Caye Caulker

It's a funny name, isn't it? Pronounced "Key Cocker", it's much less dirty than it sounds, since "Caye" just generally means island, and "Caulker" has been variously explained as an anglisization of the Spanish name "Caye Hicaco" (which means 'island of the cocoplum'), as a favourite spot for British ships to fill up and cork their water bottles, or even because ships may have been re-caulked in the bay. Whatever the reason for the slightly weird name, it's a lovely little island. With precisely three main streets (Front Street, Middle Street, and, you guessed it, Back Street), a population of 1300, and about five actual cars, it's the epitome of slow Central American living. People walk, ride dilapadated bikes, and putter around on "Club Car" brand golf carts. The locals mainly fish or work in the tourist industry, but it's far from a resort island -- in among the fancier houses and backpacker's hostels there's tiny corrugated-iron shacks, garbage among the palm trees, and a slightly dilapadated look about the place.


They don't have Daylight Savings Time in Belize, so I would go to bed two hours after sundown (about 10 pm) and wake up with the sunrise (6:00 or so). Most mornings I'd hop on the complimentary bike at our B&B (more on it later) and ride around town before breakfast. I'd chase lizards off the packed sand streets, weave my way around puddles, avoid the blue-and-white suited children on their way to school, and greet the locals as they bought hot johnnycakes with cheese for breakfast. I could cycle around the whole island in about 20 minutes, and by the end of the week I had not only memorized the whole layout of the island and was recognizing lots of people, I even knew some of the animals by sight.

While I expected to see the ubiquitous South American mutt there (slightly dirty, skinny, no collar, sleeps everywhere), what I didn't expect was the preponderance of cats on the island. They were everywhere, sleeping on top of roofs, begging food at the local diner with the sand floor (named "Rasta Pasta" and playing Bob Marley, of course), and hanging out at what we called "The Cattery", a run-down lot on the beach that must have had at least 25 cats sleeping in and around it. If you look back up at the picture above, you'll see a cat just walking past the fence gate on the right side.

There were also various native animals -- iguanas sunning by the bar on the beach, tiny lizards that lifted up their tails and fled across the road in front of you, brightly coloured birds, starfish wishing that people would stop picking them up from their underwater homes, and crabs of various colours (orange, blue, and a gorgeous iridescent purple) who scuttled back into their holes as soon as you stopped to look at them.

Of course, not everything was fabulous. The sheer amount of garbage was a little disconcerting at times, and walking back to our B&B at night was very dark and the clicking noises of crabs was a little worrisome. Far more worrisome, of course, after Meghan's sister Bronwen and Bronwen's fiance Sean were mugged one night walking back to their beach cabana. It was a very sobering experience for all of us on an island that we'd been repeatedly assured was very, very safe (and which felt safe too -- I didn't lock my bike, I wandered around by myself a lot). Admittedly, the theft was so uncommon that Sean and Bronwen became somewhat famous around the island (they were the 'muggees'), and the police force took it very seriously, with many more of them patrolling the streets in the days after the mugging.

But despite that one bad moment, Caye Caulker was a great place to spend a week. It felt real, not some cleaned-up version of a Caribbean island but a real place where people cooked and fished and played basketball on the court by the ocean. A place where people talked over the football scores at the supermarket and sent their kids to school and said hello to you as you went by. A place where I could relax.