Belize - Tobacco Caye

We have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in our tears.

We are tied to the ocean.

Just goofing around in the Caribbean sea. Me, John and Graeme.

On Wednesday, January 14, we set sail for Tobacco Caye — and the boat ride decided to audition for an action movie. For a full hour we bounced and flew over waves like a bunch of popcorn kernels in a very rude kettle. Gravol and I held hands like old friends, whispering sweet nothings of “you’ve got this” as the ocean tried its best dramatic entrance. By the time we sighted that tiny speck of paradise, my stomach and I had negotiated a truce — and I was ready for whatever island mischief awaited.

Our sunny little cabin floated like a lemon meringue cloud above water. Below, stingrays glided like velvet kites—lazy, elegant, occasionally performing a slow-motion twirl as if someone offstage had cued a grand reveal.

The snorkeling at the Caye was next-level magic. We paddled out on kayaks to the “deep” spot — which sounded ominous until we realized it mostly meant more fish and fewer people. Clambering out of the kayak? A breeze. Clambering back in? A slapstick routine involving flailing arms, a rebellious kayak, and at least one soggy ego.

Under the surface, though, everything made sense. The water turned into a living kaleidoscope: neon parrotfish nibbling like underwater gardeners, a shy stingray gliding like a velvet carpet, shy sharks hovering near the bottom and coral gardens waving in slow-motion applause. I hovered, feeling like an uninvited but awestruck guest at the planet’s best aquarium. Every glance revealed a new wonder. Pure, unfiltered wow.

One evening we went snorkelling IN THE DARK.

At first the water felt like a cool secret. My flashlight made little islands of light that bobbed and jittered as we kicked. Eight-legged octopus hid between rocks.

A flat, shy flounder lay like a folded map on the sand, perfectly camouflaged until it decided to be seen, then slid away like a silver bookmark. Toad fish peeked out at us.Anemones waved their feathery hands in slow-motion applause.

Sea urchins were the porcupine cousins of the reef, spiky silhouettes Then—surprise!—a nurse shark. It moved like a sleek shadow, utterly uninterested us.

A barracuda greeted us as we swam to shore. It keep still as I took photos hoping we wouldn’t disturb his peace.

The next day, more snorkelling.

I could not believe how far down our guides could go . The salt water hugged me like a buoyant blanket, keeping me bobbing and bemused while the guides became shadowy torpedoes, streaking deeper. It was as if someone had sewn tiny anvils into their fins: every tail flick sent them like mischievous anchors plunging toward the ocean’s secret basement. I floated there, half astonished, half giggling with the absurdity of it all, while they explored the underwater attic and returned with stories written in bubbles.

Just WOW.

Conch shells anyone?

On our last day we kicked things off to see an island where the frigate birds were putting on a full-on avian Broadway. The males puffed out those brilliant red throats like tiny heart-shaped balloons, bobbing and preening as if to say, “Look! I am… irresistible.” The ladies watched with the cool, unimpressed air of judges who’ve seen it all — but you could tell the show was working.

Next up: a mangrove maze. No fins, lifejackets on, moving carefully through the water so we wouldn’t stir up the secrets below. We were on a seahorse treasure hunt among the tangled roots, eyes peeled for baby curl-ups, but the little guys stayed hidden. Still, the underwater parade didn’t disappoint — we found upside-down jellyfish that looked like the lovechild of a snowflake and a flower: delicate, crystalline bells turning the water into a drifting kaleidoscope. Nature’s costume party, and we had front-row seats.

Feeling groovy. This is the suit I wore most days in the water. It did the job. You couldn’t tell I had been down south bathing in the sun rays.

John and his besties, Garfield and Venacio (Ben), were absolute legends. These guides? Incredible. They kept us safe in the water, possessed way too much cool knowledge, and somehow survived weeks of demanding, delightfully kooky tourists without losing their smiles. Heroic, calm, and endlessly patient — the dream team of adventure.

All good things must come to an end — but endings are just sneaky little beginnings in disguise.

Our Belizean adventure wrapped up with a: a delayed boat ride back to town (delayed because the winds had picked up and the ocean was rolling) , then crammed into a cheerful little Cessna. We landed in Belize City, and suddenly had a whole afternoon to play tourist one last time.

First mission: procure essential souvenirs. Marie Sharp hot sauces were non-negotiable — vibrant bottles of flavor to take the sunshine home with us. Next, we performed the sacred ritual of vacationers everywhere: the classic pose by the Belize sign. Snap, grin, repeat. The photos came out perfect — sunlit, slightly windswept, full of smug satisfaction.

The island had given us salt-sweet memories, cracked coral laughter, and a stubborn sense of wonder.

We will be back. We certainly will be back. Until then: keep the map folded, the passport within reach, and one Marie Sharp at the ready for emergencies (or tacos).