I awoke early and set off on a coffee tour. I was the only one in the group which allowed for some leeway when it came to the tour. We went to a coffee finca and saw tons of different plants in different stages. The higher the elevation, the more flavor in the red coffee berries. The red berries are picked then run through a little machine which removes the red, fleshy part of the berry and spits out a white coffee bean. The coffee bean is then roasted in what looks like a bucket with a blow dryer in the bottom as well as a heating element. The beans fly a few inches above the rim of the bucket before falling down to the bottom where they are roasted briefly before rising up again. The difference between dark and light blends is a matter of seconds.
I later went hiking by myself in the cloud forest and saw, well, lots of clouds and forest. Though atop a mountain, no scenic views were to be had as the mist cut visibility to maybe 50 feet. I hiked along a ridge and never really saw the ground to either side as it was always covered by dense jungle, but by looking at the tops of the trees one could approximate the contours of the land.
I hit a butterfly garden the next day which was a lot more fun than I thought it would be. No, I didn't bring a fly swatter. I sat down and watched many variety of butterflies fly around. I still don't know how they can navigate with any precision though they seem to know what they're doing. It's like they're in a constant state of bouncing and falling through the air. Being that I was the only person at this place as well I got some special treatment and was showed a host of huge bugs which would take several stomps to kill.
During the night I took in a night tour in Monte Verde National Park which was delayed due to the guide having a burned out bulb in his flashlight. Perhaps 10 of us went around looking for critters which we then pointed out to the guide who identified them for us. The most impressive were a huge tarantula and a phosphorescent mold that glowed brightly when we cut off our lights. I spotted a huge moth that had landed on the back of some French guy. I told him in English then Spanish but he spoke neither so I let the bug crawl all over him which I didn't feel too bad about as he was French, after all.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
1-31-10 San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua to Santa Elena, Costa Rica
After spending a few days in Granada I set out to San Juan del Sur, a little beach town near the Costa Rican border. I had planned on going here a couple years ago as a side trip from Costa Rica but never made it due to bad weather. It was a quiet little town with not much to do. I rode out to a remote beach one day and ate some cheap lobster, but other than that it was unremarkable.
The ride out of San Juan del Sur was hot and dry and soon led me through a plateau full of wind turbines, never a good sign while on a bike. Sure enough, it was windy. An unpredictable crosswind tested my reflexes for quite a few kilometers before gaining elevation in the highlands and leaving the wind behind.
With signs telling me that Costa Rica was 10 km off I encountered a line of semi trucks stopped in my lane. Being that I was not a semi truck I decided to start passing them. There were hundreds upon hundreds of rigs lining the road. Some drivers were checking their tires, securing loads or chatting with other drivers, quite a few had set up hammocks under their trailers and seemed content. This line of trucks continued the entire way to the border where I was told an inefficient customs office was the culprit. It's not uncommon for these guys to wait several days in the queue before crossing the border.
I was approached by a fixer and we decided upon a price of 200 Cordobas to get me around the three or four lines each consisting of at least a hundred people to get out of Nicaragua. I repeated a similar process for the entry of Costa Rica where I watched my fixer cut ahead of everyone in line and hand my paperwork to the office worker who dropped what he was doing and gave me the proper stamps before resuming his original duties.
I had to get the bike fumigated and asked the guy spraying the bike how much it cost. He said he didn't know which was a red flag. I then asked a cop how much it was and was quoted $5. I then walked next to the fumigation place where there was a little clerk office and asked the girl, "It's free, right?" To which she paused and reluctantly said, "Si" with a sigh.
After an hour of riding in Costa Rica I saw some golden arches on the horizon and pulled into the McDonalds to soak up their AC. I ordered strange things that weren't memorable, though.
Back on the bike again I rode until seeing a sign for Monte Verde and followed and extremely narrow road up into the mountains where no straight sections existed which did a good job wearing down the 'chicken strips' on the tires. (After riding too long on a straight section the middle portion of the tire begins to get worn down while the sides remain in good shape, the two resulting strips of good rubber are called 'chicken strips' and are a sign of not having had fun in the twisties. And now you know.)
As I gained elevation I was provided with a hazy view of the Nicoya peninsula as well as the surrounding mountain ranges. I had been too busy looking around to even notice that the air temperature had cooled off significantly and unzipped my jacket, stood up on the pegs and let the cool air whip through my t-shirt.
The paved road ended at a fork and turned into a powdery dry road accented with grapefruit-sized cobbles and a few potholes. The ascents on the steeper hills were dodgy as my tires are predominately street oriented. They broke traction often, especially after hitting rocks which jumped the rear tire into the air causing it to spin freely then sending a rooster-tail of dirt behind me when coming to rest on the road again. While descending a sharp winding section I had the bike in first gear which is geared unusually low but was still gaining speed. I tried feathering my brakes but the loose dirt caused the tires to slip which would set off the ABS which released the brakes, rendering them useless. I was able to get a skid of maybe a foot out of each tap of the brakes before they were overridden and kept gaining speed. I reached up with my right hand and slapped the kill switch which shut off all the electrics including the ABS system. I was then able to lock up the rear tire at will and swing side-to-side to scrub off speed until the bottom of the hill where I flicked the bike on, bump started it and climbed the next hill. The bike does have an ABS switch to turn off the ABS for dirt riding, but the bike must be turned off in the first place in order to deactivate it.
After asking directions a few times and doing a few U-turns I hit the outskirts of the town of Santa Elena which sits adjacent to the cloud forest of Monte Verde, one of the more popular National Parks in Costa Rica. The town reminded me a lot of New Zealand with rolling misty hills covered in sheep surrounding a small town with lots of cafes and extreme-sport outfitters, not a bad spot to spend a few days.
The ride out of San Juan del Sur was hot and dry and soon led me through a plateau full of wind turbines, never a good sign while on a bike. Sure enough, it was windy. An unpredictable crosswind tested my reflexes for quite a few kilometers before gaining elevation in the highlands and leaving the wind behind.
With signs telling me that Costa Rica was 10 km off I encountered a line of semi trucks stopped in my lane. Being that I was not a semi truck I decided to start passing them. There were hundreds upon hundreds of rigs lining the road. Some drivers were checking their tires, securing loads or chatting with other drivers, quite a few had set up hammocks under their trailers and seemed content. This line of trucks continued the entire way to the border where I was told an inefficient customs office was the culprit. It's not uncommon for these guys to wait several days in the queue before crossing the border.
I was approached by a fixer and we decided upon a price of 200 Cordobas to get me around the three or four lines each consisting of at least a hundred people to get out of Nicaragua. I repeated a similar process for the entry of Costa Rica where I watched my fixer cut ahead of everyone in line and hand my paperwork to the office worker who dropped what he was doing and gave me the proper stamps before resuming his original duties.
I had to get the bike fumigated and asked the guy spraying the bike how much it cost. He said he didn't know which was a red flag. I then asked a cop how much it was and was quoted $5. I then walked next to the fumigation place where there was a little clerk office and asked the girl, "It's free, right?" To which she paused and reluctantly said, "Si" with a sigh.
After an hour of riding in Costa Rica I saw some golden arches on the horizon and pulled into the McDonalds to soak up their AC. I ordered strange things that weren't memorable, though.
Back on the bike again I rode until seeing a sign for Monte Verde and followed and extremely narrow road up into the mountains where no straight sections existed which did a good job wearing down the 'chicken strips' on the tires. (After riding too long on a straight section the middle portion of the tire begins to get worn down while the sides remain in good shape, the two resulting strips of good rubber are called 'chicken strips' and are a sign of not having had fun in the twisties. And now you know.)
As I gained elevation I was provided with a hazy view of the Nicoya peninsula as well as the surrounding mountain ranges. I had been too busy looking around to even notice that the air temperature had cooled off significantly and unzipped my jacket, stood up on the pegs and let the cool air whip through my t-shirt.
The paved road ended at a fork and turned into a powdery dry road accented with grapefruit-sized cobbles and a few potholes. The ascents on the steeper hills were dodgy as my tires are predominately street oriented. They broke traction often, especially after hitting rocks which jumped the rear tire into the air causing it to spin freely then sending a rooster-tail of dirt behind me when coming to rest on the road again. While descending a sharp winding section I had the bike in first gear which is geared unusually low but was still gaining speed. I tried feathering my brakes but the loose dirt caused the tires to slip which would set off the ABS which released the brakes, rendering them useless. I was able to get a skid of maybe a foot out of each tap of the brakes before they were overridden and kept gaining speed. I reached up with my right hand and slapped the kill switch which shut off all the electrics including the ABS system. I was then able to lock up the rear tire at will and swing side-to-side to scrub off speed until the bottom of the hill where I flicked the bike on, bump started it and climbed the next hill. The bike does have an ABS switch to turn off the ABS for dirt riding, but the bike must be turned off in the first place in order to deactivate it.
After asking directions a few times and doing a few U-turns I hit the outskirts of the town of Santa Elena which sits adjacent to the cloud forest of Monte Verde, one of the more popular National Parks in Costa Rica. The town reminded me a lot of New Zealand with rolling misty hills covered in sheep surrounding a small town with lots of cafes and extreme-sport outfitters, not a bad spot to spend a few days.
Friday, February 26, 2010
1-27-10 Nicaragua
Within 30 minutes of crossing the border I had passed maybe five police checkpoints, most marked with a few cones on the centerline, some performing roadside searches of cars. Sometimes the cops would wave me on, other times they'd do nothing and I'd keep on riding.
The roads were in excellent shape winding through tobacco plantations which further reinforced the fact that it was painfully hot and humid.
I saw a police checkpoint ahead and slowed down quite a bit (or so I thought). I saw four cops all identically dressed in dark blue pants, baby blue shirts with epaulettes and mirrored aviator sunglasses. Perhaps twenty yards before their checkpoint I saw one cop flapping his arms like a pelican, one cop waving me through hastily and one cop waving his hands over his head. It all reminded me of a 'Men at Work' production but with all cops. I don't recall what the fourth cop was doing, but I'm guessing he was holding the radar gun while striking a pose.
"Hmmmm" I thought to myself. "Don't know what they want exactly, but I don't think I'll be stopping here either."
I rolled through the checkpoint at a reasonable speed and glanced in my mirror and saw them scurrying towards their Toyota Prius squad car. I then rounded a curve and lost sight of them.
Nobody had told me to stop clearly, and it was very obvious that one guy told me to go, so I had that going for me. I downshifted two gears and pegged the throttle. I wasn't about to have some foolish high-speed chase running from the cops but I wasn't going to putt around to see if they wanted to talk, either.
I raked through the gears, quickly hitting 100mph in a short straight section before downshifting and getting on the brakes hard into a series of corners. I popped out of the last corner and encountered a few cars which I passed easily while accelerating again on another straight-away. I checked my mirrors but saw nothing.
I rounded another set of corners and saw a lone car in my lane ahead of me with a line of traffic approaching. I noticed a small gap in oncoming traffic which would allow me to pass the car in front so I braked gently the just as the gap in traffic opened I flicked the bike left then right, passing the slow-moving car before getting on the throttle again.
I next hit a series of roller-coaster hills which provided a good rearward view of the road behind me. On one of the hills I noticed a pair of day-time running lights maybe half a mile behind me. On the second hill I noticed them too. Though far off the lights seemed to be staying with me which I didn't like as I'd blown past every car I'd encountered.
I continued my routine of slowing down for cars, darting around them and accelerating ahead for maybe 15 minutes before hitting the outskirts of Masaya. There was a long line of traffic backed up to a round-about. I passed the whole line on the inside then cut my way through the traffic circle before being hitting slowly moving traffic. The bike was too wide and the cars too dense to allow much passing but there were no side streets to pull off to and a deep ditch to my left with a raised median on the right, neither passable. I was stuck in this slow moving traffic for maybe a minute when I saw a large semi truck starting to make a wide right turn a few cars ahead of me. I threaded the bike between the cars before pulling in front of the truck and making the turn with him maybe 2 feet off my rear tire so that he'd shield me from view.
After a few seconds of zipping down the side street I slowed down and looked back. My jaw dropped when I saw a little Toyota Prius, tires squealing and smoking, sliding sideways past the road which I had just turned down. Apparently they had gone in the oncoming lane while I was stuck in traffic.
I turned off the bike and dismounted. Had I known where I was and didn't have all my luggage things might have been different. I hadn't done anything too grievous so I thought it would be best to have a little chat with my new friends. Let me be the first to say that getting pulled over by little Nicaraguan fellers driving a hybrid Toyota Prius while astride a BMW R1150GSA is a highly degrading moment in a man's life. Fail.
Four irate little cop hopped out and started snaping on latex gloves which I wasn't thrilled about.
"Licen!" One yelled at me, trying to speak English. I told him to just speak Spanish which seemed to offend him before handing over my license.
I asked him what the problem was and he showed me a radar gun with 102 (kph) on the screen. I was a little stunned and pleased when I saw this as I'd been hitting 170 on the straights, but I didn't bring that up.
The driver of the car came over to me, and walked up to me until his chest was almost touching my belt then tapped the BMW emblem on the bike and bonked me twice on the helmet with his nightstick. "I go screw you" he said slowly.
"You arrest!"
I stopped talking to the furious little man and chose to deal with two of the other guys who seemed to be more logical.
It was explained to me that I was doing 102kph in and 80kph zone (60mph in a 50mph) which I didn't feel too bad about.
"Oh, are you the cops I passed 15 minutes ago?" I asked
"SI!"
One of the cops handed me a little slip of yellow paper with my info on it as well as several infractions and the corresponding fines which totaled 500 Cordobas. I asked if I could pay on the spot, putting the option for a bribe on the table and was quickly quoted 'One-towsand-fi-hunwed' which I passed on though, in hindsight, should have taken. Next time.
I was told that I had to report to the police station in the morning to face the consequences which seemed to still be up in the air.
The cops then piled back in their Prius and left. I was rather bewildered by the whole event.
I rode another 20 minutes to my original destination of Granada which is a quaint little colonial town but nothing special.
The next morning I took off in search of the Masaya police station with a stack of cash in my jacket. After asking a few locals I came to the police station and rode through a slightly-open gate into a sea of cops. There were hundreds of them, all dressed exactly alike, same sunglasses, same shirts, same size, same hair color. I explained to one my objective and was told to park the bike and come inside their office where I was instructed to go get photo copies of my ticket. I was then told to go to the bank on the corner and pay the amount stated on the ticket.
Walking into the bank I saw two lines, one maybe a hundred people long, the other just a few. I asked the shotgun-toting doorman if I could go in the short line and he complied. I showed the teller my yellow ticket and slapped down five 100 Cordoba notes, all of about $23 US dollars.
I then returned to the police station, this time entering through the front door, where I found the proper window to deal with my little infraction. I showed the lady my paperwork and she asked me where my license was which I thought was a rather strange. "That's a good question, I hope you have it" I replied. Again, she asked me where my license was and again I repeated myself. She then spoke slower and I was able to hear her ask "From where is your license". Ah yes. "Colorado en los Estados Unidos" She nodded in approval and disappeared through a crooked back door which could only open about a foot before getting stuck on the floor.
I leaned on the little counter while the line behind me grew longer and longer. Inside the booth was another lady who did nothing but pull the staples from pieces of paper. She had a huge mole almost touching the bottom of her eye which made my eyes water just looking at it On the wall was a large whiteboard with columns for each type of motor vehicle in the city and the corresponding number. In the corner was an old computer, the yellowish variety with a filthy keyboard and stacks of equally dirty manila envelopes stacked haphazardly.
After a half hour of waiting the lady who I'd spoken with earlier returned through the door and told me that she couldn't find my license.
Oh, the anger.
I thanked her for her help then went in search of the police chief. Sr. Jiminez ushered me into his dimly lit office, took a long, deliberate drag on a cigarette and paused in a moment of relaxation before shaking my hand and asking me what he could do for me.
I explained to him my situation and how it seemed that the cops had intentionally lost my license, thus 'screwing' me as they had noted the day before. I casually stated that it was my first day in his country and that I was suprised to find that cops hit foreigners in the head with night sticks. "Do they do this a lot?" I asked. I was quickly reassured that this was not acceptable behavior. He told me to return to his office first thing the next day and that he'd take care of the problem in the meantime.
I rode over to the police station the next day, Sr. Jimenez was on the phone but waved me then mouthed for me to go to the front desk. I went to the front desk and was handed my ID before I could say anything.
The roads were in excellent shape winding through tobacco plantations which further reinforced the fact that it was painfully hot and humid.
I saw a police checkpoint ahead and slowed down quite a bit (or so I thought). I saw four cops all identically dressed in dark blue pants, baby blue shirts with epaulettes and mirrored aviator sunglasses. Perhaps twenty yards before their checkpoint I saw one cop flapping his arms like a pelican, one cop waving me through hastily and one cop waving his hands over his head. It all reminded me of a 'Men at Work' production but with all cops. I don't recall what the fourth cop was doing, but I'm guessing he was holding the radar gun while striking a pose.
"Hmmmm" I thought to myself. "Don't know what they want exactly, but I don't think I'll be stopping here either."
I rolled through the checkpoint at a reasonable speed and glanced in my mirror and saw them scurrying towards their Toyota Prius squad car. I then rounded a curve and lost sight of them.
Nobody had told me to stop clearly, and it was very obvious that one guy told me to go, so I had that going for me. I downshifted two gears and pegged the throttle. I wasn't about to have some foolish high-speed chase running from the cops but I wasn't going to putt around to see if they wanted to talk, either.
I raked through the gears, quickly hitting 100mph in a short straight section before downshifting and getting on the brakes hard into a series of corners. I popped out of the last corner and encountered a few cars which I passed easily while accelerating again on another straight-away. I checked my mirrors but saw nothing.
I rounded another set of corners and saw a lone car in my lane ahead of me with a line of traffic approaching. I noticed a small gap in oncoming traffic which would allow me to pass the car in front so I braked gently the just as the gap in traffic opened I flicked the bike left then right, passing the slow-moving car before getting on the throttle again.
I next hit a series of roller-coaster hills which provided a good rearward view of the road behind me. On one of the hills I noticed a pair of day-time running lights maybe half a mile behind me. On the second hill I noticed them too. Though far off the lights seemed to be staying with me which I didn't like as I'd blown past every car I'd encountered.
I continued my routine of slowing down for cars, darting around them and accelerating ahead for maybe 15 minutes before hitting the outskirts of Masaya. There was a long line of traffic backed up to a round-about. I passed the whole line on the inside then cut my way through the traffic circle before being hitting slowly moving traffic. The bike was too wide and the cars too dense to allow much passing but there were no side streets to pull off to and a deep ditch to my left with a raised median on the right, neither passable. I was stuck in this slow moving traffic for maybe a minute when I saw a large semi truck starting to make a wide right turn a few cars ahead of me. I threaded the bike between the cars before pulling in front of the truck and making the turn with him maybe 2 feet off my rear tire so that he'd shield me from view.
After a few seconds of zipping down the side street I slowed down and looked back. My jaw dropped when I saw a little Toyota Prius, tires squealing and smoking, sliding sideways past the road which I had just turned down. Apparently they had gone in the oncoming lane while I was stuck in traffic.
I turned off the bike and dismounted. Had I known where I was and didn't have all my luggage things might have been different. I hadn't done anything too grievous so I thought it would be best to have a little chat with my new friends. Let me be the first to say that getting pulled over by little Nicaraguan fellers driving a hybrid Toyota Prius while astride a BMW R1150GSA is a highly degrading moment in a man's life. Fail.
Four irate little cop hopped out and started snaping on latex gloves which I wasn't thrilled about.
"Licen!" One yelled at me, trying to speak English. I told him to just speak Spanish which seemed to offend him before handing over my license.
I asked him what the problem was and he showed me a radar gun with 102 (kph) on the screen. I was a little stunned and pleased when I saw this as I'd been hitting 170 on the straights, but I didn't bring that up.
The driver of the car came over to me, and walked up to me until his chest was almost touching my belt then tapped the BMW emblem on the bike and bonked me twice on the helmet with his nightstick. "I go screw you" he said slowly.
"You arrest!"
I stopped talking to the furious little man and chose to deal with two of the other guys who seemed to be more logical.
It was explained to me that I was doing 102kph in and 80kph zone (60mph in a 50mph) which I didn't feel too bad about.
"Oh, are you the cops I passed 15 minutes ago?" I asked
"SI!"
One of the cops handed me a little slip of yellow paper with my info on it as well as several infractions and the corresponding fines which totaled 500 Cordobas. I asked if I could pay on the spot, putting the option for a bribe on the table and was quickly quoted 'One-towsand-fi-hunwed' which I passed on though, in hindsight, should have taken. Next time.
I was told that I had to report to the police station in the morning to face the consequences which seemed to still be up in the air.
The cops then piled back in their Prius and left. I was rather bewildered by the whole event.
I rode another 20 minutes to my original destination of Granada which is a quaint little colonial town but nothing special.
The next morning I took off in search of the Masaya police station with a stack of cash in my jacket. After asking a few locals I came to the police station and rode through a slightly-open gate into a sea of cops. There were hundreds of them, all dressed exactly alike, same sunglasses, same shirts, same size, same hair color. I explained to one my objective and was told to park the bike and come inside their office where I was instructed to go get photo copies of my ticket. I was then told to go to the bank on the corner and pay the amount stated on the ticket.
Walking into the bank I saw two lines, one maybe a hundred people long, the other just a few. I asked the shotgun-toting doorman if I could go in the short line and he complied. I showed the teller my yellow ticket and slapped down five 100 Cordoba notes, all of about $23 US dollars.
I then returned to the police station, this time entering through the front door, where I found the proper window to deal with my little infraction. I showed the lady my paperwork and she asked me where my license was which I thought was a rather strange. "That's a good question, I hope you have it" I replied. Again, she asked me where my license was and again I repeated myself. She then spoke slower and I was able to hear her ask "From where is your license". Ah yes. "Colorado en los Estados Unidos" She nodded in approval and disappeared through a crooked back door which could only open about a foot before getting stuck on the floor.
I leaned on the little counter while the line behind me grew longer and longer. Inside the booth was another lady who did nothing but pull the staples from pieces of paper. She had a huge mole almost touching the bottom of her eye which made my eyes water just looking at it On the wall was a large whiteboard with columns for each type of motor vehicle in the city and the corresponding number. In the corner was an old computer, the yellowish variety with a filthy keyboard and stacks of equally dirty manila envelopes stacked haphazardly.
After a half hour of waiting the lady who I'd spoken with earlier returned through the door and told me that she couldn't find my license.
Oh, the anger.
I thanked her for her help then went in search of the police chief. Sr. Jiminez ushered me into his dimly lit office, took a long, deliberate drag on a cigarette and paused in a moment of relaxation before shaking my hand and asking me what he could do for me.
I explained to him my situation and how it seemed that the cops had intentionally lost my license, thus 'screwing' me as they had noted the day before. I casually stated that it was my first day in his country and that I was suprised to find that cops hit foreigners in the head with night sticks. "Do they do this a lot?" I asked. I was quickly reassured that this was not acceptable behavior. He told me to return to his office first thing the next day and that he'd take care of the problem in the meantime.
I rode over to the police station the next day, Sr. Jimenez was on the phone but waved me then mouthed for me to go to the front desk. I went to the front desk and was handed my ID before I could say anything.
Monday, February 22, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
1-22-10 San Luis Jilotepeque, Guatemala
We had another incredible ride to Lago Atitlan and ended up blowing past our exit by half an hour because we were having too much fun to pay attention to the signs. If viewed from above, the road would resemble a sine curve for most of the time with identical curves repeating themselves over and over and over. The repetitiveness of the road provided an excellent opportunity to push the bikes sytstematically harder and harder in the turns until things started getting squirrely and toes started dragging. The road was unbanked but in excellent condition as a lot are in the area due to hurricane-induced mud slides and earthquakes which have forced rebuilding. Hurricane Stan was the last one to hit and killed several thousand in the Lago Atitlan area mostly via mud slides.
Luis and I rode close to each other and much passing was done. He could get through the corners faster than I could as he's a better rider with a lighter bike though I could accelerate out of the turns harder and brake harder (thus later) going into the next series of turns which led to a well-balanced competition.
We pulled into Panajachel, the largest of the little towns surrounding the huge volcanic lake and found a little family run hotel/daycare/poultry ranch that cost each man $2.50 a night. The hosts were great, especially the kids, one of whom asked if she could get into my aluminum pannier to which her mother hissed. There were dozens of chickens pecking about as well as an eager rooster who did his crowing between 3 and 6am.
We walked around town and were constantly pestered to buy various pieces of handmade artworks, most of which I assume end up at garage sales in just a few years.
The first night I found a litte cafe with WiFi and a live band playing. Luis wasted no time befriending the local band and was behind the mic after being in the place no more than 10 minutes. Mid-song a series of explosions detonated rather close to us, the first knocking out the power and the latter ones sending a blinding light throughout the cafe, illuminating everyone. The concussions were strong engough to reverberate in my chest. It ended up being some local kids with some legitimate fireworks as I did see one little floral-burst in the air. The first mortar, however, hit the power line we were told.
With the lights out a roving pack of street dogs saw an excellent opportunity to make their move and descended upon us. I felt several snake past my legs under my table and saw the silhouette of one jump onto the chair next to me, probably wanting some of my sandwich. Some American guy shouted out, "Waiter, Waiter! Can you PLEASE do something about these dogs!" Which made me laugh as the waiter spoke no English.
We stayed a few nights and took some water taxis to the nearby villages and did a canopy tour which was superb. We had to hike 30 minutes up a valley with steep sides to where the uppermost canopy platform was located. Cables then zig-zagged across the canyon, eventually dropping us off at the visitor center at the bottom. Cables were typically 400 yards long with drops up to a couple hundred feet to the valley floor, good enough to see quite a lot. We were strapped into a harness which had a pulley on it that was then clipped to the cable. To slow down we were given a pair of leather gloves with which to grab the cable (behind the pulley so as to keep your fingers attached). Luis and I swapped cameras in order to take pictures of each other as we came in to land. On one cable, Luis tried to use the video feature on my camera for some good aerial footge but was unable to slow himself down properly with only one hand. He then reached up with his other hand that had my camera lanyard wrapped around it to further slow himself down. He slowed down but also burned through the lanyard on the camera, sending it shooting to the jungle floor. After a bit of scrounging we found it, works just fine.
We rode back to Antigua for the night then rode out together the next day to the edge of town to go our separate ways. He had to hustle it down to Costa Rica where he'll leave his bike with a friend then fly back to Vancouver for a few months then hopefully continue his journey in the summer.
"Fue un placer, buena suerte" We nodded then rode off.
It was sad to see him go as we'd traveled for almost a month and had become good friends. I'll probably be seeing Luis again in the next few years as he said he's always got a couch with my name on it which I hope to take advantage of on a ride up to Alaska in the near future.
I made it back to Guatemala City where I went to the Moto Guzzi dealer that I found by pure luck. The city is divided into different 'Zonas' ranging from 1 to 13 or so but are in no apparent order. The address of places is referenced as the number of buildings away from a certain street. For example 12-88 means that you have 88 addresses ahead of you before you hit 12th street. Strange, inefficient, but not an issue to me anymore.
The dealer didn't have the tires in stock that I needed but said he'd get them to me the next morning. I took off and found a hostel that I rode into which didn't seem to please the housekeeper too much (job security?). At the hostel I met two guys, one from London, one from Sydney. They were going out for a night on the town and asked me if I'd like to join them. I passed as I'd had a long day and didn't really care much for the guys either.
About 4 am they both staggered into the dorm room, the Aussie was beyond drunk and had received a good beating by the looks of the his bloody, swolen face. Apparently he was beat up sometime throughout the night then on the walk back home the pommie had a gun pulled on him and was robbed.
The next day I got the tires which I now have lashed to my rear seat, giving it a bit of a gypsy look. I took off headed east but doglegged north to a section of Guatemala that looked exactly like Africa- beobob-like trees, tall dry grass, bald, rocky hills and lots of birds. I've never been to Africa, though this is what I assume it would look like. However, I'm usually wrong about these sorts of things, so who knows.
My destination for the night was almost to the El Salvadoran border at the little town of San Luis Jilotepeque which everyone thought was a strange place to go as there was nothing to do there, but it wasn't far off track for me.
My reason for going there was to to stay with Rhianna, the sister of the boyfriend of the friend of my sister, who is in the Peace Corps. Upon explaining this to a group of local boys who'd assembled around my bike as I pulled up at here place they paused to think of her relation to me. One replied, "So, she's you sister-in-law?"
"Yes, exactly" as it was close enough.
Though an excellent conversationalist and very fun to talk to it was quite evident that we shared very different viewpoints on most everything. We left politics till the next morning. "You know that you had a member of the NRA under your roof last night, don't you?" And so started the friendly banter on gun control. By the way, should you be undecided on the matter (or even standing firm) I invite you to come down to Central America where guns are either illegal or hard to come by in most places, quite different from things back home. After a few nights I'm sure you'll have developed an educated and enlightened viewpoint from your experience. 'Nuff said.
We agreed to disagree on virtually every topic, and that's ok. We did find common ground by acknowledging that the differences between so many charged subjects are miniscule. Whether religion or politics, there are typically many similarities between opposing viewpoints which, unfortunately, all too often seem to be forgotten.
Luis and I rode close to each other and much passing was done. He could get through the corners faster than I could as he's a better rider with a lighter bike though I could accelerate out of the turns harder and brake harder (thus later) going into the next series of turns which led to a well-balanced competition.
We pulled into Panajachel, the largest of the little towns surrounding the huge volcanic lake and found a little family run hotel/daycare/poultry ranch that cost each man $2.50 a night. The hosts were great, especially the kids, one of whom asked if she could get into my aluminum pannier to which her mother hissed. There were dozens of chickens pecking about as well as an eager rooster who did his crowing between 3 and 6am.
We walked around town and were constantly pestered to buy various pieces of handmade artworks, most of which I assume end up at garage sales in just a few years.
The first night I found a litte cafe with WiFi and a live band playing. Luis wasted no time befriending the local band and was behind the mic after being in the place no more than 10 minutes. Mid-song a series of explosions detonated rather close to us, the first knocking out the power and the latter ones sending a blinding light throughout the cafe, illuminating everyone. The concussions were strong engough to reverberate in my chest. It ended up being some local kids with some legitimate fireworks as I did see one little floral-burst in the air. The first mortar, however, hit the power line we were told.
With the lights out a roving pack of street dogs saw an excellent opportunity to make their move and descended upon us. I felt several snake past my legs under my table and saw the silhouette of one jump onto the chair next to me, probably wanting some of my sandwich. Some American guy shouted out, "Waiter, Waiter! Can you PLEASE do something about these dogs!" Which made me laugh as the waiter spoke no English.
We stayed a few nights and took some water taxis to the nearby villages and did a canopy tour which was superb. We had to hike 30 minutes up a valley with steep sides to where the uppermost canopy platform was located. Cables then zig-zagged across the canyon, eventually dropping us off at the visitor center at the bottom. Cables were typically 400 yards long with drops up to a couple hundred feet to the valley floor, good enough to see quite a lot. We were strapped into a harness which had a pulley on it that was then clipped to the cable. To slow down we were given a pair of leather gloves with which to grab the cable (behind the pulley so as to keep your fingers attached). Luis and I swapped cameras in order to take pictures of each other as we came in to land. On one cable, Luis tried to use the video feature on my camera for some good aerial footge but was unable to slow himself down properly with only one hand. He then reached up with his other hand that had my camera lanyard wrapped around it to further slow himself down. He slowed down but also burned through the lanyard on the camera, sending it shooting to the jungle floor. After a bit of scrounging we found it, works just fine.
We rode back to Antigua for the night then rode out together the next day to the edge of town to go our separate ways. He had to hustle it down to Costa Rica where he'll leave his bike with a friend then fly back to Vancouver for a few months then hopefully continue his journey in the summer.
"Fue un placer, buena suerte" We nodded then rode off.
It was sad to see him go as we'd traveled for almost a month and had become good friends. I'll probably be seeing Luis again in the next few years as he said he's always got a couch with my name on it which I hope to take advantage of on a ride up to Alaska in the near future.
I made it back to Guatemala City where I went to the Moto Guzzi dealer that I found by pure luck. The city is divided into different 'Zonas' ranging from 1 to 13 or so but are in no apparent order. The address of places is referenced as the number of buildings away from a certain street. For example 12-88 means that you have 88 addresses ahead of you before you hit 12th street. Strange, inefficient, but not an issue to me anymore.
The dealer didn't have the tires in stock that I needed but said he'd get them to me the next morning. I took off and found a hostel that I rode into which didn't seem to please the housekeeper too much (job security?). At the hostel I met two guys, one from London, one from Sydney. They were going out for a night on the town and asked me if I'd like to join them. I passed as I'd had a long day and didn't really care much for the guys either.
About 4 am they both staggered into the dorm room, the Aussie was beyond drunk and had received a good beating by the looks of the his bloody, swolen face. Apparently he was beat up sometime throughout the night then on the walk back home the pommie had a gun pulled on him and was robbed.
The next day I got the tires which I now have lashed to my rear seat, giving it a bit of a gypsy look. I took off headed east but doglegged north to a section of Guatemala that looked exactly like Africa- beobob-like trees, tall dry grass, bald, rocky hills and lots of birds. I've never been to Africa, though this is what I assume it would look like. However, I'm usually wrong about these sorts of things, so who knows.
My destination for the night was almost to the El Salvadoran border at the little town of San Luis Jilotepeque which everyone thought was a strange place to go as there was nothing to do there, but it wasn't far off track for me.
My reason for going there was to to stay with Rhianna, the sister of the boyfriend of the friend of my sister, who is in the Peace Corps. Upon explaining this to a group of local boys who'd assembled around my bike as I pulled up at here place they paused to think of her relation to me. One replied, "So, she's you sister-in-law?"
"Yes, exactly" as it was close enough.
Though an excellent conversationalist and very fun to talk to it was quite evident that we shared very different viewpoints on most everything. We left politics till the next morning. "You know that you had a member of the NRA under your roof last night, don't you?" And so started the friendly banter on gun control. By the way, should you be undecided on the matter (or even standing firm) I invite you to come down to Central America where guns are either illegal or hard to come by in most places, quite different from things back home. After a few nights I'm sure you'll have developed an educated and enlightened viewpoint from your experience. 'Nuff said.
We agreed to disagree on virtually every topic, and that's ok. We did find common ground by acknowledging that the differences between so many charged subjects are miniscule. Whether religion or politics, there are typically many similarities between opposing viewpoints which, unfortunately, all too often seem to be forgotten.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
1-17-10 Antigua, Guatemala
Antigua was a welcome change from northern Guatemala where things were less civilized. The town is very easy to live in and many Americans have set up a second home her. It's a UNESCO world heritage site which has its pros and cons. Signage is kept to a bare minimum which makes finding places a little difficult. Also, all the blockslook identical with their cobblestones and colonial style buildings. Navigation is best done by the volcano on the edge of town.
Being that we were a couple dirty guys we set out to do some laundry and wash the bikes. Wanting to get the most laundry done, Luis donned a pair of long underwear which he trounced around in for the day while waiting on the 'lavanderia'.
Luis also found a newfront tire for the bike as his previous one was designed for a chopper. He'd bought it in Phoenix on his wasy down as that was all they had in stock. While Luis was out getting the tire I stayed back at the hostel, leaned up against a concrete wall writing. Without a sound I felt the wall push me so I turned around and looked at it trying to figure out what it was, but just saw the wall. Then then I heard all sorts of bottles and plates and tables start to vibrate and buzz around, lights and fake parrots were swinging violently fron the ceiling. "I bet this is an earthquake". And I scurried towards the courtyard area which was covered with just a tarp.
The quake subsided and no damage was done. These are quite common here due to the volcanoes though the locals never get used to them.
In March of 2009 I spent a month in Antigua studying Spanish. While there I kept a very similar travel blog to what you're reading now.
Here are a few stories from back them, some have heard them, most have not, enjoy....
I've been living with the Gonzalez family in a large home near my Spanish school on the eastern side of Antigua, Guatemala. The home looks quite old and is made mostly of formed concrete, however it was almost entirely rebuilt a few years ago when an earthquake destroyed most of it.
There is an open courtyard in the middle of the two-story home that is maybe 4 yards by 4 yards and encloses a tall avocado tree, loaded with softball sized fruits. The kitchen, dining room, family room all border the courtyard and are exposed to the elements, hacienda style. The mornings are unusually cold and I can see my breath in my room when I awake. It usually isn't like this, Sr. Gonzalez says. Luckily the days heat up to mid 80s.
I am aproximately a foot taller than everyone else in my host family which has certain disadvantages. I realized quickly that I was collecting cobwebs throughout the house with my head for the first few days. Luckily I've got almost all of them and things should be clean for a while. I frequently bump into door jams, light bulbs and the ceiling in one room.
Most homes don't have hot water here in Guatemala, however mine does, quite the luxury....kinda. The shower head comes down to my shoulder as it was built for little Guatemalans. The water heater is built into the shower head which resembles a Coolwhip tub with holes in the bottom and a birds nest of loose wires in the top which I recognized as a potential problem despite having barely passed my electrical engineering class a few years back. After a few minutes of running the water (which trips a switch for the heating element) the water becomes less cold and warms up slowly about half the time, though sometimes it just stays cold.
While squatting under the shower head washing the shampoo out of my hair during my first shower, I accidentally stood up, touching the shower head with my head. My whole body instantly became rigid, my jaw locked shut and I felt my eyes roll back in my head and saw a painfully bright light. Not sure if it was the afterlife or electrons bouncing off my retinas. I was able to pull my head from the coolwhip tub and staggered zombie-like out of the shower, chuckled for a second and got back in, this time more wary.
My first day of Spanish lessons were great except for a few minor incidents. I was introduced to Paula, mi profesora, and we walked together to our little cubicle in the courtyard under a terracotta tile roof. There are bout 20 such cubicles surrounding a fountain and an avocado tree which causes a scramble of students whenever a fruit falls to the ground.
In our little cubicle there was an old wooden table that wobbled a bit and two small chairs. Upon sitting down in one of the little plastic chairs, the legs splayed out like a horse on ice, and of course, I wound up on the ground. I stood up but the chair was wedged about my child-bearing hips which I had to wrestle off. I now use a wooden chair.
During our morning break, I ventured off into the streets to find something to eat and came across a lady selling various snacks out of a large basket. I had a guacamole sandwich and a cup of atol, a soup-like drink made out of rice, beans and corn. The sandwich was great and cost 40 cents. The atol was not good so I went to drop it off in one of the small trash cans they have mounted shoulder-high on telephone poles. Upon dropping the nearly full cup of atol into the trashcan I received a flood of hot liquid down my right leg and shoe. Apparently there was no bag in the can.
During my Spanish lesson one day, after being there for several weeks, another profesora came to my desk and asked, "You're Ben from Colorado, right?" I agreed and she went on to tell me that there was a man outside the school on a horse that wanted to talk to me.
"Must be Ole" I thought.
Upon heading outside, my suspicion was confirmed. Ole was atop a scrawny, unusually hairy and very sweaty horse.
"What are you doing on that thing?" I asked while we shook hands.
"Oh, well, I twisted ma knee yesterday when I was runnin' in ma boots, hurts to walk on, don't think I can do salsa either tonight with the ladies."
Ole and I have been taking daily salsa dancing lessons with Anna and Edwina, from Australia, and have gotten reasonably good for rookie gringos, or so we like to think. Anna and 'Ween' had been traveling throughout Central America for a few months together before studying at my school where we met. Most evenings after salsa the 'mericans and the Aussies' head to Sky Bar, a rooftop bar that overlooks the city for a few drinks and exchange the funny stories of our daily lives in a foreign country, of which there seem to be many.
Not long ago I recalled an amusing story that had happened to me recently....
...About a week ago while at a local market I was asked by a salesman if I needed any help with the merchandise. I politely declined and kept on browsing. The salesman stayed with me and struck up a conversation with me and became interested in my Spanish studies. He informed me that he was a private tutor and would be happy to tutor me. I declined as I'm already settled into a school that I like and thanked him for his offer.
The next day, while walking the city I saw the same salesman across the street on the sidewalk. He came over and greeted me, "Hola Benjamin!" I didn't remember his name, but Javier shall suffice. We chatted briefly and again, Javier asked me if I'd like a personal tutor. Again, I declined. While about to leave he took out a piece of paper, wrote his name, phone number and email address on it and told me that if I ever changed my mind that I should give him a call.
"This guy really wants to tutor me" I thought.
The next night I saw Javier yet again while heading to the gym. This time he ran over to me again and extended his hand to greet me. What happened next was rather strange.... He began pulsing his thumb against my hand while we shook hands. Being the astute traveler that I am, I assumed it was some local Guatemalan custom, and gave him a few pulses back.
To this Javier's eyes lit up. "Oh, Benjamin, mi casa es tu casa"
"Oh, gracias, muy amable" I replied.
"Y Benjamin, mi cama es tu cama" -(My bed is your bed!)
"OH HELL NO!"I replied in English, pulled my hand back and got out of there.
I soon came to find out that the pulsing of the thumb is a sign amongst the gay community down here. And now I know what not to do.
"I dare ANYONE to do that to me! Ole proclaimed, slamming his fist on the table.
Ole is quite the interesting character. His real name is Oliver, but can't recall ever being called that in his life. He grew up in Jefferson, Texas near the Louisiana border and is a redneck by anyone's standards. He was raised in a cabin with no electricity or running water until it burned down when he was 10.
He can't remember ho many heer he's poached in his life, all of which were eaten, though. I don't have a problem with that. He is currently being investigated for poaching a deer back home but is confident that "They don't got nothin' on me, I'll be fine."
During a lapse of judgment last year while trailer sitting for a friend, he accidentally shot his friends new flat-screen TV with his pistol that he thought was unloaded. Embarassed of what he'd done, he proceeded to drop the TV on the ground so as to make it appear that it fell off the wall and was damaged in that manner. He did, however, buy his friend a new TV.
Ole's younger brother was paralyzed for "...a few months when he drove into the shallow end of the pool a few years ago." He has since made a near complete recovery but has problems with his hands at times. "Sometimes I'll put a buncha' quarters on the ground in front of my brother, 'cause it takes him forever to pick 'em up!" He said laughing. "Luckily he's got a good sense of humor too."
Ole may or may not have 'taken care' of all the stray cats in his backyard with the help of his bow and arrow.
Though lacking in 'formal education', Ole is still a very sharp guy who has a good world-view. He's traveled throughout the Americas and speaks near perfect Spanish with virtually no accent despite his thick southern drawl while speaking English. He learned his Spanish while working on drill rigs with Mexicans throughout Texas and while doing mission trips with his grandparents in Central America. He is also conversationally fluent in Norwegian because his dead-beat Norwegian dad spoke it when he was around.
Ole refuses to wear shirts with sleeves down here, however I suspect he does the same where ever he goes. He currently found work as a bouncer/bartender at one of the nicer restaurants in town and and continues his sleeveless policy while at work. He's already been in a few interesting bar fights, one fight last week ended when he kicked a drunk Guatemalan in the stomach, out the door and onto the sidewalk.
"Yeah, I thought 'bout punchin' him but... ya know... kickin' worked jus' as good!"
Being that we were a couple dirty guys we set out to do some laundry and wash the bikes. Wanting to get the most laundry done, Luis donned a pair of long underwear which he trounced around in for the day while waiting on the 'lavanderia'.
Luis also found a newfront tire for the bike as his previous one was designed for a chopper. He'd bought it in Phoenix on his wasy down as that was all they had in stock. While Luis was out getting the tire I stayed back at the hostel, leaned up against a concrete wall writing. Without a sound I felt the wall push me so I turned around and looked at it trying to figure out what it was, but just saw the wall. Then then I heard all sorts of bottles and plates and tables start to vibrate and buzz around, lights and fake parrots were swinging violently fron the ceiling. "I bet this is an earthquake". And I scurried towards the courtyard area which was covered with just a tarp.
The quake subsided and no damage was done. These are quite common here due to the volcanoes though the locals never get used to them.
In March of 2009 I spent a month in Antigua studying Spanish. While there I kept a very similar travel blog to what you're reading now.
Here are a few stories from back them, some have heard them, most have not, enjoy....
I've been living with the Gonzalez family in a large home near my Spanish school on the eastern side of Antigua, Guatemala. The home looks quite old and is made mostly of formed concrete, however it was almost entirely rebuilt a few years ago when an earthquake destroyed most of it.
There is an open courtyard in the middle of the two-story home that is maybe 4 yards by 4 yards and encloses a tall avocado tree, loaded with softball sized fruits. The kitchen, dining room, family room all border the courtyard and are exposed to the elements, hacienda style. The mornings are unusually cold and I can see my breath in my room when I awake. It usually isn't like this, Sr. Gonzalez says. Luckily the days heat up to mid 80s.
I am aproximately a foot taller than everyone else in my host family which has certain disadvantages. I realized quickly that I was collecting cobwebs throughout the house with my head for the first few days. Luckily I've got almost all of them and things should be clean for a while. I frequently bump into door jams, light bulbs and the ceiling in one room.
Most homes don't have hot water here in Guatemala, however mine does, quite the luxury....kinda. The shower head comes down to my shoulder as it was built for little Guatemalans. The water heater is built into the shower head which resembles a Coolwhip tub with holes in the bottom and a birds nest of loose wires in the top which I recognized as a potential problem despite having barely passed my electrical engineering class a few years back. After a few minutes of running the water (which trips a switch for the heating element) the water becomes less cold and warms up slowly about half the time, though sometimes it just stays cold.
While squatting under the shower head washing the shampoo out of my hair during my first shower, I accidentally stood up, touching the shower head with my head. My whole body instantly became rigid, my jaw locked shut and I felt my eyes roll back in my head and saw a painfully bright light. Not sure if it was the afterlife or electrons bouncing off my retinas. I was able to pull my head from the coolwhip tub and staggered zombie-like out of the shower, chuckled for a second and got back in, this time more wary.
My first day of Spanish lessons were great except for a few minor incidents. I was introduced to Paula, mi profesora, and we walked together to our little cubicle in the courtyard under a terracotta tile roof. There are bout 20 such cubicles surrounding a fountain and an avocado tree which causes a scramble of students whenever a fruit falls to the ground.
In our little cubicle there was an old wooden table that wobbled a bit and two small chairs. Upon sitting down in one of the little plastic chairs, the legs splayed out like a horse on ice, and of course, I wound up on the ground. I stood up but the chair was wedged about my child-bearing hips which I had to wrestle off. I now use a wooden chair.
During our morning break, I ventured off into the streets to find something to eat and came across a lady selling various snacks out of a large basket. I had a guacamole sandwich and a cup of atol, a soup-like drink made out of rice, beans and corn. The sandwich was great and cost 40 cents. The atol was not good so I went to drop it off in one of the small trash cans they have mounted shoulder-high on telephone poles. Upon dropping the nearly full cup of atol into the trashcan I received a flood of hot liquid down my right leg and shoe. Apparently there was no bag in the can.
During my Spanish lesson one day, after being there for several weeks, another profesora came to my desk and asked, "You're Ben from Colorado, right?" I agreed and she went on to tell me that there was a man outside the school on a horse that wanted to talk to me.
"Must be Ole" I thought.
Upon heading outside, my suspicion was confirmed. Ole was atop a scrawny, unusually hairy and very sweaty horse.
"What are you doing on that thing?" I asked while we shook hands.
"Oh, well, I twisted ma knee yesterday when I was runnin' in ma boots, hurts to walk on, don't think I can do salsa either tonight with the ladies."
Ole and I have been taking daily salsa dancing lessons with Anna and Edwina, from Australia, and have gotten reasonably good for rookie gringos, or so we like to think. Anna and 'Ween' had been traveling throughout Central America for a few months together before studying at my school where we met. Most evenings after salsa the 'mericans and the Aussies' head to Sky Bar, a rooftop bar that overlooks the city for a few drinks and exchange the funny stories of our daily lives in a foreign country, of which there seem to be many.
Not long ago I recalled an amusing story that had happened to me recently....
...About a week ago while at a local market I was asked by a salesman if I needed any help with the merchandise. I politely declined and kept on browsing. The salesman stayed with me and struck up a conversation with me and became interested in my Spanish studies. He informed me that he was a private tutor and would be happy to tutor me. I declined as I'm already settled into a school that I like and thanked him for his offer.
The next day, while walking the city I saw the same salesman across the street on the sidewalk. He came over and greeted me, "Hola Benjamin!" I didn't remember his name, but Javier shall suffice. We chatted briefly and again, Javier asked me if I'd like a personal tutor. Again, I declined. While about to leave he took out a piece of paper, wrote his name, phone number and email address on it and told me that if I ever changed my mind that I should give him a call.
"This guy really wants to tutor me" I thought.
The next night I saw Javier yet again while heading to the gym. This time he ran over to me again and extended his hand to greet me. What happened next was rather strange.... He began pulsing his thumb against my hand while we shook hands. Being the astute traveler that I am, I assumed it was some local Guatemalan custom, and gave him a few pulses back.
To this Javier's eyes lit up. "Oh, Benjamin, mi casa es tu casa"
"Oh, gracias, muy amable" I replied.
"Y Benjamin, mi cama es tu cama" -(My bed is your bed!)
"OH HELL NO!"I replied in English, pulled my hand back and got out of there.
I soon came to find out that the pulsing of the thumb is a sign amongst the gay community down here. And now I know what not to do.
"I dare ANYONE to do that to me! Ole proclaimed, slamming his fist on the table.
Ole is quite the interesting character. His real name is Oliver, but can't recall ever being called that in his life. He grew up in Jefferson, Texas near the Louisiana border and is a redneck by anyone's standards. He was raised in a cabin with no electricity or running water until it burned down when he was 10.
He can't remember ho many heer he's poached in his life, all of which were eaten, though. I don't have a problem with that. He is currently being investigated for poaching a deer back home but is confident that "They don't got nothin' on me, I'll be fine."
During a lapse of judgment last year while trailer sitting for a friend, he accidentally shot his friends new flat-screen TV with his pistol that he thought was unloaded. Embarassed of what he'd done, he proceeded to drop the TV on the ground so as to make it appear that it fell off the wall and was damaged in that manner. He did, however, buy his friend a new TV.
Ole's younger brother was paralyzed for "...a few months when he drove into the shallow end of the pool a few years ago." He has since made a near complete recovery but has problems with his hands at times. "Sometimes I'll put a buncha' quarters on the ground in front of my brother, 'cause it takes him forever to pick 'em up!" He said laughing. "Luckily he's got a good sense of humor too."
Ole may or may not have 'taken care' of all the stray cats in his backyard with the help of his bow and arrow.
Though lacking in 'formal education', Ole is still a very sharp guy who has a good world-view. He's traveled throughout the Americas and speaks near perfect Spanish with virtually no accent despite his thick southern drawl while speaking English. He learned his Spanish while working on drill rigs with Mexicans throughout Texas and while doing mission trips with his grandparents in Central America. He is also conversationally fluent in Norwegian because his dead-beat Norwegian dad spoke it when he was around.
Ole refuses to wear shirts with sleeves down here, however I suspect he does the same where ever he goes. He currently found work as a bouncer/bartender at one of the nicer restaurants in town and and continues his sleeveless policy while at work. He's already been in a few interesting bar fights, one fight last week ended when he kicked a drunk Guatemalan in the stomach, out the door and onto the sidewalk.
"Yeah, I thought 'bout punchin' him but... ya know... kickin' worked jus' as good!"
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