For itinerary-weary voyagers, it seems one’s gut is the best guide. With only a sketch of how to spend our last day in the Cayo District of Belize, our sextet of gadabouts cruised along the Mopan River seeking a scenic swimming spot. Our sweating Belikin lagers begged us to pick a locale but the ideal combination of parking, picnic-ready rocks, and an uninhabited bank proved elusive. Scruffy, stilt homes with drying laundry and scrapped cars dotted the ragged Western Highway, captivating us as we drifted further from the river. Smoky, humid air poured into our 7-passenger Isuzu as we mindlessly weaved between stray dogs, cyclist teams, and tractors. It wasn’t until we passed a shoddy sign with a fading white arrow that we renewed our conviction. Casually floating the idea, Justin rhetorically observed “Belize Raptor Center?” Perhaps it was the aimless driving or a latent love of birds that unified us, but we more quickly agreed on an impromptu raptor experience than any restaurant, excursion or parking spot throughout the trip. As promptly as the idea materialized, we flipped our conspicuous rental around and followed a craterous dirt road into the jungle. Upon arrival, the Belize Raptor Center’s white gate was shut and its small parking lot emptied. Its sole movement was from a groundskeeper methodically pushing a lawnmower across the center’s 5-acre lawn. Wearing a bucket hat, muck boots, and over-ear hearing protection, the man was engrossed in hot, sweaty work. Only our group’s elder, Adam, dared to enter the sprawling campus through a side gate and disturb the center’s concluding work for the day. Offering a vigorous wave and broad grin, Adam chatted with the groundskeeper for a few minutes before he radioed to the office. We sheepishly waited near some raptor enclosures as Rob Howes, one of the center’s leaders, welcomed us. A native of Belize, Rob is a muscular, curly-haired man with a colorful mural of tattoos on his left arm that snakes up his neck. Standing at over 6-foot, he towers over many of his Belizean and Mayan friends, who dubbed him rather uncreatively “ tall human,” he later told us. Rob matter-of-factly said the center was closed but welcomed us to watch the raptors perform their exercises. As Rob departed, Sarah Mann, the center’s director, showed us around. Also a “tall human” at more than 6-foot, Sarah hails from Texas but has no discernable drawl. Rather, her expeditious delivery seemed to reflect the pace at which she educates many visitors and conquers the center’s unyielding work. She fielded our flood of questions, adding context on the challenges the center and its birds face, including human predation, misinformation, disease, and limited resources. At a nearby field, we reverently watched Sarah and Rob exercise Akna, a hefty Black Hawk-Eagle with a white-speckled crown that resembled a ruffed collar from the Sixteenth Century. Next was Luna, the affable and energetic Spectacled Owl whose superb eyesight is trumped only by her incredible hearing, which in perfect darkness can discern the faintest sound with surgical precision. Last was the center’s jewel: Athena, the Ornate Hawk-Eagle. Aptly named, she is Goddess of the raptors. Parading an intricate pattern of white, black and brown, Athena regally gazed past her subjects before puffing her feathers to indicate she’d had enough of us. To our delight, Sarah and Rob enjoyed our company enough to invite us for a bonfire, beers and the best Indian tacos I’ve had. They removed their hats as hosts to tourists and became our friends. We laughed as Sarah shared the stories of motherhood. We philosophized with Rob on the role of media in society. We danced as Sarah’s toddler gyrated through their living room. After a few Belikins, I reflected on the interactions we typically have while abroad. Often as travelers, we fixate on maximizing our time. As a result, we transactionally engage locals not as potential friends but through their occupations. That penchant to optimize our schedule not only limits what an experience should and shouldn’t be, but it can remove the ability to make authentic connections. Next time, nix part of your itinerary, follow your gut and intentionally look to make new friends.