Belize

The Caye to Relaxation

The key to enjoying life as a castaway is to go slow. Michaela Farrington takes notes and obeys the signs on a Belizean island in the Caribbean.

I feel like I’ve washed up on Gilligan’s Island. I keep waiting for the Professor and Mary Ann to emerge from one of the beach huts.

Although I don’t remember there being a restaurant called Rasta Pasta on Gilligan’s Island. Nor a fleet of little wooden fishing boats. Nor a large cast of tanned extras in bikinis and board shorts.

But the main difference between Gilligan’s and the tiny Belizean island of Caye Caulker is that on the TV show, the castaways all wanted to get off the island. Here, no one ever wants to leave.

Covered in white sand, coconut palms and beach shacks painted reds, pinks and greens, Caye Caulker is 100 per cent absolute, distilled tropical paradise.

Basking in tropical sun and impossibly blue shallow Caribbean waters, the island lies just a few kilometres from Belize’s 290 km-long barrier reef.

Here, the sea shines a different shade for every minute of the day and somehow always seems to be lit from beneath. A gentle Caribbean breeze, the scent of tanning lotion, and soft Kriol accents infuse the hot air.

All anxiety has been baked out of this pintsized isle, which is just 6.5 kms long and 600 metres wide. The air is a tranquilliser.

Within a few hours of stepping off the water taxi from Belize City, people all over the island are greeting us by country if not name. “Hey, Australia,” they call.

Everyone is impressed by our origin. And it’s not just because of the distance we’ve travelled to get here.

“You have the longest barrier reef in the world,” they say with a mixture of admiration and mild envy. Belize’s barrier reef is second longest.

Gilligan may be absent, but there are plenty of would-be skippers: Rastafarians sauntering down the street offer to take us on trips out to the reef, or whip us up a fresh seafood feast. And regardless of whether we accept their offers, they want us to “enjai” (enjoy) their island.

They greet us with “Weh di go aan.” (hello / what’s going on?), and farewell us with the local equivalent of a handshake: pressing the knuckles of their right hand against ours. “Aarait mon,” they say.

One legend has it that Caye Caulker owes its name to the pirates who stopped by to caulk their ships. Another says that British sailors favoured the island as a handy spot to find fresh water to replenish their cork water bottles.

Tourism is now the primary industry of this one-time lobster fishing and ship-building caye. But the islanders have managed to preserve the village feel. There are no resorts, and most of the accommodation is small beach huts or boutique hotels.

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Caye Caulker’s residents are a mixture of Creole (descendents of African slaves and British pirates, I was told), Garifuna, and Mestizo, plus a few westerners who came as visitors and never left.

They drive golf carts instead of cars, with Labradors riding shotgun. They sit, straddling pushbikes in the shade of coconut palms, deep in conversation with friends. They live in paradise and they know it.

We ride bicycles around the isle, on the sandy, unpaved streets lined with little shops and guesthouses called Blue Wave, Sea Breezzz, Rainbow and Lazy Iguana. Our big white handlebarbaskets are filled alternately with snorkels and fins,or chilled bottles of Lighthouse or Belikin Beer.

The ‘Go Slow’ signs, tacked to palm trees along the streets, are redundant. The only traffic is barefoot tourists, pushbikes and a few slowmoving golf carts. Everyone on the island assiduously follows the ‘GoSlow’ rule, adopting it for every aspect of their lives.

This is an island that worships ‘Go Slow’. Even the iguanas. They lounge on the beach, in the street, over tombstones in the cemetery, alternating between sun and shade, much like the tourists who are sprawled in beach chairs, on jetties, in hammocks. In bathing suits and in various shades of tan, they walk, with salty hair and a rambling gait.

Dogs rest in the shade. Local children play in the water, on jetties, in canoes, and ride their bikes through the village.

Diving and snorkelling are big business on Caye Caulker. It’s just a short boat trip to the reef, and one of the best places to dive is the nearby Hol Chan Marine Reserve. This was Central America’s first marine reserve, and after more than 10 years of protection, Hol Chan is brimming with fantastic coral and a symphony of technicoloured reef fish.

Most dive and snorkel trips include a stop at Shark Ray Alley, a shallow playground for nurse sharks and stingrays. I’m told that the sound of an approaching boat is like a love song for these marine creatures. They are drawn to the hum of the engine. As we approach, I see the dark shadow of a 2-metre long shark gliding through the gin-clear water towards our boat. Someone on the boat starts humming the jaws music. One of my fellow snorkellers begins to tremble.

“Hurry,” the skipper says. “They won’t stay for long.”

I pull on my mask and fins, slide into the bathwarm water, and dive down towards the shark. It’s big, with dark sandpaper skin, tiny eyes, and round snub nose. This is no Great White. Nurse sharks are docile and harmless.

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A spotted eagle ray glides past. It moves like a bird in slow motion flight, across the white sand, through the sapphire water. But slow motion for an eagle ray or a nurse shark is still far beyond my sprint swimming abilities, even with fins, and soon both are gone.

Huge schools of yellowtail snapper hang in the shade under boats. Lone barracuda cruise and rainbow wrasse dart and sway. It’s like swimming in a giant, packed aquarium.

Back on land, a sunset of sailor’s-delight drenches swimmers in a ruby glow. The evening brings the smell of seafood on the grill, soft music from the beach restaurants and clink of Belikin beer bottles. The temperature dips a couple of degrees to the mid 30s.

Cheerful, sunburnt travellers fill the sandy floored, candle-lit restaurants. The waiters are barefoot, tables sit on peculiar angles, and menus aren’t brought for some time. Like most things in Belize, restaurants often run on Kriol time, where “rait now” (right now) doesn’t necessarily mean this minute or anytime soon.

Ninety per cent of the food served on Caye Caulker is seafood. Huge helpings of lobster, shrimp and fish are the standard fare, including grilled nine-ounce snapper with a garnish of king prawns, lobster or shrimp burritos, fish with spicy banana chutney, lobster kabobs (sic), and BBQ shrimp. You can even have a lobster omelette for breakfast.

The millionaire and his wife never ate so well.