Lower Dover

While up in San Ignacio, we stayed about 20km out of town at a guest house called Lower Dover. Buried deep in the jungle, Lower Dover is 100 acres of... well... just about everything. There are a couple of well-appointed but simple cabins (and a couple of not-so-in a large grove of fruit and other trees, chickens, sheep, a small pack of ferociously friendly dogs, a swimming hole in the river running through, and walking trails through the forest, where you can see an array of as-of-yet unexcavated Mayan ruins. 

The hosts, ex-pats from various parts of the United States (although based on the prevalence of Badgers paraphernalia around, Wisconsin was clearly Home), have owned the land since shortly after Belize became an independent country in 1981, but have been operating the guest house for about 5 years. 

On Christmas night. The hosts held a Pig Roast, for the guests and for the various staff and helpers they have in the local village. We ate with the son of the owners, his girlfriend down visiting from America, a pretty cool young couple from Tennessee, and a female doctor from Sand Francisco traveling alone. Conversation was fun and wide-ranging, with quite a few Belikins, mostly because the Pig was putting up a good fight, and we ate few hours after the planned start of the roast. 

The good doctor was smart and funny, the couple from Tennessee were a Genetics researcher and a Biology Grad Student who were well aware of the works of Rebecca Watson, and the owners son was convinced that Ron Paul was going to be the next President if the United States, not because he supported Ron Paul,  but because Ron Paul was secretly a fifth-degree FreeMason and it has already been decided. Oh, and the lady next door can cure all cancers with a few magic ingredients she found in the Rain Forrest, but the Government kicked her out of Canada for curing people... 

Good humor was had. 

The biology of the area was potentially interesting, if I was a Biologist. Tig was excited to see fireflies for the first time since we left the Mid West. The forest was riddled with those bizarre 4-inch wide trails and 4-foot wide anthills that can only be made by leaf cutter ants. The sandflies munched happily on our ankles at night, and our host made a point of showing off the resident tarantulas.

Yet somehow, we slept well. 

In the end, Tig and I found something common to Lower Dover that we noticed in guest houses owned by American and European Ex-pats in Costa Rica, and I have noticed staying in lodges in the middle on nowhere in Northern BC. The type of people who leave, say, Wisconsin, to move to a Rain Forest in the middle of nowhere are generally doing that for a reason. They are seeking a certain lifestyle away from the everyday, and often decide to open a Guest House as a way to support their lifestyle. Unfortunately, the get-away-from-it-all personality type is not always the best for running as intensely a customer-oriented business as a guest house. Madeline, our hostess, strangely seemed to bend over backwards to be friendly and helpful, but never seemed to do the "little things" that would actually make you comfortable. Her husband was generally grumpy. She and her son both broke the cardinal rule of having dinner with a large group of unfamiliar guests: they talked politics. 

Luckily, everyone became adequately sauced enough waiting for the Pig to come out of the coals that the humor was kept up, and everyone had fun. but when we left, it was time to go.