We were up at 06:00 hrs. despite the failure of my alarm clock to produce a sound. We bid “adios” to our host, Juan, at the hotel and made our way quickly to the Bus Station. We boarded a comfortable first-class coach and were soon winging our way towards Chetumal.
The road was good and the terrain was flat. The clouds drifted like smoke across a vast expanse of blue sky. Semi-tropical forest with palm trees and scrubland stretched away on either side of the road and odd, isolated hovels offered services such as “Foto Service” or “Electronic Workshop” in otherwise apparently deserted areas.
We arrived at Chetumal at 13:00 hrs. and got off the coach in a brand-new Bus Terminal, more like an airport departure lounge than a bus station, on the outskirts of the town. We had to get a taxi to the centre of the town and spent a while touring the hotels looking for a reasonably priced triple room.
We eventually settled for an upstairs room at the back of the Pasada Margot on “Cinco de Mayo” Calle, for 20,000 Mexican Pesos with an ensuite toilet and a shower. Cinco de Mayo is an annual celebration held on May 5th. The date is observed to commemorate the Mexican Army's victory over the French Empire at the Battle of Puebla, on May 5, 1862, under the leadership of General Ignacio Zaragoza. The victory of the smaller Mexican force against a larger French force was a boost to morale for the Mexicans.
The town is nicely laid out in a grid pattern with wide avenues, each with a grassy central reservation lined with palm trees. The seafront was a mass of green surrounding a fountain. Grass, palm trees and hedges were overlooked by the New State Government buildings.
The town seemed to be deserted but it was a very hot Sunday afternoon, and it was siesta time so sensible people would be slumbering in their hammocks. We spent the afternoon with a couple of cold “Corona” beers and a search for the Guatemalan Consulate, which was at Avenida Heroes de Chapultepec 356, Colonia Centro Chetumal.
We also asked at the small harbour to see if it would be possible to get a boat directly to San Pedro on Ambergris Caye but were told that it was unlikely. “I fell in love with San Pedro”. Warm wind carried on the sea, he called to me. Te dijo te amo. I prayed that the days would last. They went so fast… If you’ve ever heard Madonna’s song “La Isla Bonita”, you know that Belize’s San Pedro Island holds the power to bewitch those who visit it to the point where they never wish to leave.
The bay was shallow and dotted with rocks so only the local fishermen really docked here. The Customs Officer and the sailors on the naval patrol boat were very friendly and helpful. Back in the garden of our hotel a vast long line of huge red ants carried bits of leaf bigger than themselves down from a tree and along a line that disappeared into the distance. It was like an insect version of Metropolis, which is a 1927 German expressionist science-fiction drama film directed by Fritz Lang. In the future, in the Million-acre city of Metropolis, wealthy industrialists and business magnates and their top employees reign from 50 to 1,000-story skyscrapers, while underground-dwelling workers toil to operate the great machines that power the city.
The night air hummed with bird and insect noise. We walked down towards the Guatemalan Consulate and stopped at a restaurant under a huge, thatched roof. It sported a juke box and Christmas decorations and a little black kitten. We had a reasonable meal here and then set off for the Pool Hall next door to our hotel.
Enroute, I stubbed my toe on a shadow-hidden curb and had to stop at the hotel to administer some first aid. In the Pool Hall we paid 1,200 Mexican Pesos for an hour on a well-worn pool table with huge pockets, from which the balls were retrievable by hand.
A fat man who was playing dominos with his friends supplied us with a heap of talcum powder and a set of pool balls and chalked up our starting time on the blackboard. The Pool Hall was packed with Mexican teenagers dressed to kill, who seemed to be playing about 4-a-side American Pool. Our European (English?) style of play attracted some curious onlookers.
After the pool session we retreated to the bar near our room for a final session on Mexican beer – cold “Superior” cerveza. Back at the Pasada Margot the ants had packed up for the night and only a few small lizards were in evidence. We went to our room and queued for the bathroom. Much to our surprise the cold water was still running and only the toilet cistern was inoperative.
We went to sleep in the sultry heat surrounded by posters of a Mexican pin-up girl on the walls. The ceiling fan fought a losing battle, wobbling from side to side, to produce and effective draft.
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