Mayan Blessings have Immaculate Timing

My trip to Belize had originally included an excursion to Guatemala's Tikal--the site of an ancient Mayan citadel. Unfortunately, on the day we were set to depart San Ignacio-the closest Belizean city to Guatemala-riots broke out near the border. A protest over clean water availability had turned violent, and my guide felt it was no longer safe to go.

While the group was initially disappointed, this turned out to be a huge stroke of luck, as an equally exciting adventure was awaiting us in Tikal's place.

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View of San Ignacio from Cahal Pech Village Resort, Belize

San Ignacio and its twin town, Santa Elena, are the economic and tourist centers of the Cayo District, which forms the western border of Belize. It's popular among eco-resort enthusiasts. wildlife photographers, and thrill seekers who come to rappel waterfalls, zipline through forest canopies, or explore one of the many river caves via kayak.

Our guide suggested the last of these options to replace our Tikal excursion, and we happily obliged. Ditching the bus to Guatemala, we hopped aboard a tour van early in the afternoon and drove for forty minutes through a section of dense, foggy rain forest.

To our surprise, the thrills began well before anyone boarded a kayak. En route, we passed through one of Belize's many Mennonite communities and received a glimpse of the day-to-day life of a farming community frozen in the 18th century.

Belize's thriving Mennonite communities established themselves here in the 1950s. In exchange for land to freely practice their customs and religion, the Mennonites gave Belize much needed structured agriculture. From these small farms, a variety of crops and dairy, including the best damn ice cream on the planet, help nourish the country and provide income for grocers.

We were fortunate to pass by a Mennonite stall selling freshly made cinnamon rolls. As our van approached, a young Mennonite gentleman working the stall quickly ran inside for what we thought was to avoid contact with us rambunctious, scantily-clad American tourists. Our guides explained the community actually avoids any unnecessary communication with outsiders, fully dressed or not.

But how does one sell goods from an unmanned stall? The Mennonites are immensely trusting; the prices are clearly handwritten on small labels and it is expected for customers to pay the correct amount for the goods they take.

Buzzing from butter and sugar, we were ready to direct our energy to paddling. Our van halted where the road ended, a quarter mile or so from the lake where our kayaking trip would start. Like any good adventure in Belize, ours would start with a little trek through the beautiful rainforest. Since the time I arrived in Belize, I noticed how similar the flora was to Kerala, India--where my family is originally from. I had a theory that with the environment being so similar, there was a chance to find one of my favorite tropical plants, the mimosa pudica also known as the shame plant, the shy princess, or the touch-me-not. It's a fascinating fern-like plant that reacts to touch by shriveling up and pretending to die. I mean, who doesn't resonate with that? I searched for it everywhere, including the trail to our kayaking spot, but couldn't spot it.

Before long, we arrived to our kayaks on the shore of a beautiful lake framed in greenery at the feet of rocky hill, opening to the mouth of a cave. Three to a kayak, one of us was responsible for holding a lamp while the other two would row. Our little kayak fleet slowly made its way in. Initially, we were chattering with excitement, fumbling with our helmets, and working out the physics of rowing; however, as we went further and further into the tunnel, the temperature began to rapidly drop along with our chatter. Very soon, we matched the silence inside the cave. The only remaining sound: dripping water from stalactites. Every once in a while, a drop would fall on us--considered a blessing in the ancient Mayan tradition.

On the route back, I continued my quest and stopped to touch every plant that looked like remotely like the shame plant, but to no avail. This continued for the remainder of the trip as well in every forest-like environment we found ourselves in. I'm sure I was driving my fellow travelers crazy.

On the very last day of the trip, our guide took us to a handicrafts store at the side of the highway. It was as far from a rainforest as you can imagine--a large building set in a grassy patch of land, isolated with no buildings around for miles and only a dirt road connecting it to the highway. As I hopped off the bus, a mere few feet from where we parked, I spotted a tiny little shrub of what looked suspiciously like my long-awaited mimosa pudica.  In fact, if my mind hadn't been so used to searching for it, I certainly would've missed it. I went over, took a breath, and braced myself for disappointment. Gently, I grazed it with my hand. But this time (THIS TIME), to my delight and surprise, the little leaves closed in, and I watched the chlorophyll quickly draining, giving the leaves a withered, decaying look. It was here! I had finally found it! And not a moment too soon, as I'd be on a flight for Dallas in less than 24 hours. Whether this is classified as a "helluva" coincidence or a Mayan blessing remains up to the reader. I'm just saying if I were a Mayan God, I couldn't have picked a more personal or well-timed way to make a naive, young traveler believe in something a little more.

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