Belizean Dreams

by Cindy and Gerard Braud

Dangriga is the sort of Belizean village that some might describe as being at the end of the world. Stucco shanties and shacks on stilts tell travelers this is a classic Caribbean town, sandwiched between tropical rainforests and the emerald sea.

Notoriety includes being mentioned in a Jimmy Buffett novel and being one of only two places in the world where people speak a language known as Garafuna. But for our adventurous taste, we decided to hire a driver and trek on further through the coastal jungles to the other place where Garafuna is spoken—the village of Hopkins Bay, Belize.

Our destination was a new resort called Belizean Dreams, a group of spectacular beachside condos at the very end of the seaside road. This secret resort and cluster of condos is exactly the kind of place many Inside Northside readers would want to call their hidden retreat. Rentals and purchases are more affordable than the Florida panhandle.

Flights to Houston and then to Belize City were followed by a tree-top, puddle-jumper adventure flight to Dangriga that arrived in the dark. The one-hour drive down rocky dirt roads to Belizean Dreams seemed all worthwhile when the sun came up the next morning through huge mahogany-framed windows. Day broke over the ocean as we lay nestled in the four-post beds draped in white Caribbean linens and netting.

With barefoot feet on mahogany floors, we made our way downstairs to the kitchen, brewed up a pot of dark-roast java and plopped our rear ends into the Adirondack chairs on the front porch, the sun now just one fist above the horizon. (One fist equals one hour and lets you roughly tell the time without needing a watch—who needs a watch when you are on vacation in paradise!)

We could tell it would be a difficult day, because if we wanted to reach the ocean we would have to stand up and walk 20 paces across the sand. Wow! We had some tough decisions to make for the week.

From up the walk at a spry pace came a young villager, greeting us not in Garafuna, but the Queen’s English with a pure accent from London town. Enter Ernesto, the young man who would make sure we would want for nothing for the next seven days. He had just returned to Hopkins Bay after attending college abroad.

Ernesto was there to make sure we had the supplies we needed for the week. While the condos are equipped with kitchens, the American developers of Belizean Dreams want their visitors to interact with villagers and economically support local entrepreneurs. When Steven Tobe conceived Belizean Dreams, he also made sure that with each unit he sells, profits from the project are used to improve schools and other facilities for the villages. So Ernesto gave us directions to the grocery store—there’s only one—and directions to local restaurants—there are three or four. He showed us where the bicycles are so that we could peddle into town, just a few minutes away.

The local store had fresh eggs, tropical fruit and Caribbean rum for those afternoon cocktails. With the store void of mint for making mojitos, Ernesto peddled off to pick fresh mint from a friend’s garden. That’s personal service. Not knowing how to make a mojito, Ernesto made himself at home in our kitchen, tasted the tropical brew and pronounced it “magic.” After a few drinks, I added some coconut rum to the mojitos and proclaimed them, “Braudjitos,” which he described as “wicked” and “magic,” asking politely for permission to make the drink in the future if he gave me credit for the recipe. Who could say no?

But we didn’t travel all this way for coffee, bike rides to the store and Braudjitos on the beach. Beneath the emerald sea is the western hemisphere’s longest coral reef. While many would be happy reading a book poolside or tanning on the beach—which we did and enjoyed—we also wanted to experience some of the world’s best scuba diving.

A neighboring resort is home to the Hamanasi dive company. After years of watching mom and dad head off to dive, our daughters, Elizabeth and Gabrielle, were bitten by the scuba diving bug and became certified divers. We are now officially a family of Argonauts.

In contrast to Ernesto’s British accent, our dive guides spoke with a heavy Garafuna accent, making their English nearly impossible to understand. The people and the language are the results of a slave ship crashing on a distant Caribbean island, where the slaves intermarried with Caribbean Indians. Years later, they set out across the open sea and landed on the beaches of Belize.

Even though the guides were hard to understand, their broad smiles of bright white teeth, which contrasted with their mocha complexion, simply said, “Just jump in the water and follow me and everything will be okay.” And it was.

From sea turtles to sponges, parrotfish to porcupine puffers, every kind of sea life you can imagine is found on the reef. Its pristine nature is preserved by its sheer remoteness—the closest dive sites being 30 minutes from shore. There, formed by reefs thousands of years ago, a cluster of palm-lined islands and atolls jut out of the sea. Void of man’s touch and tropical developments, and seldom disturbed by hurricanes, the coral reefs and diving environment are surviving and thriving much better than their sea sisters to the north in the Mexican Riviera.

Between dives, we snorkeled at the islands, marveling at clusters of sea horses hiding in the undersea grasses along the shore—a first for us in two decades of diving.

The Hamanasi dive boats had us back to the beach by midday so we could enjoy beach and pool time in the afternoon. The only downside to note is that during the summer rainy season mountain rains ruin the sea’s clarity—but hey, that’s just nature, and the main reason God made beachside, palm-lined swimming pools.

As we arrived back at Belizean Dreams, others at our resort were returning from a four-wheeler ride into the jungle or from deep-sea fishing. Those who had gone fishing had high praise for local guides in their traditional skiffs, who helped them land, clean and grill an incredible catch.

Although we sampled the local fare at each of the Hopkins Bay restaurants, it didn’t take long for us to become regulars at Yugadah Café. There, Rosie, the proprietor and chef with the infectious grin, fried up the world’s best fried chicken. With stoves fueled by wood and topped with cast iron pots, the entire experience was like stepping back into colonial America. And, of course, Rosie offered a daily selection of just-caught fish prepared in traditional Caribbean style, with rice and beans on the side.

While we retired each night to our high-end condo, Rosie’s home is on stilts overlooking the ocean, with hand-hewn board-and-batten walls and a palm-thatch roof. Our condo was 20 paces from the sea for the week. Rosie’s house is 20 paces from the sea for a lifetime.

Our visit was much too short, but the Garafuna locals made us feel welcome. As we drove to the Dangriga airport to board our 12-seater plane to begin our trip home, we realized that everyone who comes to Hopkins Bay gets to experience a piece of paradise—and that’s what makes it a great destination.