Our boat journey to Belize city is more comfortable and we have a short minibus ride through the hectic  city streets from the port to the bus station where we will take, what for some of us will be, our first ‘chicken’ bus. As it pulls into the station, there’s a mad scramble and we head to the back, where Ernesto has told us we will load our bags into the bus before boarding from the front. It’s a packed bus but we are all lucky enough to find seats for the 3hr journey to San Ignacio. Many others are left to stand in the aisle. Street vendors also board selling drinks and food. Ernie has tipped us off  regarding the lemon and coconut tarts and he is not wrong. They are fresh and delicious and fill a little space for the long journey.

The change in scenery as we go is quite stunning as we see lush greenery and orange orchards along the way. Occasionally, a shout rings out and the bus lurches to the side of the road. Eventually, we arrive in San Ignacio, our tour leader’s home town.  The bus heaves into the market square and all our backpacks are offloaded. Somehow, we stagger, fully loaded, (except for Caroline, who has already  effortlessly acquired her own personal baggage handler)  up the hill to our hotel, Hotel Venus, where steep steps to the reception above the shops await. We are allocated the 3rd floor. There is no lift. I drag myself up the stairs and flop onto the bed , still attached to my backpack, stranded like an upturned turtle. Caroline’s personal porter delivers her backpack to the room. The rooms are basic and compact but we have  a double aspect, allowing any breath of air to supplement the fan, which actually works. We spot the decrepit aircon unit hiding in the corner behind the ancient tv  & turn to each other grinning. Gingerly, we flick the switch. There’s a clunk and I glance out of the window to see if I can spot the helicopter which I’m sure is about to take off. But there is no helicopter, only an aircon unit. And it works!

Hot and sticky (I think there’s a theme for this trip!), it’s time to test the shower. Turning the taps creates a splutter and a trickle of water falls from the shower head. It’s scalding hot. I look for the temperature control and it appears to be on the shower head. Reaching up I try to flick it to cool. A blue spark leaps out and the shock runs from my fingers to my toes. As I jump back, there is a squoooshing noise, like a coffee machine, and the shower head is hissing with billows of steam puffing out. I’m sure it’s about to explode and briefly picture the newspaper headlines back home. “It’s UnBelizeable. Brits get blown up after getting hot and steamy”.

It takes several Cuba Libres to calm me down before dinner.

Next morning, we are up early for the cave tubing and head to the Han-Na’s for breakfast. It has hardly arrived when we notice the time. We are already late!. Stuffing as much as we can into our faces we rush to the meet point..... where we wait 45mins whilst the rest of participants enjoy a leisurely breakfast.

Its an hour and a half to the location from where we have to hike 45 mins through the jungle with our tubes and head torches to the start point. Caroline’s personal porter is on the case again. On the way our guide points out the plants and wildlife. As we move round a bend in the track, we steady ourselves against a tree. Just then there is a movement as something large and furry casually saunters around the trunk at arm height. It’s a large tarantula. Now, I’m not saying that I’m arachnophobic, but I do believe that there should always be a healthy distance between me and spiders, for our mutual protection. And I also believe that the distance should always include a fixed barrier, preferably a wall. But here I am, following the guide’s lead and reaching out to gently encourage the spider to crawl onto my hand, whilst everyone else looks on, aghast. But this one is quite shy and decides discretion is the better part of valour, creeping high up out of reach. A wise decision I think, in retrospect.

Moving on, the guide identifies various plants and fruits and encourages us to try them, which most of us do with some trepidation. He taps on a termite mound attached to a tree and tells us these little ants are 80% protein and taste of mint with an aftertaste of carrots. He pops a few in his mouth and asks if anyone wants to try. Everyone else backs away slowly but in for a penny, I step up and he pushes a few into the palm of my hand. As they scurry around I lick a few up. I can feel them running over my tongue in a panic an try to trap them between my teeth, but they are so tiny they manage to escape. Eventually, I feel the satisfying crunch between my teeth followed by the strong flavour of carrots. Hmmm ‘Termites, the tasty snack between meals that won’t ruin your appetite’. For the next ten minutes I am chasing them around my mouth with my tongue.

The start pool is 5m below us and somewhere between the termites, tarantula and the start point my courage has deserted me. I’m no Tom Daley. I peer over the edge.  Everyone else has jumped and is staring up, offering encouragement and advice. It’s not helping. With an enormous effort I grit my teeth and plunge into the crystal waters, my feet and bum gently touch the bottom and a I bounce up to the surface again. Clambering onto the tube proves an even greater challenge but it’s not long before we’re gently bobbing along  and entering the dark caves, where we switch on our head torches. The current is quite gentle so we supplement it by paddling along as best we can using our feet and arms. All of us that is, except Caroline, who has somehow acquired her own guide who gently pushes her along the river into the caves. I had expected the water in the caves to be cooler, but it is warm and soothing until we reach some mini waterfalls which bring cool water in to meet us.  The time in the caves passes quickly as we move from cavern to cavern, negotiating shallow rapids in the dark as we go and all to soon we are at the finish point. As I struggle to get out of my tube the current picks up and I find myself entering another rapid, being carried away from the rest of the group. Frantically, I scramble out of my tube and stumble clumsily to the water’s edge, failing to notice that my camera has continued its journey. Fortunately for me the guide has spotted it and chases it downstream, retrieving it before it is carried away completely.

This year, San Ignacio will host its first ever ‘Block Party’ as part of their Independence celebrations.  The DJ is revved up and the street bar is ready to rave. We are all dressed up in our party clothes and head down to the square where it’s all happening. There is supposed to be a Dance off competition but everyone stands around whilst  one man and his dog (literally) cut some shapes on the street. Two local girls join them. They’ve been practising their Shakira moves and do some impressive contortions  in the street that should really be reserved for the bedroom. Jonathan and Sarah step up for Team Intrepid and the game is on. Jonathan’s eclectic style is impressive and the dog decides to change partners, but eventually they are both eliminated leaving Sarah and a local girl in the final. The local girl looks Sarah up and down and obviously decides she offers little competition. She then tells the DJ to crank up the tunes and looks scornfully over at Sarah. They both start to move to the music. A minute in, Sarah’s proved her point and the girl stops in disgust and  horror. She takes a deep breath and pulls out all the stops but the crowd is going wild for the Intrepid Ozzie who takes the crown. Sarah steps up to take her cash prize.. 7USD and free beers for the night. Some of the locals are not too impressed and we decide to make an early exit to the karaoke bar. When that closes, the staff tell us they are heading to a local club for the after party so we decide to join them.

Next morning I am woken by the banging in my head. Oh no. My first hangover, I think glumly, but as I come round, I realise that the banging is very real and belongs to the construction site outside our double aspect windows. Today, we head for Flores and taking us to the border will be the Jungle Bus, an open sided truck, so we can enjoy the views on the way. At least we will get some air.

We catch an early bus to Chetulum which will take about 2.5hrs, where we will have an 1.5hr wait before catching a boat to the island of Caye Caulker in our next country of Belize. We have voted to pay the additional USD10 to catch the boat which will save us 3hrs against a 2nd bus.  Our bus is even more comfortable than the previous, with spacious seats and an onboard toilet and film (today it is Twilight.. in Spanish).  At the port, we have to pay an exit fee of 294Pesos and then discover there is an additional port charge of 50Pesos.

Now, I’m not a boat person, but I spot immediately that this is not likely to be the most comfortable crossing. Most of us have to go inside the bowels where it feels like the boat jumps from rock to rock as it skims over the waves. Our lovely trolley dolly is camp as Christmas and nimbly moves down the cabin delivering home made Belizean cookies and small plastic cups of coke without spilling a drop. A real skill, the rest of us discover, as we take the cup and promptly bounce most of it over ourselves. He is anxious that we should enjoy our short trip but even the distraction of passing Leonardo di  Caprio’s own Belizean island does not prevent one of group from having a panic attack  & many of the others from feeling just a fraction queasy. I’m just grateful it’s not me!

1.5hrs later and we arrive at San Pedro, where we need to complete immigration and customs before taking another boat to our destination. With a half hour to spare we all head for the quay side bar to sip margueritas as the sun starts to dip behind the houses. Although our next boat is only short trip our skipper struggles to avoid grounding the boat as he navigates the narrow channel and several times the engines grind to a halt as we watch the sun slide over the horizon and imagine ourselves stranded overnight.

Nick is waiting with his trusty golf cart to take our luggage to Tom’s hotel, our home for the next couple of days. The island feels relaxed and welcoming as we wander down the unmade roads between the wooden shacks on stilts, painted in bright Caribbean colours of lemon, green, peach and pale blue. Tom’s hotel is right on the beach front, however, is not a quaint shack or beach hut but a concrete assembly of basic sweatboxes, with 2 toilets for 10 rooms. We try switching on the fan to move the air, but even the fan is hot and lethargic. I peel off my clothes and head for the shower,  which is marginally cooler than the air. Back in the room, it’s impossible to get dry in the humidity. I towel myself down several times before giving up.

It’s a group dinner at Rose’ s tonight. Famous for their fresh grilled lobster, which is currently in season, most choose this for their main course and are not disappointed. After dinner, a few of us head up to the hotel roof to discuss the meaning of life over a few nightcaps before heading back to our personal saunas for the night. In the night I dream of my next holiday ....the Artic circle’s looking good from where I lie bathed in sweat!

Next morning we have the chance to cool off after breakfast. Most of us have opted for the snorkelling on Belize’s own ‘Great Barrier Reef’. Although I’m looking forward to the snorkelling part I am less than enthusiastic at the thought of spending 6 hours in the baking sun on a boat.

Captain Kevin & Able Seaman Robert, welcome us aboard the Ragga King. Kevin is like a Rasta Keith Lemmon on speed but he is passionate and knowledgeable about the reef and its wildlife. The trip will take us to the Coral Gardens where we will be able to see all the coral and lots of tropical fish, then we will head for Shark and Ray Alley, where we will be able to see.. well, the clue’s in the name, then the highlight will be Hoy Chan. We pull out of the harbour and as he head out to sea, we hoist the mainsail (or is it splice the mainbrace?). He lays a few ground rules. Don’t touch the coral or you will be keelhauled. Anyone seen with their legs anywhere other than parallel to the surface will be made to walk the plank. Anyone suspected of not enjoying themselves will be hung from the Crow’s Nest. I shiver me timbers. Although the trip is promoted as an opportunity to see turtles, we had heard a rumour that manatees (or sea-cows) had been spotted on the reef the previous day. These  endangered and gracious animals are not common to the waters but are known to come here in the breeding season.  Kevin is elusive and damning on the subject. Yes, they have been spotted but  crazy tourists had got too close and scared them off.  Even if we are lucky enough to spot them at a distance we should not expect to get close to them. Even we are lucky enough to get close anyone seen getting too close will be hung, drawn, quartered, keelhauled and fed to the sharks. No-one who is not a strong swimmer should be anywhere near them.  We all nod in nervous acquiescence. It’s unthinkable that any of us would risk breaking any rules

As we approach our anchor point off the Coral Garden, he points far off in the distance where he has spotted a manatee breaking the surface.  Not far away, a couple of swimmers are furiously paddling towards it and the reef edge. Kevin is disparaging. “They will scare it away, man” he says in his thick Caribbean accent. We are just grateful to have had the opportunity to have seen one from distance.

We drop anchor, don our fetching masks, snorkels and fins (NOT flippers!), jump into the warm Caribbean ocean, split into 2 groups and head towards the reef to look at the coral and colourful tropical fish. The current is quite strong and there is more than just a ripple on the water’s surface. It takes me a while to adjust and as we are in a group, we keep bumping into each other, depending on our proficiency (or lack of it). Before we get to the reef, I suddenly realise everyone has come to a halt. What? Why? I push Katja’s feet out of my face (or maybe it’s the other way round ) and strain to look past those in front of me to see what’s happened. There, less than 10m in front of us, is a manatee, slowly gliding under the surface. She (I’m not an expert in sexing manatees) is curious and apparently, unperturbed by our presence. We try to keep a respectful distance and watch her in awe for ages, as she observes us unconcerned, occasionally swimming away only to turn back towards us.  It is with great reluctance that we allow Robert to guide us away, anxious that our presence will attract other tourists, who may not be as considerate as us.  We spend another 30 minutes in the water looking at the other beautiful fish and coral that inhabit these water before heading back to the Ragga King. Some are already back there, highly excited. A couple of manatees had actually swum under and around the boat. It’s hard to imagine anything could top the excitement of seeing the manatee and I am a little nervous of being in Shark Alley, especially when Kevin throws some bait in the water before jumping in himself. Discretion being the better part of valour I decide to enter the water from the opposite side of the boat and assess the situation from a distance. I watch the sharks swim under the boat and then jump in. What on earth I think I’m going to do if they decide I’d make a more satisfying dinner than conch bait, I have no idea, but the only way out of the water now is past the sharks. As I head round to the other side of the boat a stingray glides below me, uninterested. Several sharks go past. For some reason I don’t feel threatened. Round the other side, Kevin is introducing everyone to his special friend. In his arms is a 2m nurse shark. He loves having his tummy tickled. Sure enough, as I tickle his tummy, the shark turns over on his back for better access.  The sharks and rays weave in between us and tempting though it is, most of us refrain from stroking them until Kevin indicates a safe approach. A ray glides up to him and appears to be held in his hands. This one is used to contact and has no barb, even it is starting to grow back. Gingerly I reach out to touch it. All to soon it’s time to board the boat again, and head for our final destination. The sun is fierce and there is little shade on board. Anyone attempting to seek shade below deck has to face the choice of regurgitating their lunch or frying on deck. We are all grateful for a chance to cool off in the water. This part of the reef has  a dramatic cliff and as we approach we spot an eagle ray and the protected tarpons way below. The beautiful coral is surprisingly close to the surface as we glide over the top and the optics in the water make it hard to assess how much safety margin we have. There are many beautiful fish to see here too but I am wondering if we have missed our opportunity to see turtles. We head back off the reef towards the boat with a slight (only ever so slight) tinge of disappointment. At that precise moment, someone points a few metres ahead where a turtle has broken the surface for air. I dip back under and spot something moving in the distance. The current is carrying us towards it and it’s hard to keep a safe distance as we approach the turtle as it glides back up towards the surface again for more air.

Back on board, Kevin continues to regale us with his stories as we try to avoid the sun’s intense rays and reflect on the excitement of the day as we head back to dry land. I don’t think he’s paused for breath the entire day.

Heat and humidity get the better of us and we’re all a little subdued at dinner in Bambooze that night.

All too soon it’s time to depart and there’s just enough time after breakfast the following morning, for Nick to give us a quick tour of the island in his trusty golf cart before we have to board the boat for our next stop....

Saturday night is our first opportunity to meet our new travel companions, and we are full of expectation as we make our way 300m down the road. As we enter the hotel we are thankful we have already confirmed our additional night of luxury. It’s not looking so great for the future though.

It’s a mixed group who have already spent some weeks together travelling down through Mexico. Three young Aussie couples (obviously from Melbourne), an older Kiwi couple , an Irish lady from Spain(what?), a Swiss guy and joining with us 2 German girls, a Canadian lady and our tour leader for the next 17 days, Ernesto.  We head down to the recommended tacos bar, opposite our hotel!

Next morning, it is with regret we try and stuff everything back into our backpacks, which have obviously shrunk in the heat of the few days we have been in Playa del Carmen and head off to the local bus station half a kilometre away, where Ernesto is waiting with our tickets. By the time we get there, we are already dripping in sweat. Fortunately, its only an hour to our first stop in Tulum.

My induction to travel in Central America is a gentle one. Far from the famous ’chicken’ buses ( resprayed ex USA school buses) I had expected, this local bus is airconditioned, with plenty of room for luggage underneath. There is no mad scramble to board and everyone is well accommodated. If I was only 5 foot tall (like most Mayans!) it would be comfort perfected. Unfortunately I’m somewhat taller and so spend the journey with my knees jammed into the seat in front. Still, it’s only an hour. When we disembark in Tulum and put on our backpacks to walk the short distance to the hotel I remind myself that NEXT time I should follow the old adage that you should pack half the clothes and twice the cash you think you will need. I’m sure I’ve clothes enough for the entire bus and several orphan children besides. Our accommodation, Villa Tulum, is conveniently situated opposite the supermarket and 3 kms from the town in one direction and 3kms the beach in the other. Yeah right. You try walking 3kms in 40+C of sun! The restaurant and communal area is open air and offers some relief from the sun but none from the mosquitos.  Our hearts sink as we enter the room.  No sumptuous beds, no deck and definitely no Jacuzzi! Still, on the plus side, there is an air conditioning unit plugged into a hole in the wall and there is a swimming pool to cool off in.

Most of us have decided to hire bikes whilst we are there and we eye the pick up which delivers them with keen anticipation. 18 speed gear box? Double suspension? Disc brakes perhaps?  As we vie for the best ones it becomes clear that our expectations may well need to be realigned to Mexican standards. Well ,at least there’s a saddle, handlebars and a front and back wheel. And gears would only complicate things, wouldn’t they? And who needs brakes when you’ve got feet. I grab a bright pink number and try a practice pedal around the car park. As I hold my feet on the pedals to freewheel, Barbie (the bike) decides to come to an abrupt halt and throw me off.  Hmmm. So that’s how the brakes work!

We set off towards the sea front. Caroline has managed to snaffle the prettiest looking bike of the pack but it quickly becomes apparent that looks aren’t everything as every time she sits on the saddle it slides down the frame making it impossible to peddle.  By the time we arrive at the beach front cafe to have lunch it’s nearly time to leave. The views are stunning. Warm Caribbean waves breaking on white sand. I feel sure that some time soon I will not find this quite so breath taking but not yet.  Its really too hot for food so we snack on Papas Bravas and guacamole & chips before heading off to  nearby Cenote Colona for a cooling dip. Unlike the underground one we visited on the way to Chichen Itza, this one is set in a mangrove swamp and is really only a small pool. It’s  not long before we get bored and head off back to the beach for a frolic in the warm waves as the sun goes down.

Back at the hotel I grab the shower first. At least it’s cool and wet. I’m just about to step in when I notice something small and dark peeping out from the tiles at the bottom. It’s probably only a spider, but as I look closely I think it must be a scorpion. Calmly I call my trusty assistant for a 2nd opinion. A squeal confirms my suspicions.  I’m just about to hop in to complete my shower before seeking further assistance in scorpion disposal when I realise my trusty assistant has disappeared leaving the door ajar and me with only a small towel to protect my modesty. In a split second Ernesto is on the scene poking at the unfortunate scorpion to coax him out of his hiding place. Suddenly the scorpion makes a dash for it. Like lightning Ernesto has grabbed him and taken him outside to release him back into the wild. Continuing with my shower I find myself scanning nooks and crannies everywhere. I’m sure I read that scorpions travel in pairs... or worse, families!

Next morning we have agreed to cycle to the ruins in the cool of early morning and are there just after opening time at 8.00am. This ancient Mayan site is the only one on the coast and has a wall around 3 sides, the sea providing a natural defence on the other. There is plenty to see and I find it more interesting than Chichen Itza, if not so grand. The remains of many of the buildings still exist to provide many clues to life at the time when this was the main port. It is now home to the iguanas, and iguana spotting becomes a new challenge as we wander round absorbing the history and atmosphere.

Eventually, the midday heat gets the better of us and we mount our trusty steeds and head for home. In the evening , most  of the group decide to hang around the hotel but 3 of us head for the nightlife of Tulum. Our taxi driver drops us off outside his recommendation, which looks a little grubby, with bright red painted walls and a football game on a small screen on the wall. Kids are running around and there seem to be plenty of locals, so we decide to risk it.  We start with just a sample of empanadas, tacos and tostados, each filled with the typical local spicy meat mix of ‘pastor’. There’s are a large bowls balanced on a narrow wall separating the outside eating area from the inside, where you can help yourself to salads, spicy salsa, grated cabbage and the ubiquitous red and green sauces. Always one is spicy and the other not but you never know which will be which. No alcohol in these family tacos bars and so tamarind is the drink of choice to wash them down. After the first taster we quickly order more. They are light and full of flavour. Replete, we ask for the bill. “130 Pesos” says the waiter. “Each?” we ask thinking $10US is good value for what we ate. “For all” he replies. Double bonus. Cheap as chips.

We wander back down the high street trying to find a bar we had spotted on the way in, recommended in that traveller’s bible, Lonely Planet but are distracted when we pass a lively bar with a VW beetle inside in which there is a sugar cane press, with a guy feeding the cane and extracting the juice for the fabrication of the house speciality.. Mojitos.  As we sit down, 4 more guys in the corner start jamming with a mixture of instruments and gravelly voices. Jazz in a reggae stylee. A perfect end to the day and our stay in Tulum.

As I exit the plane in Atlanta,  I expect to see Caroline waiting for me at the gate, as she should have arrived at least an hour before me,  but she is nowhere to be found. I switch on my phone... no message &  worse, no connection.. I scan the terminal, paying particular attention to the bars and restaurants,  and put out an APB on the tannoy. Still no Caroline.  Did she make her flight? Has she taken fright? Is this trip doomed to end before it begins?

No, of course not. Caroline is eventually  discovered chatting up the locals in a bar in another terminal! After celebrating the big reunion with extra large margueritas & a few Coronas to wash it down in the bar the flight to Cancun passes quickly. Even though its already dark when we land, the stifling heat hits us as we exit the airport where our shuttle is waiting for us.

We have decided to treat ourselves to a few days of luxury to acclimatise before hitting the road for the big trip, and La Tortuga hotel in Playa Del Carmen does not disappoint. After a small hiccup with room allocations we are upgraded to our own duplex suite with Jacuzzi on deck... We collapse on the sumptuous beds and sleep till dawn!.

By day 2 we have adjusted to the time difference and are looking forward to a trip to the island of Cozumel where the snorkelling and diving is supposed to be excellent. We are still struggling with the heat and humidity so a morning at sea should provide some welcome respite.  The white sand and turquoise waters of the Caribbean look very inviting and on the ferry crossing to the island we are serenaded by a live band on board playing everything from Mexican folk music to Queen and Santana, making for a great start to the day.

Another mix-up in our reservation means there is some negotiation before we can board one of the dozens of small , glass bottomed boats waiting to take the thousands of tourists out to the coral reefs just off shore.  As we head along the coast we pass close to 3 enormous cruise ships tied up in the harbour having disgorged their contents into the eager arms of the local retailers, waiting to relieve them of their hard earned pesos in exchange for authentic Mexican chilli sauces, tequila or traditional hand carved masks and local pottery.

The time passes quickly as we move from location to location, spotting the different corals and fish and in no time we’re back on dry land, trying to rinse the salt from our hair and bodies in the sink of the nearest public conveniences.

The heat is unbearable and with our trusty Lonely Planet to guide us we go in search of refreshment.  After wandering up and down the appropriate street a few times and failing to locate it, we are put out of our misery by a local who laments the fact that the establishment we are seeking closed 3 years ago.  However, the aforementioned local is happy to recommend a suitable alternative less than 100m away. And so we enter this modest, unassuming, seaside bungalow, pass through the lounge and the kitchen before moving into the back garden, where there are a few plastic tables and chairs nestling under the trees in the shade.  We are the only customers and it feels as though we have been invited into somebody’s home rather than a restaurant. We look at each other quizzically, wondering what lies in store. A beer to cool us down , followed by a delicious typical soup and the grouper in white wine sauce is fresh and delicious. We are reluctant to leave this peaceful and pleasant oasis and head back into the heat to take the ferry back.

Despite copious application of high factor sun cream the sun and the sea have taken their toll on Caroline’s fair Irish skin and we are forced to spend most of the evening cooling off in our deck Jacuzzi.

The next day is Caroline’s birthday but rather than chilling by the pool, we have a hot date with Chicken Pizza, so it’s up early and off we go. Our guide for the day is Jose, who entertains and educates us on Mayan culture, religion, history, language and math during the journey to the ancient Mayan site of Chichen Itza with its amazing pyramids, fascinating football field and ancient, but accurate observatory. One of the 7 New Wonders of the World, we can only stare in awe from beneath the shade of a tree as our guide explains the significance of the mathematical relationships between the number of steps, the heights and top structures, the Mayan calendar, the resonance and the shadows created at certain times of the year and day.

The pyramid was constructed with a resonance to ensure that all the people could easily hear their King or God at the top of pyramid for miles around. It was on the top of this pyramid that Sarah Brightman broke the Guiness world record for the distance a voice could be projected naturally without a microphone or amplifier.

Incidentally, for those of you who have been worrying that the Mayan calendar predicts the end of the world on 21st December 2012, fear not. It will not be so. It is just the end of the 420000 (approx) year calendar which will start again on the 22nd December, 2012.

The location is fascinating and there is much to see and absorb, but the heat is unbearable and the hawkers outnumber the visitors, so it is with some relief we board the cool, air-conditioned coach to make our exhausted way back to our hotel.

The next day we are supposed to leave our luxury and move a few blocks down the road to the hotel which marks the official start of our adventure through Central America, but after a lengthy, heated, heart searching debate over breakfast Caroline and I agree it makes no sense to move 300m for one night and we will spend an extra night of luxury in our soft, sumptuous beds, taking full advantage of the Jacuzzi. Yay.

Two years ago today, I boarded a bus from London to Sydney, full of excitement and intrepidation at the adventures that lay in front of me.

One year ago today, I was fishing off a houseboat on Lake Kariba, already halfway through my overland adventure in Africa.

Today...I am woken from my deep slumber in my huge, luxury, soft bed with crisp white sheets by the soft hum of the aircon, open the patio doors to the large verandah with its Jacuzzi, big sofas and thatched roof to provide shade from the blistering heat, look at the clear blue skies and reflect on whether I should wander the few steps to the white sands and clear turquoise waters of the Caribbean or relax by the oasis of the hotel pool. Will it be Margueritas or Mojitos tonight?

‘What? I hear you ask with incredulity. ‘Has Vicki gone soft in her old age? This not the Vicki we know. Where is the adventure? What happened to clinging to edge of the Himalayan mountains, fighting off lions and bravely tracking rhinos on foot in the African Bush? Where is the girl who nearly drowned descending grade 5 white water rapids in the Nile  and  jumped out of a plane at 10000 feet in Namibia with a strange man strapped to her back?’

Fear not , for this next chapter may well start with a calm before the storm.

This adventure may be starting in the Caribbean playground of Americans in Playa del Carmen, Mexico but it will continue through the Central American hotspots of Belize, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica and Panama using only public transport, risking life, limb and bandits.

And like Batman had Robin, Holmes had Watson, Wooster had Jeeves,  and Shaggy had Scooby , this time Vicki will have Caroline to accompany her on this adventure...

Why Central America?

Many moons ago, in a former life I once did a day trip to Costa Rica and fell in love with it. A day trip to Costa Rica? With a Friday business meeting  in Trail, British Columbia and a Monday morning meeting in Lima, Peru, it kind of made sense to stop off in Costa Rica on the way down.

I am a little concerned that I might be getting rather blasé about my adventures as, unlike my previous trips, which were endlessly researched and worried over for months before D Day, once my route was decided I gave the trip very little attention until about a week before, when I suddenly realised I had no accommodation booked, some of my vaccinations needed updating and I would need to get some malarial prophylaxis, never mind working out what to pack.

Still somehow I managed to get myself ready to jump on the flight to Atlanta where I would be meeting Caroline before going to down to Cancun, Mexico.

Its a brief goodbye to the family at Manchester airport as  my younger son is moving into his university halls on the same day. My irritation at not having a seat allocation on check in  is quickly dissipated when I discover I have been upgraded to economy comfort, where I find myself sitting with Judy and Cecilia. Although we are all happy to be able to stretch our legs out and trip unsuspecting passengers as they try to take the shortcut in front of our seats to the toilets, we had not realised that with upgrades comes responsibility.

 It seems that when most passengers leave home to get on a flight they leave their brains at home too. Our inflight entertainment provides a constant source of humour as they approach the toilets and push on an ashtray on the wall, expecting a door to open. When pushing fails, they try pulling it. When that fails, they are feeling their way along the wall, like a blind person might, pushing gently at different points, with increasing need and embarrassment as they entire cabin monitors their progress. Cecelia, Judy and myself quickly recognise the importance of our position as unofficial Directors of Ablutions, and offer helpful advice to the bewildered individuals in search of relief. “Left a bit. Up a bit. Right a bit. Now.” Its like the Golden Shot.  With an apologetic smile, they can finally relieve themselves. Despite close observation of the technique, many passengers fail to acquire the necessary skills and some become repeat offenders.

Time passes quickly and it doesn’t feel like 9 hours has passed as I wave goodbye to Judy and Cecelia and go hunting for my new partner in crime, Caroline.