The late afternoon rain relieves the day’s heat. It relieves the need to being doing something fun, something creative, something inspiring, something productive, something enlightening. It stills the nagging questions of where to go and when. Suspended here in the mama-like arms of a swinging hammock under the tapping of the tin roof I write. We just finished reading aloud “Sleeping Beauty and the Airplane,” a four-page story by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Althea was content to not comprehend and instead dedicated her full attention to a star fruit—picked fresh from Johnny’s farm—a sweet spot on the Sibun River at the foot of Sleeping Giant Mountain.









Is it possible that at least one lunar cycle has run its course since the time of our previous post? One full moon ago we were on the Caribbean coast of the Yucatan peninsula. Two full moons ago we were on the pacific coast somewhere between Puerto Vallarta and San Blas. This full moon found us under the street lamp on the dirt road of a small village outside of Belmopan, Belize’s capital city. You won’t find Camelote in any Rough Guides or Lonely Planets. There is no pristine spring, no waterfall, no mountain peak, no stellar sunset view; there is not even a round table. There is, however, good good company. Our friend Jes rents a small house here and has been kind enough to let us squat for a bit. The timing syncs up perfectly w/ the on-going engine quirks that remain unresolved but not unsolved. We are glad for this forced stint of domesticity.





We joke about the irony of living once again in the suburbs of a capital city. This is not to mislead you into thinking that this is some kind of sterile gated community with paved streets and sidewalks. Life abounds here. In fact a shiny black skink just scampered into our room. During the morning Rufus-tailed humming birds linger at the red hibiscus flowers. In the afternoon Blue Morpho butterflies float among the coco, citrus and plum trees and green iguanas dart beneath the woodpile. In the evening, matrimonial pairs of parrots squawk overhead. Some people complain about the lack of nightlife in Belmo, but we’ve discovered a decent amount. Darkness brings on densely layered rhythms made by crickets, cicadas, tree frogs, geckos and toads. A few nights ago we played with a Rhinoceros Beatle, and we’ve grown quite fond of the Tarantula who lives beneath the house.






Time here seems more circular than linear. Activities rotate between trips into town, mini-projects around the house, extended searches for a mechanic, and short visits to rivers and the ocean. Good times were had kayaking the Mopan River, visiting Johnny and Lindsay at Sleeping Giant Farm and spending a night at our friends’ beach house on the coast.





Most of the time village life is friendly and warm, but sometimes it is overwhelmingly hot and harsh and can even be stultifying and boring. These are the times when we sit, scratch our innumerable bug bites and wonder just what the hell we are doing here. (Mom, I’m sorry for the profanity but its true). That’s where the rain comes in. It remedies the heat and also alleviates the bouts of confusion tinged with homesickness. Homesickness is an illness with its own beneficial qualities. Like a sieve it filters out all of the negative associations of the stressed-out-traffic-laden-overly-developed DC-metro area and leaves behind only the pure memories of home—of late-night conversations around the kitchen counter, of lazy Sunday morning breakfasts at the diner, of drop-ins from friends, and of Leroy in the backyard. We consider ourselves lucky to the have the good fortune of being homesick. For now we reside in Camelote but we’re not sure where the next full moon will find us. Hopefully we’ll let you know sooner than later. But in the meantime drop us a line and let us know what’s happening at home (wherever that may be) . . .

Also, if you post the blog could you send an email to thosewilsons@gmail.com with your email address. (Unless you’re positive that we have yours) A few of you have responded to the blog but we don’t have a way to contact you.