At Dangriga I was told that I had to change buses so joined another Belize City bus a short while later. The conductor wanted me to pay again to Belmopan but I prevailed upon him, with my haughty stare, and he went of muttering.
The ride up to Belmopan was uneventful, other than a horse and trailer that had lost its load of bagged sugar all over the road. At the capital I changed to a Benque Viejo Del Carmen bus, whose driver and conductor assured me that they did indeed know where Trek Stop is. No problem, we will drop you off at the gate. I was then charged BZ$3, which seemed far too little but he said that was the fare, he should know, he is the conductor.
We drove out of Belmopan at a fair old lick only stopping for a few passengers. The conductor then told me where to get off. Mmmm! I'll rephrase that, he said we had reached the Trek Stop.
I didn't argue and jumped off, with my case, an off he went. I looked around. He had dropped me off at the intersection with the road to Spanish Lookout! And there was no-one within any short distance at all who could speak English. O me miserum! Quo vadis! Semper in Excreto, as the family crest reads.
A young lad on a bike rode off to find a taxi but to no avail. He came back and then stopped a car going back towards Belmopan. "There is a new white guy there who is building a new resort," he said, "his name is Larry." Oh yes, Larry Wellington! Just the man.
It wasn't our Larry, it was Larry Johnston. And he wasn't home. I stood there thinking, well actually wondering how I could find the driver and conductor and strangle them, when I saw a movement across the road. It was a donkey, and where there is a donkey there must be someone living. Probably erroneous reasoning but, what the heck, it worked. For the establishment across the road was a Horse Breeding farm and guard dog training school. I left the case on the side of the road and walked over. Jeannie Davidson, wife of the breeder, send a slave to fetch the bag, poor kid, and invited me in. She then phoned around and eventually found out where I was suposed to be. Hell, they hadn't even got the right side of St Ignacio. I am now only 3 miles from the border. (Sounds like a J T Edson novel.) They dropped me off about 23 miles from the border.
Jeannie invited me to the little tike below. He had never seen a beard before and was fascinated with it, using it to floss his teth, which becam stuck and made him panic a little. No, Adrian you can't have one. Keeping mountain lions as pets is against the law.
