Chapter Twenty-Six
In the town of San Pedro, Belize, where vendors were setting up stands packed with ripe bananas, mangoes, and colorful citrus piled high, the cobblestone streets shimmered in the heat, the stones slick from an earlier burst of rain that had since burned off beneath the punishing Caribbean sun.
Golf carts rolled down the unpaved roads, weaving through streets already bustling with tourists and locals seeking out charming cafés and brightly painted juice bars.
Leo parked the moped he’d rented for the day on a narrow side street, and I unclipped my helmet and handed it to him.
He took my hand as we slipped into the flow of the morning crowd.
“I thought we’d spend a little time in town before heading to the other side of the island. The front desk clerk told me about some great spots he said we should check out.”
“Ooh, sounds great. So where to first?” I asked.
“You’ll see.”
I followed him through the bustle of people heading in every direction: some toward the beach, some to the pier, some settling into beachside restaurants. We stopped in front of a handmade sign that read Tomas’s Taste Bud Trek.
Before I could ask, Leo clarified, “The concierge helped me arrange a private food tour so that we can take in the sights, smells, and flavors as we explore. Thought it would be a fun way to experience the town. And apparently, Tomas is like the local authority on all things Belize.”
Just as we were scoping out the entrance and where exactly to find our guide, out strode Tomas with the swagger of a man who’d never worn sunscreen a day in his life and probably never needed to.
He wore a battered straw hat decorated with a pin that said Will Work for Garnaches, and his floral button-down was unbuttoned just enough to suggest he either had no shame or a deep love affair with humidity.
“Buenos dias, new friends! So happy you could join me today for this tasty adventure. Are you ready to get started?” He looked at his watch and then up to the sky, as if to verify with the position of the sun.
“Let’s get going. This way, fellow food pilgrims!
” He marched in front and led us down an alleyway until he flourished an arm toward a shaded corner stall tucked between two souvenir shops selling things like wooden turtles and surfboards.
“You haven’t really tasted Belize until you’ve had the ceviche from Dona Marta’s.
This is where we’ll officially start our tour. ”
A woman with silver hair and weathered skin scooped fresh shrimp from a gleaming stainless bowl, dousing it with lime juice and folding in diced tomatoes, onions, and bright-green cilantro.
The vegetables sparkled like sunlight caught in a net of glass.
She handed me a tiny paper plate with a crisp plantain chip overflowing with the mixture.
Leo grinned beside me, crunching his own chip. “This might actually be better than the gyros we ordered in Mykonos from that little stand I swore deserved its own food documentary.”
I elbowed him, laughing, and Tomas clapped with delight. “And just think, we are only getting started, lovebirds! Come, come, this way, I have much more to show you!”
He led us onward, weaving through narrow streets where the smells changed like the pages of a pop-up book: sizzling masa, stewed meat, roasted chilies.
We stopped at a rickety stand with a cast iron griddle where a teenage boy flipped Pirishpak Mayan eggs, cracking them over a blend of crushed tomatoes, habaneros, and ground pumpkin seeds.
The heat hit my throat like a surprise party with a flamethrower, but the spice danced beautifully with the richness of the yolk. I coughed, grabbed Leo’s lemonade, and Tomas patted my back with delighted approval. “Yes! You feel it in your corazón! That’s how you know it is authentico.”
At the next stop, we devoured Salbutes, puffed corn tortillas topped with shredded turkey, pickled onions, and cabbage slaw so tangy my whole soul felt refreshed.
The street buzzed around us with clinking bikes, bursts of music from open windows, and a nearby group of kids chasing a soccer ball barefoot across the sand-packed road.
Leo brushed a fleck of pickled onion off my lip with a gentle thumb.
“I love the way you’re always willing to throw yourself so completely into new places and experiences.
I think that’s a lot of the reason why I fell in love with you in Greece.
Just how open you are to the world,” he murmured, and I grinned at him, swiping at the sauce on my chin with a crumpled napkin.
I was caught by surprise to hear him describe me that way when usually people considered me to be so closed off.
Placing my hand on his cheek, I met his eyes and marveled at the way he looked at me.
“That’s very sweet. And here I thought you’d only decided to approach me because I was wearing that cute little neon bikini,” I joked.
A smile split across his face and he chuckled.
“Obviously, of course, you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
But there was something more, something magnetic, about you, and I couldn’t keep myself from wanting to get to know you better.
And then once I actually did, I mean, well, then I was a total goner. ”
By the time we reached the Garnache cart, I wasn’t sure I could handle another bite, but then the aroma hit me. Charred corn, refried beans, and crumbled Dutch cheese layered onto a crunchy tostada. A tiny firecracker of a woman handed them out like she was dealing joy.
“Okay,” I said, biting into it and groaning in delight. “This. This here is my new religion.”
Tomas laughed appreciatively and wiped his forehead with a red bandanna he withdrew from his back pocket. “Ah, but we are saving the best for last. We now begin the sacred chocolate pilgrimage. Hold on to your sombreros, amigos, because the factory is just ahead.”
We followed him down a winding stone path shaded by banana trees. The air changed, cooler, thicker with the scent of cacao pods, earth, and something nostalgic and ancient I couldn’t quite name. My hand found Leo’s without thinking. He squeezed it once, a quiet tether between us.
We arrived at the Belize Chocolate Company, a charming little shop where the windows were lined with truffles and other chocolate-dipped confections.
“This, my friends, is where I leave you. But before I go, would you like me to take a picture of you two lovebirds as a memento?”
“Oh yes, that would be great. Thank you,” Leo said as he pulled out his phone and handed it to Tomas, who snapped a quick selfie first and then chuckled to himself before turning the camera to us.
Leo pulled me close, and I tightened my arm around his waist, inhaling the fresh scent of his shirt and the musk of his warm skin. The moment was dizzying and delightful, and I was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude.
Tomas handed Leo’s phone back to him. “I hope you have enjoyed a tasty afternoon, relishing in all the amazing flavors of my hometown. You will be in good hands here, I assure you. And please don’t forget to leave me a review on Yelp if you feel so inclined.”
Leo shook Tomas’s hand, slipping a fifty-dollar bill into his palm as he did, thanking him for the wonderful experience.
Tomas’s eyes widened at the generous tip, and he slid it into his pocket and then clapped Leo on the back.
“Gracias, amigo. Be sure to come back and visit the next time you find yourself in Belize.”
“Oh, we will,” I answered and watched Tomas head off down the road in the opposite direction.
Gesturing to the shop’s front door, Leo ushered me in, and I was immediately hit with the deliciously sweet smell of cocoa butter and caramelized sugar.
“Leo, I don’t think I can fit one more bite into my stomach.”
“That’s okay, we’re here to make the chocolate, not taste it. I signed us up for the Bean-to-Bar Experience.”
“Go on,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m intrigued.”
“Honestly, I don’t know much more than that. The hotel concierge said it was not to be missed.”
Just then, a minibus that looked straight out of the 1970s with its rusty muffler expelling thick exhaust rumbled to a stop, and we stepped back out into the heat to meet it. The faded words The Belize Chocolate Company were barely visible on its side.
The accordion bus doors groaned open and out shuffled a young woman with jet-black hair and an adorably round face.
“Hello, hello, chocolate lovers! So happy you could join us today for the famous Cacao Quest Tour, where we will learn how our wonderful local chocolate goes from growing as beans on the trees in our fields to lining the walls of our shop as beautiful solid bars, like works of art. I am Malina and will be your guide for the tour today. Please line up in front of me, so I can check you in as you board, and then we will be on our way!”
“On our way to where, exactly?” I whispered to Leo.
He shrugged. “I’m not really sure. I assumed we’d be in the back of the store in their kitchens or wherever they make the candy. I didn’t know the experience included a bus trip off the premises. But hey, I’m game for an adventure if you are?”
I looked into Leo’s eyes, his contagious enthusiasm almost palpable. “Lead on. Let’s add another adventure to our growing collection.”
After about a dozen tourists wearing tropical shirts and bucket hats climbed up the bus steps and took their seats, the doors creaked closed and Malina climbed behind the wheel.
She jerked the gearshift into drive, the wheels lurched forward, and we rumbled out of the small parking lot.
As soon as the bus turned onto the main road, Malina grabbed for a microphone headset and adjusted it in front of her mouth. “Can everyone hear me back there?”