Let the dog in!

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An elopement trip should be all perfect. Even if not, you in all your engagement haze might gloss over any minor imperfections.

Or, as I did, have another rum punch.

This is what I learned 7 years ago when my fiance and I took the red-eye flight(s) from Alaska to Belize for several weeks of tropical life and a wedding tossed in to boot.

The trouble was all upfront, as if the Universe was saying, “are you SURE you guys want to do this? Reeeallly? What if I do THIS? Orrrrrrr, THIS?!”

Was it a hurricane, you ask? Nah, that’s SO done already, my peeps.

First up for us, as we waited in the customs line at the airport in Belize City, the tiny plane with two seats prepaid to take us to a tiny island took off. Without us. No remorse was shown by airline people.

Rum punch, anyone?

Abandoned by our flight, we scrambled to find a boat to our island since, trust me on this one, you don’t want to stay in Belize City if you don’t have to.

As we dashed out of the airport to hail a cab to the docks, we witnessed the last official “taxi” drive away.

Rum punch, anyone?

Eventually, a nice and random guy in a beater gave us a ride. With his hot take-out dinner wobbling precariously on the dash in front of me, he zigged and zagged toward town.

By the time we arrived at the dock, we missed the official “ferry” boat by seconds. The LAST ride of the day.

Rum punch, anyone?

What we did finally ride off in I’m pretty sure wasn’t a regular, commercial passenger boat. An open, high speed motor boat, cherry red, glittery paint, a la Miami Vice, it WAS a nice boat ride. Maybe a little windy. And bumpy.

And what was that bag of white powdery stuff tucked into the front compartment?

By now, I’m a stinky, sweaty, tangled, pale-skinned, red-faced blob. Oooohh, marry me, sweatheart sweetheart!

Exhausted we checked into our hotel on the beach in the dark (if you learn nothing from me, learn this: always check-in in the daylight, people).

If memory serves, we even sat in the dark on a couple of plastic chairs on the beach trying to unwind before the sun came up in a minute retiring for the night.

RELAX, SEE THE STARS, BREATHE THE SALT AIR. What IS this itching all OVER my legs??

Yes, sand fleas.

More punch, anyone?

At the crack of butt dawn (who knew Belizeans would have the work ethic of warring Germans), we awaken to crashing all around us. A hurricane on its way? No. Our hot little room turned out to be directly below the hotel renovations occurring on the entire upper story. Debris from upstairs windows was being tossed to the ground, booming right outside our open windows.

We were the only guests. This might explain the blank stares when we checked in.

We check out.

Rum punch, anyone?

We find a shack on stilts to rent for the night (“no screens on the windows? the bugs don’t fly up there” they say). 5 rows of 71 mosquito bites later, we check out.

Rum punch, anyone?

Next day, we ride a boat to another island and find nirvana…..

VICTORIA HOUSE.

Now, THAT’S more like it.

Rum punch for anyone still with me here!

Victoria, House, or we liked to call it, Paradise, was where we stayed for over a week (before our jungle and scuba adventures), got married (complete with rainbow after our I do’s), made new friends, had bar service by the pool, and began anew our fabulous elopement/honeymoon trip.

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