Earning Adventure Points

Go to confession. Get right with God. The end is near...

I went camping.

I enjoyed it.

Why you ask? Well, it's a long story... Luckily, classes are over and the stack of grading that's been aging on my desk isn't going anywhere, so gather around and hear how I spent my last weekend.

Belize has a national canoe race called "La Ruta Maya" that follows the route that the Mayan indians used to take down the Mopan River to get from San Ignacio (Cayo, our nearest "city") all the way to Belize back in the days when all they had were canoes. The race takes three and a half days to complete, with the boats spending between 5 and 12 hours on the water each day. Why this country feels the need to commemorate this mode of transportation in light of the invention of paved roads and busses is beyond me, but three teams of teachers from our school decided to participate in it this year (one girl for her second year in a row!) and I said to myself, "self, you need to get out of your comfort zone. Be more like Sarah Sheldon. She did grounds crew last year and said it was a good thing. If Sarah could do it, so can you. You should offer to help out". So, in a moment that can only be described as a complete lapse in my sanity, I volunteered to help with the grounds crew. Grounds crew just means getting in a car and following this craziness across country-- helping to set up their tents, getting food and camping out at each site. Now, it should be clarified at this point that I've never camped, was never a girl scout and until last weekend considered it adventurous to drink my morning coffee on my porch instead of inside. So, I clarified that I could help with grounds crew, but don't expect me to actually do anything useful because I have no idea how.

Well, apparently that memo didn't get through, because I ended up not on a grounds "crew" but more of a "partnership" with one other teacher-- Ali (not Robezoli). The two of us were to take care of driving to each site (we're not talking your organized, two-lane interstate highway either), setting up the campsites, taking care of food for the boats and taking the site down each day... As well as any other little "issues" that can come up when you're canoeing across the country. Before I had time to think about it, we were making peanut butter sandwhiches for three boats and driving three canoes to Cayo for the 7:00 a.m. start of the race on Friday. I should take this opportunity to clarify that the motto of this race is "it's more than just a race"... I didn't understand until I saw the teams... These people were serious! You have your white folks that flew in with their fancy paddles and canoes from the U.S. of A., you have your British granola heads with dredded hair who have been living in the bush doing internships on the lifecyles of Belizian tapirs... you have Belizeans with sponsorships and matching t-shirts... You even have a bunch of crazy senior- citizen aged ladies from Louisianna who brought their chihauha on board (with his own life jacket), wear tye-dye and go by the title "swamp witches"... imagine all these kinds of people lined up for the gunshot at 7:00 a.m... then imagine the Mount Carmel teachers... in front of the start up, blocking everyone... because Fr. Mark's boat had gone to give paddles to another boat... which was on the shore... Announcements were made in about three different languages, telling them to clear the way. The shot goes off... and in fairness, the teachers all (well mostly) go to the start line (after everyone gets out of the way) and begins their first day of paddling strong... for about two minutes until both of the girls boats tip over in front of everyone, including several students. However, they get their act together and begin their first day of paddling mostly prepared. By mostly prepared I mean that one of the boats had all the food and one of the boats had all the water (not the same ones). Mount Carmel: "Seabiscuit" (Fr. Mark and two seminarians), "Updog" (Kathryn, racing for the second time and two other teachers) and "The River Rats" (a team of three more girls) is officially the "special" team!

Ali and I begin strategizing about how we can improve our teams odds in this race... We decide that tomorrow, we need to make sure that the food ends up in separate boats and well, getting behind the start line would be nice too. So, seeing as how things can only get better, we pile into a Chevy Blazer with a standard transmission (yes, I drove a stick shift across country...) and set out to find the first campsite at Banana Bank. Now, this being an national race... the biggest thing in Belize all year, you'd think it'd be clearly marked where to turn off the Western Highway, right? No, silly! Ali and I turn off onto a dirt roard that's marked "Banana Bank" and head down. We reach two dead ends, one leading us to a footbridge and another that simply puts us at the bottom of a hill on a river bank with room to make a rather scary three-point turn (yes Mom, the words of Scott the security guard are forever in my mind... more gas, less clutch). We finally get to the "ferry" which consists of a metal bridge in the middle of the lake and two wooden planks leading up and down from the road. Sounds good, right? Ideally yes, but the proble is that the ferry didn't move, and the wooden planks that you needed to drive up were 1) extremely steep and slippery, 2) rotting away in some places so that your car would get stuck in them and 3) only accessible by driving through water several feet deep. Needless to say, only the strong trucks were surviving. When we arrived, a school bus was pulling a ancient red pickup truck over this contraption. Thankfully, Fr. Dan and Bernadette (the deacon's daughter who grew up in Belize) were on the other side of the shore. We park the car on the shoulder and walk by the struggling school bus to talk to Fr. Dan. He says, "you have four wheel drive on that thing?" I said, "well... hypothetically speaking, yes. Do I know how to use it? Not really..." (it was on the list of things to learn how to do before this weekend... somewhere between setting up a tent, which hadn't happened yet either). Then it occurs to me, "Father Dan, how about you drive the car over?" It took some convincing, and watching about twenty other cars struggle over, but he finally agreed to do it. In the meanwhile, two of our canoes passed by. The guys came by first and had one word, "food!". We dropped some snickers (the official power bar of Central America) into the boat. The other boat passed and Kathryn, who was racing for the second year yelled, "I hate the Ruta Maya!". Ali and I decided we needed to set up camp sooner rather than later, so Father crossed over the bridge with me to drive the car. Fathr Dan became my heroe in those next five minutes. The car sputtered and stalled and refused to stay in four wheel drive. After several attempts, we finally made it over with the help of some people pushing us. Ali and I made a note to find the alternate route around the ferry the next morning.

We thanked Father Dan and went further into the middle of nowhere to set up camp. That day went by without a glitch. The rowers arrived in good spirits, especially after the British timekeepers announced the arrival of their boat with "Roger that, Updog" and I discovered that setting up tents isn't difficult and that it really is possible to sleep outside, overnight, without the luxury of a bathroom with running water close by. The rowers were in good spirits when we saw them off for their next day of paddling (this was the "rapids" day, the hardest physically) and we set about getting out a different way than we came. Ali took matters into her own hands and went straight to the British Army (the official timekeepers) to ask them how to drive around the ferry since our four wheel drive wasn't working. They offered to simply tow us across with their very large army vehicle if we waited for them. We took them up on it. We rushed back and spent a solid forty-five minutes packing up the tents. Then the British army showed up and (after laughing at us just a little), helped us finish by throwing EVERYTHING haphazardly into the car for us. When we arrived the ferry, the Captain and I switched places and he proceeded to take the car across for us. I should mention that the car we were using didn't have a hand brake, and that definately threw him off. I said, "well, we're missionaries, this is the best car we have actually..." He pointed to the statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe on the dash and said, "well, let's hope she helps us out". He made it across the ferry, and he turned and said, "I think I was just as nervous as you... if you don't mind my saying, your car could really use a hand brake!". We thanked him profusely and drove off.

That day we followed the boats through the bush a little and cheered them on as they passed by. It was great, you never knew where you were going and nothing was marked. You just pulled over, asked people and ciphered through conflicting directions. We set up camp again and drove to the last place where we could see them pass by, which were the rapids. We hung out on the bank next to the rescue teams who were encouraging people to risk the rapids so they could dive in after them. We saw teams make it through flawlessly and some lose their canoes downstream (One team lost it's canoe only to have it brought back by two men who had been watching the race. They were paddling up stream, through rapids, using only branches... it was amazing). Our two girls teams made it fine, but Seabiscuit's entry into the rapids was like a replay of the opening of "Pirates of the Caribean". They entered into the rapids, paddled hard, and the boat sank beneath them (Now, the rescue team was very specific that "they done sunk! No one does that... everybody done tip over, but they done sunk!) So, we went over and helped them right their boat and gather supplies, and they went off relatively unscathed.

The next couple days were more of the same. There were several crazy driving experiences and close encounters of the "natural" kind (yes, by the end of the weekend I was picking spiders out of the tent with my bare hands) but all in all, it was one of the best weekends I've spent here! We all got to know each other a lot better and I feel like I've seen Belize from a different side. Everyone was so helpful to Ali and I (I think our strong showing at the begining of the race established us as non-threatening and in need of help) and in the words of my fellow teachers, I "earned major adventure points". The capstone of the week was Monday, when we were driving back from Belize City after the race was over and we had tied the canoe to the roof. That was the precise moment that the door on the passenger side refused to stay closed. So, yes, we took a piece of rope and my friend Dinorah held it shut the whole way back.

All in all, the three and a half days spent sleeping outside without a shower were some of the best times spent in Belize! Go figure! I should mention that this was followed by a week with the FUS mission group from Belize, who came bearing some of my favorite people and more goodies than I can mention right now. Thanks so much to all who sent candy, peanut butter and coffee! They were models of what it means to be missionary catechists-- Christocentric, patient and flexible!

So, this was how I spent my past couple weeks, not to mention finishing up RCIA prep and the end of term. Life in Belize never ceases to challenge and surprise me... I love this place!