#52: You Better Belize It (Part II: Hopkins)

This is a continuation of Blog #51: You Better Belize It (Part I: Mainland).

The mainland portion of Belize, as we discovered in Blog #51, is a jungle replete with ancient Maya relics.  Majestic temples rise from the rainforest floor while spooky caves littered with human skeletons stretch deep below the surface.  Lest we forget during our adventures among the howler monkeys and jaguars, Belize also has a coastline along the Caribbean Sea.  Next month in Blog #53 we will explore the Belizean contribution to the typical carousing debauchery found in the tropics.  In this blog, however, we find ourselves at a quieter place of respite: the coastal village of Hopkins.

Hopkins represents the reticent side of Belize, likely due to its relative remoteness.  The drive is 80 miles from the nearest major airport.  Hopkins also doesn’t have any name-brand resorts that people can redeem their travel points at.  The village lacks any nightclubs or immediate access to major adventure excursions.  It is the type of place you go to relax, not to party.  I encountered the chill vibes of Hopkins immediately upon entering my hotel lobby.

Nearly all of the lodging options in Hopkins are privately owned boutique hotels.  In my experience this is a double-edged sword.  Boutique hotels lack the consistency and familiarity of major hospitality chains.  On the other hand, they usually have smaller crowds and a more intimate atmosphere.  Case in point, we loved the quirky African grey parrot hanging out next to the check-in desk at our hotel in Hopkins.  Ever the ladies’ man, Rico the parrot flirts with beautiful women while ignoring male guests.  “You can take him with you back to America if you want,” the girls at the front office sarcastically told us.  We were also greeted by the owner of the hotel later in the evening when she took the time to sit and have a pleasant conversation with us.  I dare say I have never had that happen at a Marriot or Hilton.  Then again, it’s not like we had any complaints about her property.  Hopkins was an unexaggerated paradise.

The walk from my hotel room to the beach was maybe 30 seconds.  Once my feet hit the sand, I couldn’t help but smile.  I stood in the shade of windswept palm trees looking at a sea of blue water and not another person in sight.  All I could hear were rustling fronds above and waves gently rolling onto the shore at my feet.  It was a tropical paradise.  And it was seemingly all mine.

The only other signs of life were a double-decker pier down the beach from our hotel.  I took the opportunity to spontaneously kick off my sandals and swim down to investigate the goings on.  It turns out the upper portion of the two-story pier was a ceviche and cocktail bar, while the lower section was mostly over-the-water hammock netting for laying out and relaxing.  I climbed upstairs toward the sound of island music and was delighted to discover not only that it was happy hour, but that a mere handful of people were present.  Then the most unexpected thing happened:  A man walked past the bar, onto the outer deck, and jumped right off the side of the pier!  Bewildered, I asked the bartender, “We can do that?”  Unfazed, the server shrugged and replied, “You’re going to do it anyway after enough rum punch.”  Never being one to miss a good time, I immediately rushed out and jumped before my brain could talk the rest of my body out of the brilliant idea.

Now, it might not look too bad in the pictures, but the upstairs plank is around five meters above the water.  By comparison, the high dive at your local swimming pool is only three meters.  That might not be much to Olympic divers, but a 16-foot drop is plenty of space to knock the wind out of a silly tourist hitting the water at an awkward angle.  What is worse, the water is so shallow that most adults hit their feet on the ocean floor after jumping.  Personally, I found the free fall length to be just enough time to regret my decision mid-air before feeling the stinging pain of my feet slamming onto the water surface and then the sea floor.  But it was also exhilarating.

I later took a sunset stroll along the quiet beach to let my pier diving adrenaline wear off.  To no surprise, it was every bit of peaceful and relaxing.  The faint murmur from an occasional restaurant patio was the only noise to break up the sound of the frothy waves coming to rest upon the sand.  Ambient lighting strung from empty beachfront gazebos cast a golden yellow glimmer onto the darkened Caribbean Sea.  It felt so far from every possible source of stress.  In my dreams I am still walking on that beach with the stars above, making footprints in the sand, not thinking about tomorrow.

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