Rewriting Your Story Is Bold

To chase something bigger, bolder, and brilliantly audacious.

Hey there, I’m Frik.

22 years ago, I'd have laughed if you’d told me I’d be here in Placencia, Belize, running a thriving real estate business while my wife runs a bustling coffee, wine, and ice cream shop.

Belize? Back then, it was merely a name I’d scrolled past on a drop-down menu when filling out an online form.

Yet here I am.

Our home rests on the edge of the Caribbean Sea, the waves lapping at the shore as I juggle

everything from high-stakes property negotiations to the occasional bout of baking — bread, bagels, and cheesecake, whenever our supplier takes a sudden holiday.

That's the type of people we are. Packed days. Occasionally, you’ll find us in the café kitchen

past midnight, celebrating with a bottle of wine, fueled by the drive to keep moving forward.

We live our dream. But it’s not the kind you wake up from. The kind you work on daily.

My wife and I have been together for a very long time. Our compatible business mindset fuels everything we do. Every freaking day, we put in the work. Because that’s what it takes when you choose the adventurous route.

Our kids have grown up with this rhythm. Now, at ages 10, 11, and 13, they’ve got their own

routines. One even boards in Belize City during the school week.

If you’re shaking your head — school and boarding in Belize City — yup, it was totally

unimaginable to me when we first arrived.

And you know what changed: we met people and built a supportive community we trust.

My story began 5,432 miles away in Ghent, Belgium.

That’s where I met the woman who’s been by my side ever since, during our time as students.

Even then, my focus was real estate and property management.

After graduation, we moved to Brussels. The timing seemed perfect. As the de facto capital of the European Union, the city was booming with construction. My wife worked as a researcher for a pharmaceutical company that focused on pacemaker wires — yes, that’s a real thing. During the week, we worked non-stop. Weekends were a blur of airports and flash trips. Crazy times. Always on the go.

The early 2000s felt like Europe on steroids. Or was it?

Then came my MBA studies, splitting my time between Flanders Business School and Kellogg School of Management Chicago. Every second weekend, I flew to a new location: Chicago, Antwerp, France’s coast. Intense. Exhausting. And bracing.

I found myself learning directly from the CEOs of industry giants like American Airlines and the financial auditor for Starbucks. It was a masterclass in strategy. I always returned fired up. But here’s the thing: what was the point?

Taxes were soaring, regulations were stifling growth, and the system was skewed against medium-sized enterprises like ours. I was done.

If we were going to build something meaningful, it wouldn’t be in Europe.

We began dreaming of a new chapter.

While traveling in Southeast Asia, we explored Malaysia, Cambodia, Thailand, and Vietnam. Each had its appeal but also barriers like cultural differences, language, and laws. Thailand? Sure, it seemed like a great place to retire.

But we weren’t looking for retirement. We were looking for life. A reset.

Then came a call from an old friend. We had studied together years ago, and now he was taking a sabbatical in Roatán, Honduras, spending his days diving.

“Come over,” he said. “Rent a room. Do some diving.”

It didn’t take much persuasion. A single email, and we were off. We’d never been to that part of the world, and the unknown was exactly what we were after.

I went to the travel store to grab a map. They only had one for Central America: Guatemala, Honduras, and Belize.

Belize. The name barely registered in my mind. Just another option wedged between Belgium and Benin on a drop-down menu.

Right before our trip, Lonely Planet released its first Belize guidebook. It felt like a cosmic coincidence — like Belize stepped out of the shadows, waving us over. I ordered the guide immediately. This was 2004, not exactly Amazon Prime days.

When it finally came, we devoured every word. The pictures hooked us.

So, after a swirl through Guatemala and diving in Honduras, we finally were set for Belize. Transportation was a challenge. No buses, no cars, no easy routes — so we hired a "private captain." A decision that would soon reveal itself to be ... interesting.

We crossed into Belizean waters, and our "private captain" hardly grazed the Punta Gorda pier before muttering, “Go find some police. I’m not even supposed to be here. No permit for Belize.” And just like that, he gunned the engine, leaving us standing there with our backpacks and the awkward realization that we had just sauntered into a country with no immigration stamp.

A police officer cruised by on his bicycle, and we waved him down, somewhat sheepishly. He didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. After a brief call to central office, the situation was settled. No drama, no fuss.

And no, that’s not a secret travel tip. That no-fuss attitude? Very 2004.

We asked the officer where we could stay, and with a shrug, he pointed toward an open field. No hotels, he said, but there was a plane that’d land later, dropping off mail and cargo. Heading north, and we'd catch a ride.

So, we waited, standing in the sun, watching as a dusty plane descended and landed in a cloud of dirt. The pilot greeted us with a nonchalant nod, and just like that, we were on board, bound for Placencia.

Not knowing much about the place, we were simply content that it was north and that was enough. We found a small bed and breakfast and let the quiet of the village settle around us.

Everything felt easy. Everyone spoke English. Everywhere, people were kind.

That was our first impression of Belize.

Replaying our first encounter here.

On the flight back to Belgium, my wife and I barely spoke. We were lost in thought, replaying every moment of that tiny country we’d just discovered, where the turquoise waters of the Caribbean meet the untamed Central American jungle.

A few days later, we booked new tickets. Belize wasn’t done with us.

As we traveled, covering the length and breadth of the country, our path took us north, south, west, and out to the Cayes (islands) like Ambergris Caye. While it was stunning, it wasn’t for us. The island felt too isolated.

The mainland, however, was different. It was spacious and ripe with potential. It was a place that felt less restrictive and more attuned to the kind of life we wanted to create.

Hopkins had a magnetic pull.

This quiet seaside hamlet held a charm we couldn’t ignore. Conversations flowed easily, and before long, we connected with local families. Hopkins had a thriving pulse, with three resorts, including the enduringly popular Jaguar Reef Resort.

Here, we bought our first piece of land, an affordable beach-view lot. It was low-risk, the perfect way to dip our toes into this new chapter.

For the next 4 years, we shuttled back and forth between Belgium and Belize. Each return felt like an affirmation. Turning the narrative from passive living and active dreaming into present living.

While Hopkins was welcoming, Placencia was where we saw real potential.

The development scene there was rapidly evolving, driven by the construction of the new road cutting through the northern part of the peninsula and positioning this region to attract and support new businesses.

Real estate offices popped up like mushrooms after a rainstorm.

I partnered with a local agent who had just opened his doors. Together, we began to build a business that capitalized on my background in property development and the growing interest in Belize as a destination for investment.