I have to say something in this small space before the anxiety-go-round starts up again, by the time I'm at my desk tomorrow I'll be on a different tack.
I am sunburned and chewed up (and spit up by mosquitoes and fire ants and deerfly but not botfly as the saying goes) and itchy and scratchy and warm and bright and bouncing from wall to sky.
I lived my dream of seeing a rainforest. We hiked and paused and lunched and hiked and swam (in a waterfall/lagoon) and hiked and fell into bed with nary a stumble up the stairs. Termites taste like snowpeas not carrots, fire ants stop hurting after the millionth bite. The philodendron that have always weaved so prettily in my dining room are minuscule reflections of the gigantic and agressive philo and phila genus that carpets between behemoth trees, blocking out the sky.
I felt ludicrous as I watched a young boy trot past us, barefoot, bare-chested, striding with ease while I bled from the knees down, covered in sunscreen, deet, citronella, and fabric on as much skin as bearable in the heat. I felt clumsy and lobster-red and seething with poison, and heard the forest groan as he disappeared amidst six-foot-tall air-roots. Still, I walked a rainforest and emerged bleeding for our sins, with each leaf etched in finest detail. Looking back at the photographs -- they reflect almost nothing of the majesty I remember.
We marched amidst lost Mayan civilizations, climbed palaces and surmised about the more likely versions of the histories invented by archaeologists and divulged by our guide.
We swam endlessly, ate plantain dipped in hot curried coconut soup. We were stalked in Dangriga city, but accosted amiably and by amused folk in Hopkins Village.
We wandered three cities, the first under 1500 strong, the second ten times that, the third ten times the size of the second.
There were no windows in Hopkins village, not on a single stilted hut. Dangriga had fancy cars and masoned windowed houses -- but so few of them that these druglord domains put into even starker relief what has already been taken from Belize. Still, like Hopkins, there was not a recognizable consumerist place to be found -- no clothing lines or shoe racks, a few miniscule grocer's, a bakery, a barbecue stand -- and miles of beach.
Belize city was filled with tourists, hotels, DVD shops and shoestores. We bought tamales on the street and were chased by urchins. We sat on a bench with a man who only asked for water. We sweltered in the heat.
At night I dreamed of faces from the wedding, the glow from their bright natures soothing my blazing skin.
Today I sat and began looking through photos taken by a dozen eyes, prepared cf's film for the shop tomorrow along with a select CD.
Today I cried for the fairytale I wasn't supposed to have but woke up to find myself in the middle of, and then wandered out in shorts to dirty my knees in the garden.
(in between at least a billion loads of laundry, o'course)
Tomorrow I live some more.
Aleta just made me all teary all over again, as I read HER recap of the wedding ceremony. I'm glad someone wrote it down from their POV -- I was so caught up in clouds that I didn't write a thing.