Quote: Two women chat as they cool down from their power walk, and a middle-aged man strides by. A bike and another man, this time younger. If looking down, you would see a thumbnail-size snail clacking its way towards the sand. These were the views, bordered by the occasional boat, turquoise Caribbean, and lengthy docks, from a beachside hammock at Xanadu.

Xanadu, on the outskirts of San Pedro, is a resort of suites with a timeshare vibe. As such, there is no on-site restaurant, but personal kitchens and a food store out front. Or, if cooking on vacation isn’t your thing, you can walk along the calm, lapping Caribbean waters to nearby Rico’s.

After Victoria and I were led to our two-bedroom suite, I endured several practice sessions with the front-door lock. I shoved the handle up, as instructed, and turned the key. No click. I turned the key the other way, to no avail. Patiently observing my struggles, Victoria volunteered for the job of "door locker."

Our living area and kitchen melded into one long room, the fridge and dining table at one end and the TV and couches at the other. Inside the fridge we found a gallon of drinking water, which we could refill at the front desk, and on the counter sat a package of cream biscuits (after all, the Queen is still Belize’s head of state). The larger bedroom contained the Internet outlet and phone, while the second had a small safe tucked into a closet bottom. The satellite Internet required a cable hook-up, available at the front desk, but even with this apparatus, Victoria fruitlessly searched for any source of connection on her laptop. Over the next 3 days, none would appear.

Old-fashioned bikes that break by the pedal, not the handle, were available for rent, as were golf carts, which not only serve as the tourists’ mode of transport, but the locals’ too. The only cars you’ll see in San Pedro are taxis and commercial trucks. Since the New York subway primarily takes me from Point A to Point B, my golf-cart passengers may have been instilled with fear when I climbed into the driver’s seat one night, but all arrived back at Xanadu unscathed. Besides, I was one of a few completely sober ones, too cheap after shopping to buy one drink. And anyways, there were roadside obstacles awaiting even daily drivers: earlier that night, Robyn had braked in the middle of the road—a crab was attempting a death-defying street crossing.
From journals South of the (Mexico) Border