Now that I'm back in touch with my old friend John Carr and his family, proprietors of the Banana Bank Lodge in the Central American country of Belize, I'm yearning with a burning to know more about that former Montana cowboy's current homeland. Shucks, until mere hours ago, I didn't even know that Belize is one and the same as British Honduras...except that it got its independence from the Brits in 1981.

A bit of map checking showed that the capitol city of Belize, Belmopan, rests pretty much dead center in midcountry, eighty plus miles from the coast. John's combination hostelry and cattle ranch sits just a few miles from that small city. Clearly, his patrons are there for the jungle horseback riding, the birding, maybe checking out the awesome jaguar the Carrs raised from infancy. They must be. Eighty miles to hit the coast is a bit much.

But most of us can't really afford to spend a couple of weeks surrounded by trees and a couple of weeks scuba diving. Not in the same year, anyway. Packing the baggage alone would be a nightmare. Thus, the normal traveler will usually have to choose: Beach or beech?

After just a few hours of online investigation, it became blindingly obvious that the tourist in Belize has more factors to consider than simply jungle versus beach. One website announces expertise in the "Three R's", i.e. rain forest, ruins, and reef. Pam tells me she knew from her school days that the Belize Barrier Reef is part of the Mesoamerican Barrier Reef System, which is in turn the second largest coral reef ecosystem on the planet. Well, buy me a snorkel and call me a stingray. Turns out the reef accounts for a good half of all the tourism traffic for the entire country. Sort of tilts the balance if you like getting into the water or at least enjoy glass bottomed boats (do they still have those, I wonder?).

Scuba divers, divers, divers everywhere..... Not me, though. Me, I swim like a rock. Give me a pair of fins, and maybe I can hold position; that's about it. No, I won't drown, but I might die from embarrassment. You go ahead; I've got other decisions to make. Give me a stretch of sand, a hammock, and a thousand page book, hey, I'm good to go. Guess I'm destined to be in the minority, but I'm sticking to dry land. So that's one decision that's no decision at all.

But there's more! Such as maybe exploring some of the gazillion caves prevalent throughout the country. Now, much as I avoid going underwater, I love going underground. In fact, I've been an underground miner, blasting and mucking and all that. The mere thought of a hungry shark or even a carelessly frightened stingray--let alone a sea snake or two--can spook me half out of my wits. But a mountain falling on me? Hey, no big.

(Sigh.) John, why did you have to go and move to a country with all that different stuff to do? I mean, I know you're busy with the Banana Bank Lodge and your Simbra cattle, and Carolyn's got her art. Most likely you're too busy to go diving or cave tubing anyway. Decisions, decisions, decisions. Sure, I'm intrigued. Yes, I want to go to Belize. But won't it be a fine kettle of fish if Pam and I get down there next year and discover we just can't leave without experiencing it all. We like our Arizona desert just fine, and now here's this temptation farther on south....

To beach or not to beach; that is the question.

Thanks for reading,

Ghost32