Although my father was a mild-mannered accountant when I left for the colony of British Honduras (in those days, the capital was Belize—not Belize City, just Belize), he got into a lot of scrapes as a kid. One of them involved an older half brother and a fishhook. The particulars of what took place are fuzzy, but at the end, my father had a fishhook lodged in his ear. He went through the rest of his life with a punctured eardrum.
You can see how narrow the road is–this one goes from Santa Elena to Pueblo Viejo–and how close to it the rain forest is. (Photo by A. Terry Rambo)
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