Bogota, then Medellin in the dark

I'm in South America at last, Medellin in Colombia to be precise. Two golden rules were broken to get here though, riding at night in Colombia and swearing at other drivers ;) More on that in a moment.

I'd had an uneventful flight from Panama City to Bogota, it only takes an hour and a half and by the time lunch and drinks were served we were on approach :) I had no trouble at all with customs and immigration, and I was reminded just how easy it is to enter a country by plane, instead of crossing land borders with a bike. I'd kind of forgotten.

I got pounced on as soon as I left the arrivals lounge by people touting for hotel business, which actually suited me as I felt like staying somewhere decent and didn't have a clue where there might BE somewhere decent. Planning... I had even forgotten to check what sort of rate of exchange I should expect for Pesos, as Panama utilises the US Dollar I'd got used to just carrying just dollars surprisingly quickly. I picked a hotel guy and went to change some money for the cab. The hotel turned out to be really nice and not hyper expensive like some of the big name hotels in Central America. I booked two nights which would allow me to return to the airport to try to collect the bike the following day.

After I'd said goodbye to the bike on the previous Friday, talking to it like it was a basketball and I was Tom Hanks in the movie Castaway, I'd kind of worried what sort of state it would arrive in Bogota. After a decent night's sleep I decided I would make sure I was back at the airport at a reasonable time so as not to catch everyone at lunch. Again. The hotel offered a free shuttle to the airport, but I think if the poor driver knew what he was letting himself in for he'd have run a mile at the sight of the cheerful English chap dressed in his bike gear.

Instead he ran me out to the airport's cargo terminal, then we found the Girag warehouse at the second attempt (there are two, on opposite sides of the road). Rather than dump me and run, the driver stayed and waited whilst I got the bike forms from Girag, just as well as I then had to run them over to Customs, again the other side of the main road, maybe a half a mile as the crow flies. Arriving at customs, having a Spanish speaking friend proved to be fortuitous. The driver spoke no English, but he did speak Spanish really slowly (used to tourists!) and he knew what I was trying to achieve. So he went to town to make sure someone would help me out.

Unfortunately it turned out that someone was not in the office yet. It was around 10am. I was trying to ask if the person was at breakfast, but no one seemed to know. The answer that kept coming back was just that we should wait. Two hours went past, and my driver friend was fretting and looking at his watch. "Mucho tiempo" he kept saying, shaking his head in disgust. But he stayed. Eventually the relevant woman strolled in like she had all the time in the world, aside from me there were a half dozen people, all of whom arrived after me, that she needed to sort out. There was a bit of queue jumping going on and a couple of people got in front of me, then the lady took a call on her cellphone, and had a little chat about bug repellant with her colleague whilst we all waited. She was easily the least efficient person I've ever met.

Meantime I'd struck up a friendship with a Colombian chap in the queue who wanted to know all about London. He spoke good English and was planning on visiting Europe next month to demo a new type of self-pasting toothbrush, which he insisted on showing me. He was about the most enthusiastic and friendly guy I've ever met, and I wished him a lot of luck.

After finally getting the forms signed it was back to Girag to find the bike. Much form signing and ID producing later, and a pat down for guns at the door (which happens at every public building in Bogota it seems) and Red5 and I were reunited. The bike wouldn't start after I reconnected the battery, but it just seemed to have stuck in gear and that was easily sorted. Other than that all looked well. Then came trying to get the bike out of the warehouse... which was a raised platform with no way down. The staff opened up the office area doors and the front door to the building, so I rode through office corridors and down the front steps to get out! A few months ago I couldn't have done that, I guess my bike handling is improving.

Then Mr Toothbrush turned up to pick something up from Girag too, and we had a good laugh about my bike slalom to get out. We wished each other well and my driver friend then led the way back to customs one more time, to drop off form copies, before finally heading back to the hotel. It had taken a little under four hours, but the only cost was a big tip for the driver. Once I had the bike back I started to get a bit nervous about riding again, not helped by the English speaking reception girl "you will RIDE to Medellin?? That's craaaayzeee". I didn't want to ask why :)

Next morning it was tough to leave the nice hotel, knowing I had to find my way through a city of ten million people and find the road to Medellin. A check online had revealed that I had maybe 410km to do, which I thought I would knock off in six hours. So it was 10.30am when I left the hotel. The driver I'd been through so much with the previous day came over as I was preparing to leave with directions to Medellin. They turned out to be really useful as I got a bit lost in Bogota! The driving was collectively the worst I've encountered, shamefully I think bikes being the worst offenders. Cars stopped or broken down on the road, occasional horse and cart, no lane order, suicidal last second pulling out, and bikes constantly sitting in my blind spots (on both sides) had me twitching about, nervously trying to avoid everyone. The main road to Medellin started pretty well, a nice quiet stretch of road through some beautiful countryside, once I'd left the sprawl of Bogota. It then wound up into the mountains and the tight, twisty, potholed road combined with heavy lorry traffic crawling along meant that no one was going anywhere fast. It took me three hours to reach Honda, about 100Km away. During that part of the trip I had more near misses than I could count. It seems that lorries using your lane to overtake other lorries is an accepted part of life, and people frequently have to swerve, or stop to let it happen. Colombia is beautiful. Really lovely. It's just annoying not to be able to take your eyes off the road for a second to enjoy it!

Leaving Honda I was hot - Bogota had been cool enough to have me wearing a fleece for the first time in ages - but now I was lower down and the sun was out. Plus the going was far too slow to generate a cool breeze. I knew I was in trouble time wise if I wanted to make Medellin, so I stopped only once to get a drink. Military checkpoints near La Dorada congested everything to a standstill, and whilst following all the other bikes down the gutter I managed to drop the bike, whilst completely stationary and trying to climb the curb. So much for improved bike handling ;) The road north from there was better and I started to make time, but in my mind I knew it would be dark before I reached Medellin.

Taking a road west towards the city, I was shocked to see that as it climbed into the mountains there was a much heavier military presence - everywhere else the police were in evidence rather than the army. I passed a line of army bikes, with pillions carrying long rifles. At every bridge or small village there were a couple of sandbagged gun emplacements, but the soldiers were really friendly and a lot of them would nod or wave. Finally towards the summit I passed a tank in a gas station, maneuvering out onto the road. By this stage it was getting dark, and I kept trying to think happy thoughts rather than that I was riding after sunset in the wilds of Colombia. Too many Hollywood movies and gloomy news stories probably ;)

By the time I was within a few dozen kilometers of Medellin the road had turned into dual carriageway and was easier to ride, although roadworks still kept the speeds down. Vehicles were constantly jostling and trying to be where I was, and by this stage my frustration at being on the road for nine hours, added to probable dehydration meant that several drivers got a variety of fingers. I promised myself I wasn't going to do that on this trip... not only is it not clever but you never know who is carrying a gun (especially in the US) ;) For the first time in a long time though I could see the stars, and a sliver of moon. Then passing through a tunnel I got my first sight of Medellin, and it was almost worth the long day. I was several thousand meters up, and could just see all the lights of Medellin in the valley below, a view normally reserved for passengers on night flights.

The pitch dark didn't help riding around Medellin, I pulled over and asked a couple of military police where there was a decent hotel. They didn't really understand me (nor I them!) but when they asked where I was from and found out England, their mouths dropped open rather comically. They shook my hand and I headed off, still clueless. Eventually I paid a cabbie to lead me to "un grande hotel". It was 9.30pm when I finally got off the bike.

This morning I heard what sounded like gunfire across the valley, it could have been anything of course but shortly afterward there was a helicopter and some sirens. Medellin however seems nice enough - perhaps the surrounding area is a bit dodgy. I'm going to take a few days here and have a think about whether I really want to ride to Cartagena. I'm not relishing the thought of those roads!

Happy Halloween.

Frase.

The Big Ditch

The bike is on it's way to Colombia and my flight is booked for Tuesday, so I have a few days in Panama City to do the tourist thing. There have been a couple of advertisements for the Colombian tourist industry on the TV here. I was sitting at breakfast and couldn't help noticing the word "risk" in their commercial - "the only risk is not wanting to leave". After being warned about Colombia several times in Costa Rica I'm starting to read "the only risk is wanting to leave and not being able to" :). Still, I was warned about Mexico numerous times in the States and I loved it.

Yesterday I decided to visit Miraflores Locks on the Panama Canal, I could see the canal from my hotel room but it just looks like any other river there. Growing up near the mouths of the rivers Thames and Medway I was used to seeing large sea going ships in rivers, so container vessels steaming past on their way from the Pacific to the Atlantic and vice versa were no real surprise.

Until you get to the locks that is. I took a cab from the hotel and a short while later arrived at Miraflores which was opened in 1913. During the journey the cabbie kept on about buceo (diving) and how good Bocas Del Toro is, and that it wasn't that far away (by cab, no doubt). I told him I was more interested in speleobuceo, and how cool the caves in the Yucatan are. He nodded vigorously and went straight back to Bocas Del Toro :) I got the distinct impression he was aiming for that to be tomorrow's Frase destination.

At the locks there is a small exhibit and a viewing platform, basically designed to part tourists from their money, in order to see boats going through a couple of canal locks which you can do for free on any canal in the UK. The exhibit was interesting but frustrating, I never knew the French began the canal, but I had to dig around to find out they were forced to stop because Yellow Fever was wiping out the workforce. Then it was taken over by the Americans and completed a few weeks after Europe went to war in 1914. The workforce was a huge mix of races, but mostly Caribbean which explains why the population of Panama is a lot more mixed than the rest of Central America, which is mostly Hispanic/Indian. The width of Panama is only about 80Km here and it takes ships around 24 hours to get from one side to the other (only 8 hours journey time, the rest is waiting about). About 40 vessels pass through a day, and this meant I had to hang around for about three hours in the baking heat to get a picture of a container ship in the lock for my niece. Of course tourists mean ice cream, which helped to pass the time ;)

I was pretty shocked to learn the average toll for a vessel is $90,000 to pass through, that even makes Mexican toll roads seem cheap ;) Still I guess it would cost that in fuel to sail the long way around Cape Horn now. I also learned that the canal is being expanded, they are building bigger locks alongside the existing ones to take bigger vessels (and therefore more tolls!). No wonder Panama City is on a huge building spree.

I'd been wondering how they fit such large ships into such small locks, and I found out the answer is slooooooooooowly :) My cab had got fed up waiting for me and cleared off, but I got another back without any problem. I'm not used to relying on public tranport...

Later I managed to catch a picture of lightning over the Puente De Las Americas, the main bridge over the canal, just after sunset.


I had dinner that night in TGI Friday. All the American chains are in Panama City, it's like a small American city in a way. TGI was full of American men in their later years sharing tables with Panamanian women less than half their age. If you've got it, flaunt it I suppose :)

More soon.

Frase.

Colombia awaits

Hi all,

Just a brief update about my experiences moving the bike to Colombia.

I'd got up a little late as I hadn't slept well in the hotel. Not sure why, I was on the 18th floor and well away from the traffic. I'd sat up watching a storm out over the Pacific through my huge hotel room window until I felt sleepy, then went to bed and lay awake again. When I finally checked out of the hotel I bumped into John, the chap from Bradford, and we shared another chat and laugh. He told me a little about himself, and that he was travelling with a guy that had sailed around the world for five years (now that takes guts). I gave him the blog address and as we went our separate ways, I realised with a smile that there is nothing like the English sense of humour. I'd not encountered a Brit since Yellowstone and I miss it.

My idea was to find a cheaper hotel, throw the bags in and then take Red 5 to the cargo terminal to see about shipping to Colombia. After about an hour of being hopelessly lost in some of the worst traffic I'd encountered, I found signs to the airport and figured I'd sort the bike, call a cab and let the cabbie find a hotel!

Planning, never my forte, again proved to be something I need to practice :) I arrived at Tocumen International Airport and saw signs for the cargo terminal so followed those, and found Girag, an air cargo company that had been recommended to me, after maybe a twenty minute ride. Unfortunately after queuing at the small window to talk to someone I found out that all the guys were at lunch for an hour. I also found out that the company only accepted cash and that the nearest cash machine was in the International airport.

I rode back to the airport, got some cash and a hot dog, and by the time I got back to Girag it was 2pm and everyone was back from lunch. The guy that dealt with my bike spoke no English, but we managed to bodge through the procedures with my Spanglish. A couple of gallons of fuel in the tank was ok, I had to take the mirrors off and disconnect the battery. He filled in the forms which was good news. The bad news, all US$900 of it, was paid in cash in front of several onlookers which was a bit unnerving.

Unfortunately I then had to walk the half mile or so to customs to get the airway bill stamped. Normally I wouldn't think twice about that distance, but it was incredibly humid, more humid than I can remember being before. And of course I was dressed in heavily armoured bike gear. I wasn't leaving anything valuable either so I was carrying my tankbag full of electronic gubbins. When I got to customs I handed over the forms and they were starting to fall apart as the sweat running freely down my arms had soaked them. Having obtained the stamps I set off back the way I'd come, watching a wall of dense black cloud approaching from the west.

I got back to the bike just in time, before the clouds dumped the entire Pacific Ocean on Tocumen cargo terminal. The formalities complete I asked one of the employees to call a taxi for me, as I was in the middle of nowhere with no wheels in a rainstorm. The Girag guys, the bike and I were all standing under a sloping corrugated roof outside the main warehouse, and work stopped as everyone watched the hardest rain I've ever seen. Two minutes later it got harder, and then, impossibly, it got harder still. Within three minutes of starting we were standing behind a waterfall, the rain had flooded any guttering and was cascading off the roof in front of us, and spray off the ground was soaking me. It was an awesome display of the power of Mother Nature. I felt a strange urge to whoop and stood there, arms outstretched, like a complete idiot and enjoying every second of it.

By the time the cab (a 4X4) showed up, an hour later, it crossed the car park up to it's axles in water and pushing a bow wave. Polystyrene cups floated past where I stood on slightly higher ground. "Playa" the cabbie said with a laugh, and I agreed with him. Girag had become beachfront property ;)

The bike should get to Bogota on Monday, and I'm going to book my fight the same day. Meantime I'm going to make like a tourist and visit the canal over the weekend ;)

Cheers,

Frase.

The good, the bad and the ugly

I pull into the hotel's underground car park and turn the bike in a circle looking for a space. That's when I notice I've been followed down the ramp by a stressed-looking policeman. I wondered what all the blowing of whistles outside had been about... it quickly becomes apparent that I am in trouble with the cops for the second time in two hours. He's somewhat upset with me as I've ridden my bike from the front of the hotel to the side without my crash helmet on, and I'm just wondering what the Spanish word for "d'oh" is, when he pulls out a set of handcuffs from behind his back and waves them under my nose. Oh dear, it's going to be one of those days...

It had all started so well too. I'd left Uvita in the sun and headed down the coast road toward the Panama border. Ricardo had told me that crossing the border would be very straightforward, maybe a half hour or so, which I was really looking forward to after some of the Central American borders. Arriving at the Costa Rican side I was pounced on by a tramitador as normal but I stood my ground and kept telling him I would manage, in the end he started to get the message. After I'd sorted out my exit stamp and one for the bike, he tried one last time by telling me "Panama is very complicated". I rode off to the Panamanian border a few dozen metres down the road. I had to fend off maybe a half dozen kids trying to help, telling them I would be ok just didn't seem to have much effect, but ignoring them worked just fine ;) I had to wait a little while for customs to translate all my details off the bike registration, but I had all my copy documents to hand and the process was relatively painless. 45 minutes after I arrived all that remained was an inspection, which for the first time included a baggage search. The only thing of interest turned out to be my reading material, the customs agent mouthed the title and then said "ah, Narnia" with a rolled r. Some things are universal, it seems ;)

Then I was free to go, under an hour and no money at all making it probably the least hassle since I left the States, maybe excluding Guatemala. I was proud of myself for dealing with everything myself, when none of the officials spoke English. Unfortunately that turned out to be about the last good thing about Panama.

I'd been across the border about ten minutes before I hit the first police/customs post. They checked all the documents again but that was ok because I'd rather find out now if I'd done something wrong than when I try to leave the country! Then a dozen or so kilometers down the road I got pulled over again by the cops. This one had a radar gun and showed me the reading, 97kph. As the last sign I saw said 100kph, I nodded and said "that's good". Wrong. He told me I was in a 60kph zone. Um, there were no signs... but he wasn't having it, so I accepted I was in the wrong and asked how much the ticket was going to cost. He said $100, which elicited a gasp from me. He got his ticket book out, then asked where I was heading. I told him David, and then he graciously announced that he wasn't going to book me, but I had to slow it down. I shook his hand, and headed off breathing a sigh of relief. I don't know whether he changed his mind because I took it on the chin and didn't argue, or because he couldn't be bothered, but I was grateful anyway.

Ricardo had mentioned if I got to David to look up the Puerta Del Sol hotel, and I found it by accident whilst trawling through the mayhem of the town centre. I parked out front, got a room, then put my helmet and tank bag in the room whist I moved the bike to the parking lot. Two cops on the beat had seen me and followed me into the hotel, then tore me off a strip for not having the helmet. My grasp of Spanish is bad when it is spoken slowly, I was way out of my depth at the speed these guys were going at. When the handcuffs came out I apologised and told them I was just moving the bike, my helmet was upstairs and I waved the room keys at them. That seemed to calm things down a little, and I got the impression the handcuff waving was a kind of warning about what happens to law breaking bikers. Although I could be wrong ;)

Admonished, I went up to the room, glad to be off the roads. At least I couldn't be arrested for sleeping... but sleep wouldn't come, I lay awake all night listening to traffic noise and the air conditioner.

Next morning I was out on the road by 8am. I needed to get a long way, about 430 kilometers to Panama City, and judging by the previous day's run in it wasn't going to be quick progress. Ricardo had warned me about speeding in Panama. There was a big waterfall not far from the road, and at one point a large bright green and red iguana scuttled across the road, disturbed from his sun bathing, but I'd seen those things before and was not having a lot of success motivating myself to enjoy Panama. Even the gaudily painted buses, just like Guatemala, couldn't lift my spirits.

I'd already been stopped once for a papers check by customs when I was flagged down again by a combined police and customs point. I was thoroughly fed up but still removed my helmet and smiled. The cop spoke no English but one of the customs agents did. It was all very polite and we joked a bit about the humidity in my bike gear. I was assuming there might be a bag check, or papers check, so when the cop asked for my licence and passport I gave them over. Then he told me I'd been speeding - or at least he pointed to the 100 on my speedo. I knew I'd been doing no more than 80kph, but he said I'd been seen up the road and it had been radioed down to him. I was fairly confident I wasn't in the wrong, but not confident enough to call a cop a liar. So after a number of attempts at explaining the situation, me speaking no Spanish, and him no English, I gave in and asked what the fine was. He showed me the thick wodge of paper that is just about everything they can think of an offence for and the equivalent fine. It was going to cost $50. Then the same as the day before, the cop produced his ticket book and then asked where I was headed. I told him Panama City, and he said if I was to give him "pocochito" - a little cash, he'd turn a blind eye.

I was a bit shocked, as I'd read you should never try to bribe officials in Panama like you can everywhere else in Central America. But here he was, definitely saying if I gave him a little bung I could go. I wasn't sure if I was being set up, so I looked around and mysteriously, not only the English speaker but everyone else had gone off somewhere. It was just me and the cop. Were they all in on this?? I weighed up the options - I was sitting in the baking heat, and would be a lot longer if he wrote me a ticket. The fine would be $50, and it was my word against his whether I was in the wrong. Plus he had my licence and passport and I didn't know what he would do with them. The smallest denomination I had was a $20 so I got one out and he had me tuck it inside the traffic violations book, making it look about as underhand as it probably was. I noticed my hand was shaking as I gave the book back, but oddly I didn't feel that nervous.

Then he was all smiles and announced I was free to go, and as I put my earplugs in I thought ruefully yeah, you take Mrs Bent Copper out for dinner on me. It's against my principals to bribe people, it encourages the behaviour and in my view is no better than theft. I'm a bit ashamed of myself really. Looking back on it with 20/20 hindsight, I was the slowest vehicle on the road at that point, and yet the only one that was pulled over. I wonder exactly how it might have gone if I'd called his bluff?

Reaching Panama City things didn't get a lot better because I was hot, exhausted and it had taken ages to get there, driving up a road equivalent to a motorway or interstate in size, at 40mph/60kph to avoid any more pulls. I saw the biggest building in town and rode at it hoping it would be a posh hotel, and it was. I think Dubya stayed here a few years ago. Walking back to the bike after checking in I found it being inspected by a guy who was outside to have a smoke. He asked me in a broad Bradford accent whether I'd ridden from the UK, so I explained my route so far. When he found out my destination, he asked if I had business cards and was interested in having my face on a magazine cover or writing a book, as he knew Simon Fuller (apparently the Spice Girls' manager, probably why I never heard of him!). I told him I was far too shy for that. He asked if a million quid might help, and I had to explain that the trip wasn't really about that. Then in true Yorkshire fashion, he suggested I write and he kept the million... I laughed and told him about the blog, but he didn't seem interested. Obviously no money in it ;)

Later I found myself in a mall downtown. Panama City reminds me a little of Singapore, lots of tall buildings and malls and traffic. I sat drinking a decent Mocha and reflecting on how much I dislike Panama, and on what possesses people to come here. I could see hats and a canal in Oxford. It seems odd that I should find comfort in a mall... of all the things at home I'd have thought a shopping centre was the last thing I'd miss. I think it is part of a greater desire to be elsewhere, maybe after three months I'm finally getting a bit fed up with it all.

Maybe I should have taken Mr Bradford Businessman up on his offer, at least writing a book would mean I don't have to busk for a living when I get home ;)

Frase.

The edge of the World

I'm just south of Uvita on the Pacific coast of Costa Rica. The area is a national park called Marino Ballena, a meeting point for whales from the northern and southern hemispheres. It is probably a testament to how beautiful the area is that I am still not in Panama...

I'd agreed to meet Ricardo at 8am Monday morning, the plan being to try to get my brake pads and then I could have a good chance at getting all the way from San Jose to David, in Panama, before sunset. The first part went pretty well, Ricardo led me over to a local Suzuki dealer on his bike and at a cost equivalent to buying a new set of tyres, I got the brake pads and also picked up an oil filter so I could do an oil change. Having Ricardo around to translate what I needed was a real bonus, I'd have struggled otherwise. He also told the parts guys all about my trip. They asked how many miles the original pads had done, and when I answered 14,000 there were a few gasps and whistles. I laughed and with the aid of a few hand signs explained that there was not much of them left ;)

Ricardo told me he would ride with me a few kilometers out of town so that he knew I was on the right road. The roads were not obvious so I was really glad of his assistance. He'd already told me something of the route ahead, and mentioned that I should follow the coast road down to Panama. Ricardo insisted on paying my 100 colone toll and stayed with me past Cartago, and soon we saw the massive bulk of Cerro de la muertes approaching. Cerro de la muertes (literally "dead hill") was so named apparently because it is 3,400m high and many people have died from exposure. Ricardo had said it might take 45 minutes to cross it. He stayed with me well onto the mountain, past a couple of fresh land slides being cleared by JCB, until finally it was too cool for him to continue in shirtsleeves. We pulled over and shook hands, despite only knowing him for a couple of days I felt like I was losing an old friend. I'd told Ricardo that I would certainly return to Costa Rica, next time by plane ;) and he had told me there would be a bike waiting. What a great guy.

Continuing on alone I upped the pace and my thoughts turned inward for a bit, until I suddenly realised that the bottom part of my vision had a purply tint. Some deep breaths seemed to sort it out, but shortly afterward my teeth hurt again and I started to get a little muscle pain in some old injury areas. After the summit the road dropped through thick fog enshrouded forest, dripping moss and vines hanging from the trees and rivers with small waterfalls. The pains vanished and I thought it was probably an important lesson for the Andes - don't climb too fast.

I found the road down to Dominical on the coast easily, and after another climb there was a sudden descent and the Pacific Ocean lay before me. I silently thanked Ricardo again as the road was well maintained and beautiful - on the left there was rainforest, with waterfalls, palms, flowers and the odd Coatimundi (kind of equivalent to a Racoon) and on the right the Pacific was visible through palm trees. Passing Uvita I was getting a sinking feeling as black clouds were looming and I knew I had several hours riding ahead of me, and I hate to admit it but on seeing a sign for a decent hotel I suddenly heard the voice of Alec Guinness in my head saying "run Luke, run". So I did.

I was still in the process of checking in when the rain started, and I got a bit of a soaking just collecting the luggage off the bike. I ended up sitting outside my room on a covered balcony, looking at the rain (which lasted all afternoon and most of the night) and feeling really rather smug :)

Tuesday dawned bright and sunny and as I needed to call my Dad on his birthday I thought I'd take the day off (as you do). I figured I would wander down to take some pictures of the Pacific Ocean in the sun. A twenty minute walk through the rainforest past lines of Leaf Cutter ants, brightly coloured birds and butterflies and faint floral smells got me to the beach which was part of the national park. The beach was pristine, acres of sand and not a person in sight. The Pacific surf rolled in and crashed against rocky outcrops, the western edge of the world. I turned left and set off for a wander.

I thought I saw a whale blowing out to sea, but it turned out to be a huge Frigate bird dive bombing some fish. Another flew along the edge of the beach where it met the rainforest. Pelicans also flew low over the waves, and whilst I stared into the sun at them I suddenly realised I had forgot to put on any sunblock. For someone that goes from pale white to third degree burns in about half an hour this was not good. I'd brought an umbrella so ended up using it as a parasol, at least until an American lady walking her dogs showed up. We got chatting and she was telling me about what it was like to live next to that incredible beach, whilst one of her Alsatians kept sticking it's muzzle into my groin, and the other kept rolling up a huge coconut for me to throw.

By the time we went our separate ways I could feel my feet and legs burning, so I turned back until some rustling in the trees brought me to a halt. Sure enough there were some Cappuchin monkeys picking (and mostly dropping) fruit. Passing back into the rainforest I noticed more movement and realised that there was an entire family of monkeys in the trees above my head. I wasn't sure if they were maybe Howlers, but through a combination of stealth and a long lens I managed to get some photos.


That evening at dinner I sat listening to calling frogs in the rainforest, a sort of combination croak/quack/honk, as well as the usual chicadas and the rain. Small lizards chased insects, some of which looked just like leaves. The Costa Ricans have a motto "Pura Vida" - pure life. And that is just what Costa Rica offers, unfenced existence.

Frase.

A walk among the clouds

Me gusta Costa Rica. How can my initial impression have been so wrong???

After three days near Fortuna, in the shadow of Volcan Arenal, I found that the only way I could bribe myself to leave the hotel I was at was to promise myself I would return one day. Amazing room, amazing view, incredible cloudforest, I was downcast and it took me until past 11am to get on the road.

But the sun was shining for the first time in several days - it had rained continuously since I arrived at Arenal - and that made for much better riding through the wonderful scenery. Heading south across the cloudforest toward San Jose, the capital, there were hidden waterfalls, fast running rivers and lots and lots of signs in English, designed solely for the tourist industry. Forest canopy ziplines seemed to be big business, and rafting trips.

Approaching San Ramon, where I would pick up the main Pan American highway to San Jose, I was stopped by a couple of tooled up cops, the first guns I'd seen in Costa Rica. One, about 6 feet 6 tall at the very least, was playing with a big assault rifle in quite an alarming manner. His companion asked me the usual - where am I from, where did I leave this morning, where am I going. Then he tapped his side arm and asked me if I had any weapons. I burst out laughing and told him "Soy Ingles". We don't do guns. He waved me on with a laugh.

After a couple of wrong turns in San Ramon, I realised I was heading west instead of south, so pulled over. A car pulled over too and I suddenly felt a bit vulnerable. But I needn't have worried. A young lady got out and introduced herself as Cindy, a Costa Rican English teacher. She and her boyfriend had seen me milling about like an idiot and followed to assist. She gave me helpful directions to the main road and after thanking her, I found the road to San Jose at the first attempt.

A few miles from downtown San Jose I found an hotel and called a halt for the day. The heat and twisting roads had tired me pretty quickly. A good meal and a session in the gym seemed to sort things out, then I checked my e-mail account and found I had a reply from Ricardo.

I'd been given Ricardo's details in Guatemala, by a concerned hotelier who thought I could do with some company. He told me Ricardo was an old friend of his and a keen biker, so when I got into Costa Rica I'd e-mailed to ask if he knew where I might find some brake pads. Ricardo had e-mailed me his cellphone number, so I thought what the heck and gave him a call.

We arranged to meet Saturday afternoon. Ricardo showed up at the hotel so I didn't get lost ;) and took me in his van for a tour of downtown San Jose. He'd worked in the tourist industry so his English was first class and the tour more informative than one I might have paid a lot of money for. We drove right past the President's house - in Costa Rica the President lives in a house and works in an office like other people. Aside from a posh car, a couple of cops and a bodyguard outside it could have been anyone's house.

Ricardo showed me an old public service building which still had bullet holes in from the 1948 civil war. He explained that after that event, the President abolished the army and to this day Costa Rica has no standing army. It is a beacon of democracy in a very turbulent region - I don't know how they do it. I asked Ricardo how they defend themselves. He answered that they are friends with the US, and others. When threatened by the Nicaraguan Sandanistas in 1978 Venezuela gave them help. I think Costa Rica could teach many other countries a thing or two.

Costa Rica is, however, still Central America and that meant that any chance of getting brake pads was toast until Monday morning. The only shops open on Saturday afternoon were for senoritas to buy shoes :) We had dinner in a decent seafood restaurant, including a cocktail of Palmito (palm heart) and raw seabass which was lightly "cooked" in the acid of lemon juice, and delicious. Ricardo invited me to join his motorcycle club for their Sunday ride out the next day. I agreed to meet him at 8am and went back to the hotel wondering what I had let myself in for.


I wasn't used to early mornings and no breakfast, so Sunday appearing over the horizon was a shock. I had a quick coffee and got on the bike, happy not to be encumbered by all the baggage that I'd left at the hotel. Ten minutes down the Pan American highway took me to the meeting point at the Gymnacio Nacional, a big gym. There were a few cruisers parked up and no sign of Ricardo, so I got off the bike and started introducing myself (badly).

The group called itself M14 (which has a better ring to it in Spanish - in English it sounds like a motorway) and was formed by 14 guys back in 1997. I'd been warned that there could be 200 bikes, and pretty soon more and more showed up. Over a hundred was my best guess. Most of the bikes were cruisers, either Harleys or Harley type Japanese cruisers, like the Yamaha V Star. When Ricardo showed up he was on a V Star. He let me try and it was very low, and very comfy. Hmm, I thought, I could probably do 20,000 plus miles on one of these ok! I met a German Harley rider and he let me sit on his RoadKing. I can only describe it as like riding your favourite armchair, it was just missing the TV (it had a radio).

Ricardo introduced me to Miguel, another local on a V Star, who also spoke good English. When Ricardo announced that we would be going to visit Volcan Irazu instead of riding the whole way with M14, Miguel asked to come along. I picked up some stickers and then the leader of the group introduced me to the crowd at large (thanks, Ricardo ;) ) After my embarrassment and a group prayer, the call of "vamonos" (let's go) went up and we all headed out along the Pan American highway.

The three of us split off a few miles down the road to many tooting horns and waving bikers. Lacking the skill to hoik a decent wheelie I stood on the pegs and waved goodbye. What a great day. But it was only beginning. I'd not ridden with anyone since following Jim's effortless lines, 10,000 miles ago, but the guys were accomplished riders and the going was easy. The road climbed, gradually at first, until soon it was very obvious from my madly popping ears and the dropping temperature that we were rapidly gaining a LOT of altitude. Finally we came to a toll booth and pulled in to pay entry to the national park area at Irazu. My teeth were hurting slightly, and my hands were a little numb with pins and needles. When we parked at the highest point I checked the altimeter on my watch, calibrated at sea level in Wrangell, Alaska, and it read 3420 metres, more than 11,000 feet. I'd never been that high in my life outside of an aeroplane!


We spent some time wandering around the caldera and I marvelled at seeing the clouds below me, a great white carpet with the blue sky above. Miguel picked up a small igneous rock and gave it to me as a memento, he asked that I take it to Argentina and then send him a picture. Clouds came in around the peak and we moved down to see the lake inside the volcano, which has apparently been dormant since 1964. From there we descended in the rain to a restaurant for brunch. Some kids outside parked their bike next to Red 5 and the two V Stars and posed for pictures whilst we ate.

Moving on we arrived in San Rafael and got held up by ox carts in the road. We soon realised there was a huge carnival of some sort, oxen pulling what Ricardo described as carts for loading coffee, hand painted and beautiful. Miguel explained that 30 or more years ago this was the main mode of transport in Costa Rica.


Wooden wheels clattering, the carts moved off and so did we, a block down the road to buy Helado, a hard ice cream which to me was more like an ice lolly, a fat square block on a stick costing a few hundred colones (maybe 50 cents). I had Cas flavour, a local fruit like a guava, some of the other flavours were made with milk instead of water. Cas is delightful, very refreshing. There was a long queue and some people were buying Helado by the bag load. During a chat I told the two guys about the armed cops on the road at San Ramon and they were genuinely surprised, Miguel said that more than likely the weapons had no bullets :)

Ricardo suggested we visit a hydro electric dam in the afternoon. The dam overlooked a pretty valley which was apparently the route that the Spanish conquistadors used to march their armies into Central America. Now it is used to generate electricity, there is a large man-made lake in the centre. By this point black clouds were looming and my legs, suffering from running on Friday and swimming on Saturday, were starting to stiffen. I was glad to start back for San Jose. I stopped next to a BMW GS at some lights and the couple on it said hi, the rider looked up and said "water is coming". He wasn't wrong and pretty soon the roads were awash. Ricardo had explained we'd head into town to get my brake pads Monday morning, and with that he headed for home whilst Miguel lead me back to the Pan Am so that I didn't get completely lost.

When we split and I was left alone again, I reflected on the day my new friends had given me and was very grateful to them. It's on days like today that I'm happy I didn't choose life sitting at home waiting for something to happen.

Sorry for the long post, it's been an eventful couple of days :)

Frase.

Fire in the sky

I very reluctantly left Liberia in the north of Costa Rica - not because it was anything much to look at but because it had been pouring with rain since I arrived.

I bit the bullet and headed out into the rain just after midday. I wanted to get to Volcan Arenal, Central America's most active volcano and the third most active in the world. I figured that Fortuna nearby would make a good base to see something of the volcano, and it didn't seem too far on my map. Of course the conditions and the twisting, narrow road through the rainforest meant that it took a lot longer than planned to travel maybe 100 kilometers.

I got lost coming out of Tilaran, turned the wrong way down Lake Arenal, and was fortunate to come across an impassable bridge otherwise it would have been a long way back to the right road. A guy was standing by the downed bridge trying to sell maps of the area for detours but I told him I had a map, it just didn't work properly. I found the right road out of Tilaran finally, and after another hour or so in worstening rain I found a hotel just before Fortuna that had a great view of the volcano. It took me several minutes before I realised that the cloud around the peak was actually steam from the caldera. With a left boot full of water and soaked from the waist down I was glad to get off the bike and into a jacuzzi. It's surprising what you can cope with as long as you have the little luxuries in life ;)

Next day I managed to catch a small eruption whilst I was eating breakfast, a gout of yellowy brown smoke poured into the sky for a few seconds. I'd booked myself onto a hike out through the cloudforest reserve to hopefully see some volcanic activity so the eruption was a good sign. The tour didn't depart until 3.45pm which seemed odd to me, given it would be pitch dark by 5.30. But there was a reasoning behind this. I sat all day, fidgeting, trying to read or do something, like a kid on Christmas morning desperate to find out if that box with the gaudy wrapping paper really was a Nintendo Wii.

Promisingly the rain had held off a little after about 10am and although I was mentally prepared for a total soaking I was disappointed when it started to throw it down with attitude around 2.30pm. I put on as much wet weather gear as I had, and waited in hotel reception fully half an hour before I needed to be there. It was all I could do not to jump up and down, really ;) A minibus arrived and I was surprised to see maybe nine other tourists on board, in addition to our guide. They were mostly Americans, but there were a couple of Quebecois Canadians and two latin Americans. Everyone spoke English, including the guide, and it felt pretty odd to be surrounded by conversation I could understand (well, except the Canadians as they spoke an odd French most of the time).

The bus took us to the cloudforest and we hiked for maybe an hour, in the pouring rain, looking for wildlife. The guide had warned us not to be disappointed if we didn't see any lava later on, as only 35% of tourists get to see the volcano with no cloud cover. I felt lucky... so far the volcano was constantly visible despite the heavy rain. We saw Spider monkeys fighting in the trees, and a lone Toucan, resplendent yellow clashing with jet black, his huge beak moving back and forth as he called from a tree. We'd been hearing a deep woofing sound which the guide said was a Howler monkey, so it was a real shock to see one as it was so small. Those things must have a mouth the size of the Dartford tunnel to make that racket.

After passing through some forest that was so dense it was difficult to see without a light, we made our way back to the minibus and sat for a short while drinking fruit juice. By the time we were back on the road it was almost dark. The guide explained we would take a road through the reserve to the west side of Arenal, where we should be able to see lava flowing. Apparently the lava is too cool to be visible during daylight, but at night you can see the glow. We talked for maybe twenty minutes or so about the volcano, and I was completely fascinated. I'd wondered at the wisdom of towns and hotels at the foot of an active volcano, and it turned out that in 1968 there had been a big explosion that had wiped out half the area. Fortuna was so named because it had survived the blast...

I found out that the whole zone was catagorised according to risk, R1 being suicidally close, R2, R3. My hotel was apparently in the R2 zone, and whilst this provided some relief a 400kph explosive eruption would wipe us out faster than you could say Pompeii. If it goes bang, no point running ;)

We passed a large impact crater from an old ejected rock maybe 100 metres across. It was difficult to pick it out in the dark. Volcan Arenal had been obscured by tall stands of sugar cane for the last fifteen minutes, but when I caught sight through a gap there was a glowing red pyroplastic flow down the western limb. I was awestruck. We finally stopped next to a bridge over a river which could be heard rather than seen. Getting out, it was really easy to see the lava as it ran, surprising quickly, down the volcano. The rain was forgotten as I stood there, amazed. Occasionally, large glowing boulders would tumble down at speed. I spent too long messing about balancing my camera on the bridge handrail in the rain, trying to get a picture in the dark, but I think it was worth it in the end. Fireflies flashed blue/white in the surrounding forest, like woodland fairies. The river rushed noisily through under the bridge, and the rain dripped down my face. It was slightly unreal, an unexpected highlight of the trip for me. Even the super-enthusiastic Americans on the tour had gone quiet, the scene just kind of had that effect.

On the way back to the hotel in the minibus I kicked myself for not taking the video camera, but I think the rain would have been the end of it!

I'm hoping to head towards the Caribbean today. It's pouring with rain outside and I'm looking forlornly at my still wet boots and trying to think happy thoughts. I can't remember the last time it didn't rain during the day. Somewhere in the world it isn't flooded... just not here.

Frase.

Life's a beach, 'til Costa Rica

Having spent a day lazing by the pool in Managua, I soon started to feel like I needed a change of scenery, especially given that the welcome sun had given way to the normal rain and tropical storm by mid afternoon. The following day I decided it was time to see the Ocean again, the first time since leaving the shores of the Arctic, months ago.

I headed down the Pan American highway, running parallel to the Pacific coast, in reasonably hot weather. Getting out of Managua was a bit hit and miss but once on the open road it was nice to have the cooling breeze in my face. There wasn't a great deal of traffic and I made good progress. It wasn't long before I started to see roadside advertisements for hotels at a place called San Juan Del Sur, a resort on the coast, which according to my map had a decent enough road out to the beach.

I turned down to San Juan and arrived in the middle of the afternoon, found a hotel and a few minutes later I was up to my knees in the Pacific Ocean. Of course that was the cue for the sun to vanish, but I wandered off up the beach to see where it led.

For someone that spends an awful lot of time on, in and under the sea, it took me a good ten minutes to realise something was missing. The roaring and crashing of the surf was there, pretty much the only noise. The faint smell and taste of salt and the onshore breeze all felt familiar. But there were no gulls - no birds at all in fact, apart from one lonely looking Pelican that did a wave hopping flyby.

I wandered back and by 5.30pm it was dark. Huge black clouds obscured the western horizon and lighting started to backlight them against the black of the sky. I found a restaurant on the beach and sat no more than 20 metres from the pounding surf under a thatched roof, watching the storm and eating, marvelling that there was no thunder or rain, just the light show.

The next day was a Sunday, and rather than head the 20Km to the Costa Rican border I stayed an extra day in San Juan Del Sur. It was nice to sit in a rocking chair and read a bit. The rest of the day was like the movie Groundhog Day, the only difference being that there was a brief pink and orange sunset, and the storm that second evening had unearthly violet and orange lightnings.

On Monday morning I got up a little earlier with the intention of making sure I was through the border before lunchtime this time. I got there at 10.30am, which I thought would be plenty of time, and immediately I showed up there were people running down the road towards me. I kind of settled on the first to arrive, as he'd obviously polished his lines and knew what people wanted to hear. He looked about 12 and called himself Charlie, and was probably not my best choice of fixer so far. He said "one person only" (not true), "language no problem" (about 4 words of English), and "help all paperwork" (again not true). After paying US$1 for some dubious looking slip of paper from an official booth that seemed just to allow me to proceed to the border, I then had to pay US$2 for an exit stamp in my passport.

Then Charlie introduced his brother who would guard the bike and gave my passport and paperwork to another tramitador (one with an official vest) for the remaining exit documents from customs. Hmm, so not one person then. I bet they all want paying too. After hanging around for twenty minutes or so in a queue, I got the exit stamp for the bike. That was when I found out that Charlie and family were only the Nicaraguan side of things. I was shown to another guy for help with Costa Rican formalities. A bit cheesed off, I gave Charlie some cash and left them to sort it out amongst themselves. My new Costa Rican fixer however was in a different league.

He cycled off to the border a few hundred metres away and I followed him through several inches of thick mud, being churned up by the hundreds of lorries queuing to cross. There was a long line for immigration, dozens and dozens of tourists and Central Americans alike. My tramitador said I could jump the queue for a tip as he had a friend in immigration, but I didn't think it was fair and was not in a hurry, so I waited my turn. Then I paid US$16 for obligatory insurance. It wasn't too long before we were out, and on our way to the first Customs post. Unfortunately a bus had just arrived and so we waited again. Then it was on to have my bike permiso stamped, again after a very long queue in the oppressive humidity. People in t-shirts were suffering, in my bike gear the sweat was just pouring off me.

Once I got into the customs office it was nice and cool, but the guy filling in my form details seemed about as clued up as I would be, trying to fill in a Spanish customs form ;) He kept looking down his nose at the computer screen, in a way that indicated he wasn't really certain he was pressing the right buttons. Once out I was free to go, so I paid my fixer and quite astonishingly, he wanted to see me to the border rather than just clear off. This turned out to be fortuitous.

I hadn't checked that the form was filled in correctly - two and a half hours of sweltering and I just wanted to get as far away from there as I could - so when I got to the border guard he spotted a one character typo in the form, and wouldn't let me into Costa Rica. My fixer, bless him, rode all the way back to the office and got me a new form, got it completed and brought it back, while I stood in the shade at the side of the road, sweating with the border guard. He got me to sign it and then rode off without asking for anything, his parting advice was to try Imperial Beer.

So finally, three hours later I was in Costa Rica. I stopped as soon as I could to drink something, as I was starting to feel a bit light headed, then down came the afternoon rain so I found an hotel and called it a day.

Later on, as I strolled back from some shops a mile or so up the road, cuppa in one hand and groceries in the other, I noticed how few people smiled at me, unusually. Added to that I bumped into an American cattle rancher who (having noticed I was sat next to my bike and hadn't taken my eyes off it) told me that robbery was very common here in the wet season. She said that the locals kill cows and steal the meat to sell. I'm not overly fond of Costa Rica thus far. Maybe it is just me, but the people here seem much more accustomed to the White Man than the other Central American countries.

This place IS a zoo though, or at least a tropical aviary. There are beautiful birds everywhere, and broken coconuts under tall palms. I'm hoping to get over to see an active volcano today, if it ever stops raining.

More soon.

Frase.

West of the moon, East of the sun

I'm in Managua, the capital of Nicaragua, meeting point of three tectonic plates and sitting on about fourteen seismic faults. Needless to say, there are many volcanoes :)

I'd had a straight run from San Pedro Sula to Tegucigalpa, capital of Honduras. The biggest concern really was the driving. Turns out that Mexico and Guatemala are actually just interactive training for the main event, at least they have some form of discipline - in Honduras it is every man for himself. I was almost run off the road by a truck at one point.

When the inevitable happened, just outside the town of Comayagua, the first I knew of it was a huge line of stationary traffic stretching a couple of miles. Of course I trundled down the outside past all the stopped cars until both lanes choked with traffic, the drivers gawking at the accident scene off in the trees about twenty metres from the road. A lorry with the unidentifiable remains of a car embedded in it, still ablaze with a fire crew rushing around it. I shut my eyes and tried not to think about it, but from that point onwards just wanted to be off the road. Tegucigalpa with its heaving traffic and pollution came as something of a relief. I got stopped by the cops again but this time the guy wasn't interested in formalities at all, just wanted to shake my hand (twice). Awesome.

Yesterday I made the run from Tegucigalpa to the border, of which I had vastly underestimated the distance. Instead of an easy 30km it turned out to be 120, maths never was my strong suit. Arriving at the border I was completely surrounded by tramitadors hassling to be the one to take me through the formalities, hands all over the bike, I started to feel uncomfortable pretty quickly. Added to that no one wanted to agree a fee, they kept saying "voluntary" or "propina". In the end I ignored them all and walked over to immigration, that seemed to clear up the issue and one guy offered his services for a fee (about a quarter of what I paid to get IN to Honduras, guess I was done).

The border crossing went smoothly though, I had to pay US$7 to get my stamp from immigration, then I got some third party bike insurance for US$12 and importing the bike didn't cost a bean. In total a little over an hour, most of which was spent trying to teach the customs official how to use a computer. Having entered all my details into the system, painful as my Spanish is so bad, he then pressed Enter, it bombed out asking for a password, and the whole process had to be repeated. Soy Ingles, ah, no Gran Bretana on the database? Try Reino Unidos...

Nicaragua was immediately great. People seem to stare even more than I am used to, they wave, they flash lights and toot horns. Palms and emerald mountains surrounded me, at one point I got off to answer the call of nature (men! the world is our toilet), and it kind of struck me where I was, a fast brown river ran through the centre of the valley, green slopes soared, the only noise was the calling of birds. I was utterly alone.

I decided to get a shift on and head for Managua, the capital. I knew that it would be getting dark around 5.30pm so I had a bit of a race to get off the road. Passing Esteli I came up behind a guy on a dirt bike riding along with his side stand down, and not wishing to have a grandstand view of the grisly outcome at the next left, I pulled alongside him and used universal motorcycle semaphore for "you left the stand down you muppet". He looked down, flicked it up and didn't even look back at me, let alone thank me. Ungrateful git.

Pressing on to Managua turned out to be a great decision though. The weather had been hit and miss all day, but cleared up into a fine evening with somewhat grey clouds all around. The sun began to sink into the Pacific Ocean behind Lake Managua and just got prettier and prettier, pastel reds and fiery oranges clashing with the grey clouds, then finally the moon came out from behind a cloud on my left. It immediately put me in mind of The Lord of the Rings - I was literally taking the hidden paths that run west of the moon, east of the sun. I had to smile.

It was dark when I got to Managua so I pulled into the first decent hotel I saw. When I got up in the morning I was greeted by the blazing sun and almost clear blue sky for the first time since I left the west coast of Mexico. I decided it was too hot for riding and instead got in the pool, at least until the bronzed beautiful people showed up and created a sun lotion oil slick in the shallow end.

Costa Rica next - when I can be bothered :)

Frase.

Montezuma and Honduras

Hiya,

I'm in San Pedro Sula, Honduras. I spent most of last week in a hotel on the border of Guatemala and Honduras, recovering from a nasty bout of stomach trouble, I think the result of something I ate or drank the same day I had the puncture trouble. What a day!

On Monday morning I finally felt well enough to attempt the border crossing into Honduras, which I'd read in many books and Internet sources would be the toughest crossing of the trip, with the possible exception of the Honduras/Nicaragua border. Basically Honduras is pretty much the only country with no defined fees to enter the country. It seems to vary depending on who you are, what day of the week it is, and how bent the official you are dealing with is. I'd done plenty of research and spent a long time trying to formulate an entry plan, something that is kind of tough for someone who'd lose a battle of wits with a piece of wax fruit.

My plan was basically to choose a crossing away from the main Pan American highway, and from various reports I decided to drop El Salvador as a border crossing, and go directly from Guatemala to Honduras. There was a truck crossing at Agua Caliente that my guidebook suggested was faster, cheaper and more efficient than some others despite being busy. So I headed for Agua Caliente, which was all of 10km from the hotel.

The frontier came as a little bit of a surprise, basically it just materialized without warning as I rounded a corner. There was a barrier and a border official. Down the road I could see customs marked with a large ADUANA, and beyond that somewhere was Honduras. I was immediately leapt on by a tramitador, which is basically someone who will assist you for a fee with the necessary mountain of documentation you need to enter Honduras with a vehicle. I was planning on leaving that until the Honduras border, but he was persistent so I relented. First job was to find a copier and get a copy of the bike permission for Guatemala, then I was allowed through to customs.

The tramitador hopped on a bus to the Honduras border whilst I got my exit stamps and exit stamps for the bike, a total of about 15 minutes. Then I rode out of Guatemala towards Honduras. The entire length of the road between the borders was covered with lorries, some had hammocks slung under them, the drivers sound asleep. I wondered how long they would be held at the border. No one seemed to be going anywhere in a hurry.

Arriving at the Honduran border I met up with my fixer and parked up the bike. The whole place was heaving with people looking to make a living, shops, black market sales people, cash changers, tramitadors, police, border officials, beggars, kids with firecrackers. It was absolute chaos. Firstly we went to immigration and stony faced officials stamped my passport, charging me US$3 for the privilege. As I didn't have US$3 I had to deal with one of the currency changers, and at something of a dodgy rate changed up US$20 into Lempira. As I handed over the cash I ruefully wondered whether Honduras charges for a stamp at an airport if you fly in, you can imagine how well a country must do for repeat tourists if they get charged just to come in! But of course that was just the beginning.

Next we had to get the bike "permiso", and for computer data entry charges that was just under US$10. Then it was off to the bank round the corner to pay Honduran road tax, effectively a toll road scheme. That was just under $30. All the time duplicate copies of all the forms had to be made, along with the copies I had brought of my passport, and the bike's registration document. The paper was piling up! Finally with all the paperwork and receipts and copies in hand we had to go back to customs to get the permiso signed, unfortunately it was now five past midday and the senorita was at lunch. So I spent fifty minutes waiting outside her little window, slowing stewing to death in the sweltering humidity whilst she ate and chatted. All the time my fixer was telling me the permiso would cost, first I think it was 1500 lempira, then it was 700, then he suggested if I was to offer a "propina" (tip) of maybe 120 lempira my form would be completed quickly. I told him I was in no rush. In the end when the customs official finished her lunch she signed the form and told me there was no fee for the permiso at all.

That completed proceedings other than to pay my fixer, and despite his at times dodgy advice it was money well spent, I think I would still be there now going back and forth between all the offices on my own. I showed the border guard my permiso documents and rode off into Honduras.

It had taken a total of just over two hours to get through the border, not bad time wise and I had receipts for all the charges, no one had hit me with any unofficial fees.

I climbed into mountains almost immediately, heading north and east into green lands that could quite easily have been the Lake District in the UK, except for the occasional palm trees. Cows grazed and farmers wandered around with machettes the length of one of my legs. Outside the town of Santa Rosa de Copan I was stopped by a policeman for the first time since Bellingham in Washington state, presumably for looking suspiciously non Honduran.

He wanted to see the bike permiso and my driving licence, so I handed him a fake laminated copy of my licence just in case he attempted to pull anything funny on me. He seemed to be fine with everything though, and waved me on my way. I'd decided to get to San Pedro Sula, a big city in the north of Honduras, and made it literally as it was going dark at 5.30pm.

I can't decide whether I like Honduras as much as Guatemala. Honduran buses are dull after the hippy, trippy, 60's throwback Guatemalan buses painted in colours Mungo Jerry would have loved. The people seem just as friendly though, staring and waving. It seems very, very American here, with the burger chains, Subway, Radioshack, and other US corporations. A few more people speak English.

I'm heading south from here towards Nicaragua, and no doubt another interesting border experience!

More soon.

Frase.

PS My card reader has been on the blink - something to do with electronic equipment and rain, I suspect - but I have a replacement so will update my photos on my Smugmug site.

Fun in the rain

I leave the smog of Guatemala City behind me, happy to be away from the place. What a nightmare. I wind slowly through the rain soaked roads towards Honduras, avoiding the odd mudslide and a lot of flooding. I figure I can make Zacapa before dark, and I reflect sourly on the day thus far. How can it get any worse? Taking a right hand bend the bike bucks and feels like it's going over, then again at the next bend. Great, that'll be a puncture then...

Huehuetenango had been nice, and I stayed an extra day there in the slightly odd hotel drying out and listening to a bizarre selection of Guatemalan music in the restaurant. A short but beautiful ride through the Western Highlands got me to Quetzaltenango, an eclectic mix of Mayan folks dressed in traditional bright colours and Guatemalans dressed in WWF t-shirts. It was a bit of a let down after the views from the road, and the rain didn't really help. The following day another short ride took me to Lake Atitlan, described by Aldous Huxley as the most beautiful lake in the world. The lake is pretty, blue/green waters surrounded by volcanoes, but I quickly decided that Aldous had been at the hallucinogens again, he really needed to visit the Canadian Rockies ;)

However, staying near the lake had given me the opportunity to go for a paddle, so I rented a kayak for a couple of hours and headed out on the lake. That turned out to be a mistake as the weather, which had been fine all morning, had other ideas. It got windier and the lake got rougher until I was having trouble staying upright. Finally I heard a deep boom come from the other side of the lake, I turned and there was a storm headed my way across the water. Having given up on kayaking, I returned to the hotel and tried the pool, which being surrounded by tropical gardens and strange bird calls was a little like Jurassic Park. But it was unheated, the sky rapidly blackening, and when the rain started I beat a retreat.

The hotel grounds were cool though, sheltering trees of lime and orange, and several other fruits I can't name competed for space with flowers and hummingbirds. If it had been sunny it would have been great.

Next day I was planning to head to Antigua Guatemala which was supposed to be nice, "elegantly ruined" by an earthquake. When I got there the flooded, cobbled streets were a nightmare on the bike, it was impossible to see the surrounding volcanoes and I started to lose interest rapidly. Red 5 politely complained about the cobbles a couple of times and that was it, I was heading for Guatemala City. The day went downhill from there, really.

I'd read Guatemala City wasn't much to see, but I wasn't prepared for the sprawling chaos, total lack of directional signs, and the worst smog and pollution I've ever seen. Stuck behind lorries and buses belching choking black fumes, I followed my compass as east as I could, eventually passing through a narrow street lined with scantily dressed women in doorways, which came to a dead end. Feeling unsafe for the first real time on the trip, I made a hasty left and tracking north for a bit, eventually found a main road east out of the city.

I think I was maybe 20 kilometers out of town before I picked up a sign that confirmed I was on the right road. The weather worstened and my soaking was complete, if I'd jumped in a river I wouldn't have got any wetter. I stopped to get some money from an ATM and a brief conversation with a couple of guys who were admiring the bike revealled there were a couple of good hotels in Teculutan about 25 minutes up the road.

Getting back on the road, I realised I had a puncture and as I was looking for somewhere to pull in the situation started to sink in, it was too dark to see without a light, it was pouring with rain and I had a flat which I couldn't ride any further on. I got off cursing, checked and sure enough the back tyre was flat. I figured I would ride around the corner as the road there was not a good place to stop, and as I did so the lights of a petrol station came in view.

I figured I would stop there under shelter and light, and repair the flat. When I arrived at the garage I ignored the guys who wanted to fuel the bike and set about unloading all the luggage. Then I put the bike on the centre stand and got my pump out. At that point the garage staff descended on me offering to assist, and using a pneumatic pump we quickly found a gaping hole. First I tried to use "Slime" in the tyre, which is a liquid rubber you pour in, then pressure seals the hole. Having messed about removing the valve core and inserting the goo, I repressurised the tyre and it still leaked badly. So I fished out my puncture repair kit, which was a tubeless type that inserts little rubber mushrooms into the hole.

After figuring out how the whole contraption worked, I gave it a try and the head of the mushroom just sheared off. Useless stuff! One of the garage guys made a call - I'd assumed to a tyre shop - and ten minutes later whilst I was still trying to get a plug to seat, help arrived, in the shape of a kid of no more than ten years old (seriously). He had a different type of plugging kit using rubber worms, and at the second attempt the repair held. We couldn't find any bubbles after chucking water on the tyre, so I thanked the kid and gave him $20. The garage guys wouldn't accept a penny for their efforts, they just wanted to know who I was and where I was from.

We all exchanged names and I left repeating "that's very kind of you", a phrase I've learned since I got to Guatemala. The people here are amazing and will hold a place in my memory long after this trip is over.

I'd dropped one of my gloves but managed to find it a couple of hundred metres down the road in the hard shoulder, having retrieved it I roared off in the lightning and torrential rain to find an hotel. The two I'd been told about had no rooms available, and I ended up in the Hotel California (such a lovely place). It had no hot water, stank, and lorries hammered past all night on their way east. As I curled up under my mosquito net and tried to sleep, I realised that what made today worse than the day I crashed in Alaska was having no company to laugh it off with.

As Donkey from Shrek might say "I need a hug" ;)

Frase.