Working as a buffer country between the touristy Mexico and the slightly daunting Guatemala, my expectations of Belize were just as small as its territory.

On approach to the Belize City, the largest city in the country, colonial-style crumbling wooden houses seem to cram onto one another alongside dusty avenues,  a place every single guidebook will tell you to avoid.
Hot, dusty and buzzing with a mixture of loud music and the smell of ripe fruit, we venture out of our air conditioned bus to the dingy terminal, walk just around the corner to withdraw some Belizean pounds and have some street side tacos smothered with a large cup of black coffee.
Plans of continuing to tourist-haven Caye Caulker were dwarfed by the idea of taking a turn West into the lush greenery of inland Belize and the intention of avoiding the strong sunshine, much to my sunburned skin’s appreciation.
And at 09:30am, despite the some 30-something degrees Celsius already burning the hot morning, my proper public transport journey begins by taking my first ‘chicken bus’ out of the city.

A ‘chicken bus’ is a foreign name given to old American ‘Bluebird-style’ school buses, which find a second life in the depths of the sinuous roads of Central America.
Once brought here, these banana-yellow rolling fortresses are provided with gearboxes, a higher suspension kit and some bright colors. Some owners of course would add extra features such as high definition screens, DVD players, LED lights, etc.
However, the bus I take to Western Belize is rather old and the suspension has definitely seen better days. A summer downpour begins to fall shortly after we leave the busy city and the soothing aroma of humid turf invades the crowded bus.
Off we rocket West, squeezed in an old school bus, with my every organ trembling at the jump of each pothole hit at over 80 kph, pouring rain outside, mist windows and hot inside. Yet wherever I look, a wide warm smile is given to me, reassuring the thought of having landed in no man’s land.

This is when Belizeans strike me with their personality,  something perhaps inherited from the creole inhabitants, a true Caribbean mix of two distant continents.
A reflection of Belize’s main motto: ‘just relax’ and, despite the violent reputation of this small nation, an invite to literally just ‘enjoy the (bumpy) ride’.

A few miles after passing through the unremarkable capital of Belize, the town of Belmopan, we finally reach our destination for the day, the town of San Ignacio.
Overhanging on both sides of a narrow green valley and linked by two precarious bridges, the town exudes one main thing: quaintness.
I spot the main market where used American clothes are offered in an array of (only) large sizes, and a small covered area where ripe fruit is offered in a symphony of colors and aromas.

The bus pull off by the main square and a walk through the narrow streets of San Ignacio suddenly bring memories of other equally precarious yet exciting towns such as Aguas Calientes in Peru or Kyaktiyo in Myanmar.
The hostel, an old and large Colonial wooden house perched at the top of a hill, invites to simply sit down in the colorful cushions carefully placed in the large open balcony, whilst contemplating the brewing distant thunderstorms merciless punishing the colonial villages at moments, and enjoying the fullness of a cup of strong local coffee.

Our several meals consist in constant visits to a typical food joint down the road to enjoy lustful platters of freshly grilled fish, or pots of tangy Belizean-style beef stew, always accompanied by an order of bittersweet fried plantains, comforting coconut rice and an array of freshly diced vegetables.

At some stage we venture to the border town of Benque Viejo, since my Chinese travel companion needs to arrange a visa for Guatemala and in the attempt, we find ourselves discovering a country which surprises us at every corner.
A short ferry crossing across a majestic light green colored river and a 20-minute steep uphill walk bring us to the Xunantunich, or Stone Lady.
A series of pyramids that seem to erupt from a pristine lime green grassland and raise over 40 meters tall at El Castillo, its highest point. Climbable I am told. Climbing I go.

From the top, the beauty of the Belizean landscape strikes with full power, and the fertile lands of this small country seem to never end in a horizon of tall tropical trees and soft hills.

Our dose of Belizean reality is infused whilst roaming around the empty and heat-charred streets of Benque Viejo, in between quaint houses with doors half open, taking a rest from the world and the weather at the shadow of the local school resting area, where kids are heard loudly repeating their lessons though the striking colorful wooden windows embedded in a white building and good free Wifi is available.
Once my friend is handed her visa by a friendly Guatemalan consul, we leave for San Ignacio whilst the sun sets behind us turning the hills and crops into a tropical orange rhapsody.

A few days later, my Chinese friend, a newly met Australian guy and I leave the sleepy village shortly after sunrise by taking our one-dollar ‘chicken bus’ to the border town of Benque Viejo, later walking for five kilometers amidst sleepy commuters and merchandise traders and finally crossing the border to messy Melchor de Mencos in the Guatemalan side, ending a short yet eventful stay in a country that impressed me with the beauty of both its landscape and its people, seen through the green color of both their soft fertile hills and their deep starry eyes.