By ten in the morning—barely two hours after disembarkation began—the tender boats heading back to the ship were already full. Why the sudden rush? Obviously, the guests shared the crew’s sentiment about Belize. Unless they had booked an excursion—and most hadn’t—there was genuinely nothing to see here. The shopping mall could be covered in thirty minutes, and that was where the entertainment ended.

The area around the terminal looked both shabby and unsafe. Straying too far from the port evoked an immediate sense of unease. Perhaps we were exaggerating, but the average American likely saw it through the same lens. To them, anything that doesn’t look like home is automatically inferior.

And here, truly nothing resembled the United States. Unless one decided to hole up in a portside bar to eat and drink, finding any other amusement was a struggle. Consequently, most guests, visibly dissatisfied, returned to the ship very early. As the saying goes, “it’s no skin off my nose,” but the situation was baffling.

I asked my manager why we even came here. The answer was entirely expected: money. Docking fees in Belize are among the cheapest.

If the port is as dismal as this one, guests are practically forced back onto the ship. And a guest on the ship means money spent there, not in the port. The company orchestrates these scenarios deliberately. Naturally, they can’t pull this off in every port, but almost every itinerary includes one such stop.

The wilderness of Belize and its excursions were the only sellable attractions. Despite the local “development,” the company squeezed every invested dollar for all it was worth. There were plans to build a dedicated port here, at Carnival’s expense, likely under terms the company dictated. They could act like monopolistic giants, exploiting every favorable condition. Over time, this place would develop to a higher level, while the company secured a prime starting position to set terms that suited them.

Given the lack of infrastructure but the abundance of natural beauty, by far the biggest attraction and the best-selling tour here was CAVE TUBING—floating down a river through cave systems on an inner tube.

Nearly a fifth of the ship’s passengers went on this tour, deep into the country’s interior. Honestly, I hadn’t known about it. Since the situation was similar to Honduras—meaning our photographers were reluctant to go—I lobbied my manager to send me next time. Anything was better than rotting on the dock where there was absolutely nothing to see.

I must admit, my powers of persuasion are considerable (mostly due to the fact that I can talk the hind legs off a donkey), and frankly, with that attitude, I was doing the boss a favor. He knew it; it meant one less grumpy photographer to deal with, and he knew I would get the job done. It was another win-win situation. The deal was struck. Next time we docked here, I would head into the heart of Belize to see what its wilderness had to offer.

That agreement lifted my spirits, so I finished my current tasks with renewed vigor. Since everything unfolded as described, with few guests ashore, we wrapped up our duties quickly. We had free time left, which I naturally decided to “spend” outside. Despite my poor first impression, I wanted to explore a bit more, to see if perhaps I had judged too hastily.

I headed toward the town with two colleagues. The walk from the port to the center was short enough to manage on foot. Unfortunately, the morning’s bleak images and initial impressions repeated themselves, only in worsening forms.

The houses grew progressively more dilapidated; the infrastructure was desperate, almost non-existent. Wherever we walked, we were bombarded with offers ranging from drugs to sex, shouted from windows. The prevailing opinion here is simple: if you are white, you have money. Racial profiling and such assumptions are part of daily life, not history. It is something we don’t fully understand back home, yet I faced it regularly in almost every port.

We reached the center, which was chaotic and confusing. Several houses were partially collapsed, and it was evident that this was a normal sight here. Furthermore, most of the roads we traversed were terribly paved and flooded. There was a reason for that, too. Belize sits in a depression; its territory is below sea level. With every rainfall, combined with the lack of drainage and sewage systems, water becomes a massive problem.

We stumbled upon the municipal building—let’s call it that—which, at best, resembled an average agricultural co-op back home. Had I not seen the sign indicating it was a government building, I never would have guessed it was official.

We walked a few more streets, each worse than the last. There was truly nothing to see, so we slowly headed back.

Belize left a powerful and sorrowful impression on me. I could barely believe such a place was on our itinerary. Logically, a comparison with my own country imposed itself.

Like most of us, I held a low opinion of my homeland. But after Honduras, and now Belize, I simply had to shift my perspective. Both these countries lagged behind us in every way. Our most undeveloped village possesses better infrastructure than their capital.

As bad as this was to see, it was good for my understanding and maturity. To realize that we aren’t the worst, that the grass isn’t always greener in the “neighborhood,” and to stop thinking it is better everywhere but home. Such cynicism had been the primary driver for my coming to the ship.

Now, the very foundation of my worldview was shaken. Just a few months earlier, I would have bet my life that such a change in me was impossible. Cynicism and sarcasm were the bedrock of my outlook. It’s better everywhere else. Noticing the bad, highlighting it, complaining about it—that was my contribution to my country. Even what was good, we presented as bad. We are champions of that mindset. We have no equal when it comes to spitting on our own land. Sadly, that is our great and tragic truth.

Now, reality and life “out there,” where it was supposed to be “better,” were changing that.

I began to look at the locals with pity and think, “Man, we are light years ahead of them…”

But that thought was a turning point for me! It was diametrically opposed to my entire attitude and understanding! Was it possible such a thought even crossed my mind? Yet, it happened.

Since the situation was what it was, my deal with the boss to shoot the tour seemed like a brilliant choice. It was a chance to see something different, to see the bigger picture, and form a better judgment of this place. The town offered little, so the tour was definitely the right move for next time…