Belize Archives - Sonia Marsh

Less Stuff = Freedom + Happiness

July 14, 2015 by Sonia Marsh 6 Comments

empty-room-with-bed — Click on photo to go to website

I’m a “happy” person so why did I buy a book called, Happier: Learn the Secrets to Daily Joy and Lasting Fulfillment, by Tal Ben-Shahar, Ph.D?

Because it explains why I want to go back to Africa, and work with people who have far less than me. Here’s why:

“While levels of material prosperity are on the rise, so are levels of depression. Even though our generation–in most Western countries as well as in an increasing number of places in the East–is wealthier than previous generations, we are not happier for it.” —Tal Ben-Shahar, Ph.D.

I’ve been trying to figure out why I have become happier with less “stuff,” and why I’m attracted to living a simple life.

I don’t have a home, or furniture, except for two armchairs, a Chinese chest, and a tropical painting that inspires me to stay “gutsy.” Nothing within my control can prevent me from following my passion to ‘be free’ and experience new adventures.

Volunteering in a Mayan Village in Belize in 2009, and seeing these beautiful children, full of smiles, made me realize that happiness does not come from having stuff. Look at the small girl on the left; her parents can’t afford a pair of shoes.

Belize kids — The children I met while volunteering in a Mayan village in Red Bank, Belize, 2009.

Here’s what makes me happy.

Click on Photo- credit from malidoma.com

Am I being selfish in wanting to work with children in Africa? Perhaps. I realize that there are going to be many challenges adapting to a new life in Lesotho, in southern Africa, but just to feel the love and enthusiasm of the children, is enough to fuel my own energy.

I became fascinated with photo-journalist Alissa Everett, and what she has done to bring us closer to the positive side of what we don’t see in African countries, such as the DRC-(Democratic Republic of Congo.) She is truly “gutsy” and not only has she served in the Peace Corps, which is what I shall be doing starting in October, 2015, (Read more here) but she shares her stories during my interview with her.

This is her recent wedding photo with a message, I truly love.

Alissa Everett's wedding photo credit — Alissa Everett’s wedding photo credit

I realize we are all different, however, it saddens me to see people who have everything in life to be happy, and yet they’re unhappy.

Please VOTE for me so I can give shoes to kids in need

March 7, 2013 by Sonia Marsh 11 Comments

11-100_0880 — Blake Mycoskie founder of TOMS shoes

When I hear that kids cannot attend school because they don’t have shoes, I know something is wrong. In fact, it brings back memories of when I volunteerd at a Mayan village in the heart of Belize.

I heard Blake Mycoskie, the founder of TOMS shoes share a story about his trip to Argentina where a woman ran up to him in tears. At first he thought they were tears of sorrow, and after hearing her story, Blake found out why she was so happy.

This is what she told Blake.

On Monday, my oldest son gets the pair of shoes and can walk to school. On Tuesday, it’s my middle son who gets to wear the shoes and attend school, and on Wednesday it’s my youngest son’s turn. Now thanks to your shoes, my three sons can go to school.

As I mother of three sons, I’m thinking, two kids get to attend school twice a week and the youngest only once a week.

After living in Belize, Central America for one year, I learned that education is something kids in third world countries really want. Unlike many children in the developed world, kids in poor countries are excited about the privilege of going to school. They want an education.

Here is a snippet from Blake Mycoskie’s talk at the 2013 LA Times Travel Show:

Blake has given away 2 million pairs of TOMS shoes in fifty countries.

Now Blake Mycoskie launched his TOMS eyewear. While traveling through Ethiopia, he visited an eye clinic where cataract surgeries were offered to blind kids and adults. For only $15 to $45 per surgery, kids and adults were given their eyesight back. That’s when Blake decided to offer TOMS eyewear and for each pair sold, one person gets their eyesight back. In one year, he has helped 130,000 people get their eyesight back.

Blake Mycoskie says his “one for one” company is “like my soul mate in business.”

Just listening to Blake inspired me to enter his sweepstakes, “TOMS ticket to give.”

Please Vote For Me to Go Help Give Kids TOMS Shoes

I would love it if you could just click on the link and vote for me. I would love to be an ambassador and help give children a pair of shoes through TOMS giving away program.

Want to enter the contest yourself?

The deadline has been extended until Sunday, March 10th, and you can enter here.

Have you volunteered in a third-world country?

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February has 4 amazing “My Gutsy Story” submissions.

Please vote for your favorite story. You have until March 13th to vote, and the winner will be announced on March 14^th. Good luck to all your great stories.

SCROLL DOWN ON SIDEBAR (right underneath the Anthology Book Cover) TO VOTE. Only ONE vote each.

Do you have a “My Gutsy Story®” you’d like to share?

NOW is the time to submit your “My Gutsy Story®.” Please submit to sonia@soniamarsh.com.

You can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story®” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here

I Can’t Believe I Have John McAfee As a Facebook Friend

November 15, 2012 by Sonia Marsh 5 Comments

Yes, you heard me right. John McAfee, the anti-virus pioneer who is being sought for questioning about a murder case, lives on the island of Ambergris Caye, where my family lived for one year.

Thanks to a mutual contact on the island, I became “friends” with him on Facebook.

It’s not like I ever wrote to him on FB, however, today with US News covering the scandal with John McAfee, it no longer surprises me to read about crime, gossip, guns, drugs and dog killings on the island where we lived. Even the Telegraph has an appropriate title: John McAfee: sex, drugs and anti-virus software.

John McAfee moved to Ambergris Caye, a popular island in Belize, after we left in 2005. We did not know him personally, however we did know the murder victim, Gregory Faull. He lived a few houses north of ours on Ambergris Caye. Greg was a contractor from Florida who was building his retirement home on the island. We invited him for a beer in our house, and nick-named Greg the “lobster guy.” I shall never forget when he told us he caught thirty lobster in about an hour or so, while my son Steve and his dad caught only one puny little lobster in two hours. We were all so envious of his lobster-catching skills.

Greg was a fun guy who spent half his time building houses in Florida, and then the rest building his own home on Ambergris Caye. He invited us inside his house to show off the huge rooms he built. (Read page 193 of Freeways to Flip-Flops, and you’ll find him. I changed his name to Mitch.)

Life on the island of Ambergris Caye was both scary and exciting. For such a small island, there was always something going on, and for those of you who have read my memoir: Freeways to Flip-Flops: A Family’s Year of Gutsy Living on a Tropical Island, you might recall certain chapters where I expressed fear once in a while about living on Ambergris Caye.

Here is one excerpt about a drug boat from Columbia:

I strolled along the beach to get away from the bustle of golf carts, taxis and bikes on Front Street. The next Island Ferry was scheduled for 11 a.m., so I collapsed on the wooden step in the shade, thinking about how much our lives had changed in just two months. Curiosity led me to the end of the boat dock, where some locals had gathered. They were pointing at something in the distance, and when I saw what they were looking at, my heart skipped a beat. A boat had capsized and six men holding long poles were attempting to flip it over. “Oh, my God, Duke must have lost control of the Island Rider,” I thought, straining my eyes to see if a Cubs baseball cap was floating in the water.

“Mario, what happened to the boat?” I asked. Mario was one of the Island Ferry’s boat captains.

“It’s a drug boat from Columbia,” he said.

“Does this happen often?” I asked.

“Yes, lots of drug smuggling from Colombia to Mexico.” After years of living in my safe Orange County neighborhood, I suddenly felt vulnerable. When I reached home, I hurried upstairs to tell Duke about the capsized boat.

Another excerpt about my fear of being alone with my two younger sons on Ambergris Caye when Duke left for California.

My ears were on high alert for any unusual sounds, so we watched a comedy I knew would make Josh laugh and me forget my fear for a while. “Can I sleep in Steve’s bed?” Josh asked, snuggling closer to me than usual on the couch.

“Of course,” I replied. At least that way, I wouldn’t be all alone downstairs. Alec would sleep upstairs with Cookie.

I hid a solid mahogany rolling pin underneath Duke’s pillow and tucked a machete behind some books on the shelf next to my bed. I regretted not following Lucy’s advice – she was a 70-year-old woman from Michigan who lived alone in town – “Keep a bullhorn next to your bed. It’ll scare the heck out of any thief or rapist.”

So this time Belize is making national news due to a scandal involving a famous American businessman: John McAfee.

What a small world.

Are French Parents More Gutsy?

February 23, 2012 by Sonia Marsh

After reading an article in the Wall Street Journal about “Why French Parents are Superior” by Pamela Druckerman, it finally hit me that some of my child-rearing methods are actually more French than I care to admit. I’m not French, but I spent a good chunk of my youth growing up in the suburbs of Paris.

My three sons are adults now, and grew up in the U.S., however, Druckerman brought up one main difference between French parenting and American parenting that struck a chord. She said, “Who’s the boss?” She then gave the French answer:

French parents say, “It’s me who decides.”

Who’s the boss, you or your kids?

Right after my husband, Duke and I, made the decision to uproot our family from Orange County, California, to Belize, Central America, I remember being asked the following question, almost daily: “So what do your kids think about your decision to move to Belize?”

At the time, I thought this was a stupid question. Now I realize why.

BEACH VIEW BELIZE — Belize, Ambergris Caye, near our house.

Below is an excerpt from a chapter in my book: Freeways to Flip-Flops: Our Year of Living Like the Swiss family Robinson.

I’d become obsessed with Belize.

I’d tell anyone who cared to listen–including complete strangers in supermarket lines or at the gym—about how we were uprooting our family to live in Belize. Sometimes I imagined a glimpse of envy on a stranger’s face. That’s when I shifted into salesperson mode, trying to push them into doing the same. Duke warned me, “Don’t tell everyone about Belize; we don’t want people flocking there.”

Some people thought we were crazy. Others were skeptical. “Yeah, sure,” they said. “Let’s see if you really go ahead with it.” The second group always asked, “So what do your kids think?” to which I snapped back, “Who makes the decisions in your family, you or your kids?” Many looked shocked, but my European accent helped. It allowed people to classify me as an alien, despite my U.S. citizenship.

There are many times in life when you are faced with tough choices, and you need to make a decision. As parents, we cannot always cave in to what are kids want; we have to decide what’s best for the entire family. We need to guide and lead, and my experience with French parents, is that they are more strict, and perhaps more “old-fashioned” when it comes to child-rearing.

I could go on about so many aspects that Druckerman covers in her article: “Why French Parents Are Superior.” For example: teaching your kids polite manners, family eating habits, and disciplining your children, because I’ve seen it done the French way and the American way.

Since I’ve lived in both France and the U.S., as well as the U.K., Denmark and Belize, I can pick and choose what’s right for my family. That’s what I love about travel, and the expat life, you get exposed to different ways of looking at the decisions you make in your life.

What about you? Who’s the boss, you or your kids?

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Do you have a “My Gutsy Story”?

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

Gutsy cave-tubing in Belize

January 19, 2012 by Sonia Marsh

After our morning of zip-lining and repelling, we welcomed a quick Belizean lunch consisting of chicken, rice and beans, with fresh, juicy pineapple for dessert.

Now it was time for the six young women and I, to try cave-tubing in the underground caves of the meandering Caves Branch River. In a weird way, I looked forward to overcoming my fear of claustrophobia, and what better place than in the underground caves where the Mayans had once lived and worshipped. Considering this happened to be one of the most popular tours in Belize, I refused to back out.

Photo credit kthypryn

The young women and I changed into our bikinis, and carried our inner-tubes through the jungle. “How many of you thought you’d be hiking in the jungle in a bikini, with an inner tube and flip flops? I asked. “What a fashion statement,” one of the girls said. A section had been landscaped for the tourists, with paths and labeled trees, such as the poisonwood tree. “You better stay away from that one,” I told the girls, remembering how my son, Austin, had suffered for five weeks after touching a poisonwood tree when we first moved to our hut in Belize. We reached a small area of rocks perched above the Caves Branch River. “For those of you who don’t want to wait, you can jump off this rock,” Sylvan, our guide said. “Others can take the path to the right and wait in line.”

“Are you sure it’s deep enough?” I asked Sylvan

“Yes.” So I jumped in.

The water was refreshingly cold by Belizean standards, around 70 F. I settled my butt inside the tube and waited for the other six women to join me. They all took the speedy route, jumping in one after the other.

“Who wants rum punch?” Sylvan asked. I vigorously flapped my arms backwards to reach him. I figured better to numb my claustrophobic fear with a cocktail than be overly anxious for the next hour and a half.

“That’s one strong punch,” I told Sylvan.

“I made it myself. It makes the ride more fun,” he said. It certainly helped for the moment, however I couldn’t figure out how to hold my drink, flap my arms and move forwards into the dark caves, since the river current didn’t seem to be cooperating. “Bingo! Just in the nick of time surprise number two. Marco, another young Belizean guy, showed up. “Why don’t you put your feet under Tracy’s tube and we’ll form a chain,” he said. “I can pull both of you along.” Now I’d been upgraded to first class, rum punch in one hand, gliding effortlessly inside dark caves with a miner’s lamp attached to my forehead.

Some beautiful photos of cave-tubing from the Caves Branch website.

We weren’t alone in these sixty- foot wide caves. Several cruise ship passengers were ahead of us. The inside of these vast caves was illuminated by flickering miners’ lamps. Poor Marco did all the work while Tracy and I looked around the caves’ ceilings looking for bats. Marco pointed out some beautiful stalactite crystal formations with an extra strong flashlight.

“Butts up,” Marco shouted, breaking my relaxed trance.

“We’re reaching a very shallow spot only four inches of water, and your rear end gets a rocky ride if you don’t lift it as high as you can.”

We slid along to the impossible spot forcing us to get out of the tube and walk over some painful rocks. Fortunately, Sylvan showed up for a rum punch re-fill, just in time.

I preferred zip-lining to cave-tubing. I had hoped to see some Mayan artifacts and with chilled bones inside dark caverns, I couldn’t wait to get out and warm up. Walking on slippery wet rocks was no easy task, but this was our only option to get out of the river and change into our dry clothes.

The old, yellow school bus, our transportation back to the boat, waited for us with reggae music blaring; just what I needed for the ride home. Rum punch and beers flowed, and everyone seemed content and exhausted. Sylvan stopped at a local store to get some ice for our drinks, and then we headed back to the boat.

“It’s going to be a long boat ride home, especially as the winds are picking up, and rain clouds are forming,” Sylvan said. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten my jacket. Now I only had my wet beach towel for protection. Belizean rainstorms were aggressive, especially when sitting in a moving boat. They attacked you with piercing pellets resembling mini ice picks injuring your skin. I had two choices, either to laugh or to cry. I decided to laugh; it helped ease the pain.

Above photo credit Satanoid.

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Do you have a “My Gutsy Story”?

To submit your own, “My Gutsy Story” you can find all the information, and our sponsors on the “My Gutsy Story” contest page. (VIDEO) Submission guidelines here.

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