Landlubbers ahoy

Without a doubt hubby and I do not have a future as bit-part actors in the next Pirates of the Caribbean movie. We practically did impressions of the Pope kissing the ground when we clambered, jelly-legged, from the boat which brought us across the sea from Honduras to Belize. I know that my friend Wart will probably disown me for this admission, but I categorically do not have sea-legs. Now, some of you may know that I am not a fan of flying, but compared to being on the open sea it's possible that I would actually choose to fly with Aeroflot.

You probably read in a previous post about the trials and tribulations we endured in our search for the non-existent boat office in Puerto Cortez. Well on Monday morning we turned up at the "dock" (pile of rocks under a bridge) at 10am all set for our journey. We were driven to the immigration office where I got my passport stamped with barely a murmur, while hubby endured the Spanish Inquisition over where and when he had entered Honduras (well, that'll be the same time and place as me but you didn't bother askng me any questions.) We then drove back to the boat where we all had to wait for the same lady from immigration who had just stamped our passports to come along and check us all on to the boat. What a palaver! Finally, about 12.15 we set off. OMG, the first 20mins were absolutely awful, we were bouncing around all over the shop and rolling from side to side. I could see why we had not only been given lifejackets as soon as we got onboard, but also instructed to put them on. Jeepers. At one point hubby, who is not normally a nervous traveller, turned to me and said 'If anything happens, don't worry about trying to take your bag or get hold of the passports', to which I replied 'and I'll take off my high heels before we go down the evacuation shute'. Oops, wrong mode of transport. But I knew I'd be safe; I've seen the film Titanic so I knew that, like Rose, I just needed to get my hands on a piece of mahogany panelling to float on and I'd be fine. Closer inspection of the boat led me to conclude that the door from the toilet would be the nearest I could get to that. Not quite as romantic, but it would have to do.

Needless to say, we fell in love with Belize as soon as we set foot on it. Still, it could have been the Gaza Strip and we would have been chuffed to be there.