Belize was one of the most beautiful and diverse places I have come to know. Most of my time was lived in the northern district of Corozal, where English, Spanish, Creole, and Mayan are the common languages. Switching from language to language makes conversations somewhat confusing. Wiley Mayan grandpas embraced this advantage in their quest for kicks. Suddenly, humility and cultural sensitivity were transformed into a convenient foundation for abundant burns dealt by crass old men. I must admit that it is awkward to be unsure if the village elder is making fun of you. Just smile and nod.
My favorite moments were found in pick-up games and the few soccer matches we played. Although the unfamiliar labor of athletic movement never gave way to the flightful freedom I recall from games past, my veil of pride was lifted to see the game in a new light. It was a medium for conversation between cultures, a language spoken by all men. In this context I was a living, breathing ice breaker; the ability to set strangers at ease is a useful commodity in a strange land.
Off the pitch, hours dwindled in the completion of seemingly menial tasks, basic errands in preparation for camps. Most days also provided us the audience of local leadership, teachers and politicians, who openly acknowledged the void of discipline and character development in local futbol. Of course, some meetings were more fruitful than others. I remember one morning we sat with the disheveled Minister of Rural Development in his livingroom. In spite of his sleep-deprived bed head, there was still an air of command in his presence. Only a few hours were elapsed since he left Monterey on the heals of a crushing 7-0 defeat to Mexico in a World Cup qualifier. Fortunately for us, Mr. Martinez's temperament was not severely damaged by the previous night. He boastfully shared pictures of the skybox he shared with Sven-Goran Erickson, Mexico's new national team coach, before addressing his hope to use Sports Servants programs as a platform for community service and development in several villages. Once the model is tested, it may be used across the country.
While in Belize I learned much about my abilities, and lack thereof. As a coach and instructor I am greatly lacking. Many thanks to the resilience and natural ability of Coach Richard Klausner and Brad Lawrence for teaching me valuable lessons in this area. Coach K is truly one of the great men I know. Although I enjoyed the friendly faces of SS and time for reflection it was obvious that my heart was searching elsewhere; thus, I returned earlier than I might have expected to search out the places where I will be fully invested in each passing moment.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Bienvenidos a Belize
Love is the thrill of 59, 934 horsepower beneath my seat. My bones quake with a familiar and peculiar gravity as a Boeing 737 slings me, helpless, down a short runway. This is why I fly: the takeoff. Feelings of freedom in uncertainty swell up inside; they overtake me. Hope is there too. For me, takeoff is a precious and beautifully poignant metaphor of the human condition...my condition. I dwell in the implications the moment brings. There are personal realizations of depravity and an underlying hope to rise above circumstance before runway expires. Still, salvation from a fireball crash is not of my own accord, but by the grace of a trinity: the pilot, the vessel, and glorious aerodynamics. Huzzah!
I suppose the thrill of takeoff is also born of 60 thousand horses between my legs. Unfortunately, these moments are fleeting.
Truth is, I don't especially enjoy commercial flights otherwise. Perhaps it is the travel dehydration, a habit perfected by many road trips with few pit stops; or maybe the bad smells, the deafening engine noise, and my bitterness over airline's inadequate snack bar (honey-roasted peanuts, anyone?) are primary sources of frustration.
Still, my in-flight prayers are consistent, that the beautiful, interesting, and single girl I notice in the next row might trade places with the balding armrest thief beside me. No such luck today. Minutes after departing Dallas/Fort Worth I am anxious to trade kid-Chuck Norris' roundhouse kicks to my seatback for the balmy climates of Belize City.
----
Stepping from tarmac onto Belizean soil I breathe an uncomfortably humid sigh of relief. We made it! I jog toward Zac and Reid on the runway as airport officials began to shepherd our herd of arrivals into baggage claim. Carver follows close behind. Between paperwork and customs, brief logistical conversations and sly smiles are evident of excited expectations brewing inside each of us. We are ready to hit the road for Corozal.
----
Our AVIS rental just broke down, an hour up the northern highway. Chilling roadside, Carver pulls his six-string from the back and picks us a Tennessee rhythm. We sing and joke lightly as the billowing steam dissipates from under the hood of our rental. What will a day bring? Startled from contemplation, I turn my head as socialite parrots squak brilliantly across the highway. They disappear into the dense foliage, probably to mingle in loud conversation with the bananaquits and creepers they may find. It comes to mind that the wilderness of this land must only be surpassed by its diversity:
-In Belize, 42% of the land is protected for conservation of jaguars, toucans, orchids, 70 varieties of forest and 185 miles of barrier reef. Among only 270,000 inhabitants, there are eight sizeable ethnic groups and seven common languages.-
We wait.
I try to catch the sweet smell of sugarcane from overladen trucks barreling past to refineries. Too fast.
We ponder.
It is too hot for jeans today; twas a poor decision made a thousand miles ago. I am sweating through.
We watch.
Finally a service man arrives with a land cruiser to replenish our hopes of reaching Corozal soon. While lifting bags into our new trunk I notice the two and a half gallons of coolant and water the repairman adds to quench a thirsty radiator.
We move on.
What does a day bring?
Surely, there is no certainty, only opportunity…so we begin. Bienvenidos a Belize.
I suppose the thrill of takeoff is also born of 60 thousand horses between my legs. Unfortunately, these moments are fleeting.
Truth is, I don't especially enjoy commercial flights otherwise. Perhaps it is the travel dehydration, a habit perfected by many road trips with few pit stops; or maybe the bad smells, the deafening engine noise, and my bitterness over airline's inadequate snack bar (honey-roasted peanuts, anyone?) are primary sources of frustration.
Still, my in-flight prayers are consistent, that the beautiful, interesting, and single girl I notice in the next row might trade places with the balding armrest thief beside me. No such luck today. Minutes after departing Dallas/Fort Worth I am anxious to trade kid-Chuck Norris' roundhouse kicks to my seatback for the balmy climates of Belize City.
----
Stepping from tarmac onto Belizean soil I breathe an uncomfortably humid sigh of relief. We made it! I jog toward Zac and Reid on the runway as airport officials began to shepherd our herd of arrivals into baggage claim. Carver follows close behind. Between paperwork and customs, brief logistical conversations and sly smiles are evident of excited expectations brewing inside each of us. We are ready to hit the road for Corozal.
----
Our AVIS rental just broke down, an hour up the northern highway. Chilling roadside, Carver pulls his six-string from the back and picks us a Tennessee rhythm. We sing and joke lightly as the billowing steam dissipates from under the hood of our rental. What will a day bring? Startled from contemplation, I turn my head as socialite parrots squak brilliantly across the highway. They disappear into the dense foliage, probably to mingle in loud conversation with the bananaquits and creepers they may find. It comes to mind that the wilderness of this land must only be surpassed by its diversity:
-In Belize, 42% of the land is protected for conservation of jaguars, toucans, orchids, 70 varieties of forest and 185 miles of barrier reef. Among only 270,000 inhabitants, there are eight sizeable ethnic groups and seven common languages.-
We wait.
I try to catch the sweet smell of sugarcane from overladen trucks barreling past to refineries. Too fast.
We ponder.
It is too hot for jeans today; twas a poor decision made a thousand miles ago. I am sweating through.
We watch.
Finally a service man arrives with a land cruiser to replenish our hopes of reaching Corozal soon. While lifting bags into our new trunk I notice the two and a half gallons of coolant and water the repairman adds to quench a thirsty radiator.
We move on.
What does a day bring?
Surely, there is no certainty, only opportunity…so we begin. Bienvenidos a Belize.
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