| General Non-Fiction posted January 3, 2017 | Chapters: |
1 2 -3- 4... 
|
  |
The Ticketing Trauma
A chapter in the book A Tale of Yucatan
A Tale of Yucatan - Part 3
by tfawcus
| Background A turn-of-the-century travelogue. 19 days on the Yucatan Peninsula. |
Saturday morning at 6am we catch Air Caribe's morning flight to Belize City. With sublime faith in human nature we have repacked all of our proper clothes in the largest suitcase and entrusted it to the care of the Hotel Caribe International until our scheduled departure to Australia, nineteen days ahead. On this stage of the journey we will be travelling light. Just as well really, for Air Caribe's twin-engine 16-seater Jetstream 32 doesn't look as though it's built to take excess baggage. We arrive at the airport confidently waving our tickets but Air Caribe are sorry, they can't let us board unless we have a pre-paid outbound ticket from Belize as well.
"But..."
"Sorry, señora, it's the rules. Belize immigration won't let you in unless you can prove you will be going out again."
"But... what if we were planning to leave by road?"
"Sorry, señora, it's the rules."
"But... what about these international tickets saying we are going back to Australia on 15th July?"
"Sorry, señora."
"You can buy an outbound ticket to Guatemala."
"But... all the other airline offices are closed."
"Si, señora, that is true."
"So... can you sell us tickets from Belize to Guatemala?"
"Sorry, señora, from Belize we only fly back to Cancún."
"But... we don't want to come back to Cancún ... not just yet, anyway."
"Sorry, señora, that's how it is. I can do nothing. My hands are tied."
After an hour of cheerful banter along these lines, Wendy finally gets the airline to agree to issue us return tickets to Cancún on the understanding that their office in Belize City will refund them again when we get there. This is not the last occasion when we are to find our salvation in Wendy's command of Spanish, not to mention her ability to thump the table and wave her arms in the air until all opposition is quelled.
Our flight follows the southern coast road for two hundred miles to the border town of Chetumal, where we touch down briefly before the final twenty minutes on to Belize City. I check with the immigration officials at the airport.
"No, sir, it is not necessary to show your outbound tickets. After all, you could be leaving us by road, couldn't you... and anyway, you have international tickets showing your ultimate departure to Australia... those are quite sufficient. Enjoy your stay!"
We clear customs and head for Air Caribe's check-in counter. A large gentleman overlaps a high wooden stool under a slow moving ceiling fan. He shrugs his shoulders. Try our office downtown, he suggests. Clearly he is not to be moved. We climb into a taxi and do as he recommends.
It is, I think, twenty five years since my last visit to Belize. A new and much improved airport terminal building has been constructed. In all other respects it might have been yesterday. Our drive from the airport takes about twenty five minutes. For most of the way the road follows the course of the Belize River, a muddy brown monster swirling lazily past the mangroves which line its banks. When the rains come the road floods, but otherwise it is good, one of the few metalled surfaces to be found. Our taxi driver wears a Bob Marley hat, plays Bob Marley tapes on his dusty cassette and gives us, gratis, a Bob Marley view of the political and economic state of the nation.
"Yeah, man - cool. You don't have to tip me but it helps and, hey, I'm a nice guy - so think about it."
He drops us off at the river terminal by the swing bridge in the town centre, which is where we will catch the boat across to Ambergris Caye, about 35 miles away, out on the reef. But not quite yet; first there is a small matter to settle with Air Caribe. Tom and I walk across the bridge and turn left down the main street. The first impression is that we have walked straight onto a film set at Universal Studios. There is a bustle of pedestrian activity on the busy street - roadside stalls selling fresh spices - nutmeg, allspice, pepper - woodcarvings everywhere - baskets of coarse, green-skinned oranges, limes, bananas - handcarts selling soft drinks and an exotic range of coloured ice confections - Caribbean music blaring from speakers in some nearby street café - and everywhere down side streets the façades of old wooden buildings once painted with bright colours now sun-faded to pastel hues. Many are on stilts. They are ramshackle, but solidly built from mahogany and other local hardwoods. There are lopsided verandahs, shuttered windows and urchins playing in compacted mud behind broken wooden fences. Between these are the newer constructions of grey breezeblock, ubiquitous building material of Central America, often left as it is, sometimes splashed with whitewash. And then, here and there, old colonial buildings rise up; imposing Victorian architecture for churches, banks and government buildings, but with an uncared-for look since the foreign officials have long since returned whence they came. Tropical storms and hurricanes raze the town with such regularity each September that in 1970 the capital was moved to Belmopan, 40 miles inland. Belize City remains as it was before, the centre of population and the commercial hub - not huge, but its population of 80,000 is still twenty times the size of the new capital.
Air Caribe has an air-conditioned office half way down the street. The staff are charming, friendly, but sorry - they do not have the authority to refund tickets - they are just an agency for the airline. Refunds can only be made by the head office in Cancún . They would like to help, but... The best they are able to do is to exchange the tickets for ones from Flores, in Guatemala, back to Cancún . We agree to this, since it is our plan, eventually, to fly from Flores back to Cancún on 7th July for our final fortnight on Isla Mujeres, the Island of Mothers. We also book our flight out from Belize City to Guatemala City with TACA, another small Central American airline. The tickets are issued. All is sorted out... or so we imagine!
Back to the boat terminal.
"But..."
"Sorry, señora, it's the rules. Belize immigration won't let you in unless you can prove you will be going out again."
"But... what if we were planning to leave by road?"
"Sorry, señora, it's the rules."
"But... what about these international tickets saying we are going back to Australia on 15th July?"
"Sorry, señora."
"You can buy an outbound ticket to Guatemala."
"But... all the other airline offices are closed."
"Si, señora, that is true."
"So... can you sell us tickets from Belize to Guatemala?"
"Sorry, señora, from Belize we only fly back to Cancún."
"But... we don't want to come back to Cancún ... not just yet, anyway."
"Sorry, señora, that's how it is. I can do nothing. My hands are tied."
After an hour of cheerful banter along these lines, Wendy finally gets the airline to agree to issue us return tickets to Cancún on the understanding that their office in Belize City will refund them again when we get there. This is not the last occasion when we are to find our salvation in Wendy's command of Spanish, not to mention her ability to thump the table and wave her arms in the air until all opposition is quelled.
Our flight follows the southern coast road for two hundred miles to the border town of Chetumal, where we touch down briefly before the final twenty minutes on to Belize City. I check with the immigration officials at the airport.
"No, sir, it is not necessary to show your outbound tickets. After all, you could be leaving us by road, couldn't you... and anyway, you have international tickets showing your ultimate departure to Australia... those are quite sufficient. Enjoy your stay!"
We clear customs and head for Air Caribe's check-in counter. A large gentleman overlaps a high wooden stool under a slow moving ceiling fan. He shrugs his shoulders. Try our office downtown, he suggests. Clearly he is not to be moved. We climb into a taxi and do as he recommends.
It is, I think, twenty five years since my last visit to Belize. A new and much improved airport terminal building has been constructed. In all other respects it might have been yesterday. Our drive from the airport takes about twenty five minutes. For most of the way the road follows the course of the Belize River, a muddy brown monster swirling lazily past the mangroves which line its banks. When the rains come the road floods, but otherwise it is good, one of the few metalled surfaces to be found. Our taxi driver wears a Bob Marley hat, plays Bob Marley tapes on his dusty cassette and gives us, gratis, a Bob Marley view of the political and economic state of the nation.
"Yeah, man - cool. You don't have to tip me but it helps and, hey, I'm a nice guy - so think about it."
He drops us off at the river terminal by the swing bridge in the town centre, which is where we will catch the boat across to Ambergris Caye, about 35 miles away, out on the reef. But not quite yet; first there is a small matter to settle with Air Caribe. Tom and I walk across the bridge and turn left down the main street. The first impression is that we have walked straight onto a film set at Universal Studios. There is a bustle of pedestrian activity on the busy street - roadside stalls selling fresh spices - nutmeg, allspice, pepper - woodcarvings everywhere - baskets of coarse, green-skinned oranges, limes, bananas - handcarts selling soft drinks and an exotic range of coloured ice confections - Caribbean music blaring from speakers in some nearby street café - and everywhere down side streets the façades of old wooden buildings once painted with bright colours now sun-faded to pastel hues. Many are on stilts. They are ramshackle, but solidly built from mahogany and other local hardwoods. There are lopsided verandahs, shuttered windows and urchins playing in compacted mud behind broken wooden fences. Between these are the newer constructions of grey breezeblock, ubiquitous building material of Central America, often left as it is, sometimes splashed with whitewash. And then, here and there, old colonial buildings rise up; imposing Victorian architecture for churches, banks and government buildings, but with an uncared-for look since the foreign officials have long since returned whence they came. Tropical storms and hurricanes raze the town with such regularity each September that in 1970 the capital was moved to Belmopan, 40 miles inland. Belize City remains as it was before, the centre of population and the commercial hub - not huge, but its population of 80,000 is still twenty times the size of the new capital.
Air Caribe has an air-conditioned office half way down the street. The staff are charming, friendly, but sorry - they do not have the authority to refund tickets - they are just an agency for the airline. Refunds can only be made by the head office in Cancún . They would like to help, but... The best they are able to do is to exchange the tickets for ones from Flores, in Guatemala, back to Cancún . We agree to this, since it is our plan, eventually, to fly from Flores back to Cancún on 7th July for our final fortnight on Isla Mujeres, the Island of Mothers. We also book our flight out from Belize City to Guatemala City with TACA, another small Central American airline. The tickets are issued. All is sorted out... or so we imagine!
Back to the boat terminal.
 Recognized |
In tomorrow's installment we are all at sea - literally. A journey to remember!
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. 
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2024. tfawcus All rights reserved. Registered copyright with FanStory.
tfawcus has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
