Marie to the Third Degree

Charlie and I rose with the sun and went to breakfast. That day's Lamanai visitors were already in the restaurant eating before their trip. Two women who would be on the tour showed up quite late, also wanting to grab a bite. The tour guide informed them that the van would be leaving in five minutes. One of the women responded with a simple, "No."

Oooookay.

The tour guide looked bewildered and just walked away. The hot-tubbing Blondie from the other night and her loud mother came and sat right next to us. Blondie wore full makeup and a leather jacket. Who wears a leather jacket in the jungle?! Charlie and I were checking e-mail on our tablet while we waited for our food. Mrs. Loudmouth noticed and complained to her daughter that today's youth was too dependent on technology. Adding irony to insult, she mentioned how much she liked the sexy lounge music that played at all hours of the day. Personally, I would have preferred to listen to howler monkeys and other jungle sounds. A recently arrived Canadian couple sat nearby. They began watching a video with sound on their device. We later found out that this was in response to the woman's loudness and passive aggression. She asked them to turn it off, so they did. Then we all had to listen to her yammer to her daughter about how generous she was being with the poor natives here. Her daughter responded with a comment about how she had tipped the man who packed her bags for her. You read that right. Packed. Her. Bags. We felt sorry for the other Lamanai tourists who would be stuck with this pair all day long.

Found this little fella on the bannister outside our room

After breakfast, we showered in preparation for our couples' massage. We returned to the lobby to meet our masseuses, where we found Richard and Gail getting ready to leave. We said our goodbyes and then two masseuses wearing leopard print robes greeted us. Go figure. One was smiley and friendly and the other frowned the whole time. Both remained almost silent throughout the whole ordeal.

The spa area sat on one edge of the resort and was just an open air hut with translucent curtains. It would be easy for anyone passing by to see our naked asses on the massage tables. For what I assume to be artistic design reasons, the floor of the massage room was a bed of jagged gray pebbles. So before indulging in relaxation, we had to tiptoe our naked asses across this torture chamber. Then we had to climb onto the too-tall massage tables with tiny stones stabbing into the bottom of our feet. 

The massage tables were pretty hard and I suspected they weren't real massage tables at all. The music was also way too loud. It bombarded us with the likes of Enya, some Hare Krishna chanting, and rain and thunder sounds. Despite this, the massages were pretty good. These were "aromatherapy" massages, so they just doused us in citronella oil. I guess it made sense in the mosquito ridden climate. I was also pretty sure I had seen my masseuse working as one of the housekeeping staff. This meant that she had strong hands and sandpapery fingertips to scratch all the mosquitos bites on my legs. 

Afterward, we had lukewarm but delicious Belizean stewed chicken and nachos. We were certain the cheese had come from a can. Good thing I like canned cheese. Once we were full, we wandered the grounds, exploring and looking for a good place to shoot "Smoking in the Park." We found the resort's little chapel and went in to check it out. The fact that it was a Christian chapel surprised me. I half expected to find a temple to Rati, the Hindu goddess of love, carnal desire, lust, passion and sexual pleasure.

Resort chapel

Chapel interior

We shot a few segments of Smoking in the Park and then Charlie decided to take a break from smoking (shocking!) and swim in the dick design pool. He has a bad habit of opening his eyes in the pool. The citronella oil from the massage ran into them when he swam, so his eyes were beet red and his vision was blurry. Cha opted for a break from swimming and resumed smoking while I played FreeCell. 

Sperm mosaic

Contemplating the mysteries of the universe

We went back to the room for a shower and to finish the cigar. I scratched myself for the umpteenth time on a godforsaken decorative pillow. It had sharp metallic sequins and hard beads sewn onto it and assaulted anyone who came into contact with it.

This pillow can fuck right off.

We heard a small crowd of people pass by our building, signaling the return of the Lamanai tour. We headed to the restaurant for dinner where I saw several familiar faces. Tracy, the young man who had disappeared with Blondie the other night, sat at the bar. The Canadians from breakfast were dining at a table. I had overheard that the Canadian woman's name was Marie. In fact, a third Marie staying at the resort as well, although I never found out who she was. I only encounter other Maries once in a blue moon so I thought I should introduce myself. I walked up to their table and broke the ice by asking them to keep it down the way Mrs. Loudmouth had that morning. We all laughed and exchanged statements like, "I know! Can you believe those two?!" We all introduced ourselves and we learned that they were Marie and Jason of Ottowa. They had enjoyed their excursion that day, but said that the mother-daughter duo had been rude during the tour. Quelle surprise.

And speak of the devil, right then the two walked in. Mrs. Loudmouth and Blondie sauntered over to the bar and sat next to Tracy. Something negative must have transpired since their first "hang-out" session. They neither looked at nor exchanged words with one another. The awkward tension was palpable as Blondie checked her e-mail and Tracy read his menu very, very hard.

Dinner that evening was better than normal, and the service moved along at a less sluggish pace. We left satisfied and went back to our room. From our balcony we could hear howler monkeys calling to one another in the distance. It was a haunting, awesome way to end the day.