Belize - The Rainforest
The Mayflower Bocawina National Park in the Belize Rainforest
We left Ottawa bright and early on January 7, 2026, and the adventure began. Toronto welcomed us with its usual bustle, and before we knew it we were airborne again — next stop, Belize City.
Belize City was a wink and a nudge — paperwork, a quick stretch, and then the pièce de résistance: a teeny 14-passenger Cessna that felt more like a flying clubhouse than an airplane. Twenty minutes of rooftop-cloud sightseeing later we touched down in Dangriga. The pilot tipped his hat (figuratively) and we tumbled out, blinking into the humid, green air.
A rugged truck and a grinning local fella were waiting. He flung open the door like we were long-lost friends and whooshed us toward Mayflower Bocawina National Park, where Bocawina Resort (and yes, “resort” is used very loosely and with great affection) nestles amid the jungle like a cozy secret. Picture wooden cabanas peeking through banana leaves, hummingbirds photobombing your every move, and the distant roar of waterfalls promising mischief.
We were tuckered out — the kind of tired that makes your luggage feel like a small elephant — and ravenous because the day had been a travel-shaped black hole for meals. No worries: we were shown to our cabana (home base!) and pointed toward the only restaurant. It was a humble buffet, but oh, the buffet magic: simple, honest dishes that tasted like they’d been prepared by someone who knows food is the universal welcome sign. Plates piled with rice and beans, fresh fish that flaked like a dream, spicy-sweet sauces, and fruit so vivid you could practically hear it sing.
We ate like explorers who’d just discovered civilization again — laughing, swapping travel war stories, and making tentative plans for waterfall hikes and canopy tours. That first warm Belizean meal hit exactly where we needed it: the belly, the heart, and the part of the brain that decides vacation officially begins now.
We woke to the jungle’s alarm clock at 3 a.m. — a cacophony of rustles, chirps, and one very suspicious growl. What was that? What was that growling? The verdict: probably a jaguar, doing its best impression of a midnight bassline. Welcome to the jungle.
Day one: Lower Bocawina Waterfall hike. John and Graeme suited up, tied in, and rappelled like two slightly reckless superheroes. I stayed resolutely on solid earth, camera in hand, narrator of their graceful (and not-so-graceful) descent. They conquered the cliff; I captured every heroic flail and triumphant whoop. Jungle life: 1, sleep schedule: 0 — but absolutely worth it.
In the afternoon we ziplined. My first time, heart doing a jittery samba as I clipped in, but by the eighth or ninth run I was practically airborne ballet — arms out, whoop ready. The Bocawina zipline is Belize’s longest: nine runs and fourteen platforms stitched through the canopy like an aerial playground. Each line felt like a different mood — nervous giggles, thrilled screams, then pure, breezy grin.
That evening we went on a night walk hunting for snakes. No serpents that night, but the forest was anything but empty. Spiders everywhere: eyes glittering , and a hairy tarantula encouraged out of his hole by our guide. We found jaguar tracks pressed into soft earth, ghost-paws that made the hair on my neck sit up. Thousands of leaf-cutter ants formed living highways, relentless and tiny, each carrying a piece of forest like a treasure.
At the end of the hike we switched off our flashlights and let our eyes sink into the dark. The sky spilled overhead — deep, jeweled, enormous. The brightest “star” held steady and proud: not a star at all but Jupiter, a glowing, watchful planet reminding us how small and adventurous we are.
I saw a tree in the rainforest and it was THIS BIG
The next few days were pure rainforest magic. We traipsed back to Bocawina Falls and swam in the pool. Later we wandered the Bird Loop trail, ears and eyes twitching for feathered drama.
Howler monkeys sounded off from their treetop megaphones, a raucous VIP welcome, and somewhere in the sticky mud we found jaguar prints, like a mysterious paw-signed invitation. An alligator lounged on a log, the epitome of cool reptile calm, while tireless leaf-cutter ants marched in perfect little construction lines, hauling green treasure like tiny, determined gardeners.
Zip-lining called us again—wheee—and sent our hearts doing happy flips above the canopy. Bug bites tried to ruin our fun, but honestly? They were the tiniest footnote to an absolutely amazing rainforest romp.
The ants come marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah.
On our last evening at Bocawina Resort, the jungle seemed to hold its breath as new arrivals trickled in. They were the ones bound for Glover’s Reef with us.
January 11 arrived and we were piled into a van bouncing toward Dangriga while the road performed its best pothole tango.
At Dangriga the boat awaited, rocking gently and promising coral-coloured horizons.
Ahead: Glover’s Reef, bluer than postcards.
