Bicycles are almost as good as guitars for meeting women

My friend Gilbert enjoys communicating with a combination of sound effects and pantomime.  25 years old, eager to learn new skills and see new places.  Just one of the many good-natured and personable need greaters we've gotten a chance to know in Belize. 

Placencia is a small town but trudging up and down the streets time and again can get a little tiresome.  Thus when your friend Gilbert says that he knows a guy in Dangriga who can get us a deal on a bicycle for 110 Belize (55 US dollars), your ears perk up.  Soon thereafter, myself, Ian, Gilbert, and Carl and Matthew, the Brits as they are affectionately known, board the 1:00 PM bus to Dangriga at about 1:20 (that's how things work here).  The bus chugs along weaving it's way north for a couple hours.  A simple ride with no bicycles.

We arrive in Dangriga and meet up with Eli and Dave, a couple of laid back need greaters from the East coast, USA.  From Connecticut but they remind me of some SoCal surfers.  As soon as we enter the main city street, Charley, a local Garifuna, comes up to see who the new guys in town are.  Eli tells him we're with him, subsequently Charley leaves us alone.  Eli explains Charley is not a bad guy, he's just an opportunist, and is always aware of an opportunity to hustle a gringo.

We go to the meeting in Dangriga. It's our first meeting in a Kingdom Hall since we've been here, because in Placencia we meet in the local community center.  The humidity in the Kingdom Hall is comparable to a steam room but you can feel the energy and positivity throughout. Apparently this energy has broken more  than half the fans, it's just that powerful.  Dangriga English, a congregation of about 100, a combination of need greaters, special pioneers, and locals. They are already having a Saturday and Sunday meeting and soon they will be splitting, now that the Jacobs, a special pioneer couple from Belmopan have arrived. The Jacobs are from California but have been in Belize for 8 years. 

The next morning as we leave the service group, Brother Jacobs pounds his chest twice and says "Respect brothers".  Wow, I ponder, even the white people are cool here.  In the ministry I work with a brother who moved here from Canada 3 years ago with his family.  He has 9 Bible studies right now, because that's all he has time for.  I'm a little nervous as I take my first door, but I muster it up, and call out "Hello . . . Morning!" from the bottom of the stairs as is the custom.  The somewhat dilapidated house is about 8 feet off the ground, on stilts providing shade for the dogs and the drunks.  

"I'm busy right now, sorry", she says from the door.  Sounds like the states, the difference is the person here is most likely legitimately busy.   "Should I come back?"  I ask.  "Yes, come back in 20 minutes please".  We circle the block talking to a few people.  Strangely almost everyone seems to be busy this morning but one lady cooking fish talks to us for a bit.  She studied in the past and even went to the meetings some.  So we invite her to the meeting on the weekend. She says she'll be there. 

Making our way back to the busy lady, we call up again, "Hello. . .  Good morning!" She invites us up.  I start my presentation in the Truth tract, and read Psalm 37:10, 11.  She listens very attentively, and I ask her if she'd like to learn more.  She says yes.  And before I can offer she asks, "Can someone study the Bible with me?"  We go and find sister Jacobs.  I introduce them and they set up a time to meet in a couple days.  As we leave, the householder (whose name has escaped me, granted this was a couple weeks ago) says, "you really made my day, today" with a big smile on her face.   She made ours as well. 

Service is over, we've had our siesta, we've gotten our bicycles, it's time to go home.  It's an interesting feeling going home to Placencia.  Leaving it and coming back, is the first time, for me at least that it has really felt like home.  Maybe that's typical.  

There is the less then trivial matter of getting the bikes back on the bus.  These buses don't exactly have bike racks.  After cramming, scrunching, folding, bunching, climbing and situating the three of us (the Brits took a different bus) and the three bikes into the back of the bus; we sit, cozy and content.  As the sky darkens and the air cools Gilbert and Ian discuss; well things I suppose, I wasn't really paying attention.  Opposite them I stare out my window, watching the Mayan villages and banana plantations fly by.  The beauty of the evening makes it easy to reflect on how privileged we are to be here right now. Riding on possibly the same bus I went to the zoo in when I was in the 4th grade, surrounded by good friends, and sporadically colored beach cruisers.  That "journey is the destination" thing is kind of making sense these days. 

Gilbert's mad skills

In case there was doubt, yes I am a Nerd!

Good thing Ian is too :)

"The best things in life are unexpected - - because there is no expectation"

We unload from the back of the pickup truck and apply bug spray in a car wash assembly line manner. The various desks and chairs from the lime green school have been scattered on the lawn in front of the building. A white sheet is set up on the side of the building with a projector and a laptop cued up with a young people ask video sitting on a desk in the front row.
Thus far it's just need greaters and a few studies standing around, chatting and laughing while telling tales small and tall.  Oh yeah and avoiding the tall grass, deep in the Stann Creek district of Belize the bugs are the worst in the tall grass. 
It's now nearing 6 o'clock, 30 minutes or so past the advertised start time of the program, and still no Maya villagers. Will anybody show we wonder?  Or will we just have to sit on our own and listen to a talk in a language we don't understand. At least we'll get to watch a video I guess.
The brothers arranged the program due to a recent string of suicides among Maya youth in the area.  Most recently 3 Maya teenagers all poisoned themselves and then spent the next week slowly dying.  It took one teenager nearly 5 days to end his life. The effect on the community is hard for us to even begin to comprehend. 
Slowly, gradually the seats begin to fill.  Mostly children sit in the seats near the front.  Mothers with two or three children with them occupy the chairs on the outskirts of the group.  We stand at the back and observe the crowd gather to hear a talk with practical advice from the Bible in there own Mayan language.  A rarity indeed.  I notice very few men in the audience at the start of the talk.  Just women, children, and pack of dogs to the side fighting and growling at each other.   Soon though, scanning the field to the right more begin to creep in.  There is half a dozen people, mostly older men, standing about 20 feet away from the main group.  As the talk continues they slowly ease in closer and closer to the group.  Seemingly; always alert and paying close attention, absorbing the words being spoken.
The talk ends and polite applause proceeds.
As the young people ask video begins I find myself originally nervous of there choice.  It's the drama based on the Bible account of Dinah. The girl gets in with poor association at school and this has a negative effect on her life for a time. How will they relate to this video, I wonder. It seems so far away and distant from there lifestyle.  I think modern suburbia really couldn't be any further away.  The first somewhat cheesy funny part of the video happens with the girl's dad doing something which I can't recall.  And to my pleasing surprise, the crowd of over 100 roars with laughter.  Well, I guess they like it. The Maya people fill in the gaps in the makeshift outdoor meeting place and nobody, that I noticed, leaves while the video plays.
Afterwards we have a few minutes to talk with the villagers.  They are so appreciative of us coming.  One man asks me if we'll be doing this every week here.  He says the people here need this type of education. He thanks us, and I feel a deep warmth to have the privilege to belong to such a brotherhood.
Ian also gets a little chatty with a villager.  Chatty enough that we almost end up leaving him in the village (that would of been tough to explain).  Banging on the outside of the truck, the brother driving stops and Ian has time to run and jump in the back. They don't mess around here.  I wasn't looking forward to the chilly hour long ride back home in the back of a pickup truck. 
To escape the wind we lie on our backs and are treated to possibly the most beautiful night sky I've experienced in my life.  The stars are not scattered in the sky. Rather they form a continuous variance of different patterns and brightness until the heavens above seem to have nearly exploded with light. As the truck makes turns on the road the whole sky shifts.  Almost as if we can feel the movement of the earth beneath us.
This night was an experience I wouldn't of been able to imagine.
I went into this trip trying my best to have no expectations.  But once I got here I faced the hard reality that, inevitably, I did indeed have some expectations.  Which of course were highly inaccurate. Looking back now on a couple weeks.  It is not the picture I had in my mind; but everyday has been unique, different, and quite fantastic.
I suppose maybe I've seen that we can't help but have some expectations going into a new situation.  But the important thing is to be willing to let go, completely, of those expectations.  And not only except things for what they are but embrace things for what they are.  Because in this way, life it seems can often be more amazing and fresh and exciting then we could ever possibly imagine.

 Sorry I still have taken just a few low quality pics.  I will try to remember to get my camera out more.

An uncertain destination

The squeal of the wheels touching ground alerts my attention.  We say polite goodbyes and "have a nice trip" to Felix.  The older gentlemen in the seat next to us who messed up his customs form three times and thus decided he'd never come to Mexico again.  "It's too much of a hassle", he says.  I wonder if he knows what he's talking about.

We take a comfortable bus to Playa del Carmen and eventually find the Hotel Colorado.  There we talk to Kard, one of the six owners of the Hotel.  He lets us pick out which room we want and tells us about a nice local place called Fogon. One more day in Playa spent running on the beach, talking to local transplant divers, wandering around all inclusives, swimming, and just relaxing for a bit.  Oh yeah and trying to figure out how we're going to get to Belize City tomorrow.
Yet to contact Rick or Veronica Cattouse, the people who Derrick set us up to stay with in Belize City, we decide to press on regardless. We walk the surprisingly vacant streets of Playa before the sunrise to catch a bus to the border.  There we meet a fast talking tri-lingual French back packer, possibly named Javier, although that may have also been the name of the taxi driver.  The first class bus to Chetumal was about 4 1/2 hours and pleasant, it had a bathroom, air conditioning and even a TV airing a fantastically cheesy teen comedy.
"Javier" spoke Spanish so we shared a taxi with him and he helped us cross the border.  He'd been traveling Central America for about 5 months and was trying to get to Honduras.  His experience and Spanish helped us much getting across the border.
Once in Belize the buses changed dramatically.  I apologize, in all the chaos thus far, I have but barely one or two random pictures of the trip. But just imagine an old American school bus painted bright colors and playing loud Spanish music and the worst of 80's pop.  As an example, hours into bus riding Belize I was actually excited to hear a Creed song, then after about 15 seconds I remembered how awful Creed is. We slowly travel the streets of Corozal.  The bus driver stopping for ice cream and then a Coke at another time.  Let's say it's a leisurely drive.
Then we pass through a small village named Concepcion.
Now it's time to travel from Concepcion to Placencia, and that is quite a journey.
In Orange Walk, two hours from this days destination we still have no idea where we are going to stay in Belize City.  We talk to Herminio one of the guys working on the bus and ask him where we can make a phone call.  Well it turns out he knows Rick and Veronica, and he calls them for us, gets through to them and we are able to make plans to meet.
Staying at the Cattouses is still the best night of sleep I've gotten so far on the trip.
Anyhoo there's another 7 hours or so of buses the next day plenty interesting but i fear there has already been plenty of bus details.  Arriving at our destination on a bus without an inch of space to spare we meet up with Derrick and eat a delicious dinner of homemade tuna filled empanadas at a brand new unbaptized brothers house. 
So now in the past, getting to Placencia, was surely an experience.  A bit stressful at times, filled with unknowns and uncertainties.  When my mind would race, I prayed to Jehovah and he calmed me, helped me to think clearly, act reasonably, and provided the needed direction to get us here safe, sound and smiling.

"The suspense is terrible. I hope it will last"

Preparing for our upcoming trip has me in a state of surreal anxiety ridden excitement. Thus what better way to console this idle mind chatter then to participate in the cathartic experience of musing away in type. Right? Well I know what a few of those words mean at least.

Allow me to digress for a moment.  Some background if I may on how an adventure is born.  I suppose it all starts with inspiration. When I was 14 my best friend moved with his his family to San Miguel, a small town in the mountains of Ecuador, South America. Not quite a year later, I traveled with a friend to visit him there.  I have fond memories but I never thought of the trip with much significance, but as most everything does in life, the trip sparked profound change.

I got a bug on that trip, and I don't mean a parasite, possibly that too though. I speak of the adventure bug.  Which I suppose is quite human in itself, as I think adventure is relative.  Maybe it's just challenging yourself in some way.  Doing something that's somewhat difficult, new, or possibly even uncomfortable. Here's an excerpt from my travel journal to Ecuador on a day out in service "There was just rural houses in San Vincenta, We had to walk up lots of hills. There are pigs tied up along the dirt roads, and the dogs bite, all the people are really nice."  It's not exactly summiting K2, but it was interesting, different, addictive even.  It was the first time I think, that I realized how little I really knew about the world and life in general.  And little is more exciting than that, because when you know nothing the potential for learning and growth is endless.  Now I'm not saying I always kept that attitude, I was a teenager for goodness sake. And as I get older and become what some people might call an adult of sorts, it's a struggle I must say to keep that childlike awe and desire to drink in experiences and gain all the insight that our surroundings offer.  Whatever those surroundings may be. 

And that is why I'm so excited about this trip to Belize. Because I don't feel all that different from that 14 year old kid.  I still don't know what to expect. I can plan all day, but I still don't really know what I'm doing (don't tell Ian that part), and the whole thing, like life in general, is just one big, giant unknown.  Yes, there is so much to learn.  And that is truly, a Magnificent thing!

Here's some pics of that trip . . .

Why a 'barefoot' adventure?

Almost 2 years ago, I was running strong, training for a marathon, a triathlon, and a book-a-thon. Who would of thought that on a mild, sunny February afternoon, a jog through the mountains with my dog Brutus would be the wrench in my spokes.  Brutus having already taken a number of jaunts through the hills, chasing every swaying tree and fleeting smell, was showing his age struggling to keep up.  The pain of consistently slowing myself down while traveling downhill was hardly to much to run through. No pain no gain right?  But my running would never be the same.  From that point on, Anytime I'd exceed 6 miles, even when my knee was feeling it's healthiest, the pain would begin.

I tried all sorts of different stretching and treatment strategies.  But inevitably around Mile 6 or less, the pain would always make itself heard.  A whisper that if ignored soon became a scream.  This continued until on a visit to California for a friends wedding, I decided to go for a short jog on the beach.  Not wanting to be one of those people who runs on the beach in shoes, I left my shoes in the car and ran barefoot.  With the sand filling the spaces in between my toes I ran for miles, pain free. This is the part of the story called, the waking up of my feet.

It wasn't an instant transformation, but over the past year I've rediscovered running, by running barefoot.   Barefoot running was for me a new expression of something I'd been doing since I was a gangly 13 year old trying to chase down the cross country team, my older brother, or my neighbor, who happened to be a professional runner.
For me running barefoot is synonymous with running aware.  Feeling the grass as it lies soft only to raise itself erect again, the warm concrete pressing against the pads of my feet, or the pointed prod of a pebble signaling one of the 20, long dormant, muscles in my foot to react.  Reawakening these muscles has been a slow, steady and in progress project.  But not only does my running feel stronger then ever before, it also is a more intimate, satisfying experience.  Greater connecting with the dirt from which I was made.   Doing away with the inch of rubber which had created a chasm with the sole (pun alert) purpose of numbing my body to the sensations and feelings of, well, running. 

Have I lost you?  If not, we're going to bring it all together.  In theory I hope to travel with this same awareness. The principles of barefoot running, are to forget muscle memory (undoing years of negative habits), change what's strong (strengthening the foundation, your feet, rather than overcompensating), slow down (at least at first to really understand what your doing and proper form), reawaken your feet (through patience and listening to your body). I hope to transfer these principles to my travels.  By feeling the ground beneath my feet, so to speak, as I move through each new experience.  Maybe it'll be a little painful but I hope in the end it will lead to a fuller, more real experience that helps me to grow as a person.

This is a possible projection of me upon my return.

This is called an introduction

Welcome to my blog.  Why write a blog?  Thank you for asking. Now no more questions please.

On January 18th I will be embarking on a Central American adventure, and this is basically my only opportunity to use words such as, embark.  Also what better way to really appreciate the trip then to post on the internet charming anecdotes such as . . . customs sure was crazy!
As I mentioned I don't leave until January 18th so hopefully your cool with a little filler in the meantime.

By the way . . . . 

That's just a little something from me to you.

This is my first post, so I can be sure there will be one post, but other than that the future is wide open.