OF ALL the odd and magical places in the world, Belize is surely one of the magically oddest.

Tucked between Guatemala, Mexico, and the Caribbean Sea, this tiny country lives a charmed life. In 24 years of independence, Belize (formerly British Honduras) has established itself as one of the world's great hybrid nations, combining elements of the Caribbean, Central America, and southern Mexico in a cultural mash-up that plays out against one of the wildest swaths of jungle left in the Western Hemisphere.

Among travelers, Belize is best known as a world-class diving destination. The country's palm-fringed cayes (pronounced keys) offer easy access to the planet's second-longest barrier reef. Spectacular dive spots like the Blue Hole, a circular sinkhole choked with stalactites, angelfish, and blacktip sharks, draw some 10,000 snorkelers and divers annually.

Less well known is Belize's inland territory, but its allure is spreading via the kind of passionate word of mouth inspired by a cult film. Rent some wheels in Belize City and point the car west: What you'll find is a raw, dark, and mysterious jungle inhabited by jaguars, tapirs, toucans, and black howler monkeys—and some of the most audacious humans alive.

I first went to Belize a few years ago on assignment for Outside. I've been back nearly a dozen times, and the place never fails to leave me dazzled, baffled, exhausted, and utterly charmed. Every time I turn around, I startle an iguana, a Morelet's crocodile, or some winged Dr. Seuss creation that sends me scrambling for my copy of Birds of Belize. I've made the acquaintance of a straw-hatted Mennonite who practiced excellent cabinetry and poor self-dentistry, a shady businessman setting up offshore accounts in a hotel bar, a Maya woodsman who wielded his machete like an Olympic fencer, a former lion tamer who ran her own zoo, and a half-naked dude wearing a boa constrictor as a scarf. Belize is the least populated and yet most ethnically diverse nation in Central America. On a bus ride from San Ignacio, near the Guatemalan border, to Belize City, on the Caribbean coast, the coach will be jammed elbow to rib with indigenous Maya families, Creole businessmen, Garifuna artists, Chinese shopkeepers, Mennonite farmers, mestizo (Spanish/Maya) bureaucrats, white American entrepreneurs, and a few immigrant Guatemalans and El Salvadorans.

Belizeans love the tropical forest and are experts at getting visitors into and out of the wild thicket. A 20-minute drive south of Belmopan, the capital, you'll find caving fanatic Ian Anderson and his Caves Branch Jungle Lodge. Anderson specializes in guiding rugged forays into the

After nearly a dozen visits, Belize never fails to leave me dazzled, baffled, exhausted, and utterly charmed. Every time I turn around, I startle an iguana, a Morelet's crocodile, or some winged Dr. Seuss creation.

pristine hills, including a 300-foot rappel through the forest canopy into the country's "mother of all caves," Actun Loch Tunich. Drive farther south and you'll reach Maya Center, gateway to the world's only jaguar reserve, the Cockscomb Basin Wildlife Sanctuary, where you can take on the multi-day climb to the misty 3,675-foot summit of Victoria Peak, in the heart of the Maya Mountains. Don't go without a local Maya guide like Greg Sho, Belize's great woodsman, who trains elite British forces in jungle survival when he's not pouring cold Belikin beers for patrons of Greg's Bar, in Maya Center.

Roaming around Belize is like traveling in a time capsule. The tallest building in the country is over a thousand years old: the 143-foot high Caana pyramid, at Caracol. More than 65 percent of the country remains covered by native forest. By contrast, Costa Rica, Central America's ecotourism hub, retains only about 39 percent of its natural forest. "Belize got a lotta bush, man," says local tour guide and naturalist Kimo Jolly.

Map by Andy Potts