By Betsy Abrahamson
I tried my best to arrive in Belize with no expectations, my main goal being to simply be and soak it all in as authentically as possible. However, once I bought my plane ticket the reality of my trip hit me like a train. I instantly began asking questions to anyone that would listen and spent hours on YouTube and Google learning anything I could about my upcoming journey. Coming from a tiny town in the Lakes Region of New Hampshire, the concept of a place without the four seasons was incredibly foreign. Despite my understanding of the science, the reality of it felt like a fantasy.
The Belizean sun immediately warmed my face and sent waves of golden warmth through my bloodstream. Walking off the plane and onto the tarmac of the Belize City airport (as is custom) left me reeling in awe of the newness of the world around me. I could see a line of palms on the airport perimeter and felt the sun’s energy and light more intensely than ever. The shock on my face must have been evident through my mask because the native Belizean next to me in the customs line looked at me and smiled, saying, “Welcome to Belize, my friend.”
The Round River crew was easy to spot after exiting customs; the group of students carrying large hiking backpacks and duffels in combination with faces of nervous excitement was an instant giveaway. After a brief night in the city, our trek to basecamp in the Golden Stream Corridor began. Our partners and host, Ya’axché Conservation Trust, helped throw our bags into the back of a truck and then we piled into their tour van for our journey. The anxious anticipation in the air felt tangible but was lightened with the company of our guide ranger, Ramon, who played popular Belizean music and provided context of our surroundings – fruit orchards and surrounding villages, small stores and large palms, and (arguably the best part of our initial journey) hot tamales.
The novelty of my surroundings, even just while driving, has yet to wear off but the solid ground of Golden Stream was more than welcome. With scrambled brains and bones like jelly, we walked onto camp in a daze. Shortly after, I unlocked a new fear: scorpions.
And soon after that, another one: tarantulas.
To be honest, (besides the too-close-for-comfort interactions with wildlife) the entire day felt hazy with unfamiliarity. The group shared a few laughs and travel stories, but my unease felt like a cinder block on my chest. Before dinner, I somewhat blurted out my feelings of nervousness and the room softened. Thinking I had made a mistake, I opened my mouth ready to quickly change the subject to something lighter (dog pictures, anyone?) but instead was met with mutual feelings of discomfort. The cinder block on my chest slowly dissipated as the group began discussing personal motivations that drew us to the program. Many agreed that the immersive experience and separation from the familiar was what caught our attention. Maintaining and protecting one’s comfort zone is too easy; in order to learn through experience and get a more comprehensive perspective of our surroundings, one must experience some discomfort. What is growth without grief?
Over the last month, I have begun to make a home from what was once scary. Gordy and Ella are only children no longer, Lucas, Lia, Christine, Prashanti, Sam and I now have 7 new siblings, and our beautiful instructors, Sara and Nick, are new parents of eight (congrats, Wami and Happy B)! Each day creates new challenges, but each achievement (and failure) results in new lessons learned and bonds strengthened, further contributing to our happy little home in Belize. We can do hard things.