San Pedro, Ambergris Caye

It’s funny how low and slow in feels, to be in a plane, flying at a hundred and twenty knots at nine hundred feet. Funny for me, as I’ve flown my paramotor, which goes twenty miles per hour, a few feet from the ground.

I’m on a little ten seater flying over an ocean which is a collection of the most amazing blues. Small islands barely taller than the waves, add a stretch of green to the palate of the sea. I can see straight down to the sandy bottom which is often just feet under the surface. As Ambergris gets closer and the plane flies yet lower, I can see rays swimming, rippled by the waves they glide underneath.

I like the little plane. I like that it moves with the air. I like that there is a pilot flying the craft and the sky, not operating a computer that flies the plane.

The plane coasts to a stop. I look out the window and there is our mountain of crap waiting for us by the side of the runway. How the hell did our luggage beat us here? We got to the airport late, handed the dudes are stuff, sat around for maybe fifteen minutes and got on the plane. But, there was our gear calmly waiting.

After passing through the rigorous home land security, (A big dude that unclips the rope, that is if you don’t walk out through the big hole in the fence. (Man it’s nice to be in a place that isn’t paranoid in the most stupid, “close the gate now that the goats are out.” way.), we load up into a golf cart to go to the hotel.

There are cars on Ambergris caye, but for every car there are ten golf carts. They appear to be the preferred means of transportation. Hey, it’s a tiny place with narrow streets. A lot of the carts are electric, quite and don’t stink. It’s where the world is going. Ambergris Caye is already there.

I’m hitting my third week of the trip but I’ve yet to get used to the heat. Eighty five, ninety degrees, eighty five percent humidity. Don and I have been rooming together. At the hotel, I can’t get to the AC fast enough before Don has it set at sixty five. The locals don’t even sweat. We’re drenched.

I got a third floor balcony, from there, the beach is right below. Got palms trees, a trade wind breeze. The reef is a little less than a mile out, at that point the water goes from turquoise to deep blue. The water is shallow, I think I could walk to the reef.

Don and I have a lot less to do the next few days than usual. Keith is lining up the diving part of the trip. We weren’t suppose to be here till next week, so everything is getting rearranged. Keith has to get boats, dive gear/ masters, locations sorted. And then work out the fine details with the tourist board. Don and I shoot some tape, walk around town, get some ice cream.

I’m out of the loop on the “getting the lights shipped” process, that appears to take two hours at the internet cafe per day to sort out. I, for once, have some spare time. I left my computer, guitar, movies back in San Igncaio, so laying on a deck chair at the end of the pier was a good back up.