post 21 - Belize - Were we there, or was it just a dream?

March 20, 2026

Just before we continue with our stories

And while we are here, moving between borders and landscapes, our hearts are constantly turned toward what is happening back home in Israel.

And it’s not easy.

We thought a lot about whether it was right to keep posting, because how does it make sense that we’re traveling the world while back home people are running to shelters, moving through their days exhausted, with their nervous systems stretched to the edge. But we received so many messages asking us not to stop, saying that this brings a moment of light and breathing space into a very difficult reality. So we continue to share, with deep concern and love, hoping that in some small way we can soften the day-to-day.

Crossing into Belize

The camper and the truck were clean and polished, the fridge empty, all the documents neatly organized in a folder, passports ready, the “Bear” filled with water and fuel, and that’s it. We set out toward the Belize border. A 20-minute drive, and we arrived. Here we officially say goodbye to Mexico.

From the very first moment, something in the atmosphere shifts - calmer, slower. And suddenly… everyone speaks English. What a relief. Communication flows, and everything feels simpler. English is the official language in Belize, and we enjoy every moment of this ease of communication.

We get our passports stamped, cancel the temporary import permit from Mexico (yes, that TIP we got tangled up with…), and continue to the Belizean side. Everything flows smoothly, in English, at a much more relaxed pace. With the email we sent in advance, we received a one-month visa without any issues, and within a short time, we also received a vehicle permit and insurance. Everyone is very kind, happy to hear that we are from Israel, and, of course, speaks English.

Just before entering, there are officers checking the camper. Luckily, they didn’t ask to go inside. The entrance is quite high, and our step stool was already packed away, which discouraged them a bit. We prefer not to have strangers enter our home, open drawers, and go through our things — it’s not a pleasant feeling, but we know it can happen at certain border crossings.

And that’s it — we are in Belize.

At the vehicle insurance office, dozens of stickers from Pan-American travelers like us are displayed on the walls — so we added ours.

As a first step, we drive to the nearest town to get a local SIM card and withdraw cash. Its name is Corozal. It doesn’t really feel like a town — more like a small village: private houses, not-so-narrow streets, everything very simple and basic. It’s Saturday, so the phone shop is closed. We withdraw money, go into a supermarket to buy food, and it feels completely different from Mexico. There isn’t the same abundance, but I still find tofu in the fridge and get excited. Throughout all of Mexico, I didn’t find tofu anywhere, and here it suddenly appears.

First night in the village

From Corozal, we head toward the village where we’ll spend our first night. It’s about an hour’s drive, and as soon as we leave the main road, we find ourselves on very rough dirt roads, full of holes and deep bumps, so the drive becomes slow.

But we are surrounded by cornfields, lagoons, and small lakes — and we are completely alone. No people, no cars.

In Mexico, you always see people — no matter where you go, no matter how remote, there are always people: in cars, on bicycles, on foot, on motorcycles, in every possible way.

Here — nothing.

Belize 🇧🇿 – A Small Country Not Many People Know

We had a feeling in advance that this would be a special place — and it truly is. There’s a surprising blend of cultures, languages, and landscapes here. Belize is the only country in the region where English is the official language (a legacy of British rule), but in practice, you also hear Creole, Spanish, and Mayan languages.

Belize, with a population of only about 430,000 people, is roughly the size of a mid-sized city in Israel. This gives it a quiet, intimate feeling, and everywhere we go, it feels like one large village spread across different landscapes.

The population is very diverse: descendants of African slaves (Creole), the Garifuna people from the Caribbean coast, Mayan communities, Mestizos of Spanish–Indigenous origin, Chinese (which explains the tofu in local shops), and Mennonite communities who live a traditional way of life. This community originates from Europe (mainly Germany and the Netherlands). Over the years, they migrated through Canada and Mexico in search of religious freedom and a traditional lifestyle. They typically speak an old German dialect (Plautdietsch), avoid modern technology, and make their living mainly through agriculture, becoming key food suppliers in the country. We already saw them at the border, dressed in traditional religious clothing: the men in denim overalls and wide-brimmed hats, and the women in dresses with head coverings (familiar to us). On the way to the village, we saw them riding in horse-drawn carriages, just like in the past.

The economy is based mainly on agriculture (bananas, sugarcane, and citrus), fishing, and tourism — especially around the famous Caribbean reef. Outside the tourist areas, the country is very simple, with a slow pace of life and a feeling that it has not yet been “commercialized.”

Belize is not a country of flashy attractions, but of nature, water, diverse cultures, and quiet. It feels to us a little outside of time.

We arrived, through our iOverland app, at Maria’s yard in the village. Maria was at church, so we met her son, who showed us where to park. After a short while, she arrived and warmly welcomed us.

We sit with her as she tells us about the place — about the people, the community, her family, and herself. Maria loves to talk, and the conversation flows easily. I soak in her stories with curiosity and feel grateful to sit in a remote village, in a local woman’s yard, and hear about her life and her family, and through her, to learn about Belize.

The next morning, I go out for a run through the village. Everyone looks at me with curiosity — it doesn’t seem like a common daily activity here. I pass along dirt roads, colorful houses, and a garbage dump right in the middle of the village.

Photos from my run through the village

In the morning, we get ready to leave, say goodbye to the wonderful family who hosted us, and set out on a three-and-a-half-hour drive to Hopkins. We skip Belize City, which lies on the coast and is said to be more crowded, touristy, and a bit more complicated.

Hopkins

The drive goes very smoothly — there are hardly any cars or people on the roads. We stop to buy some fruit at a roadside stand and receive a watermelon as a gift, simply because we are from Israel. People here are religious, devout Christians, and from their perspective, we are children of God. Thank God, we gained a watermelon.

We arrive in Hopkins — a small village on the Caribbean coast, with narrow streets lined with stalls, cafés, and restaurants, and tourists wandering around. We reach Victor’s yard. He warmly invites us to join, and we park right by the sea, among the coconut trees. The wind is strong, like it was in Chetumal, Mexico, and the sea — which is supposed to be calm — is quite wavy.

Belize is also known for being located along the second-largest reef in the world. Tourists come here, take boats out to the many small islands scattered across the sea in front of us, and go snorkeling, diving, eating, and relaxing in hammocks.

I watch the waves and decide to skip that experience.

Top left — the sweet man who gave us a watermelon as a gift.Top right — the abundance of seaweed that washed ashore just that morning, before we left.

With the Garifuna People

Instead of going out to sea in the rough waters, we chose to spend the day at the edge of the village, in a unique compound, which turned out to be one of the most fascinating days of our time in Belize.

We spent it with the Garifuna people, a culture we knew almost nothing about before arriving here. To reach the compound, we cross the river by kayak..

We meet Eugene, who takes us on a journey into their world. He tells, explains, demonstrates — and we listen, trying to hold all the layers: history, food, spirit, life.

We taste cassava (yuca), a root that is a staple of local cuisine. There is a sweet variety and a bitter one, and it forms the basis of their traditional bread. The preparation process is passed down from generation to generation and is mostly preserved by women — it is considered a privilege to learn it. The cassava is grated, pressed, and separated from its toxic liquids, and what remains is turned into a flatbread that can be taken on journeys, as it keeps for many days.

Eugene speaks about life through nature — about the sun that nourishes, the darkness that allows rest, and the need for difficulty in order to truly appreciate the good. He explains to us the Garifuna spirituality — a connection to the ancestors, an understanding that we are both physical and spiritual beings, and that our relationship with those who have passed on endures. Through singing, drumming, and rituals, they call upon the spirits, seek guidance, and remind themselves that the world is a whole, encompassing life and death.

Eugene tells us that their higher being is feminine. There is something deeply meaningful in hearing this, especially in these times — it brings us back to the earth, to nourishment, to the cycles of life. It reminds us that true power is not expressed through control, but through creation and presence.

After the theoretical part, we head out with him for a walk among the trees and plants — spices, medicinal plants, and everyday uses. Everything around us feels alive, present, and purposeful.

I forgot to mention that we were dressed in traditional clothing — and spent the entire day wearing it.

And then the rhythm arrives.

We sit down for a drumming lesson, and the music of the Garifuna goes straight into the body. The drumming here is not just music — it is a language. It tells a story, connects people, connects generations, connects the physical and the spiritual worlds.

There is a hypnotic repetition to it, a rhythm that moves the body, and a feeling that this is something very ancient — something that continues to live.

From there, we continue to the kitchen — the heart of the compound.

There we meet Uwahnie Martinez, whose name means “Soul.” Once a banker, who left city life behind and now creates this place with her own hands — a lush garden, fruit trees, medicinal plants, guest cabins, an open kitchen, and a drumming space. To reach her, you cross the river by canoe — and as soon as you arrive, you understand this is a different kind of place.

In the kitchen, the women gather — cooking, sharing, exchanging knowledge. Not just about food, but about life itself.

We join her to learn how to open a coconut, extract the flesh, and prepare fresh coconut milk. From it, the soup is made — the base of the meal. We cook fish and also prepare plantains — large bananas which are boiled, then pounded in a mortar and pestle into a soft dough, which is served with the soup.

This dish is called Hudut, and it consists of richly seasoned coconut soup, fresh fish, and mashed plantain dough.

Uwahnie explains to us about coconuts and demonstrates how to peel them — a task considered very masculine, even seen as a measure of a man’s ability to be accepted into his fiancée’s family.

It is very hot, everything slows down, and we melt into the atmosphere.

In between, we meet a Jewish-American family, and a pleasant conversation unfolds in the kitchen — as if the whole world gathers into one small moment.

At the center of the kitchen stands a cooking station fueled by wood, with coals that burn steadily throughout the day. ✨

Above — the tool used to separate the coconut flesh from the shell into small pieces, which we then squeeze for long minutes until all the milk is extracted. With the addition of local spices, it becomes a rich, uniquely flavored soup. And Guy, mashing the plantain (banana) into a puree — or even a kind of dough — which they dip into the soup and eat together with the fish, which I somehow forgot to photograph.

It was a fascinating morning — an encounter with a culture we didn’t know, with people who live at a different pace, and with knowledge and wisdom passed down from generation to generation… and now, a little bit to us as well.

Hummingbird Highway

Considered by many to be the most beautiful road in the country, we merge onto it on our way to our next stop. It is a special road, as you drive right through a tropical rainforest surrounded by mountains. Along the way, you pass orange and cacao farms, small colorful villages, and beautiful viewpoints.

We choose to stop at a national park called Blue Hole, drawn by the natural blue pool hidden within the jungle. We walk to it, take a short hike to another cave nearby, and enjoy the humid tropical rainforest.

As we drive, we notice that Belize feels much cleaner than Mexico — perhaps because there are fewer people; we’re not sure of the reason. At the end of this beautiful road, San Ignacio awaits us quietly.

San Ignacio

A small town in western Belize, close to the Guatemalan border, with a relaxed atmosphere — like a large village. We park at a very nice, well-kept campground, with a wide grassy area and a seating space where we can work, eat, and rest. The campground is within walking distance of an excellent bakery and a charming, colorful local market. There are a few tourists here, as this is often the starting point for trips in the area.

We stay here for a few days and prepare for our crossing into Guatemala.

Here we meet Hans and Aneke, a Dutch couple just a few years older than us, who have recently retired and are traveling the Pan-American route with a camper — just like us. We spend an evening together, with beers and stories from the road, and part from them warmly, hoping to meet again somewhere along the way.

The campground we stayed at

The market, an impressive mural, and a photo with our new friends just before we set off again.

Reflections on Belize

The English spoken by Belizeans rolls gently off their tongues, flavored with words from different languages. They seem to use it effortlessly, almost casually, like a kind of flowing dance.

I think about the people who live here — they have their own wisdom of life. They know how. The rhythm, the way things are done, family life, community.

And we look at them from the outside, through the lens of our very “knowing” Western culture. And when looking through that lens, our own tendency to judge becomes very clear to me. We always have ideas — how to improve, to change, to make things more efficient. Everything, from appearance to the way things are run.

And I think to myself — how much arrogance there is in that way of looking. To come from the outside and assume that we know.

We don’t know anything.

They know how to live their lives in the way that is best for them. They have their own wisdom, and it is exactly right for them — even if to us it may seem neglected, worn, or faded.

I find myself shedding more and more layers of “knowing,” letting go of beliefs and patterns that I realize only limit me. The journey continues, and I feel how meaningful time is here. This is not a process that can be rushed or shortened.

We continue on — and in the next post, we’ll share about the crossing and our fascinating encounter with Guatemala.

As always,

We’re so happy to hear from all of you

Whether it's a small WhatsApp message, songs, reflections, requests, ideas, or suggestions for improvement.

Everything is received here with great joy.

With love,

Guy, Efrat, and the Bear