jun_25


	25 June 2000

A week ago, I left Manuel Antonio shortly before noon and arrived at the border to Nicaragua by sunset, after a short refueling stop in Liberia. I had mixed feelings since Vagalosa's permit expired back in January and at the custom offices in San José I had been told that I would have to pay a $500 fine in order to bring her out of the country, and that Vagalosa could be confiscated if I was stopped by traffic police. Before leaving the capital, I had tried to find a way of fixing the problem, but the only thing I could do was to declare the paper as stolen and get a police report which would have given me at least some protection had I been pulled over.

So, brazed for the worst and with a couple of $20 bills and even a $100 bill placed at strategic locations among my documents I approached the vehicle control window at the border post. The guy on the other side asked me for the permit. I handed him the police report and informed him that I had been to the custom offices in San José and that I had been told to come here directly. He looked at me as if I had told him my name was Santa Claus, he shook his head, pulled out a little scrap of paper, scribbled something on it, stamped it and handed it to me. Good-bye. That's it? That's it! I got my passport stamped and was out of there. On the Nicaraguan side it was the usual stack of forms to be filled out and the usual running back and forth between offices, but I did not mind too much, having gotten away so easily with the Costa Ricans.

I drove another few miles and stopped for the night in the parking lot of a hotel. I opened all the windows, trying to get the muggy air to circulate a bit, had me some dinner and passed out. A couple of hours later, I woke up to the sound of thunder and found half the bed soaked from the rain blowing in through the windows. At least it was cooler now. The next day I had an early start and only had to stop once to let some oversized trucks pass (see picture below). By 1pm I was in Chinandega, the last town before the border to Honduras. Again, I parked in a hotel parking lot. Vagalosa's windshield wipers had been ripped off in San José, so violently that parts inside both motors broke. I had had them both fixed, but one already gave up during a rain the day before. I replaced it with the other one and tried it out in the storm that hit Chinandega in the late afternoon. It worked for two wipes and failed. So I went to the hotel bar, cooled off with a couple of beers and had an early dinner while watching the Lakers win the NBA finals.

At sunrise the next day, I was ready for the road again. It was going to be a long day, starting with the worst stretch of road in Central America (see 6 January). Then came the worst border crossing, Nicaragua/Honduras and a few hours later the second worst, Honduras/El Salvador. I arrived in San Salvador just in time by nightfall. Luckily, I had a phone number of a friend's friend.who lives here, and a little later Ernesto showed up to guide me through the maze of this buzzing city to his house. After washing off the dust and filling my empty stomach, I was ready to explore the night life. Ernesto's wife, Roxana, recommended the bar La Luna. Although it was almost empty on this tuesday night, I immediately felt at home and soon met some people. Ivan, a Russian living in London and travelling through Central America, Ixchel, a journalist of a local paper and Pedro, the arch hippie of El Salvador and a multitalented artist. The next day, Ernesto took time out of his schedule to help me get the windshield wiper motors fixed and to give me a tour of the city. He also told me how all the people who left the country during the war, brought back the varied influences from all the corners of the world when it was over. This is easily seen in the vast array of goods and srvices available in this smallest country of Central America. Towards the evening a sudden fatigue came over me and when I could barely get a bite down during dinner, I knew something was wrong. I did not sleep well that night and felt worse in the morning, but still decided to continue as planned.

I left San Salvador shortly after dawn. The traffic already started filling the streets and on the highway leading out of the city down a canyon, the exhaust fumes of the many buses and trucks were so sickening that I had to close the windows. Once out in the country side, I made good time and arrived at the border to Guatemala at eight. The paperwork wasn't quite as bad as at the previous two borders, but my fever did not make things easier to bare. I started counting miles and kept on pushing Vagalosa, a bit too much though. On the long climb from the pacific up to the over 7000 feet high mountains surrounding Lago Atitlan she sputtered and refused to go on. She had a high fever, just like me. So we sat in a shady spot by the side of the road and cooled downn while enjoying the view of the lake, already in sight. Then it was less than an hour before I was checked in at the lake front camp ground of the hotel Tzanjuyu in Panajachel and happily fell asleep.





A last look at the ocean in Manuel Antonio



		Crocodiles on the Rio Tárcoles, Costa Rica



	Wrong Way


	Make Way




	The view from Vagalosa is always spectacular




	Wild Animals in Panajachel


	Guatemalan Eyes


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