Everyone, including us, had the same befuddled and slightly disappointed expression on their faces, lips contorted into a question mark.

“Where is the beach?”

About a dozen people in all shades of sunburn, from pasty-it’s-going-to-happen to all-the-aloe-vera-in-the-world won’t stop the hurt, gathered about the concrete breakwater and pathetic strip of yellowed sand.

Some took it in stride. I mean, how long does unhappy last on a tropical island?

People plopped down and pulled beer from bags, others retreated and one brave soul even went in for splash. While hanging about, another dozen backpackers cycled through and I learned how to say “Where is the beach?” in half a dozen languages.

Naturally all beach seekers funneled to the Split, the northern terminus of the island, promisingly labeled as “swimming area” on the guidebook map. But it was nothing more than warm turbid waves sloshing back and forth through a muddy 30-foot channel, left after recent hurricanes cut Caye Caulker in half.

Reading between the lines, it became obvious that Caye Caulker doesn’t have much to offer when it comes to beaches.

Still, the Caye — just four miles long and no more than 650 yards wide — is one of the most popular islands of about a dozen just the northeastern shore of Belize

With our tails between our legs

Eventually, we retreated also and explored the rest of the island. Caye Caulker compensates for its lack of postcard beaches with a wide array of affordable accommodations (think budget and simple), succulent seafood and utterly calm, bright sunny days (except during hurricanes). If high end resorts and manicured beaches are your idea of bliss, visit nearby Ambergris Caye.

We settled for a few nights in a concrete block with blinding white walls, with as much charm as one of the touts waiting for the Belize City—Caye Caulker ferry, but the price was right and it came with a fan to stir viscous air.

That night, we learned that the partitioning walls lacked concrete and involuntarily partook, at least aurally, in the passions of the couple next door. Even the earplugs of decency couldn’t drown out the noise of sunburns being slapped together.

Bare feet and mangroves don't mix

The following morning, a bit groggy, I explored the southern end of the village along a labyrinth of sandy paths. Here dense stands of mangroves, full of bird life and crabs — but not ideal for swimming — blocked the way to the water.

Being a bit stubborn and determined to immerse myself in the Caribbean, I fought my way through the tangle, an obstacle course of sturdy prop roots and foot-wrenching shoots waiting in the muddy bottom (if you get nothing else out of this article, just remember — don’t ever walk barefoot into mangroves).

After the quick lesson in mangrove ecology that came with subcutaneous wounds on my feet and legs, I stumbled out of the thicket. I stood knee deep in water and eelgrass. Great for manatees, poor for swimming.

The key to the Caye

Bobbing across the crystal blue waters in a speedboat that yearned for paint, we finally understood why visitors crowd the Caye Caulker ferry — it’s for the snorkeling and diving. Voila!

The boat skimmed over eelgrass, past the sandy Split and mangroves, straight toward shark-ray alley and the reef just offshore. The barrier reef, stretching from the Yucatan and Honduras along the entire coast of Belize, is the second largest on the planet. In addition to snorkeling, the area is well known among divers as a top spot in the world.

A choppy 20 minute boat ride got us right next to the reef, and the aptly named Shark Ray Alley didn’t disappoint. The waters here are clear and relatively shallow. A dozen nurse sharks and sting rays grumbled about the sandy bottom, and, being used to snorkelers allowed close approach. Black-tipped reef sharks made brief appearances and checkered loggerhead sea turtles mulled about.

Interestingly enough, our guide was more cautious about the sea turtles taking a chomp out of us than the dozen or so sharks present!

Head south and then further south

The search for the perfect beach continued on the central coast in the town of Dangriga. When we arrived in the late afternoon, it was quiet, and there was no traffic at all.

Upon closer inspection, there was no movement whatsoever, except for palm leaves twisting in the breeze. We roused someone at a small restaurant and had a quick lunch of rice and beans.

A walk along the waterfront revealed — yet again — no beaches. But with patience, you will soon find out why the town should not be passed up, and not just because it's the heart of Garifuna culture and the home of Marie Sharp, maker of the famous Belizean habanero pepper hot sauce.

South of Dangriga, the highway loses its already narrow shoulder and has more curves and potholes. It runs inland for miles before turning back towards the coast near Placencia.

Resorts have solidly arrived along the softly undulating band of perfect beach along the Placencia Peninsula. Towering complexes, slightly incongruous with the otherwise flat land, line the beach and offer packaged relaxation.

While the beaches looked inviting, we pushed on and continued along the worsening road towards the south and Punta Gorda.

Leave the crowds behind

The Southern Highway ends in the small town of Punta Gorda. From here, it’s only possible to continue by ferry to Puerto Barrios, in Guatemala. The majority of travelers don’t make it past Placencia, and we couldn’t find any other tourists in town as we wandered the streets looking for boat charters or tours to get us out snorkeling in the nearby marine reserves.

Consulting the guide book for help, we didn’t have to read between the lines — basically, no one comes to Punta Gorda, so there aren’t many tour operators. Eventually, we spotted a small sign advertising boat and snorkeling trips and walked right into the office. The woman behind the desk looked stunned for a moment as we stood in front of her inquiring about tours.

Several phone calls later, some waiting and a bit of haggling, we had arranged a trip for the following morning. For what I wasn’t exactly sure, but something involving snorkeling and beaches.

Paradise? Found!

We showed up early the next morning at the town pier, as did our tour operator, captain and guide all in one package. He had gathered just enough functioning snorkel gear and even brought a simple lunch of fruits and sweet bread.

Early morning clouds dispersed to reveal a white sun reflecting off calm blue Caribbean waters. As we left the mainland behind, we could make out palm covered dots in the distance — the Sapodilla Cayes. This island group consists of about a dozen small sandy strips covered with mangroves and surrounded by shallow waters. It has been declared a marine reserve and fish and other marine life are thriving.

After an obligatory stop at Hunting Caye, where the national park maintains an office (the park rangers literally stranded in paradise seemed to welcome any diversion), our guide took the boat across several channels to an empty beach.

A crescent of white sand, just the right grain size, the water cool enough to give reprieve from the sun (but warm enough to allow unlimited snorkeling) greeted us, all to the backdrop of palms and mangrove.

Finally in the far south of the country, after days of searching, we had found an abandoned beach with nothing but the Caribbean stretching in front, the rustle of the palms behind and water filled with nothing but colorful fish.

I closed my eyes and suddenly heard the gurgle of two 64 horsepower engines pushing another charter boat around the corner. Four slightly inebriated Italians joined us on the beach, smiling just as big as I was.

Editor's note: This is the second story in a three-part series on Stephan Lorenz's Belize adventures. Don't forget to read part one — "Batted bats, fried lizards and of course Mayan ruins — all in a Belize day."