Belize. The Honeymoon.
A Proposal and a Plan
There are moments in life that define who you are. For me, one of them was on a frozen mountain lake in Rocky Mountain National Park in the early winter months of 2011: this is when I asked my wife Jenn to marry me. So began a new era—and to kick it off, we hadn’t gotten 100 feet from that lake before we started planning our honeymoon. Some may call that a little extreme, but that’s what you get when you pair up two people struck with a serious case of wanderlust.
The Art of Compromise
The ideas began to flow. I suggested a rustic lodge-to-lodge trek into Machu Picchu; she suggested a luxurious over-water bungalow in Bora Bora. I pitched an adventurous tour across the cities of Western Europe; she countered with the deserted solitude of the Seychelles.
And so began a new dimension of traveling (and life) I had yet to experience: compromise. If only some tool had existed then to help us consider every option given our differing tastes, we might have resolved this quicker.
But the compromising started. I accepted that I probably wasn’t going to see the inside of a tent on our honeymoon. She accepted that there might need to be more to do than watching the tide roll in every evening. After research and tips from friends, we found our middle ground. Heading toward the equator made sense for December, and we discovered a place with both mountains and beaches. So Belize it was.
We also decided the trip needed relaxation: no long waits at bus stops hoping we’d be picked up, no scrambling for the last night train, and no wandering into an unfamiliar city to find the least shady hostel with a vacancy.
Belize Bound
So here I was again, after thinking the Dominican Republic would be my last: we booked an all-inclusive package with Coppola Resorts—half in the mountains, half on the beach. Compromise. Learning that Renée Zellweger had taken the same trip sealed the deal. If it was good enough for Bridget Jones, it was good enough for us.
We left our wedding reception early for our flight out to Belize City the next morning. Probably wise—had I partied half as hard as some guests, I’d have been boarding with a Gatorade, a splitting headache, and a motion sickness bag. Not exactly the ideal honeymoon kickoff.
Into the Jungle
From Belize City, we transferred to a van that drove us west past Belmopan and into the Belizean mountains. By the time we neared Blancaneaux Lodge it was dark. Our driver stopped to let us admire the local wildlife under the headlights: a tarantula crossing the road twenty feet ahead. Unfortunately, this violated one of my wife’s cardinal rules: any spider visible from twenty feet away means turn around and go home immediately.
Luckily, we were too far into the jungle (and too financially invested) to turn back. We pressed on, waiting patiently for the hairy guy to finish his crossing.
We passed a small airstrip (the one Renée no doubt used to bypass such encounters), then wound through thick jungle to the lodge. Our bungalow’s back porch overlooked the Blancaneaux River. Francis Ford Coppola had chosen this site because it reminded him of filming Apocalypse Now in Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam. I spared Jenn that detail, but sitting on the patio with duty-free tequila in hand, I couldn’t help but squint into the darkness and imagine VC figures watching from across the river.
Jenn quickly confirmed she didn’t care for tequila, which meant I had the bottle to myself. Life was good: the sound of rushing water, peace far from civilization with the one I loved, and plenty of margaritas I didn’t have to share.