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| We had less than a week to make it to Costa Rica to meet Leah. 4 countries to cross. No problem, they are small countries. I had my fingers crossed. We arrived at Cuauhtemoc, the border town with Guatemala, an hour before sunset. Semana Santas was ending and there were many drunk and strung out people on their way home after the two week party. We paid a little bit to have the car fumigated, shuffled around a few papers, paid a little more, got a sticker and we were let across the border. Leaving the central valley of Chiapas behind, we followed the Rio Selegua into a canyon several thousand feet deep. Many Toyota trucks carried entire families--Dad drove, Grandpa was co-pilot, Grandma sat on the cooler in back against the cab, and Mom and the kids surrounded grandma. We followed a police truck as it got dark. Two officers sat in back, one with his finger on the trigger of a machine gun. What were we doing? we never drove after dark! We finally came to a small town and asked for directions to a hotel. They said the nearest one was another 40kms down the road and encouraged us to stay. Would someone take us in, or were they plotting how to subdue and rob us? We pushed on in the dark and arrived in Huehuetenango without incident. We got a small but clean room for a reasonable price. The place was under construction. The owner felt lucky to have his own business, but construction was going slowly. He had to make more money before he could buy more materials to finish his project. He said things were getting a little better every year since the end of the 30 year civil in 1996. Corruption in the government and unemployment were still problems, however. Headed out after breakfast in town. It was getting hot and people were disappearing into buildings and under shady trees in parks. We headed into the mountains. The roads for the most part are quite good here, though they are narrow and steep. Had lunch at a crossroads. Small shops and restaurants were haphazardly thrown up. Trash was strewn everywhere. We found a BBQ chicken lunch for $1.50. Then on to the resort town of Panajachel on Lake Atitlan. A scenic spot with shops strung along the coastline of the lake. The view of volcanoes surrounding the lake was obscured by smoke--it is the end of the dry season, which is slash and burn season. Wandered around and did some shopping. If I could talk the venders down to half their asking price, I would buy; otherwise, I kept going. I usually got my price. On to Escuintla for the night. Nathan and I shared a Pizza and a beer for dinner. A crazy 3rd world town. Trash everywhere. Run down smoky cars, busses and trucks. Many vehicles that passed on the poorly lit streets did not have head lights. Humanity is strong: despite poverty, sickness, naked danger, and filth it kicks up dust, belches smoke and fills this town with coordinated motion and rude noise. The next morning on to El Salvador. The border crossing was a bit confusing. Missed the Guatemalan side all together and had to go back. They feigned anger with our transgression and charged us double to leave the country. Back to the El Salvador side for stamps, inspections, signatures, and a few fees and they let us through. Things are so brown here. I never imagined Central America to be like this. I guess it is a different world when the rains come. Now it is a sweltering desert. We followed a jagged coastline, often ducking through tunnels. El Salvador has the best painted trucks and busses, decorated with flames, eyes, teeth, insignias of pro basketball teams, references to God and Jesus, and pictures of the shiny, new big rigs the drivers will some day own. The cab windows are tinted and lined with tassels. The roads are in good condition, but aside from the paint jobs, the rigs on the road don't run so well. Most are slow and smoky. One is often tempted to pass in dangerous places because of the halting pace and lack of law enforcement. We passed the grizzly aftermath of a head on between 2 semi trucks. We asked a kid if Acajutla, a beach town, was a nice place to stay. He said it was very dirty and didn't seem very proud of this. We pushed on and stumbled into a surfing enclave at El Tunco. As we drove in, two 12 year old boys ran us down. They said they knew of a good place for us to stay. They sprinted in front of us with their sling shots on their waists and machetes in hand--a mother’s worst nightmare! They took us to a hostel, "El Tubo", with a breaking wave painted on the wall. Their Dad was the caretaker of the place and he offered us a room for a reasonable price. Surfed a point break 'til dark. Made dinner in the communal kitchen and talked to a couple that had traveled from San Diego, CA by bus. Woke up early the next am to a strange honking. Was it a tropical bird? I went out to investigate. A guy was on his bike in the middle of the street with large bags of bread. He stopped every 50 yards or so and honked a horn on his handlebars. Kids ran out and bought the family's daily bread. Went back out to the break for some more surf until the sun got too intense. I could see fish and polished stones 10-15 feet down in the crystal clear water. A mixed crowd of surfers--locals and Southern Californians. The largest source of income for El Salvador is the influx of U.S. dollars sent home by its citizens working in the States. You can pay with Colones, the local currency, but you usually get change in quarters, nickels, dimes, and pennies. Many immigrants to the United States get involved in gangs. They get busted and after serving time they are sent home to El Salvador. They bring their gang lifestyle with them. On the last weekend of Semana Santas there were 70 homicides in a country of 6 million. I heard stories of war and terror. The rich lived lavishly. The poor led uprisings. The USA gave weapons. Attempted genocide. On the road again and on to Honduras; another day, another country. We arrived at the border and were swarmed by men and boys who wanted to be our guides across the border. I took Nathan's suggestion and told them in broken Spanish that I was from Greece and did not speak Spanish. This scared a few off. We went about our business trying to figure out the border crossing and one man continued to bother us. We finally accepted his help. I had to make copies of my documents in a trailer full of guys watching soccer, and get a car permit out of the back of a warehouse a couple of blocks away. Walking around the warehouse I ducked under an A/C unit hung on the side of the building. I didn’t duck low enough and the corner of the box ripped open the top of my head. Blood streamed down my cheek. Our guide gave me a napkin out of his pocket. I walked back to the car to clean up. A concerned crowd surrounded me. They were angry and asked, "Who hit you?” thinking I had been mugged. I explained what happened. The bleeding stopped and someone gave me their bag of water (people stay hydrated down here drinking purified water sold in half liter bags). A woman selling fruit washed the wound for me. I was choked up; I was in this place that was supposedly so dangerous--a border crossing--and I had a hundred people at my side. The people here live on very little. Their greatest asset is each other. They are extraordinarily generous and don't think twice when they see someone that needs their help. Nathan finished up the car permitting. He said all of the guys involved in the permit process walked under the A/C unit and amused themselves by hopping, trying to bump their head. It isn't easy being a 5'11" Gringo down here sometimes. We finished up at the border crossing and headed into the wild frontier of southern Honduras. The highway was in a poor state. Roadside, young boys in dusty cotton shorts with rope belts held up 2 and 3 iguanas by the tail for sale. We rolled into Choluteca and got a hotel. I took a shower and rinsed out my cut. It was worse than I thought. Probably should have gotten stitches. Was glad to have A/C for the night. Had the best cup of coffee I've ever had with breakfast. Its creamy brown thickness was filling in and of itself. I don't drink coffee. On to Nicaragua. We encountered the usual swarm of men and boys at the border, and ignored and discouraged them until the last, most persistent guy was left. We made the requisite photocopies, got the necessary stamps, inspections and signatures, and of course paid the fees, and they let us through. Roads were bad. Lots of pot holes and sometimes the pavement disappeared. Dirty children would pick up shovels and throw dirt in the pot holes when they saw us coming and then beg for money when we passed. Stopped in Leon for lunch. Walked around the old capital and saw several monuments. One cathedral, the largest in Central America, was built here by mistake. Plans were mixed up on the voyage from Spain for a large cathedral in Lima, Peru, and a more modest one here in Leon. Back on the road and we were pulled over on a hilltop. 5 policemen were there, one with a large set of binoculars. One asked for my passport and drivers license. I asked them what the problem was. He walked around the car and pointed out a broken tail light I had put red tape over. He said that here in Nicaragua you have to have all new lights. I pointed out several missing lights on almost every car that passed. He was not moved. He said he would have to send my license to Managua where I could go to pay a fine. I told him I had to get to Costa Rica the following day and needed my license to cross the border. He said it would take two weeks for the license to arrive in Managua. I asked him if I could just pay him. He said, "No, Police cannot accept bribes." We talked this in circles several times. The police officer seemed frustrated with my proficiency speaking Spanish. He told me to leave. I couldn't leave without my license. It was obvious he wanted a bribe, but did not want to have to admit it. A proud man, I guess, who was paid next to nothing for his job. He walked away. I think he'd hoped to pull over a Gringo who could not speak Spanish and would start waving cash around. I grabbed 300 Cordobas (about $25) and walked over to the cops. A different cop, looking a bit sheepish, handed me my license in exchange for the cash. On to the beach town of San Juan del Sur. After a confused search for some hotels on a surfing break, we came back to town and stayed at a hostel. Nathan told me he was "over it", meaning traveling with me. The last few days traveling through Central America surely weren't that pleasant. A family was cooking on a table in the street and used their living room as a dining room. I stopped for a tasty dinner of marinated BBQed chicken and steak with red beans and rice, fried plantains, and cabbage salad. Walked around town alone and enjoyed the cool offshore breeze. In the morning we took a guy out to the surf spot for a look-see and headed to Costa Rica with a Hawaiian girl who needed a ride. Made it through customs into Costa with out much trouble. Cleaner and more civilized here, but the roads are terrible! Mo started to smoke a lot. Oil was being sucked up into the air filter. Tried cleaning it out several times, but ended up just taking the filter out. Rolled into San Jose after dark and dropped Nathan and the girl off at a hostel. Nathan and I shared some bitter words. I was off to the airport to pick up Leah, and anxious to start a new chapter in this adventure. |
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