Belize Archives - Page 4 of 5 - Sonia Marsh

BELIZE BUZZ Wednesdays-GOSSIPING RESULTS

May 6, 2009 by Sonia Marsh

I discovered from all of your wonderful comments that we need to distinguish between two types of GOSSIP: GOOD GOSSIP and NASTY GOSSIP. Or as AspiringWriter said, “There’s always gossip in small communities – some healthy, some not so healthy.”

We don’t seem to mind the good kind. It’s the NASTY GOSSIP that we want to avoid and not participate in.

Please excuse me if your name isn’t linked, as I had to copy and paste each link with the before and after code, manually. My blogger link button was on strike today. I apologize if I didn’t place a link to your comment.

LadyFi commented
“I find it interesting that it was the ex-pats that liked gossiping in Belize… I would have thought that it would be the locals gossiping about you. Or did they do that too? ”
Your’re right. Everyone gossiped, expats and locals. I’ve had time to reflect on your comments, and perhaps GOSSIP isn’t the right word. You see, when I talk about friends and what they’re doing, it isn’t considered gossip here in California. Whereas if I did the same on Ambergris Caye, it might be twisted around and distorted into gossip later.

Brenda pointed this out clearly when she said, “Is it gossip? Or is it just a way of understanding our world?” She continues to point out another difference, “When I first moved to Latin America I found the gossip a little suffocating, but then I came to understand that it was not harmful, it was a necessary part of community living.”

Caroline also brings up the same valid point, ” I feel that there are different types of gossip. There’s the conversational gossip (which happens a lot in the village I come from in Norway) and then there’s nasty/catty gossip which I have witnessed a lot where I lived in SA. I guess many of us, including me, uses the term GOSSIP, as NASTY and CATTY, like Caroline said. Maybe that’s a mistake on my part.

Also Pearl believes that GOSSIP happens in small rural towns, which is the same as living on an island with a small population.

Miss Footloose said, “Gossip can be dangerous, of course, but I have been surprised that among the expat women I knew in Armenia and Ghana there was so little of it, at least not the nasty kind.” See there again, we’re talking about good vs. nasty gossip.

FRIDAY I HAVE A GUEST/AUTHOR BLOGGER. PLEASE COME VISIT.

5) Monday is Belize Day-Gossiping, What Me?

May 4, 2009 by Sonia Marsh

“Be careful what you say to people, they will instantly judge you.” Those were my husband’s words of warning before we moved to Belize.

Gossiping in Belize is a way of life, and to some, a full-time job. I tried my best to stay away from it but soon realized, the mere act of opening my mouth qualified as gossiping. It was a major source of frustration. In a large city you could say what you wanted and get away with it, but not here. I guess living with the same small crowd, gossip became a form of entertainment.

During our first expat luncheon at a local restaurant, I accidentally critiqued a village close to our hut, stating that it wasn’t safe there because an elderly American lady had recently been attacked at gunpoint by a Belizean thug. An expat rolled her eyes, and in a tone of voice that brought me back to Miss McNulty, my Irish, spinster math teacher at boarding school, she said, “It’s just as safe in the village and for your information, that woman didn’t get robbed in the village.” For the first time since elementary school, I realized relationships were based on first words. They either liked you, or they crossed you off their list. Since being liked was important to me, I tried to make peace by saying, “I’ve only been here a week, so what would I know?”

I’d never lived in a small town before. Lagos, Paris, Copenhagen, Glasgow, Brussels and Orange County, California didn’t qualify as rural. My husband, Duke, said that it’s the same all over the world. As a child, he lived in a small rural village in Pennsylvania, where gossip spread like a virus.

Two weeks after we moved to the island of Ambergris Caye, I discovered that most women seemed to be doing lunch. Flattered when two English expats invited me, I realized that drinks and gossip were the purpose of these get-togethers. I sat between them feeling like an insect under a microscope. Into which species and sub-species would I be categorized? It reminded me of high school where you have to be analyzed and categorized, into a specific group. The “cool group,” the “drinking group,” the “non-drinking group,” the “geeky group,” the “she’s got money group,” or the, “she’s not a threat to us,” group.

I learned to be careful before I spoke. Trust was a word that came up frequently among expats. “It takes several years before you know whom you can trust?”

Do you hear lots of gossip where you live?

Any comments on trust, what it’s like to meet new people, or anything else you want to say?

Let’s exchange opinions. I shall answer you on Wednesday, BELIZE BUZZ day and thanks to Rob-bear for responding to what others said last week.

4) Monday is Belize day: The dogs in Belize.

April 27, 2009 by Sonia Marsh

As we drove through Corozal, I saw town through my kids’ eyes for the first time. Everything looked third world: stray, anorexic dogs, barefooted kids chasing cars along the dusty road and shacks under construction, or maybe destruction. The frame of a rusty abandoned car rested on the dust-powdered road, tire-less and window-less. The car door had been replaced with a torn sheet and next to the entrance, sat a green bucket with rags resting on its rim. This was someone’s home and one day, we saw the owner. The man looked like one of the stray dogs, a broken hip, limping, caked hair with bare patches and diseased. The filth on his skin and clothing made the homeless in Los Angeles look glamorous.

Only two weeks ago, I had stepped inside a “Dog Bakery,” in Newport Beach, California. Curious to see what patisseries dog owners were buying, I found a selection of freshly baked designer treats in a refrigerated display case. Individually hand decorated dog treats, each with colorful flowers and frosting reminded me of mini-wedding cakes. My mouth watered and I asked the sales person if humans could eat them. She gave me a strange look and said, “They’re made with flavors that dogs enjoy.”

There was only one vet in Corozal and her office sat opposite Frank’s, the butcher. The vet’s front door, just like Frank’s, stood wide open to the street. I peeked inside and saw a large, dark-skinned Belizean woman sitting behind a metal desk. There were no customers or dogs waiting. I couldn’t imagine anyone but expats bringing their dogs to her.

I felt awkward, almost embarrassed to ask this woman if she had enzyme chew sticks to clean my dog’s teeth. Most Belizean kids didn’t own a toothbrush and here I was concerned about reducing plaque on my rat terrier’s teeth.

“No, I’m sorry,” she said.

Upon returning to the U.S., I took Cookie to a new vet where the waiting room had granite counter tops, flat screen TVs and comfy armchairs. I felt like I was at a luxury spa for humans. Their prices reflected this, and I told them they were too expensive and left before they had time to check my dog. I found a reasonable vet twenty miles away. It didn’t make sense that a check-up for my dog cost more than a Doctor’s visit for my kids.

For those of you living the expat life, does this sound familiar?

Have you encountered a dog bakery or vet like the one I found?

Do you find vets outrageously expensive where you live?

Any comments or discussions you’d like to start, please mention, and on BELIZE BUZZ, Wednesday, I shall post them together with a link to your blog.

Thanks, and enjoy your week blogging.

3) Monday is Belize Day-"Just stop by." Not used to that.

April 20, 2009 by Sonia Marsh

“Just stop by,” the expats would say. So I did just that, something rarely done in Orange County especially when you hardly knew the person.

We had a new life in Belize and I needed help. Advice on schools, grocery shopping, what local Belizeans were like, where I could get a supply of fresh milk.

Carol, a French Canadian who lived in Corozal, was the only expat I knew with kids. Her front door stood wide open maximizing on sea breezes from the bay of Chetumal. Air-conditioning was non-existent in most houses. Carol invited me in for some refreshing watermelon juice. Her house was the size of a large bus and squished on the side sat a trailer they’d brought with them from Quebec. Carol told me they preferred the trailer to the house, “because it’s air-tight. Mosquitoes can’t get in, so we sleep in the trailer,” she said. I found this very strange that they’d pay for a house, yet sleep in the trailer.

Carol needed to talk just as much as I did. We sat on a couple of Mennonite chairs in her shower-size kitchen when a truck drove by and Carol knew, from the sound of the engine, this was the “Crystal” water guy. He walked straight into her kitchen and dropped off a 5 gallon plastic container of water. She searched for a coin in her soap dish container, to pay him.

Carol answered all of my questions regarding shopping and then handed me a gringo expat list of names and phone numbers for me to keep. I was amazed at how everyone helped one another here. I complained about the bug bites and Carol lifted her trim body from the kitchen chair and tiptoed to her bathroom, returning with a tin of cream she’d made herself. “What’s it made from?” I asked.
“I invented it,” she said. “I mix beeswax, olive oil and herbs. “Here,” she said, handing me the tin. “Try it. Tell me if it works.” I thanked her and spread a dollop on some swollen mounds on my legs. Carol stared, waiting to see my reaction. I smiled and told her it was a miracle cream. She wanted to market it locally, and called it her “very secret recipe.”

A guy on a scooter stopped in front of Carol’s house and honked. “It’s the mailman,” she said. She greeted him and returned holding only one letter, no junk mail. I thought how wonderful to live in a country where trees aren’t cut down and turned into junk mail. Back in California, I never bothered to look at junk mail. I hated the glossy photos of garages that looked better than many living rooms around the world. I felt embarrassed that people would need a granite-looking garage floor to park their perfectly shiny SUV or Mercedes. Who cared what the garage floor looked like, certainly not the car. I used to throw junk mail into recycling, without even looking at it.

I’d like to know where you live now and whether you can just stop by to visit? Do you have to call first, or make an appointment to visit with a friend or neighbor?

Any comments on junk mail, and whether you read it, need it, etc?

Any questions or comments you have, I shall be happy to answer on BELIZE BUZZ Wednesday, where I link your question to your blog, and answer it.

Thanks, and have a great week blogging. Enjoy life.

Our Life in Belize. A Belizean Butcher

April 6, 2009 by Sonia Marsh

Where is Belize? Since my travel memoir is about our adventures, experiences, and life changes in Belize, I thought you might like to see a map. It’s a country the size of Massachusetts with a population of 301,000, known for its 500 species of bird and 700 species of butterflies. Surrounded by Mexico in the north, Guatemala in the west, Honduras in the south and the turquoise Caribbean in the east.

The first two months, we rented the hut on stilts you see in the photo above in Consejo Shores, a community of mostly retired expats. Seven miles of migrating pot-holes, always shifting due to tropical rainstorms, made for Indiana Jones driving to Corozal a town very close to the Mexican border, for all our grocery shopping and drinking water.

It took me three weeks to find a decent butcher in town. I finally discovered Frank’s after discussing grocery shopping with a Canadian expat in Corozal. Frank and his wife greeted me with a friendly, “Good Morning,” and his two young daughters giggled and blushed when they saw Steve, sixteen and his younger brothers walk in behind me. All stores kept their front doors open, inviting flies and street dust inside. Entering Frank’s felt somewhat different, a little more like the Louis Vuitton of butchers. Unlike other butchers in town, Frank had a refrigerated display case where his meat was neatly arranged. Although three flies feasted on the ground beef, this no longer bothered me. Frank’s meat smelled fresh compared to the giant freezers in local supermarkets. With electric power turning on and off several times a week, chicken juice oozed and reeked from the continuous defrosting and refreezing of chicken pieces.

Frank and his family offered the best in Belizean customer service. If you asked Frank for steaks, he’d sharpen the thick blade on his butcher’s knife, then holding the slab of refrigerated beef in the air, he moved the knife until you signaled the thickness you wanted. What a change from the skinny quarter inch frozen steaks in the supermarkets. Frank did the same with his slab of bacon. Alec, my 14-year-old middle son, couldn’t wait to get back to our hut for some thick fried bacon. The eggs were a different story though, especially when an almost developed chick fell into the frying pan. The kids were slowly learning to appreciate the simple things we’d taken for granted back in the U.S. and to become less picky eaters.

Do you have any questions, comments or experiences of your own you’d like to share from where you live? I’d love to get a discussion going and shall post your questions/comments with links back to you and my answers on Wednesday. Hope to hear from all of you.