Jungle Taxis, Roosters, and the Attack of the Insatiable Ants
Near the rainforests of San Ignacio, no snack is safe
Slowly nearing my hostel within the highlands of the Mayan mountains, my SUV driver tries his best to attend to my battery of questions about the coastal country through his thick Belizean accent. I watch as the geography rapidly changes along with our elevation, and bucolic fields of sun-battered gold are replaced by lush and verdant forests.
As we ascend, brush transitions into towering trees. Empty plains are supplanted by foothills, flowing streams, and humble, ramshackle towns suspended atop stilts. Struggling vegetation begins to flourish more and more with each mile further inland we travel.
At seemingly every town center is a bus stop and a convenience store proudly adorned with a Coca-Cola sign. Most are worn and shaded by dirt. Some are fixed askew atop storefronts, and others rock back and forth in pendulous indecision, the scant and sultry breeze of the sweltering day just enough to keep them from devolving into rust-locked obscurity.
As we continue rising in elevation, the hulking SUV winds its way through roads increasingly rutted. Main streets turn into dirt paths. The driver retains a smug look on his face as the roads begin to grow untenable for the oversized vehicle. It trundles through jungle and turns abruptly onto the street of my destination, an orchestra of wildlife now chittering and chirping all around us. On our right is a yard with enough broken down school buses to house a village full of children. Rusted over, boarded up, and slowly returning to the elements, the once-functioning vehicles tell a woeful tale of abandon.
The road continues to narrow, slope, and turn in a serpentine path as the trees grow taller. Further along the road on our left we find a cow staked to a yoke and placed carelessly close to the rural roadway.
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