners. We could immediately feel the heat and humidity of the jungle. As we entered, Ismael pointed out an enormous ceiba tree, sacred to the ancient Maya, with large above-ground roots that a later guide described as "elephant ears." The trunk of the tree stretches to the sky, where the branches begin very high and are covered in a furry-looking vine.
As we neared the acropolis, Ismael led us up a steep path to the back so that we came upon the largest plaza of Tikal from above. The view was spectacular: ruins on all four sides! I often had wondered why such ruins had been re-discovered so late. Our guide pointed out to us certain unexcavated ruins--which looked like unusually steep hills, covered in dirt, vines, and jungle trees. Over the centuries, the rainforest had taken over and regrown. Without knowing what I was looking at, I would have had no idea that I was staring at a rainforest-covered ruin.
Tikal is enormous, and seeing it in its entirety supposedly takes a full three days. We did a sort of "best of" tour, seeing the main acropolis, the building first constructed as the Mayans were still developing construction techniques, and climbing several of the tallest towers. The magnificence of the structures was fantastic, but I also loved seeing the surrounding jungle vegetation and hearing the unfamiliar calls of exotic birds and insects. Walking the paths, we saw a huge shadow and heard a rustling in the leaves above, then looked up and saw what looked like an enormous turkey sitting in the branches just above our heads!
We got back late in the afternoon, hot, sweaty, dusty, and so satisified with what we had seen! We congratulated ourselves many times for our hotel location, at the top of the hill where we received a cool breeze and had such a nice pool and restaurant.
On Sunday, we decided to walk down the hill to what was the nearest church building of any sort to our hotel--and happened to be the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, complete with air-conditioning, flush toilets, and a satellite dish for watching conference! The members were dressed in their Sunday best and greeted each other and us warmly. We watched the English language channel, then headed down the hill for lunch at a restaurant called "Ko-Ox Hannah". The menu boasted of its locally-grown and raised produce and meat, but I wondered if what has become a feel-good/eco-friendly dining experience was the norm in some parts of the world. We had tasty quesadillas, then walked back up the hill to the church for the second session of conference. It was the hottest part of the day and a very steep walk, and though not long by any standard, by the time we arrived, I was absolutely dripping with sweat. Fortunately, the air conditioning was still going strong and I was feeling cool and comfortable again by the time we finished the afternoon session. We walked the rest of the way up the hill to the hotel, where we had strawberry daiquiris again, then swam to cool off and had dinner.
On Monday, we went to Caracol, another Mayan site that took a couple of hours to drive to, this time within Belize. Again we went with a Maya walk guide, this time named Alberto. Like Ismael, he was extremely knowledgeable in local history, botany, and archaeology. As we drove, he explained how one side of the river was drier and had pine vegetation, while the other was wetter and had jungle vegetation. Alberto drove the same beat-up, AC-less mini-van that Manny had picked us up in, with the result that the dirt roads got us very dusty this time around. Alberto did have an ingenious way of avoiding the worst of the dust; as we approached a passing vehicle, he would quickly roll up the windows on the left-hand side, thus avoiding the worst of the approaching dust.
The journey proved fascinating again. We had to stop at the military station to wait for a military escort. Apparently Guatemalan bandits bearing assault rifles had crossed the border and attacked groups traveling to Caracol. While waiting for the other tour groups to arrive, we took a detour to a fantastic cave within the jungle. I spent much of my trip in wonder at such unexpected detours. Isn't that so much of the joy of traveling--to see something so out of our ordinary experience that it fills the mind with new possibilities!
The ruins at Caracol were less extensive than Tikal, but the buildings themselves were equally stunning. There were much fewer tourists and the excavation seemed fresher and less complete. One highlight was peering into a tiny room where the remains of a royal woman were once thought to be found. It was dark and hard to see, so we avoided going in. Alberto later told us that it was a favorite den of a jaguar during the rainy season! Between clambering over many different structures and staring at the vast jungle beyond, we walked through shaded paths while Alberto pointed out trails made by large ants, various edible plants and spices, and even a tree known colloquially as the "tourist tree": the bark was deep red and peeling, much like the skin of European tourists! It was a reminder to me to reapply sunscreen . Diedra and I had an ongoing debate about whether we were "pale" (her word) or "pasty" (mine).
During the return trip, we stopped at a spring with a tiny waterfall to go swimming, though Diedra had a bad blister on her foot from Tikal, and decided to sit out. The water felt amazing on such a hot day!
On Tuesday, Manny drove us back to Belize City to take a water taxi to Ambergris Caye, San Pedro. The water taxi moved very quickly across the water. We were disheartened to see the overcast skies, yet as we headed northwest, the sky became gradually clearer and clearer and was nearly blue again by the time we arrived an hour and a half later. The water was breathtaking: an unspeakable shade of teal or turquoise and so clear! San Pedro itself was clearly a bit of a tourist trap: the town center is very small and filled with restaurants, hotels, and souvenir shops. Like other towns in Belize, it was a bit crowded and dusty. The most popular mode of transport on the narrow streets seemed to be golf carts, which you could rent by the hour or day.
We took a cab the short distance to our hotel, the Tides. The hotel was painted pink with darker pink and white trim and situated right on the beach with a small but inviting pool. The "office" was on the pier, where we checked in and made arrangements to snorkel at Hol Chan the next day. The place is run by a family: the matriarch seems to be in charge, with the girls running the breakfast and housekeeping side of things, and the boys manning the bar and the dive shop. We walked down the beach to explore the town more, and rented bikes from Joe, a friendly, overweight sweaty guy with very cheap bikes. Both bikes had no gears and you braked by back-pedaling. They also had bells that sort of worked. We went north, crossed a bridge, and found ourselves on a path in a much more isolated part of the island that led right along the beach. It was spectactularly beautiful and a marvelous way to explore. Unlike in San Ignacio, the heat was tempered by an ocean breeze and never felt oppressive.
That night, I slept a bit fitfully, terrified at the prospect of sharks. On setting up our snorkeling expedition for the next day, we were informed that we would go to Hol Chan and "Shark Ray Alley." Diedra and I are both terrified of sharks; I grew up having nightmares, refusing to watch "Jaws", and always making sure someone else was further out at the beach than me. But I also felt that I would feel foolish, and worse, miss a great opportunity, if I did not go. We both decided we would go out and see how we felt, and then just not go in if we were feeling too wimpy.
We woke up, had our hotel breakfast on the pier (admittedly more picturesque than delicious), and spent the morning walking through town and sitting on the beach relaxing. We had lunch at a local seafood place. The food was a delicious mixture of Latin American and Caribbean elements: fresh seafood, tropical fruit, beans and salsa.
After lunch we prepared to snorkel. We left with two local guides, who appeared to be Latino in ethnicity but who spoke to each other in the indecipherable Kriol of Belize. We were joined by what seemed to be an extended family of a middle-aged man and his wife, her sister, and their combined children, three young women that seemed to range in age from early to late twenties. Unlike the two of us, everyone had a healthy tan! In some ways, this was encouraging, as both the hotel owner and our guides kept reassuring us that "sharks don't like white meat."
We arrived first at the so-called "Shark-Ray Alley." Our guides threw meat into the water in a bid to attract sharks (and in a practice that my guide book condemned). A nurse shark almost immediately appeared, but then went away. As the guide jumped in, followed by the others in the group, I decided I had to do it. I did not want to live ruled by fear, and I jumped in. While we had traveled out quite a way from the island to the reef, the water was quite shallow--maybe ten feet deep--and clear all the way through. We were surrounded by enormous and beautiful rays, but no sharks, to my relief.
We headed back to Hol Chan, the main part of the reef. As we anchored our boat and prepared to jump out, it was immediately clear in the crystal water that there were several large nurse sharks surrounding our boat. I made sure I was not the first to jump in, but I made myself do it, feeling that, while I knew nurse sharks to be virtually harmless, I had made an incredibly brave move.
We swam over to the reef for what may have been the most extraordinary part of the trip. Belize has the second largest barrier reef in the world, and the marine life did not disappoint. The reef was teeming with fish of the most exotic shades and sizes. In addition to schools of bright green, blue, and yellow fish, we saw barracuda, eagle rays, moray eels, a sea turtle, an enormous black grouper, and of course the varied and beautiful coral reef itself. It was fantastic, but unfortunately became a little overcast and chilly toward the end. The guide was hilarious: he would swim down, point at something, then stick his head above the water and mutter a one-word description: "Angel fish", or "black grouper" or "barracuda" to tell us what we were seeing. He also proceeded to do everything my guide book warned against, by harassing every fish he could. At the end of our swim, as he tried to wrestle a nurse shark, I could understand how these sharks "are not dangerous to humans unless provoked." I made sure to stay far away! When we got back to our hotel, Diedra showered first. Somehow, between her shower and when I went to take mine, the hotel lost all water. It was the first inconvenience of our trip! I figured that's what the pool was for, took a dip, and changed and got dressed. By the time we got back later that night, the water was fine again.
While proud of ourselves for our encounter with sharks, Diedra and I both admitted to ourselves that we felt a little drained from the stress of it, particulary when right before jumping in our guides had mentioned that they often saw "tiger sharks and bull sharks" at the reef. We decided to swim, but not snorkel on Thursday, justifying our cowardice by saying, "well, we really shouldn't support someone who feeds the sharks and touches all the fish." To fill our last day instead, we biked all over the island, stopped to read under shady huts at the end of piers, and walked through shops and along the beach. We lay in the sunshine and read books while watching locals peddle to tourists. To finish the gluttony portion of our trip, we at at the "Blue Water Grill", a great, open-air place right on the beach. We ate a dinner consisting of coconut shrimp, pesto pizza, and flourless chocolate cake as dessert. We also indulged ourselves with strawberry daiquiris. It was delicious, and of course I was totally stuffed and could barely walk back to the hotel. We watched the full moon rise and then sat on our balcony, facing the water, while we read for a while. Then, to complete what Diedra had dubbed our "old person's vacation" we went to bed early. We laughed as we saw the old ladies staying at our hotel leaving to go out for the evening just as we returned!
Friday, we awoke early to watch the sunrise, or rather, I awoke early and Diedra cheered me on from the comfort of her bed. It seemed like a good idea until I realized it was too overcast to see anything and finally went back to bed. We woke again at 6:15 to pack everything up and be at breakfast by 7:00 a.m. so we could catch the water taxi back to Belize City at 8:00. In Belize City, we grabbed a taxi to the airport and headed home. The only hitch in our plans happened when we arrived at Dulles and were greeted by a baggage delay. Not bad for a week-long trip abroad!
I traveled with Diedra, one of those friends who I see rarely but would always like to see more of. Having extensive travel experience and a practical, quick mind, she was an ideal travel companion. Most of the smoothness and well-planned efficiency of our trip can be attributed to her.
We arrived in Belize on Friday afternoon. We walked off the plane, onto the tarmac, and into the airport. I have vague recollections of having done this at American airports as a child, but that would have to be more than 25 years ago. I assume the change is security-related in the U.S., but the simplicity of simply walking into the airport made me feel that our American "improvement" was not much of one at all.
The air was heavy and hot, the sun was bright, and the Belize City airport was surprisingly small and crowded. As we exited the airport we spotted Manny, a driver for our all-purpose tourist needs company, MayaWalk, bearing a sign with our names. Manny's task was to drive us from Belize City, a place widely panned by guide books and Manny himself as a "slum", to San Ignacio, a town in the hills near the Guatemala border and a perfect point of departure for the Mayan ruins we planned to see.
The car Manny was driving was a dusty 1980's mini-van, missing its stereo and without air-conditioning, but as we drove with the windows down, the heat was not as oppressive as I had expected. The 90 minute drive was a great way to get introduced to Belize. The countryside was flat and swampy with tropical-looking trees and shrubs in clusters at irregular intervals. The houses lining the two-lane highway were mostly on stilts (to protect from flood damage, according to Manny), and often brightly colored, although many had faded, peeling paint and looked in poor repair. Laundry hung from lines and most houses had outhouses and no visible pipes under their stilted floors, although many had a car or two parked in the dirt driveway. We saw children and women walking along the dusty road, but also crowded, ancient-looking buses (including converted American school buses) headed in the opposited direction.
San Ignacio itself is located just across the river from its "twin town", Santa Elena. The streets of Santa Elena were dusty, brightly painted, crowded with brightly painted, peeling signs and buildings. The river itself was full of children playing, women bathing babies, and even cars being washed. San Ignacio seemed a slightly cleaner and less crowded version of Santa Elena. Manny drove us up a steep hill to our hotel, Cahal Pech, named after a nearby site of Mayan ruins. We were thrilled to arrive and discover the spectacular views from our hill-top location, overlooking the city and farmland below and receiving a gentle breeze. The open-deck restaurant and bar faced a beautiful pool and tropical garden, including palms and banana trees. Best, we chose to stay in one of the one-room cabanas instead of a traditional hotel room. Our cabana had a fantastic view and included a screened in porch area with a hammock. Heaven! After unpacking, we had a delicious and relatively cheap dinner from the hotel restaurant, and then ordered virgin strawberry daiquiris in what became a daily routine. The hint of lime made them delicious!
On Saturday, we had an early breakfast (tropical fruit, locally produced granola, and delicious yogurt, yum!) and then were picked up by MayaWalk for a trip to Guatemala to see Tikal. We stopped at the MayaWalk office to pick up another traveler and switch drivers, then drove the 10 miles or so to the Guatemala border. To pass into Guatemala from Belize you must pay a $30 "exit fee", so our tour guides let us walk through customs to be met on the other side with a Guatemalan driver. Unlike Manny's mini-van, both cars this day were air-conditioned. This was especially nice during the Guatemalan portion of our trip, as the roads were sometimes paved, but often just dirt where we drove through clouds of dust. The vegetation on the western border of Belize and this part of Guatemala was much lusher and denser than on our journey from the airport, and the terrain was hilly rather than flat. I felt a little nauseated in the car as we bumped over the potholes and rough roads.
As we neared Tikal, we stopped in a town called El Remate to pick up Ismael, our guide. The town is on a large lake. I would love to explore it more someday! We stopped only to use the restrooms (more likely also to encourage us to buy souvenirs) at a shop filled with European and American tourists.
As we neared Tikal, we saw signs for various animal crossings, including jaguars and strange turkey shaped birds. We finally arrived at Tikal. There were a surprising number of Guatemalans there, as entry to the park is many times more expensive for foreigners. We could immediately feel the heat and humidity of the jungle. As we entered, Ismael pointed out an enormous ceiba tree, sacred to the ancient Maya, with large above-ground roots that a later guide described as "elephant ears." The trunk of the tree stretches to the sky, where the branches begin very high and are covered in a furry-looking vine.
As we neared the acropolis, Ismael led us up a steep path to the back so that we came upon the largest plaza of Tikal from above. The view was spectacular: ruins on all four sides! I often had wondered why such ruins had been re-discovered so late. Our guide pointed out to us certain unexcavated ruins--which looked like unusually steep hills, covered in dirt, vines, and jungle trees. Over the centuries, the rainforest had taken over and regrown. Without knowing what I was looking at, I would have had no idea that I was staring at a rainforest-covered ruin.
Tikal is enormous, and seeing it in its entirety supposedly takes a full three days. We did a sort of "best of" tour, seeing the main acropolis, the building first constructed as the Mayans were still developing construction techniques, and climbing several of the tallest towers. The magnificence of the structures was fantastic, but I also loved seeing the surrounding jungle vegetation and hearing the unfamiliar calls of exotic birds and insects. Walking the paths, we saw a huge shadow and heard a rustling in the leaves above, then looked up and saw what looked like an enormous turkey sitting in the branches just above our heads!
We got back late in the afternoon, hot, sweaty, dusty, and so satisified with what we had seen! We congratulated ourselves many times for our hotel location, at the top of the hill where we received a cool breeze and had such a nice pool and restaurant.
On Sunday, we decided to walk down the hill to what was the nearest church building of any sort to our hotel--and happened to be the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, complete with air-conditioning, flush toilets, and a satellite dish for watching conference! The members were dressed in their Sunday best and greeted each other and us warmly. We watched the English language channel, then headed down the hill for lunch at a restaurant called "Ko-Ox Hannah". The menu boasted of its locally-grown and raised produce and meat, but I wondered if what has become a feel-good/eco-friendly dining experience was the norm in some parts of the world. We had tasty quesadillas, then walked back up the hill to the church for the second session of conference. It was the hottest part of the day and a very steep walk, and though not long by any standard, by the time we arrived, I was absolutely dripping with sweat. Fortunately, the air conditioning was still going strong and I was feeling cool and comfortable again by the time we finished the afternoon session. We walked the rest of the way up the hill to the hotel, where we had strawberry daiquiris again, then swam to cool off and had dinner.
On Monday, we went to Caracol, another Mayan site that took a couple of hours to drive to, this time within Belize. Again we went with a Maya walk guide, this time named Alberto. Like Ismael, he was extremely knowledgeable in local history, botany, and archaeology. As we drove, he explained how one side of the river was drier and had pine vegetation, while the other was wetter and had jungle vegetation. Alberto drove the same beat-up, AC-less mini-van that Manny had picked us up in, with the result that the dirt roads got us very dusty this time around. Alberto did have an ingenious way of avoiding the worst of the dust; as we approached a passing vehicle, he would quickly roll up the windows on the left-hand side, thus avoiding the worst of the approaching dust.
The journey proved fascinating again. We had to stop at the military station to wait for a military escort. Apparently Guatemalan bandits bearing assault rifles had crossed the border and attacked groups traveling to Caracol. While waiting for the other tour groups to arrive, we took a detour to a fantastic cave within the jungle. I spent much of my trip in wonder at such unexpected detours. Isn't that so much of the joy of traveling--to see something so out of our ordinary experience that it fills the mind with new possibilities!
The ruins at Caracol were less extensive than Tikal, but the buildings themselves were equally stunning. There were much fewer tourists and the excavation seemed fresher and less complete. One highlight was peering into a tiny room where the remains of a royal woman were once thought to be found. It was dark and hard to see, so we avoided going in. Alberto later told us that it was a favorite den of a jaguar during the rainy season! Between clambering over many different structures and staring at the vast jungle beyond, we walked through shaded paths while Alberto pointed out trails made by large ants, various edible plants and spices, and even a tree known colloquially as the "tourist tree": the bark was deep red and peeling, much like the skin of European tourists! It was a reminder to me to reapply sunscreen . Diedra and I had an ongoing debate about whether we were "pale" (her word) or "pasty" (mine).
During the return trip, we stopped at a spring with a tiny waterfall to go swimming, though Diedra had a bad blister on her foot from Tikal, and decided to sit out. The water felt amazing on such a hot day!
On Tuesday, Manny drove us back to Belize City to take a water taxi to Ambergris Caye, San Pedro. The water taxi moved very quickly across the water. We were disheartened to see the overcast skies, yet as we headed northwest, the sky became gradually clearer and clearer and was nearly blue again by the time we arrived an hour and a half later. The water was breathtaking: an unspeakable shade of teal or turquoise and so clear! San Pedro itself was clearly a bit of a tourist trap: the town center is very small and filled with restaurants, hotels, and souvenir shops. Like other towns in Belize, it was a bit crowded and dusty. The most popular mode of transport on the narrow streets seemed to be golf carts, which you could rent by the hour or day.
We took a cab the short distance to our hotel, the Tides. The hotel was painted pink with darker pink and white trim and situated right on the beach with a small but inviting pool. The "office" was on the pier, where we checked in and made arrangements to snorkel at Hol Chan the next day. The place is run by a family: the matriarch seems to be in charge, with the girls running the breakfast and housekeeping side of things, and the boys manning the bar and the dive shop. We walked down the beach to explore the town more, and rented bikes from Joe, a friendly, overweight sweaty guy with very cheap bikes. Both bikes had no gears and you braked by back-pedaling. They also had bells that sort of worked. We went north, crossed a bridge, and found ourselves on a path in a much more isolated part of the island that led right along the beach. It was spectactularly beautiful and a marvelous way to explore. Unlike in San Ignacio, the heat was tempered by an ocean breeze and never felt oppressive.
That night, I slept a bit fitfully, terrified at the prospect of sharks. On setting up our snorkeling expedition for the next day, we were informed that we would go to Hol Chan and "Shark Ray Alley." Diedra and I are both terrified of sharks; I grew up having nightmares, refusing to watch "Jaws", and always making sure someone else was further out at the beach than me. But I also felt that I would feel foolish, and worse, miss a great opportunity, if I did not go. We both decided we would go out and see how we felt, and then just not go in if we were feeling too wimpy.
We woke up, had our hotel breakfast on the pier (admittedly more picturesque than delicious), and spent the morning walking through town and sitting on the beach relaxing. We had lunch at a local seafood place. The food was a delicious mixture of Latin American and Caribbean elements: fresh seafood, tropical fruit, beans and salsa.
After lunch we prepared to snorkel. We left with two local guides, who appeared to be Latino in ethnicity but who spoke to each other in the indecipherable Kriol of Belize. We were joined by what seemed to be an extended family of a middle-aged man and his wife, her sister, and their combined children, three young women that seemed to range in age from early to late twenties. Unlike the two of us, everyone had a healthy tan! In some ways, this was encouraging, as both the hotel owner and our guides kept reassuring us that "sharks don't like white meat."
We arrived first at the so-called "Shark-Ray Alley." Our guides threw meat into the water in a bid to attract sharks (and in a practice that my guide book condemned). A nurse shark almost immediately appeared, but then went away. As the guide jumped in, followed by the others in the group, I decided I had to do it. I did not want to live ruled by fear, and I jumped in. While we had traveled out quite a way from the island to the reef, the water was quite shallow--maybe ten feet deep--and clear all the way through. We were surrounded by enormous and beautiful rays, but no sharks, to my relief.
We headed back to Hol Chan, the main part of the reef. As we anchored our boat and prepared to jump out, it was immediately clear in the crystal water that there were several large nurse sharks surrounding our boat. I made sure I was not the first to jump in, but I made myself do it, feeling that, while I knew nurse sharks to be virtually harmless, I had made an incredibly brave move.
We swam over to the reef for what may have been the most extraordinary part of the trip. Belize has the second largest barrier reef in the world, and the marine life did not disappoint. The reef was teeming with fish of the most exotic shades and sizes. In addition to schools of bright green, blue, and yellow fish, we saw barracuda, eagle rays, moray eels, a sea turtle, an enormous black grouper, and of course the varied and beautiful coral reef itself. It was fantastic, but unfortunately became a little overcast and chilly toward the end. The guide was hilarious: he would swim down, point at something, then stick his head above the water and mutter a one-word description: "Angel fish", or "black grouper" or "barracuda" to tell us what we were seeing. He also proceeded to do everything my guide book warned against, by harassing every fish he could. At the end of our swim, as he tried to wrestle a nurse shark, I could understand how these sharks "are not dangerous to humans unless provoked." I made sure to stay far away! When we got back to our hotel, Diedra showered first. Somehow, between her shower and when I went to take mine, the hotel lost all water. It was the first inconvenience of our trip! I figured that's what the pool was for, took a dip, and changed and got dressed. By the time we got back later that night, the water was fine again.
While proud of ourselves for our encounter with sharks, Diedra and I both admitted to ourselves that we felt a little drained from the stress of it, particulary when right before jumping in our guides had mentioned that they often saw "tiger sharks and bull sharks" at the reef. We decided to swim, but not snorkel on Thursday, justifying our cowardice by saying, "well, we really shouldn't support someone who feeds the sharks and touches all the fish." To fill our last day instead, we biked all over the island, stopped to read under shady huts at the end of piers, and walked through shops and along the beach. We lay in the sunshine and read books while watching locals peddle to tourists. To finish the gluttony portion of our trip, we at at the "Blue Water Grill", a great, open-air place right on the beach. We ate a dinner consisting of coconut shrimp, pesto pizza, and flourless chocolate cake as dessert. We also indulged ourselves with strawberry daiquiris. It was delicious, and of course I was totally stuffed and could barely walk back to the hotel. We watched the full moon rise and then sat on our balcony, facing the water, while we read for a while. Then, to complete what Diedra had dubbed our "old person's vacation" we went to bed early. We laughed as we saw the old ladies staying at our hotel leaving to go out for the evening just as we returned!
Friday, we awoke early to watch the sunrise, or rather, I awoke early and Diedra cheered me on from the comfort of her bed. It seemed like a good idea until I realized it was too overcast to see anything and finally went back to bed. We woke again at 6:15 to pack everything up and be at breakfast by 7:00 a.m. so we could catch the water taxi back to Belize City at 8:00. In Belize City, we grabbed a taxi to the airport and headed home. The only hitch in our plans happened when we arrived at Dulles and were greeted by a baggage delay. Not bad for a week-long trip abroad!
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