We went to Belize for spring break. All the kids in the family are getting older, as are the grandparents. Got to get things in while you can.
My brother had a friend who had raved for years about a trip to Placencia, Belize, so we looked at that and decided it met our needs. Small, remote, international-yet-accessible, beaches, warm weather … all the things you could want out of a spring break when everyone is going with a parent and everyone on the trip is related to each other.
To get to Placencia required three flights: O’Hare to Miami, Miami to Belize City, and then Belize City to Placencia. The last of these trips is either 25 minutes on an airplane the size of a summer camp van or 2½ hours on a bus of uncertain quality on unlit roads in an underdeveloped nation. We weighed these two options and settled on the tiny plane.
It’s a really small plane. Eleven people plus the pilot — and the smallest passenger who is an adult that can be trusted not to touch anything, which disqualified everyone in our party, gets to sit in the passenger seat next to the pilot.
The flight there was uneventful. The small plane, to my surprised gratification, is approximately as loud as a 737 and just as smooth, and has way better windows. It also didn’t have seatbelts, but you can’t have everything.
We made it to Placencia without incident. It is truly compelling to look out the windshield when landing. I envy pilots who get to do this all the time.
The airport in Placencia is essentially one room plus a waiting room. It looks like the Metra station in a minor Western suburb. There’s a waiting room with benches and one ticket counter that is attended only when there is a temporally proximate flight scheduled.
On the return leg of the trip, we were scheduled to leave the Placencia airport at 8:30 a.m. I sent an email to Mayan Air asking them what time we should show up at the room for our flight. They said 7:30 because of course they did. Airlines are airlines.
We got to the airport at 7:30 as directed. We were a little anxious about getting there because it looked like it was going to rain and we were driving a rented golf cart, as is the tourist fashion in Belize. We checked in for the flight and had our baggage searched for contraband by hand. They did not comment on my toothpaste or on my bottles of Marie Sharp’s delicious hot sauce, all of which were confiscated at airports on subsequent legs of the trip.
We were directed to the waiting room with our boarding passes, laminated pieces of blank pink paper. We exchanged pleasantries with the other passengers, which was the only thing there was to do there. Couldn’t even get a cup of coffee.
At 7:50, a fellow in a Mayan Air golf shirt opened the door that led to the runway and told us that since everybody was here we might as well get going because there was a storm coming. (This is a departure move I could get used to.) We took off as the first raindrops hit, but we were heading away from the storm so it wasn’t worrying. We flew along the edge of the storm for about 20 minutes. This was really cool.
We began to descend, and I eagerly looked out the windshield to watch for the runway in Belize City. In rapid succession I realized that a) this was not Belize City and b) this might be an airstrip, not an airport.
I was wrong about the second one, kinda. Mayan Island Savannah used to be an airport. Now it is boarded up.
Happily, the runway still works.
We taxied to the plywood-covered front door and the pilot – the aforementioned chap in the golf shirt – said, “We’re going to wait out the storm here,” and got out to stand under the cover of the shuttered building to smoke. This was the first time he had spoken to us since telling us it was time to go.
I didn’t mean to imply anything by this. He was a pleasant guy, and Belize is an English-speaking country so no language barrier. He just hadn’t had much to say, plus since the copilot seat was occupied by a nervous-looking guy from Seattle he had presumably been concentrating on the parts of his job I preferred him concentrating on.
I only mention the lack of detail because it is how it took me six days to realize we had made an emergency landing. His tone and manner were as if he had been leading a bicycle trip and we had all pulled under an overpass to wait out the rain. (He was probably also annoyed that we couldn’t get a cup of coffee.)
About 20 minutes passed. One of the passengers got out to pee while a couple of others anxiously called about their connecting flights. They were SOL because we were for sure gonna be late and flights out of Belize City are not plentiful. I was proud of myself for having left two and a half hours for us to make our connection. I had done this in anticipation of problems, though not this one.
A short period later the pilot came back in and said — this is a quote — “They’re sending a rescue plane.”
I inquired as to how the rescue plane would be different vis-à-vis the storm.
He grinned, pointed at the dashboard, and said — this is another direct quote — “That plane is nicer.”
He was telling the truth. It was the same make and model of plane, and otherwise the difference between a 2004 Honda Civic that has had six owners and is currently used to deliver GrubHub and the 2027 Civic that the CEO of Honda will drive in commercials this fall. Among other luxuries there was radar and, unlike the charming hoopty of the first plane, it also featured a working seatbelt for each and every seat.
It’s the little things, really.
We took off in the rescue plane without incident, flew low in the rain, and made it to Belize City in plenty of time to make the connecting flight.
Flight 2M1087: . Would crash again.