Belize Archives - Sonia Marsh

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.

Gutsy Book Buzz

April 5, 2012 by Sonia Marsh

Here’s my “Gutsy Book Buzz” what’s yours?

LISTEN TO SONIA’S PODCAST ON GUTSY BOOK BUZZ

Book Flap Cover: Freeways to Flip-Flops: A Family’s Gutsy Living on a Tropical Island

What do you do when life in sunny Southern California starts to seem plastic, materialistic and just plain hellish?

For Sonia and Duke Marsh, the answer was to sell their worldly goods and move to an unspoiled, simpler life with their three sons in Belize, Central America, a third-world country without all the comforts and distractions of life in the developed world.

Sonia hopes the move will bring her shattered family back together. She feels her sons slipping away from her, and her overworked husband never has time for her or the boys.

Instead, things begin to go wrong immediately. The home they initially rented isn’t available, so the family is forced to take up residence in a primitive, bug-infested shack. Duke’s telecommuting plans prove impractical because of unreliable Internet access, and he loses his job. Middle son Alec – always a conscientious, polite, tractable child – misses his friends and has trouble adjusting. As the days turn into months, Sonia finds herself questioning the family’s decision to move on a nearly daily basis.

This is the story of one family’s search for paradise. In this memoir, Sonia chronicles a year of defeats, fears and setbacks – and also the ultimate triumph of seeing once-frayed family ties grow back stronger from shared challenges and misfortunes. For Sonia, paradise turned out not to be a place, but an appreciation of life’s simple pleasures – a close-knit family and three well-adjusted sons with a global outlook on life.

I wish to thank my wonderful Editor: Eve Gumpel

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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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One Gutsy thing I did in Belize

December 29, 2011 by Sonia Marsh

Only seven women signed up for the zip-lining and cave-tubing tour in Belize, and they were half my age. With a life-long fear of heights, I forced myself to be Gutsy, and play Tarzan for a day.

Our adventure started the minute we boarded a retired American school bus and bounced all the way to Jaguar Paw Jungle Reserve, a tribal style resort located on 215 acres of jungle reserve in the heart of Belize. The Caves Branch River meandered through the jungle with several miles of underground caves where the Mayans once lived and worshiped.

Two young Belizean men led us on a steep path to our starting point in the heart of the jungle’s lush, tropical canopy. After a brief lecture on the equipment we’d be using, I told Louis I was scared of heights. “You’ll be safe,” he said. “We have two steel cables on each of the eight rides so you’re doubly protected.” We each wore a metal helmet which I assumed was to protect our head in case we crashed into a tree trunk.

Sonia Zipline with Oscar and Louis-S — Oscar, Sonia and Louis at Jaguar Paw, Belize

I started working out when these young girls were still in diapers, and my years of weight training finally paid off. My arms lifted me with ease, and Louis snapped my belt to the cable. We each stepped into a harness which Louis tightened firmly against our waist and hips. He then fastened the harness clasps to the steel cables and a safety leash secured us to a massive tree trunk at each of the eight landing stations. We looked like seven monkeys tied to a tree trunk, forty feet up in the jungle canopy.

Our first platform was knee-shaking high. “So who’s ready to go first?” Louis asked.

A short skinny girl raised her hand. “I will.”

Louis gave a brief lecture, then instructed the girl to put on her heavy-duty industrial type gloves.

“Put your left hand around all the ropes. Your right hand slides behind you on the bottom cable. The right glove is reinforced with a thick leather pad, so you don’t rub a hole through it and end up with a bloody hand. Use your right hand for braking. If you need to break, you’ll pull down on the cable with that hand.”

“How do we know if we need to break?” I asked.

“We’ll make this type of motion,” he said, waving his hand up and down.

I hoped we were done with all the instructions as I started getting confused.

“Are you ready? Let’s get started,” Louis said.

Oscar, the other guide, demonstrated our first ride to the second platform, about ninety feet away. He made it look fun and easy.

Our first volunteer started her Tarzanna trip, screaming, as she zipped along, though not as smoothly as Oscar had demonstrated.

I decided to be fourth in line—my favorite number for good luck. I concentrated so hard on technique, that before I knew it, I’d reached the other side. What happened? This was really no big deal. My fear of heights didn’t even enter into the equation as I focused so hard on the task. Thankfully, I’d forgotten to look down. Everyone except poor Tracy, became experts at inter-tree air-borne travel.

Sonia Zipline in air-S — Sonia flying through the trees like Tarzan

The grand finale was getting down from the last platform. No we didn’t have the luxury of a staircase or a ladder, we had to repel. We were instructed to squat, grab the rope on the edge of the platform, hang over and control our descent with a hand lever. A slight pull could send you flying, so the exact contraction on the rope was critical.

All of us struggled with the repelling, but I reminded myself not to look down and that helped. Once again poor Tracy was last. It took Oscar a good ten minutes to prep her. She accidentally released the lever too quickly, which sent her flying at top speed. Her terror stricken shriek ended when Oscar controlled the security lever from above and succeeded in aborting her free fall a third of the way down.

“I can’t believe how much I enjoyed this,” I said to Louis, all proud of my accomplishment. One by one we waited for our security gear to be taken off and headed to the Jaguar Paw Lodge, where we met the less brave who spent the day at the zoo.

After a typical Belizean lunch of chicken, rice and beans, our group of seven women hiked towards the underground river and caves, each one carrying an inner-tube into the jungle. Now we were ready to see some Mayan artifacts.

What one Gutsy thing have you done that you remember?

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From Frugal to Regal thanks to Buick

October 6, 2011 by Sonia Marsh

My cell phone rings, “We’re here to deliver your car,” the guy from Page One Automotive says. I have no idea what to expect, and run down the hallway to open my garage door. There, parked on the street, sits a gorgeous silver 2011 Buick Regal Turbo Sedan. A little intimidated, I stop half way down my driveway. The delivery guy hands me the remote, requests my signature on his paperwork, and within seconds he’s gone. Now it’s just me and my luxury car for the next four days.

Buick Regal Turbo charged — Buick Regal CXL Turbo charged

It takes me a while to pluck up the courage to check her out. First I have to get my heart rate back to normal and make sure my hair and make-up look just as polished as Regal, before I take her for a spin. Her flowing lines and sculpted body deserve to be seen, so what better place to take her than the upscale Newport Beach Library, where I’m editing my travel memoir.

As I roll my computer case through the garage, my Kia Rio looks concerned. “Don’t worry, you’re still mine,” I say.

Regal is outside, waiting for me, and as I click on the remote to open her trunk, I realize, “OMG, I lost the key.” I back track through my garage, eyes focused on the cement floor but I can’t find it. I ask my 23-year-old son to help me look for it. He inspects the remote and all of a sudden, this metal prong ejects. “There’s the key,” he says. Now I feel dumb.

Buick Regal retractable key — The silver button releases the metal prong key

I head back to Regal, open the doors and slide into the soft leather seat. I already feel pampered, wondering if this seat will start pulsing and kneading my back like the one at the nail salon. I insert the key and the engine purrs ever so smoothly.

Everything is elegant inside, from the leather steering wheel to the ebony trim with its piano-black accents. But like any woman, I need music to get in the mood, so I play with the sound system first.

I’ve never been inside a car with a seven speaker sound system, and once I discover XM Radio, I’m hooked. I find my favorite dance hits on “The Groove,” and start wiggling to the beat, reminiscing over my night club days in Paris where I’d dance to Donna Summer and other disco hits. Now I’m relaxed in my elegant interior when I hear a tapping on the window. It’s my neighbor from across the street.

“Got a new car?” he asks.

“GM offered me a car to drive to Speed Fest this weekend,” I reply.

“Looks great,” Jim says.

“I love it, but I can’t figure out where the hand break is.”

“Let me take a look.”

I get out and Jim gets in.

“See the red light with the P?” I say “Well, does that mean the brake is on?”

Jim fumbles around with various buttons, then pulls out the manual from the glove box and thumbs through to the correct page. He reads the instructions.

I’ve never heard of an electric park brake before, and once Jim figures out how to release it, I take off and start jammin’ to Ray Parker Jr. & Raydio playing, “For those who like to Groove.”

As my foot pushes down on the accelerator, I feel the turbo kick in, giving me the boost I need to pass a slow Lexus before the on-ramp to the 405 freeway. I’m in my own cocoon, happy and enjoying a luxury I’m not used to. What a difference from six years ago when my family lived a simple life on the island of Ambergris Caye. We would take our kids to school by boat.

My husband can’t wait to drive Regal to Speed Fest.

“Here’s the address,” I say, handing him the paper.

“Why don’t you enter it in the navigation system,” he says.

“I’m not sure how it works.”

It’s not as easy to figure out as I thought so I pull out my tablet for navigation. Too much technology to keep up with, and we’re running late.

The ride to Coronado is smooth, turbo-powered and luxurious. I head over to the Chevy booth where they are celebrating 100 years of Chevy + 100 years of Naval Aviation, and thank Dave Barthmuss and Sara Leeper for offering me four days of luxury driving.

Sara Leeper and Sonia at Chevy Speed Fest booth — Sara and Sonia at Chevy Speed Fest booth

Not long ago, I contributed to a blog post on GM’s the future is electric blog and was offered a nice car to drive, plus 8 tickets to attend Speed Fest in San Diego. Since my youngest son, 17, enlisted, I have been involved with Cell phones for Soldiers which Chevy is also helping raise funds for. Please contact me if you have a use cell phone you wish to get rid of.