The omnipotent drumming, the exotic dishes like sere, bundiga or hudut, the erotic Punta gyrations and the omnipresent bonhomie of the Garifuna in celebration mode. At one time in the not-so distant past the Garifuna were isolated and ostracized- now the Garinagu are praised and respected- from pariahs to princes in 70 years.

  Re-enactment on the beach in Hopkins

Garifuna Settlement holiday is now (at least in the Stann Creek District) the start of the tourist season. After the long five month drought in tourism Settlement Day brings full occupancy to the hoteliers and a shot in the arm to the entire tourist industry. Travelers needed to book lodging weeks in advance if they planned on taking part in the festivities leading up to and including Settlement Day.

Every year I head south to reacquaint myself to and savior the nuances of Garifuna culture- and also to have a good time. Usually I stay in Dangriga, sometimes Punta Gorda- this year I used Hopkins as my base. A fortuitous choice.

Hopkins is seeped in the real thing- Hopkins might be just a small village, but it has serious heart- heart drum- drums of Garifuna fathers’ beats in the psyche of the populace. Hopkins is where three years ago Andy Palacio recorded his break-through album “Watina”. Hopkins can be viewed as an inspiration for Andy’s international mega-hit. The eve of the 19th Andy and his consortium of talented musicians and vocalists known as the “Garifuna Collective” had an unheralded, surprise performance at the King Cassava Bar and Restaurant in Hopkins. Watina experienced up close and personal- a cold-seed concert par excellence. 50 to 60 lucky individuals got to hear and see the promethean Andy and Paul Nabor and the collective perform Watina where it all was birthed. A unique event. 

  Mr. Casimiro teaching Gary to drum

The old primary school building was the site of the reenactment the next morning. The reenactment is a tightly scripted affair. Two launches full of provisions like plantains and coconuts are decked out with coconut fronds and paddled near shore by handfuls of Garifuna. One group paddles ashore and requests entry and is turned away. The first dory’s personnel paddle back out to sea to work out a plan with the people in the second dory. Both dories return and the combined groups plead their case for entry and are given the okey-dokey. The groups jump for joy and then march-dance-drum to the Catholic Church for mass in Garifuna language.

I’ve witnessed that ritual over a dozen times and found the Hopkins version resonant and heart-felt. A mini-drama based on cultural myths.

  Tricia on Kismet beach

The owner of Kismet Inn, Tricia Wolpher hosted me and my two grandkids at her decidedly off-beat lodge located at the spectacular north-end of the village. I have sung the praise of  Kismet’s eccentric charms several times over the years and once again my experience there was equal parts educational, Hippie-nostalgic and bizarre. My preference when it comes to accommodations is the people over swankness. Those fancy 400 or 500 dollar a night places are certainly comfortable, but many of those high-end digs draw less than scintillating guests. Consequently the ambience is a tad bit boring. Tricia’s place is anything but boring.

Kismet is a magnetic for unconventional arty types. The cliental this time included a disciple of the Dali Lama who is a master of the “Reiki healing” massage technique. The “Reiki-est” doesn’t actually touch your flesh, but rubs your aura; a Punta rock guitarist that hailed from Punta Gorda; two young Swedes with guitars backpacking across Central America; a well-medicated prayer healer from Bristol, UK; a contractor from Alberta, Canada with an encyclopedia knowledge of the international oil industry and four early twenty-something, nubile Brit gals who lounged around, sun-bathed and gallivanted in the Caribbean Sea in micro-bikinis. They didn’t talk much- the bikinis said volumes.

  Some of Tricia's paintings on a seat top

Tricia was her usual Yenta self and her companion - a Garifuna fisherman and tour guide, Elvis, was busy thatching the roof and tipping a few “bitters” at the reenactment site.

It’s been a while since I last stayed at Kismet. Tricia has become an obsessive-compulsive painter- kind of like the TV character “Monk” except substitute a paint brush for his ubiquitous handi-wipes. Virtually every square inch of each room is festooned with miniature paintings of sea life, rainbows or schematic local scenes. The rooms are mini grassroot art galleries. 

Tricia is something of a gourmet chef with a penchant for organic- nouveau weirdo combinations.  The grandkids didn’t much cotton to her cuisine, especially the home-baked garlic and orange peel bread or the lime juice with seeds left in. They did enjoy the sandy beach, sea, kayak, dory, drumming, Andy’s concert and reenactment. The grandkids never leave Belize City’s southside so their time in what they referred to as “the bush” left an indelible impression on their four and eight year old minds.

As mannerly kids they show respect for elderly women in a position of power by referring to them as “auntie” – they called Tricia: “Auntie Trish”. In their frequent moments of excitement the kids enthusiasm twisted “Auntie Trish” into “Anti Cheese”, ergo the title. When Tricia first heard the “Anti Cheese” moniker she quipped, “I’m not lactose intolerant.”  She certainly isn’t.