• Jump to must-have items for your next multiterrain trip.

ACCLAIMED FILM DIRECTOR and hotelier Francis Ford Coppola (the multihyphenate is also a writer, producer, winemaker, restaurateur, and all-around man of mythic versatility) says constructing a scene is similar to constructing a space. “I think it is the same process,” he explains. “First comes the instinct of how it ought to be, and if a satisfactory solution doesn’t come immediately, by gut reaction, I ask myself — what is the core theme of the overall pieces? If it’s, for example, an ecological or archaeological theme, I follow that lead to imagine something expressing that — a space that reflects it or seems to suggest that.”

Different things draw Coppola to a property. At his southern Italian Palazzo Margherita, “it was the magical gardens where a lovely princess might while away her time.” At his Argentinian Jardin Escondido, “it was the labyrinth of gardens, also magical, where plays could be written, poems composed, and novels imagined.” At Guatemala’s La Lancha, “it was the thrill of being awakened by the roar of the howler monkeys and the uniquely great food.” And in the swaths of jungle around Belize’s Mountain Pine Ridge Forest Reserve, the magic for Coppola was “the fact that it was hidden.” These surrounds would shape his very first hotel — Blancaneaux Lodge — the first part of my journey to both of his Belize destinations.

Blancaneaux Lodge

Following a two-hour drive from Belize City, arriving at Blancaneaux feels like stumbling across a secret. The property sprawls over hilly tropical landscaping, snakelike paths, and steep stone stairs that dot the lush grounds. The mountain air is sweet and misty. Everywhere I go, I hear the sound of the trickling Privassion Creek rushing into a waterfall — an energy source bringing hydropower to the entire property.

I make it back to the property just in time for my Thai massage, in the pavilions Coppola had shipped from Thailand. My body is kneaded and stretched to the pitter-patter of rain. In a daze, I receive tea and honey to finish. With profuse thank yous to the healer, I stumble across the property to the organic garden. Hector the gardener leads some fellow guests and me around the land, pointing out each crop: “Tomatoes, bell peppers, cabbage, star fruit, passion fruit, custard apple, French string beans, bok choy, zucchini, cauliflower …”. He shows us the compost, a massive ordeal, where every single piece of waste, from food to horse manure, goes back into the land. He also shows us Blancaneaux’s trapiche — the ancient, traditional sugar press used to make natural sweetener from sugar cane. “Where did this machine come from?” someone asks. Hector softly smiles. “It was my grandfather’s.” We all instinctively reach out to touch the worn handles, to say hello, to say thank you. What follows is a delicious plant-based dinner sourced from the garden.

Back at the lodge in the evening, I think about Coppola’s own recipe for a perfect day on his properties: “A spartan breakfast gazing at the beauty of the five varied surroundings; hopefully some exercise, and then thinking amid the beauty, letting my imagination fly (early, so no one has yet hurt my feelings via a phone call or other communication). Some adventure or other that is available at each spot, then dinner.” Biting into my tender conch steak, I feel I’ve stuck pretty close to his approach. No one had yet hurt my feelings that day, either, through some undesired contact. The utter lack of cell service around the Belizean mountain ranges is an excellent help in that regard.

Turtle Inn

From the mountains, it’s a three-hour scenic drive to the beach at Placencia. Turtle Inn’s former steward, a charismatic marine biologist named Skip White, is a fascinating part of the place’s history for Coppola. The place “made me imagine ‘Doc’ and his students, gathering samples in the tide pools and studying them with their microscopes,” he says. In contrast to the misty and mystical mountains, it’s sun-soaked and salty down here. The colors are equally beautiful. Light streams through the screened-in front porch, illuminating dark, intricate Balinese woodwork in the doorways, daybed, and weighty chests. Fuchsia hibiscus flowers float in the bird baths by my front door and along the paths.

After check-in, I explore the property, finding my way toward Turtle Inn’s version of the organic garden. The same warm hospitality flows through this beach location. As soon as I meet Palma, the gardener, he takes me on a guided tour through every piece of growth, carefully explaining the names and properties of each plant — spreading the bright red dye of annatto seeds over his palms, “tattooing” me with the white-powder imprints left on the skin by the underside of a fern, and ripping open fresh aloe vera leaves to sooth my bites after getting swarmed by mosquitoes.

I walk to the beachfront, hungry for sea on my skin. Dipping into the calm Caribbean blue, darkened by patches of seagrass, I spot a serene couple bobbing on floating deck chairs, reading in the sun. I follow the coastline and find a statue of the Virgin Mary and baby Jesus encased in glass on top of some rocks. Who put them there, I wonder? I take a visit to the old fishing village of Placencia, where I hear Creole, Spanish, English, Garifuna, and Chinese spoken. Island music blasts from the bars, fishermen hang by the docks with their catches, and kids scamper into the shops with change in their hands.