Ambergris Caye reminds me of Key West in the 80s.  There are lots of bars and restaurants, drunken tanned 20-somethings in pooka shell necklaces, pickled while patent leather American retirees, honeymooners, and the ubiquitous multicultural Caribbean support staff.  Golf carts zip along sand roads and the air is filled with the relaxing sounds of Bob Marley and distant hammers slapping up clapboard eateries and cinderblock hotels.  Thin monochrome dogs (who clearly share a branchless genealogy) slalom through the café tables wagging their tales looking for greasy bits of northern hospitality.

Tourists cue up on the docks at 8 am sharp, awaiting brightly colored tour boats to whisk them away for a day of G-rated adventure and hysterically asymmetrical sunburns.   Little prop planes circle on the enormous conveyor belt to and from Belize City.  And every available two dimensional surface touts the benefits of Belize’s own Belikin beer (which is both distinctive and tasty, I might add).

During our four days on the island, we split time between Ramon’s and The Mayan Princess Hotel.  Ramon’s is probably the best known resort on the island, with thatched roof rooms, al fresco dining and a lively little pool bar.  The grounds are immaculate and the long dock offers swimmers a respite from the turtle grass that crowds the shoreline.  The place was nice if not slightly pricey (about $200 a night), but fortunately for us, it was booked for the second half of our stay, forcing us the pull a Joseph and Mary around the island looking for another manger.

As luck would have it, after several failed attempts to find available lodging, we happened upon the Mayan Princess “Condhotel.” These are privately owned efficiencies that are rented out by the day as the owners back in the states clacked away on computers and machinery earning their return airfare.  The immaculate room was perched on the third/top floor, offering a bird’s eye view of the bustling beach in town.  A heck of a deal for just over $100 a night.  If I were to return, I’d stay here.

The food wasn’t bad, especially the seafood.  The best restaurant on the island for us was the tremendous Jamebel’s Jerk Pit right downtown, which serves up scrumptious exceptionally spicy Jamaican shrimp, pork and chicken and the ‘not to be missed’ curried lobster.   Damn that fresh lobster was tasty – so good was Jambel’s that we hit it twice out of four nights.  I’d also give a nod to Café Ole, the romantic Patio and Elvi’s Kitchen.  Sadly, our time was limited though.  I’m certain that several great dining choices that went untested.

If you make it down that way, do rent a golf cart for the day and tool around taking care not to miss the north end of the island.  A simple hand ferry will escort you across the split north of town, allowing access to a delightful dirt track along the beach and through a lush residential neighborhood.   If you make the trip in the morning, bring water – this side of the island is completely devoid of shops or restaurants that are open early.

For those that are worried about crime, we never felt unsafe on Ambergris day or night – with the following asterisks: during the evenings we stuck to the well-lit, well trodden tourist track.  I suspect we would have felt less comfortable scrounging about in the dim, underbelly of the local shanty town at 4 am adorned in twinkly jewelry and high-end electronics screaming anti-Belizian epithets, but we never had a chance to test that hypothesis.

One other note:  the locals and the police do not get along.   To a man, the residents do not trust the police. We heard numerous stories of corruption and barbarism against the indigenous population.  In fact, the night before we arrived, a police officer executed a local “drug dealer” with a single bullet to the head right on main street downtown.  Witnesses disagree with police accounts, claiming that the deceased was just a hard working fisherman that fell prey to police violence.  The news spread quickly and the killing was the talk of the town.  Even though the locals were used to police bullying, this degree of abuse was apparently rare.   Take comfort though, the police recognize the value of the tourist dollar and don’t bother their pasty North American amigos.

Bottom line:  don’t expect much adventure or exotic culture on Ambergris, but if you like slightly grungy ex-pat beachside bars and you have a book or two to catch up on, this wouldn’t be the worst place to do it.