...come around and talk it over. After 10 hours of traveling, I made it to Belize. One of the great things about returning to a favorite spot is that its scent is familiar. In my mind, Belize didn't have a smell, but it does. Kind of earthy, like leaves we don't have in the States.
Customs was odd. Nice guy asked me if I knew anybody in Belize. Yes, I said. Where? Benque Viejo. Did I bring any gifts? A book. Apparently you do not need to declare books, and from there I went to book a flight on Pterodactyl Airlines. Cash is king, delivering a 30% discount if you skip plastic. So I bought my ticket (which is actually just a Xeroxed form that the clerk scribbles on) and went through security.
When traveling, I try to bat Bambi lashes and charm people. This, I feel, should minimize any hassle. Unfortunately, there was a snag at the x-ray station. Belize also bows to the tyranny of the 3.4 ounce liquid rule, and the x-ray scanner guy said he'd need to examine my bag of liquids. "You can't take this through," he said when looking at my Target brand SPF 70. "It needs to be two ounces or less."
I silently called bullshit. Of the three sunblocks I packed (different ones for different needs!) the Target one had the girliest packaging, but the La Roche-Posay weighed in at 3.4 ounces compared to Target's 3.0. I'm just saying, this clearly had nothing to do with size. I suspect our guy liked the tulip on the Target tube.
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"Yes, no more than two ounces. You can't take it."
I pointed to the official Belizean airport security sign that clearly stated it was a 3.0, not 2.0 ounce limit. "All right, you can have it," the guy said sullenly. Why did he want my sunblock? I like to think he wanted to give it to a special ladyfriend. Still, it was my SPF 70, and those of you who know me understand my freakish heliophobia. A tiny part of me feels like a jackass for not letting the guy hork my sunblock, because it's expensive here, and... let the first-worlder guilt begin!
Customs was odd. Nice guy asked me if I knew anybody in Belize. Yes, I said. Where? Benque Viejo. Did I bring any gifts? A book. Apparently you do not need to declare books, and from there I went to book a flight on Pterodactyl Airlines. Cash is king, delivering a 30% discount if you skip plastic. So I bought my ticket (which is actually just a Xeroxed form that the clerk scribbles on) and went through security.
When traveling, I try to bat Bambi lashes and charm people. This, I feel, should minimize any hassle. Unfortunately, there was a snag at the x-ray station. Belize also bows to the tyranny of the 3.4 ounce liquid rule, and the x-ray scanner guy said he'd need to examine my bag of liquids. "You can't take this through," he said when looking at my Target brand SPF 70. "It needs to be two ounces or less."
I silently called bullshit. Of the three sunblocks I packed (different ones for different needs!) the Target one had the girliest packaging, but the La Roche-Posay weighed in at 3.4 ounces compared to Target's 3.0. I'm just saying, this clearly had nothing to do with size. I suspect our guy liked the tulip on the Target tube.
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"Yes, no more than two ounces. You can't take it."
I pointed to the official Belizean airport security sign that clearly stated it was a 3.0, not 2.0 ounce limit. "All right, you can have it," the guy said sullenly. Why did he want my sunblock? I like to think he wanted to give it to a special ladyfriend. Still, it was my SPF 70, and those of you who know me understand my freakish heliophobia. A tiny part of me feels like a jackass for not letting the guy hork my sunblock, because it's expensive here, and... let the first-worlder guilt begin!
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