Island Hygiene

When Adam and I went to Belize in November of 2007, I had never been to a carribbean destination before. I had not even been to a tropical destination for that matter. The closest I had been up until that point was Disney World. Spinning Teacups, Mickey Mouse, and throwing up a $9 hot dog from a place called "Goofy's Grub" can't really be defined as "tropical". But, Disney World has palm trees, people. So by that alone, it is very tropical.

It's all about the palm trees.

When we arrived in Belize City, we wandered through the airport to catch our connecting "puddle jumper" flight to Ambergris Caye. Philip S.W. Goldson Int'l Airport looks more like a Hertz car rental. They actually announce your name overhead when it's time to board the plane. Needless to say, the island vibe was evident as soon as I entered the country. I remember standing in line waiting for customs, and feeling a tad nervous. I had my fresh new passport in hand, declaration form filled out and patiently waited my turn. When the customs officer - a Belize native - motioned me to his podium I quickly realize my nerves were for nothing. He glanced at my passport and then stared directly at my chest and said "What does your shirt say?"

::blink blink::

My shirt had text in a circular shape over my, ahem, heart. I told him what it said, he smiled at me and welcomed me to Belize. I honestly don't even think he looked at my name on my passport.

So there you have it. All you need to get into Belize is a passport (for posterity's sake), and a shirt that has text over your boob.

Belize, I love you.

We spent the week in a beach front condo-style resort, with the ocean lapping gently against the shore that was our front porch. I'll never forget the bath-water warm waters, kayaking as the sun set, the lush island plants, bicycling through San Pedro, fishing, and most of all how relaxed I felt.

In addition to clothing, I had packed the usual travel necessities: hair dryer, flat iron, styling products, and make-up. After 2 hours on the island I realized I had wasted my time, and wasted space in my bag because I wasn't going to use any of it. I was an island girl, if even for a short time. I spent the rest of the week in shorts and t-shirts that would normally only be used as loungewear at home. One day I even ventured out to dinner in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that I usually used as pajamas.

There really is nothing more joyous than eating dinner at a resort in your pajamas. If you ever get the chance, I highly recommend it.

As the trip wore on, I found my standard of hygiene slowly slipping. I was re-using shorts, sniff testing t-shirts, and recycling cover-ups. I distincly remember one morning grabbing a t-shirt that I had tossed into the dirty pile, sniffing it, and wondering to myself how I could have thought it was dirty enough for the "Take Home and Wash!" pile. It smelled of sand and SPF. Perfectly suitable for an afternoon of beachcombing and gorging on key lime pie. I probably would have considered a Wal-Mart t-shirt and some Hanes shorts "black-tie" by that point.

Like I said, the standard of hygiene was, umm, slipping away. It was really hard to return to work and have to actually make an effort on my appearance. It was even harder to drive through rush-hour traffic and drive at the same pace as everyone else, when I really felt like floating down the highway at 30mph. I was in slow-mo for a solid 2 weeks after that. What bliss.

I thought I wouldn't ever find a place as wonderful, and as conducive to relaxation, as Belize.

But then we went to Hawaii. And it was just as sweet. I spent many an afternoon lost in the blissful warmth of the island, sipping away at a banana smoothie with the scents of plumeria and tropical fruit in the air. I noticed a distinctive scent in our room each day...I still haven't figured out what it was (flower, fruit, etc) but it was there, each evening, as I fell asleep to the waves lapping the shores. It was the scent of the island. It was the scent of what it's like to take a deep breath and feel paradise all around you. That may sound like an exaggeration, but that is exactly how I felt.

And, once again, I found my standards of hygiene slipping away with my cares. I lived in ratty shorts and tattered shirts. My bathing suit was my closet staple, and my skin was smoothed by sand rubbing away the top layer of my busy life back home. There's nothing else quite like putting on gym shorts and feeling a tad overdressed for dinner.

But that's the island life.