1-23-10 El Salvador y Honduras

First off, sorry for the delay in posts, been at sea for the past week, will get you all caught up shortly...

The border crossing into El Salvador was uncomfortably hot and humid but luckily there weren't many people there.  I went to the first window where a lady requested the usual paperwork.  I leaned forward into the little peep hole in the window to hear her better and was greeted by a gentle waft of cool air and perfume.  This was the first conditioned air I'd experienced in quite some time and kept leaning closer and closer to the window, breathing deeply, until my forehead was leaning against the window and my nose was poking through.

"Senor....Senor..."  I opened my eyes and realized whe was inches from my face with my papers ready.

"Gracias"

I went to the next window to get things checked then backtracked to another window then advanced to another.  This is common.   At border crossings I frequently have to walk back and forth between different windows then cross the road several times stopping at various offices and windows, VIN inspection sites and vehicle fumigation stands. No logical assembly-line process here.  Zero forethought was put into these border crossings; they're the epitome of inefficiency. I understand that many of the jobs are simply created by the government; secondary and tertiary stamp checker would not be an exaggeration.  The work should take one person a few minutes, but ended up requiring five people and 30 minutes.  I have no idea what they were really doing. None whatsoever.  I'm a patient person but don't do well when common sense is being violated so tragically.

(The only place I've seen jaw-dropping efficiency down here is at McDonalds.  The US has the slowest McDonalds out of all the countries I've been to.  In the rest of the world a job here is touted as a good one, unlike back home.  You can hold your breath from the time of ordering to the time your food hits your tray.  I usually decline the offer by the tray porter carry my tray to my table unless I'm holding my helmet. I always let the ketchup girl pump ketchup for me as it's a novelty.)

While waiting at one window I was greeted by a curious customs agent with a small shiny badge. I asked him if the bike would be safe where it was, some 20 yards off. He patted his hip before lifting up the tail of his shirt, exposing a Beretta. "No problemas" He said grinning.

The agents job was to tax goods crossing the border that were intended for resale. He had a piece of crisply folded paper with a list of goods and corresponding taxes that he showed me. Most interesting on the list was 'Abercrombie T-shirt' which are seen all over down here, all of which are fake. The price to cross the border with one of these was about 10 cents.
After finally finishing the border crossing I vectored towards the Ruta de Flores, a scenic highway linking several small coffee towns that was reported to have great wildflowers lining the road.  Though it wasn't high season for the flowers there were still quite a few to see.

I pulled into a little town which I heard had BBQ frogs and set out to find some.  I didn't know the word for 'frog' in Spanish, just 'toad' which seemed to suffice just as well.  A street vendor stated in a condescending tone that frogs weren't in season as though it was common knowledge.  "Well" I said leaning forward and opening my eyes wide, "In Colorado we eat frogs all year long!" and walked off chuckling.

I made it to the little surf town of Tunco, near La Libertad where I spent a few nights as it was comically cheap.  I could live well for $15 per day (they use US dollars here).  The hostel I stayed at had lots of hammocks and doves cooing over head, one of my favorite sounds.  I rented a board and did a bit of surfing, but I'm sure it didn't look like it from the shore.  Not much falling, though, as there wasn't much standing up in the first place.  This was probably for the best as there were a lot of rocks.

It was a quick ride to Honduras as El Salvador is really small.  Just before the Honduran border I rode past a herd of fixers in a roundabout who all waved at me and started holding up their semi-official badges around their necks almost choking themselves.  I slowed down and waved back which started several of them running after me, wanting my business.

Fixers are local guys who can help with the border crossing process.  They know the proper sequence of windows to go to and for a few bucks more will get you to the front of the long lines, for a few more bucks they'll do it all for you.

A few hundred yards from the Hondruan border I hit a little military checkpoint which was lined with more opportunistic fixers.  Upon stopping, one man ran up to me and asked if I was Benjamin.  I shrugged and asked who he was.  He told me he had helped Luis and that Luis told him to find me when I crossed as he knew I was a few days behind him.  Good enough.  He asked how Luis was doing.  The fact of the matter is that Luis isn't doing well, he came off the bike in Nicaragua and got a bit bashed up and might need surgery.  He was helped to the Costa Rican border by the army then made one final push to his friends place in Manuel Antonio, Costa Rica before flying back to Canada.

I waited under a shade tree drinking Pepsi for an hour before my fixer returned and handed me my papers and told me that I should go quickly as there were cops making the rounds looking to skim money off gringos.  He also told me to try not to stop at the checkpoints on the road as they were out to do the same.

I thanked him and revved off then hit my first pair of cops after being on the road for less than a minute.  They had four cones across the oncomming lane and pointed for me to ride over towards the cones.  I complied with their gestures, slowed down and swerved toward the cones but didn't stop as they expected me to.  I split between the cones and kept riding at a nice slow pace as the guys didn't have a cop car and I didn't see any radios either.  I glanced in my mirror and saw them both with their hands straight above their heads as though signaling a completed field goal.  I laughed out loud in my helmet and kept rolling.

Maybe 15 minutes later I came upon another checkpoint.  This time there were guys in the road that bocked me and ushered me to go to the shoulder where I stopped.  One cop walked around the bike and told me that I didn't have any reflectors.  I have 8 reflectors on the bike I told him. 

"You don't have any on the rear" He said shaking his head.

"I have two on my heels, two on my license plate and two on the backs of my pants" I politely informed him.

"They aren't triangles, though...." He said again shaking his head.

I had lines, circles and trapezoids, but sure enough, no triangles.  I had some reflective tape with me and told him I'd be happy to cut out some triangles of various sizes to put on the bike, no problem.  He said that it was very serious that I didn't have reflectors because I was invisible at night.  I told him that I don't ride at night.

He then told me that I needed to pay him $20.  I burst out laughing and said, "No gracias".  He then stated again that I owe him $20.  "Well....no....I don't owe you anything" I replied again while shaking my head.  "I know exactly what you're trying to do and I'm not going to give you a single 'centavo'" I said matter-of-factly. 

"Then you can't ride your motorcycle" He fired back.

"Ok, I'll push it"

"No pushing!"

"Fine... I'll pull it"  I said smiling

"NO PULLING!"  He was getting frustrated, I was not.

Again he said that I needed to pay him money and asked me how much I could pay him.  I yawned and asked him why he did't understand that I wasn't going to pay him anything.  He then pulled my sunglasses off my tank bag and asked if he could have them, I told him he could't.

He then pulled out a little traffic law book and started flipping through it, not sure if he was looking for more info regarding the reflector 'law' or looking for other laws to try to bust me on.  He put it away after skimming it briefly.

Another guy came over and gave me the same spiel to which I pointed at passing traffic and noted that they didn't have any reflective triangles.  He told me that I was going to be fined.  I told the cop that I was going to fine him for the funny hat he was wearing  (he had a Castro-esque hat) which made him laugh.

The new cop then asked me if he could have my highlighter pen which was clipped on my tank bag.  I told him he couldn't then told him I was going to leave.  They didn't seem too opposed to getting rid of me so I rode off without further incident.

I made it to some dumpy town where I found a little motel that said they'd allow me to put my bike inside.  They pulled out a wooden ramp which I jumped up the curb with, though crushed the ramp with my rear tire as my bike is about three times heavier than the little local bikes.  I walked around town and ate some tamales from a street vendor before hitting a barber shop for a straight-razor shave.  I'd had one about a year ago in Guatemala by some dull kid with an even duller razor which was not ideal.  This guy knew what he was doing, though.  He talked throughout the entire shave, though I said little, not wanting to move too much.  Post-shave he gave me a face massage then slapped some aftershave on me, literally.  Best shave I've ever had.