I was in Cayo last week visiting my friend Toshy — he just opened a new sushi spot out that way, and I wanted to support him, eat everything on the menu (mission accomplished), and catch up. But I also had a December elopement on my mind, and being that close to Caracol, I couldn’t resist the pull. It’s one of those places that feels heavy with story — perfect for couples who want that ancient, sacred energy woven into their ceremony.
So I turned the trip into a bit of work-play. “Let’s head to Caracol,” I told Toshy. “I want to get some shots and scout it out for the elopement.” And in true Toshy form — always ready for an adventure and forever making friends — he waved over a solo tourist who looked like she was halfway through regretting her vacation.
“You should come with us!” he said. She hesitated. Sighed. Then shrugged and climbed into the back of the car.
Her name was Sarah. She was… not thrilled.
“It’s way too hot,” she said, five minutes in. “Is there seriously no juice bar?”
“We’re in the jungle,” I reminded her gently.
“Yeah, but like, it’s 2025. Can’t someone bring a cooler?”
By the time we made it to the base of the ruins, I had my camera ready, sweat running down my back, and a sense that this was exactly the kind of wild, unpredictable Belizean day I live for.
Caracol did not disappoint. The light was moody and golden, the silence was deep, and I found some incredible ceremony angles. I could already see my couple standing right there, barefoot and grinning, vows echoing off ancient stone.
Meanwhile, Sarah was less inspired.
“Well, that wasn’t very fun,” she huffed after climbing halfway up. “I don’t get the appeal.”
“She’s having a rough trip,” Toshy whispered to me, amused.
On the way out, our guide pointed to a smooth stone behind the fence.
“That’s the Marriage Stone,” he said. “Legend says if you kiss it, your true love appears not long after.”
Sarah immediately lit up. “Oh! I want to kiss it.”
“Sorry,” the guide chuckled. “Park’s closed that section already. Maybe next visit.”
“Not coming back,” she grumbled. “Guess I’ll die single.”
“Well,” he offered with a wink, “they say it still works if you kiss someone who kissed the stone.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess — you kissed it?”
“Nope,” he said proudly. “But I did sit on it.”
The events and characters depicted in Wolfe’s Woofer by Melody S. Wolfe are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The column is intended for satire and entertainment purposes only.
