Read from Chapter 1, "Hurricane" from How to Cook a Tapir: A Memoir of Belize by Joan Fry:

"When I had announced my wedding plans to my parents, they were appalled. They disapproved of Aaron's politics. They disapproved of the fact that he, an older man—he was a graduate student—was taking me, a sophomore at the University of Michigan, on a "working honeymoon" for a year in the jungle. Like most people, they had no idea where British Honduras was. Africa? An island off the coast of China? Only my German-born grandfather, who had run away to sea at fourteen, knew it was a tiny Central American country the size of Massachusetts, south of Mexico and east and north of Guatemala. Its entire eastern border faced the Caribbean as though the country were sprawled on its side, facing the azure half-moon of the earth's second-largest barrier reef. Along its spine grew some of Central America's most pristine rainforest. That's where Aaron and I were going—where the Maya lived.

"We used to ship mahogany out of Stann Creek," my grandfather had said, chewing thoughtfully on his pipe. When I was a kid, his tales about life on the high seas enthralled me. It was my fervent wish to grow up and be a sailor like Grandpa Brombach. But along with adolescence came the dawning realization that girls didn't sign on as sailors in order to see the world. I'd have to manage it some other way.

So I got married."