Belize

May 13–14, 2013

The good-natured border guard flips through my passport.
“Do they understand Russian in Ukraine?”
“Um, well yes, they do. They speak it. Why do you ask?”
The border guard carefully glues the visa into my passport. He stamps it with a heavy thud—wham!
“Then you might be interested in seeing the show at the Princess Casino, they have Ukrainian girls performing every night at ten.”

Perhaps it was the Ukrainians who taught the locals to portray a housewife in the kitchen and with a rolling pin in her hands.

Welcome to Belize.

This was once a British colony. All that’s left from the British are the post boxes. Except that they’re set up just as they are, instead of having the bottom third buried in the ground as it’s meant to be. (The Xerox logo, which bears a perfect resemblance to the flag of Kyrgyzstan, can be seen in the background.)

The payphones are American.

The speed bump sign looks more like a butt.

An “area prone to flooding” sign.

The country is in fact prone to flooding. This is why half the homes are on tall stilts.

A bus stop sign.

A bus stop.

A traffic light.

Street signs.

A license plate.

Various stickers on a windshield.

The trash cans in the capital consist of repurposed fuel barrels.

An appeal to get vaccinated.

A clever anti-abortion ad.

There’s a very large number of very fat women in Belize.

Have you ever seen a very fat Chinese woman? I haven’t. Almost all the stores and restaurants are owned by the Chinese.

Belizeans don’t like to work.

They’d much rather sit on the stoop all day.

Parts of the city are quite charming in a colonial way. There are blossoming trees everywhere.

The country is very poor.

The few tourists that come here are immediately shuttled off to tourist reservations with diving opportunities, casinos, restaurants, and shops.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot to mention—the rest of the country, and especially Belize City, aren’t designated for safe travels. There’s always someone who will be more than glad to rob a careless tourist during the day, or murder him at night. Even the local cabbies are afraid to drive around at night.

On the other hand, custom dictates that every grave must have a sculpture of an open Bible on it. Consequently, the cemetery resembles the top of the Kremlin Wall.