La Ruta Maya

“One minute ‘til go!”

The only noise you could hear was the roar of oars being tapped against canoes. The sound reflected the excited fluttering of the hearts of those both in the river and on land. 81 boats were being bracing themselves for the final buzzer to start their journey of 4 days and 170 miles across the country of Belize.

The bull horn sounds and in a flash the clash of canoes and the cheers of the crowds erupt in sync. It’s a mad rush to the next bridge, and after that a steady pace downstream to the next stop.

The Ruta Maya is not just a race, but a commemoration of what was once the only means of travel from the Western Border of Belize to the sea long before the highways were built. A tradition that reaches back in history to the Mayans, and shapes the formation of the country much like the river itself shapes the diverse landscape it runs through. This river is as much a part of Belize as its people, and for one weekend a year, it becomes its focal point. People come from all over the world to conquer it and uncover the beautiful country it centers. It has become a test of physical and emotional endurance that has been elevated to mythical proportions. To be a part of it in any way is quite the adventure.

Since the first time I had heard about this race I had wanted to be a part of it and some way, and I was given the opportunity to join the experience by way of support team for the canoe team of ‘Wen Green go Down D Riva.’ I knew being on the support team would be a lot of work, in addition to four days of sleeping in tents without the comforts of home in the middle of Belize. But in the end it was the travelling across Belize following the river’s path with a different campsite each night, a different location to explore, and the opportunity to see the real Belize. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, and one I was so glad to get no matter how much work was involved.

The first day began with an early morning of double checking bags, oars, lifejackets, and supplies and then heading to Cayo to start the race. Just as the sun was beginning to peak over the first bridge, our canoe and the canoes of 80 other teams were lined up impatiently under the bridge bracing themselves for the beginning of this grueling marathon ahead of them. The support team, including myself, Nick the candidate, and Pio, the Bristolian Benquenian with years of support team experience were readying ourselves for our long weekend ahead while we perched ourselves above the river to watch the first takeoff. The announcer counts down. 5 minutes; 1 minute; standby. By this point our hearts are pounding along with the racers in the boats and the hundreds watching along the river. Finally the bullhorn sounds and before you know it the canoes are out of sight. It was time to pile into the old pickup truck and move to the first check-point.

The sun was making its way to its apex when we were making our way to the Spanish-Lookout ferry. As we walked to the shore-line, the mist was still rising off the green waters while birds and iguanas perched high above in the trees. Only 10 miles down the river, it was only a quarter of the day’s distance, but a good place to drop food and supplies for your team. Many of the more dedicated support crews would jump in the water and swim out to the canoes as they passed to ensure that the supplies would make it in safely. I was not that dedicated, and chose other ways to make sure my team got food.

The next stop was a bridge, upon which you could watch the teams, but also where you could get food and water to the teams by simply dropping it into their canoes as they passed underneath. I supplied my team with peanut-butter sandwiches, Snicker bars, and bags of water in much the same way. By this checkpoint half of the day’s distance had passed, and each team looked quite relieved to be receiving any sort of nourishment.

Finally it was time to make our way to the first camp site in Banana Bank to set up. By the time we had arrived, there were already tens of campsites to where it looked like a miniature tent city. We pitched our tents, started our fire, and waited anxiously for the first team to arrive. Exhausted and hungry they came to the end of the first day of 46 miles. After getting more supplies for day two, it was an early night; off to bed before 8:30, for I had a lot to do for the next day.

By 3:30 in the morning I had given up trying to sleep amongst the sounds of dogs and howler monkeys. By the light of the fire, I made sandwiches for my team and prepared to cook breakfast by campfire. Before the sun had even finished rising, we had sent off our team to make their way down 60 miles of Belizean river. Then it was time for up to break camp and prepare for the following day’s work.

The next stop was in the heart of the Creole community in a little town of Double Cabbage Head. The closer we got to Belize City, the more excited the crowds became for the arrival of the first boats. It was not just the other support teams we had to compete with for space, but the hundreds of people who had come to join in the fun. But we were able to find a spot behind some old house, and though the ground was hard as rock, it was close to the river, far from a bulk of the noise, and a nice cozy place to cook food and wait for our team. It was 3:27 exactly when our boat came around the bend (I only remember because Nick and I had made bets for when our team would come in, and he was right to the minute. He won a coke) and our weary but triumphant team had conquered the first day after a few mishaps of tipping the canoe. To reward them for their longest day, we prepared a meal of steak and potatoes. Fighting the darkness and the bugs we were able to cook a delicious meal, one my mother would be proud of, for it was my first meal cooked since in Belize. And yet again it was off to bed, this time being lulled to sleep with the sounds of music playing and partiers continuing the revelries.

The third day began in a much more leisurely way, since the time to start was 8:30. Our team set out, determined to ‘go hard’ and make improvements on their time and position (the goal the following days had been merely to ‘survive’) and I was given time to clean up a little, for two days in the dirt and sun using port-o-potties does little for the feeling of cleanliness. It was off to the river for me, to bathe in solitude with only the sunshine, the minnows, and little wading birds to keep me company. We then packed up the truck to make our way to the final campsite. While waiting for my companions to finish their own bathing, I was accosted by a group of Creole kids wanting some sweets. Though I had no ‘sweets’ I was able to offer some chips, and there was sat eating chips and talking to each other about canoes, the river, and just life. Though Creole is not a language I will ever master, we were able talk to each other in our own languages. It was then I realized the fullness of my experience here in Belize.

It has come to the point where I don’t even notice how different of a culture this world is compared to my own. I hear the sounds of Spanish and Creole being spoken and see the tiny shanties that people exist in, and don’t even feel out of my element. Sometimes I need to be jolted back into the fact that I am a visitor, and observer and that this is not how I’ve ever been used to living. Talking to those kids helped me to remember that I was so different, but the whole reason I had come to Belize was to learn, observe, and love—and through that make the world that much smaller. It was a big moment for me, and I’m incredibly grateful that I got to have that reminder of my purpose here.

It was then off to the third and final campsite in Burrel Boom. The crowds had infiltrated and what had only two nights before been a relatively chill camping experience became a noisy and crowded city of tents, trucks, and trash. Though the sign “No Litta Di Riva” was hung over looking the river to serve as a reminder to the people about preserving the pristine beauty of their natural scenery, it did very little to keep the trash from being scattered over acres of riverfront. Our team arrived, and had had a very successful day for they had passed 24 boats and improved their rankings by 11 from the first day. But this was the hardest day for them, and it was all they could do to keep themselves awake and cognizant for the rest of the afternoon. The next day was the last day and being only 4 hours, my team was determined to give everything they had to finish strong.

Because of the proximity to Belize City, we had many opportunities to follow our team as they made their way to the finish line. At the first observation point, as we were anxiously awaiting our team’s appearance, we were graced by sightings of the beautiful Belizean wildlife. As one canoe passed through, a dolphin jumped 8 feet out of the water, almost over their canoe. Before we were able to get over the shock and awe of what we were observing, the dolphin came up for a second jump. It looked as if it had been planned as a side attraction. It was an incredible sight, and let us know just how close we were to the ocean itself and how far we had come from Benque.

It was before we knew it we were on the final bridge in Belize City, waiting for our team to cross the finish line. After 29 hours of canoeing, 4 days of camping, and a whole country travelled through, our team made it to the end triumphant and full of stories. Just hours later, we were back in Benque, and looking out at the river and its beginning. Who knew that what was such a source of life for this society could be the source of an incredible, crazy, exhausting adventure?