Southern Exposure

Friday, January 2

By the morning of the fourth day in Granada we were VERY ready to hit the road. After breakfast at the hotel, we loaded up the bikes and were on our way to the border crossing with Costa Rica. We took the Interamericana all the way down.

Mostly an uneventful ride apart from passing a few wind farms that always look fascinating and make us want to stop and take pictures; while their sight usually makes me a bit tense in the anticipation of “gusty winds” that might be ahead. This time it was just a pretty sight.

As soon as we pulled to the Nicaragua border we were surrounded by helpers yelling and pointing into our faces. We passed the check point and ended up in a small plaza where we had to deal with getting our passport stamps, moto stamps and checking out of the country. It became apparent that we should hire the one boy that stuck with us to speed things up. It took almost 2 hours to finalize everything – as much as it usually takes us to go through both borders. While I was waiting for Matt, I bought two bottles of our favourite Chilean wine (Concha Y Toro is the producer) at the Duty Free, and we were on our way to deal with the Costa Rican officials.

It took at least two more hours at the Costa Rica border. While Matt was dealing with paperwork, I chatted with a woman who was riding with her husband from Canada to Panama. We also met another rider – Gregory – who rode from Boston to Alaska and was on his way to Ushuaia. We had seen him on the roads before – he has a very distinctively painted tank on his 83 BMW. It was nice to finally meet him in person.

It was about 2:30 pm when we were finally free of the border hassle. We had two places in mind for our next destination. Either go to Lake and Volcano Arenal or ride down to Nosara on the Pacific Coast, which is a place where I did my yoga training a year ago. We decided for the latter.

I was a bit nervous about riding on the dirt roads which I remember being very bumpy, covered in holes with large rocks scattered all over; and we knew we only had 3 hours before the sun set, which as I remembered was not enough time to get to the village. But we decided to take our chances in hopes of spending the weekend on the beach.

About 90 percent of the road was paved and only the last stretch ended up being the dirt road. Unfortunately, it was getting dark as soon as we turned on the dirt road. We had only about 25 km to go, but riding in the dark and encountering crazy drivers flying out of the corners in the opposite direction was a little nerve racking and stressful for me. Plus I kept feeling that the bike was more “flexible” and wobbly than usual, making it less stable on the rocks. By the time we reached Nosara I was drenched in sweat from all the stress and humidity.

I knew at least three hotels we could stop at. At the first one where I stayed before, the reception desk was already closed (at 6 pm!). The second one, the largest and nicest hotel in the village was completely booked. That was not a good sign for us, as we realized that it was the weekend after New Year’s – the busiest time for a surf destination like Nosara. Hoping for the best I went to check in with the last hotel I knew about. The reception was closed, and I became very worried. Fortunately, the keeper saw me from the restaurant and after about 10 minutes of making phone calls and checking her books, she told me we could have the owner’s room – he was supposed to come that night, but will be coming the next day instead. She would find another room for us tomorrow. Thank God! I could not wait to get out of the riding gear and take a shower.

We decided to park the bikes in front of the hotel room, which meant riding through a narrow gravel pathway between the building and a garden. While turing on to the pathway I knocked over a faucet on the outdoor water pipe. The water was splashing all over, rising up in a high fountain. The keeper girl was trying to cover it with her hand without much luck, getting her pretty white dress completely soaked through. I felt totally embarrassed for being so clumsy, and not knowing how I can help stop the water. Here I was, being let in to the owner’s quarters on the last leap of faith, all the while destroying the hotel’s property and causing trouble to the staff. One of the staff guys tried to cover it with a wooden cork to no success. They finally put a plastic bag around it so the fountain was still splashing, but contained in the bag, leaking on the ground.

We took our long-awaited showers, had dinner at the hotel (pizza, salad and two beers for $30!) and retired to bed.

When we arrived in Nosara I by chance noticed something I should have noticed a long time ago. We were parking for the umpteenth time to check for a room in one of the hotels when I noticed how little slack there was in Inna’s chain. Mine was even worse.

The mistake I had been making was doing the chain slack adjustment when the bikes were unloaded. I had been doing it at the end of the day after we were unpacked and following the specs in the Kawasaki service manual. Once all of the luggage is on the bikes, the rear squats considerably and the chain was far too tight.

As unfortunate as it was to have figured this out so late in the trip, at least it was before we were riding the serious dirt roads of South America. The 40 miles up and back to Miraflores and the 30 miles of dirt roads down to Nosara were the only dirt roads we’d ridden so far, so it could have been a lot worse.

The following afternoon after moving to a new hotel, we left all of the luggage on the bikes and properly set the chain slack. It consumed precious beach time, but it made me ill to think of riding another mile on those dirt roads with the chains so tight.

Once we were done with the chains, other problems came into view. On the ride in to Nosara, the left lower subframe bolt on Inna’s bike had come loose and fallen out. Falling out is better than shearing off, but it is a serious problem and good that we noticed it as soon as we did. Fortunately I had some spare bolts that would work and we were able to get it properly mounted again. I’m so glad we caught this early as the next step was a collapse of the subframe, which is very expensive and difficult to fix on the road.

The other maintenance highlight was finding stress cracks on the corner welds on two of the panniers. They were small cracks, but they will only grow with time. I wish the welds were stronger, but it’s hard to fault Happy Trails since the panniers have taken a few hits in tipovers. We will have to get them welded by a soldadura as soon as we can manage.

It’s stressful to discover these issues, but at least we caught them before they caused serious delays. Setting the proper slack in the chains made a noticeable performance improvement to the ride quality. The rear suspension was free to work now, and we both felt comfortable riding the dirt roads at 45 mph instead of the previous maximum of 30mph. It was like having a new bike and very confidence inspiring.

Update: Since I first wrote this post Inna’s oil leak has actually gotten worse. It seems like by removing the pressure from the countershaft has allowed the oil to leak more freely. We noticed a small puddle forming under Inna’s parked bike today. My bike’s left pannier has also split down the seam in the back where the aluminum was folded to form the box. Weak. I’m going to have to find a welder immediately.

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Knowing it was a short ride down to Granada, we had a leisurely morning and had a big breakfast at the Miraflores co-op cafe from the day before. They had great batidos (like smoothies except without added sugars). We packed up the bikes and were on our way.

The ride down from the highlands was pleasant if uneventful. The wind was gusty, blowing down from the highlands to the west coast. It wasn’t challenging but we had to be mindful of unexpected gusts. The landscape became greener as we descended into view of Lake Nicaragua. We were trying to avoid the capital city of Managua and all of its traffic, so we bid farewell to the lake and went west through Masaya.

It was only a half an hour past Masaya to Granada. It’s very hard to feel like you’re making any progress on the overall journey when you can only ride 150 miles in a day. The countries are so small no place within the country is very far away. The layout of Granada is the classic Spanish grid, so it took little effort to find our hotel. We had picked it because it had a nice rooms with air conditioning at a good price. I don’t think either of us had expected for it to turn into a nightclub at night, but it was called El Club.

We unpacked and met the owner, a Dutch transplant. He was bringing in a DJ from Holland for New Year’s Eve, which sounded good to us as we’re always up for dancing. Once unpacked, we rode the bikes over to the fire station that also served as a parking lot for a small fee of course.

We strolled down to the main plaza, which by now was a familiar site of churches and colonial buildings. Granada was bustling with activity and the hot, humid air was whisked away by a gentle breeze from Lake ???. Both Inna and I felt Granada had a much more vibrant atmosphere than its sister city, Antigua. Locals were out and about instead of hiding behind iron bars.

We walked around, seeing the sites until sunset, and then returned to the hotel for dinner.

Wednesday, December 31, 2008

My plan for the morning was bike maintenance. Inna tried to line up a yoga class, but being a holiday, nothing was available. To maximize our afternoon time, she went to find a grocery store to purchase liquor and mixers for out New Year’s night, while I started working on the bikes.

My original plan was to give the bikes a look over for any loose bolts, clean and lube the chains, and then look into Inna’s Starcom. It shorts out constantly, blowing its fuse. Her headset only works in one speaker, but with the power wire running under the gas tank, I was concerned it was being pinched and shorting out against the frame.

With the bikes up on the center stands, I cleaned the chains and then began to take the panniers off of Inna’s bike. The panniers were very loose in the racks, even with the screws fully tightened. This was bad news. While we are riding smooth paved roads, it’s not a big deal, but once we are regularly riding bumpy dirt roads, the loose panniers will destroy themselves and the racks. The tipovers have taken their toll on the boxes.

Inna returned from the chaos of the Granada market streets bearing mana from heaven for me – she had found Dr. Pepper in one of the cafes. Delicious. I took the gas tank off of the red KLR and inspected the wires. The wires for the volt meter had some dents in them, but the Starcom wire looked in pristine condition. This was bad news as far as I was concerned because now I have no idea why it keeps shorting out. It could be the bad headset is causing the short and blowing fuses. I put in a new fuse to buy a few days of radio time and put the gas tank back on.

I inspected my bike, the blue one, and the panniers were loose as well. There was an ancient fire truck that obviously had not run in years parked in the corner with a similarly ancient truck tire tube draped over the rear. We cut strips of rubber out of the tube to use as gaskets between the panniers and the racks. This worked out great as the boxes can now be held tightly against the rack and they don’t move at all.

After putting a second coat of lube on the chains, we were done with the KLRs for the year. Back at the hotel we cleaned up, and headed out for some last minute shopping. We went back to the grocery store and indeed the market street was as busy and chaotic as Inna had told me. We bought some ice for cocktails in the room and treated ourselves to some ice cream.

After an early dinner, we retreated to the room to relax, take a nap, and have a cocktail before the hotel got too busy. They had turned the central open air cafe into a dance floor and had been doing sound checks all afternoon. With our bed only separated by two doors from the dance floor, an early night was not going to be an option.

By 11pm the party was in full swing and we put in some quality time on the dance floor. The house music was a welcome change from the usual latin ballads we’d been hearing. Midnight arrived to great cheers and fireworks shooting up above our heads.

Happy New Year!

Thursday, January 1, 2009

The first day of the new year was a slacker day for us. We slept in and then ate breakfast in the room. The town was dead when we ventured out. The small percentage of the population that owned cars seemed to be staying in on this holiday so a tranquil silence hung in the air. We watched bad movies on cable television in the evening and packed for an early departure for Costa Rica the next day. Now that the holidays were officially over, we were anxious to be back on the road.

Monday, December 29

We arose without a firm plan for the day. The holidays had introduced an artificially slow pace in our journey. We wanted to be in a city for New Year’s Eve, and since the rest of the world was also on vacation during these weeks, we had to make reservations in advance rather than our usual ad-hoc approach. We had decided upon Granada, which was only a half day’s ride from Estelí, but we weren’t due to arrive there for another day. This slow pace of travel for the holidays was becoming a little frustrating as we were rarely putting in a full day’s ride. This was also a by product of Central America – if you ride for an entire day you just skipped an entire country.

We went to a cafe from the night before. It was run by a non-profit organization that provides services to the co-op that runs the Miraflores reserve and agricultural zone. This area contains highlands and cloud forests and the co-op has a home stay tourist program where the local farmers can host a few people on their land as well as provide guides to tour the landscape. We decided rather than go east to see the Selva Negra, a high altitude pine forest, we would spent a night in Miraflores.

The road to Miraflores would be our first real off pavement expedition of the trip. It was impressive that we had made it this far without having to leave pavement for any significant stretches, but neither Inna nor I have any real experience in dirt riding so we don’t seek it out. The road began as a rocky dirt road from the moment we left the gas station. We proceeded cautiously at first, getting a feel for the conditions under our heavy bikes. The road began to climb and we were quickly rewarded with sweeping views of the area.

As we climbed higher through the hills, the vegetation began to change. The lower foothills we were in were a dryer climate, and the trees were draped in long sheets of hanging moss like an old man’s beard. The fields were littered with boulders covered in lichens and dried yellow grasses. The landscape was becoming more lush and although the road was still dry, at the bottom of each ravine we had to cross standing water.

The landscape became greener with each elevation gain, and soon we were entering the lower cloud forest. We were only a few kilometers from our lodging for the night when a large truck passed us going downhill. It was a large Mercedes lorry, and the chest high wheels were absolutely caked in fresh mud. Inna and I saw that mud and gave each a look of “Wow” (that’s the censored version). As the forest became denser and greener, the road became muddier.

We crossed one particularly muddy water crossing, and then road began to climb steeply. As you would expect if you were voluntarily riding into a cloud forest, rain began to fall, steadily increasing with each meter we traveled. We came to a sharp right turn in the road. The truck had dug deep ruts here in the inside of the turn and as I came to the apex of the turn and saw the steep hill ahead of us, I stopped to reconsider.

This was a big mistake, as the thin layer of mud over rocks behaved much like ice. The front wheel began to slide sideways downhill and only through great effort could I hold the bike steady. The hill was very steep and muddy. We probably could have made it up the hill, but it was unlikely either of us had the skill to maneuver these heavy KLRs back down the hill. The rain was now a pour and the hill was only getting increasingly slippery.

We decided we had gotten what we wanted out of this expedition and maneuvered to turn out, which was a huge pain. The bikes slid quite freely if you allowed them to back down at more than a speed of an inch per year. Inna was behind me, so she maneuvered her bike so that it pointed downhill, and then sped off bumping crazily through the rocks and mud, not wanting to apply too much brake in case it would trigger a slide and fall.

She came back to help me stabilize the bike and to take pictures of our situation. We got the blue KLR turned around and we were on our way back down. The mud crossing before the main road had become much deeper, but we powered through it. The experience really put a new meaning to the word micro-climate, because within 2 miles we were out of the rain and back on dry ground. There is no other place to stay up in the highlands, so it was back down for us.

As disappointing as it was not to have our stay in the cloud forest, it was still a beautiful ride. The experience in mud paid off immediately as we rode down with much greater confidence and rode the rocky road at least twice as fast as we rode up it. It didn’t hurt that we were both still wearing our warm weather gear and were soaked through. When we got to the back to the main highway, we agonized over riding down to Leon. Neither of us really wanted to spend another night in Estelí, but it was 4:30 pm in the afternoon and we’d never make it down before dark. We played it conservative and checked back into our same hotel for the night.

Sunday, December 28

Our plan for the day was to ride back about 10 km to the Somoto Canyon which was the local nature attraction. Mario L. gave us a recommendation for a local guide named Ballardo (pronounced Ba-yardo). We were to try and find him in the village for a possible hike to the canyon. We were not too confident we would be able to locate him, but the first local kids we inquired with, pointed us to his house, and out of the blue Ballardo himself showed up, and was willing to guide us through the canyon.

We parked our bikes at his house, which like the rest of the village, seemed very poor. I used one of the rooms in the house to change my clothes, and was quite humbled by how destitute the inside was: there was no floor, just the same dirt as the dirt outside, the ceiling and walls were constructed with a combination of wood planks and all kinds of found materials, like cellophane, plastic, resin, etc.; there was nothing but two beds and a lonely light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Ballardo’s family was sitting outside watching us unpack, pack and lock the bikes. We were were finally ready for our hike, and were joined by Ballardo’s daughter who was carrying a float boat, while he was carrying our life vests.

We hiked through some fields and took a private (gated) road down to the canyon until we reached the river.

We crossed the shallow river a few times jumping from rock to rock, but were soon advised to leave our sneakers on and start swimming down stream as the river became full and deep. The boat was available to us, but it was a lot more fun to swim dow the river looking up the tall rocky walls of the canyon.

The water was refreshingly pleasant, the sun was peaking through the narrow passages in the sky, and it felt like a perfect place to be on a hot afternoon – a nice alternative to riding. The canyon was washing away the irritation of the previous day’s two border crossings. I had a constant smile on my face throughout the whole adventure.

After about an hour of swimming and climbing through the rocks we stopped for a rest on a rocky island with a cliff about 10 m high. Ballardo, leading by example, challenged us to a cliff dive. I hesitated for a while, but after Matt did his dive, I knew there was no way out for me.

After our clavadista performances we continued swimming down the river and soon reached a rocky beach from which we were taken by a row boat to the “mainland.” There were a lot of locals hanging around the beach, having their Sunday picnics, drinking and dancing to the music that was bumping out of their 4×4’s.

We hiked back to Ballardo’s house. Had a quick snack from our convenient grocery supply, and were ready to hit the road south.

It felt so good to have spent a full day outside, enjoying the beautiful sights of the canyon, swimming in the river and being guided by a local Nicaraguan man and his daughter. We were very grateful for the opportunity. Thank you Mario L. for this great suggestion and thank you to Ballardo and his family for giving us such a hospitable adventure!

We rode for about 3 hours to the next big town of Etelí. We were stopped at a check point once without any problems. At a photo stop we were questioned by a Catholic missionary who said it was his dream to do our adventure. The rest of the ride was very pleasant and picturesque, the road’s smooth sweeping turns were taking us through fields with lush forests covered in fog in the distance.

Saturday, December 27

We woke up early for our border crossing into Honduras. After reading other riders’ reports we were prepared for the worst and decided to ride through Honduras as fast as possible and cross into Nicaragua the same day. We said final good byes to Mario D. at the bridge and rode for another couple of hours to get to the border.

As always, the “helpers” could spot us from afar, and as soon as we pulled up they swarmed around us offering help. We checked out of El Salvador trying to resist their assistance. But as soon as we got to the point of entry into Honduras we knew there was no way we could navigate the red tape without their help, so Matt recruited two young guys who seemed to work as a team. We parked our bikes amongst numerous trucks, and while I was watching the bikes, Matt was doing the usual border hassle.

First, the guys agreed to help for $3 a bike. Needless to say their fee tripled by the time we were done, though they claimed it wasn’t going into their pocket but to bribe the officials to speed up the process. After an hour and a half Matt came back and said that we were half way through and needed to pay our fees but the bank was closed for lunch and would reopen in half an hour. One of our helpers came back saying the bank was closed for the weekend and will only reopen on Monday, so we could either stick around for two days at the border (yeah, right!) or he could arrange for us to pay directly to the official for an extra charge. I don’t even want to go into describing all the “fees” and bribes we had to pay, totaling about $70 a bike, for which by the way we received an official receipt with a stamp from the officer. We felt totally ripped off and unwelcomed and wanted to get out of Honduras as soon as possible, and not spend another penny in that corrupt country.

It took about two hours of uneventful but pretty riding through hilly Honduras countryside. A few kilometers before the border we came up to a check point. The police guy first made a sign with his hands to pass through (or so we thought) and then suddenly started signaling for us to stop. I didn’t have enough time to react and with almost non existing rear breaks on the KLR I could not stop in time and dropped the bike between Matt and the police guy. I was struggling to pick up the bike and the police guy (I will call him Jerk from here on) showing his true nature would not even move to help me. I yelled at the other policeman asking for help, which I received.

The Jerk asked us to park on the road shoulder, took our documents, and told us that we owed $200 in fines because I touched his sissy leg with my motorcycle or I could get arrested. We had only small change on us, the rest of the money was in high dollar bills tucked away in our bags. I knew that we could definitely bargain down and was not particularly scared. I think I was more angry and was showing it too. Matt was doing the bargaining. We open our wallets in front of him spilling all the change we had on us ($8 maximum). The Jerk laughed at us and said we better come up with the money or his military buddy who at that moment pulled up in a car will take us to jail. However, at that point he did come down to $100. I was speaking loudly to Matt, playing it up a bit, saying that since we don’t have any more money they can arrest me if they want.

Matt went for another bargaining trial with the Jerk, while his mate was sweet talking to me, asking if he can go on a motorcycle ride with me instead of Matt. I don’t know why he was joking around because my face was certainly as sour as a lemon and I had no desire to talk to him about anything.

Matt again spilled all our change money in front of the Jerk plus a few extra coins we found on our pockets, telling him we looked everywhere and have no more money on us. The Jerk suggested that we can give him the iPod instead, or sunglasses. Matt refused, playing dumb, showing him his earplugs, and after some more deliberation, the asshole took the $8, gave us our papers, and let us go, forbidding us to tell anyone about the encounter. He even made Matt shake his hand and said “amigos”. Unreal.

We rode away and 20 minutes later were out of Honduras. I was very proud of us for not letting those crooks take advantage of us. In fact, we played THEM in a way. At the border crossing we saw a real price list of fees for entering Honduras and of course they were half of what we had to “officially” pay.

We also talked to the Mexican guys who were stopped at the check point by the same thugs and they were fined $10 for not having a jack in their car! We read Ross’ reports of his similar ordeals with four check points in Honduras, and all I can say, Honduras and its corrupt thief-cops can kiss my ass! I am never going back there again! If you don’t mind the language (warning), I recommend reading Ross’ account of his 4 stops in one day.

It was 5 pm by the time we got through the Nicaragua border. We rode for an hour in the dark to Somoto and were able to find a decent hotel for the night, which had four cute resident cats, always a nice touch as far as we are concerned.

Sunday, December 21

The border crossing into El Salvador was tedious, but uneventful. The staff was light on a Sunday morning so the majority of the three hours it took to do the paperwork was waiting in line outside the aduana for the next available agent. I don’t mind so much if the border takes time so long as it is an orderly process. I chatted with a few of the others waiting and met someone from Port Arthur, Texas. He told me he had ridden out Hurricane Ike and while Port Arthur got lucky, he’d never try his luck like that again.

A fellow rider from Adventure Rider, Mario L. had contacted me some time ago, offering to show us around El Salvador if we were going to be riding through. We had originally planned to ride through Honduras, but we couldn’t pass up an offer of local hospitality. We arranged to meet near La Libertad at noon, but the border had taken so much longer than expected we were only a few miles from the border when the clock struck twelve.

Fortunately, there is only one road from our border crossing so we hoped we wouldn’t be too late to run into them. In a nice sweeping right turn to which both Inna and I had flubbed the entry, four riders went past in the other direction led by Mario L. on his booming KTM. Inna and I pulled off and the other did a u-turn. Mario L. pulled off to introduce himself and he was a jolly guy with a great smile. We quickly set off in a line of 6 motorcycles. This was a magnificent welcome to El Salvador which I doubt any other country will able to top. Inna and I both had huge smiles under our helmets.

As luck would have it, we had just gotten to the best part of the road. Mario L. led us through the series of five tunnels that were linked with series of sweeping turns along the hillside. We stopped at a viewpoint – imagine that, a country who put viewpoints in their scenic roads! Inna and I were introduced to the others and the names turned out to be easy to remember. There was Mario D., on a red KLR like Inna’s except with a cool El Salvadoran flag on the front fender. Mario L. Jr. was Mario L’s son on a Kawasaki dirt bike. Finally, there was Juan Carlos, who was riding one of the cool Yamaha parallel twin dual sports we are not worthy of receiving in the US.

We resumed our ride along the coast, on our way to meet up with Mario L.’s family and friends at a beach club on Playa Sunzal. We arrived shortly and were introduced to everyone. It was a beautiful beach club and we almost felt a little out of place. However, everyone was extremely friendly and jovial conversation was enjoyed over a nice and much needed lunch. Playa Sunzal is a world famous surf spot and the beach itself was simply beautiful. Inna and I were able to have a quick swim in the ocean before we all suited up to head into the city.

The road from La Libertad to San Salvador is a particularly busy two lane road on a Sunday afternoon as everyone is returning from the beach. These guys rode a little more aggressively than I was used to, passing traffic on the left and sometimes riding up the right shoulder. Inna felt right at home.

Mario L. had arranged a hotel for Inna and I two doors down from the San Salvador Kawasaki dealer. He had also made us an appointment for the next morning as he was on friendly terms with the owner. This was the royal treatment and Inna and I couldn’t believe the hospitality we were being shown from someone I had exchanged a few sentences with over the internet. The hotel was nice, with the rare luxury of wireless internet, and conveniently located a block from the big Galleria shopping mall.

Mario L. left us to clean up, and later Mario D. picked us up at the hotel for dinner and drinks at Mario L.’s home. Mario L. has a beautiful house on a hill in San Salvador with a view of the volcano and all of our new friends from lunch were there. We met Mario L.s beautiful wife Fernanda and were treated to cocktails, our first drink in weeks, along with El Salvadoran papusas. My stomach was still in turmoil but I tried them anyways. They were tasty, if a little greasy, and my appetite was limited under the circumstances. It was a very pleasant evening of good conversation and food. Inna and I were a bit in awe at incredibly gracious hospitality we were being shown as we felt like we were long lost relatives returning to the fold. Sadly Inna and I had the least stamina of the bunch and were the first to retire for the night. It was wonderful to sleep in air conditioning after the misery of the night in Monterrico.

Monday, December 22

We woke up early for our Kawasaki appointment. Mario L. met us at the dealer to make sure everything was going smoothly and to introduce us to the owner, Mike Sullivan. The bikes were set to receive an oil change, new brake pads, and to install the stainless steel brake lines I’d been carrying from Seattle but had never find the time and motivation to install so far. We also replaced a seal on the countershaft on Inna’s bike in hopes that it would stop leaking so much oil.

I still wasn’t feeling well, so I was happy to lay low for most of the day. Having a hotel room door buildings from the dealer was wonderful. Inna and I made a short excursion to the mall to see what it was like, and it was a spacious three story, upscale mall. Sadly, we are weary of tortillas by now, so the palatial food court at the mall with its myriad of cuisines seemed like nirvana. This is very embarrassing to admit, but after weeks of the same flavors and spices, a change was needed.

Things didn’t go quite so smoothly at the Kawasaki dealer. Due to a miscommunication, only Inna’s bike had received new brake pads, and the new rear lines on both bikes were installed incorrectly. When they were fixing Inna’s, the young mechanic broke the line at the banjo. This was extremely frustrating and he offered to pay for it, but I just told him to put the original rubber line back on and we’d call it even. The line was worth $50 and there was no way I was going to take that out of some kid’s pocket three days before Christmas. I’ll get a new one when we get home – it’s only the rear brake anyways. In the hurry to reinstall the brake lines on both bikes, they were bled very poorly but I didn’t notice it until later. I will have to address it later as the rear brakes are extremely mushy on both bikes. Fortunately, the front brakes felt great if a bit squeaky at low speed.

I switched from a lighter antibiotic to the sledgehammer of Cipro and started to feel better within hours. Inna and I had a low key evening in the room, enjoying lounging, reading, and catching up on cable news.

Tuesday, December 23

Tuesday Mario L. and Mario Jr. came to the hotel to take us for a drive. We first went up to the volcano. It’s only a short walk to the rim from the parking lot but the altitude provides a good excuse for being lightly winded. The volcano itself is very impressive. You stand on the rim looking down into the crater whose floor lies 560m (1800ft) below the rim. The crater is lined with trees that look miniscule and the only hint of activity is the bulge rising from the ground that wouldn’t look out of place on the moon. A television transmitter rises from the edge and we were all thinking what a great spot it must be for base jumping. The rim provides a great view over El Salvador as several other volcanic peaks loom in the distance.

Our next stop was lunch at an eco tour restaurant. Lunch was served on the back patio overlooking the jungle. Many beautiful flowers were in bloom and amongst the many birds a few hummingbirds were hard at work. It was a beautiful scene only enhanced by the delicious food and good company. Mario L. told us of his planned ride to Alaska next summer. This is great news for Inna and I as it gives us an opportunity to return the incredible hospitality.

After lunch Mario took us to see the coffee plantation that has been in his family for 35 years. Neither Inna nor I had ever seen a coffee plant in person, and the coffee was near harvest time. The trees were heavy with ripe red coffee cherries. The plantation had nice guest house set up perfect for barbecuing. The caretakers lived in a house near the guest house. For a working farm, it had surprisingly nice views of San Salvador and it’s amazing that you can farm with a view of a major city.

Mario returned us to the hotel for a few hours before Javier picked us up for the party at Juan Carlos’ house that night. Juan Carlos’ is an architect whose talent was on display in the design of his house. It was wonderfully spacious and colorful with a stairway that seemed to have no supports and a skylight. As was typical of our El Salvadoran experience, everyone was extremely gracious to us and we had many laughs with Javier, Mirna, and Patty. I’ve never seen anyone pour a tall glass of Johnny Walker Black on the rocks before, but Javier is a big guy who can drink them like lemonade. Beneath the house was a ping pong table, and Inna gave me a early beat down before we drew even. We had such a good time and so many good conversations at the party, it was hard to believe we had just met these people who had so warmly welcomed us into their holidays. Sadly, as per usual now, Inna and I were the first to wilt and go home to our hotel beds.

Wednesday, December 24

We slept in slightly, but we ready to check out when Mario L. arrived. He and his daughter Fernandita arrived in car to lead us down to Mario D.’s house in Playa San Diego. Mario D. offered us his beach house for a few days and we could not pass on the offe. It was another amazing display of hospitality – the day of Christmas Eve – Mario L. takes the time to drive down from San Salvador to La Libertad so we could go grocery shopping, then to Playa San Diego to get us settled for our stay before driving back to San Salvador to spend Christmas Eve with his family.

Christmas in El Salvador is traditionally celebrated on Christmas Eve with the family. Fireworks are set off from about 7 pm onward, culminating with the big finale at the stroke of midnight. Hugs are exchanged, and then Christmas turkey dinner is served. I doubt there are many early risers on Christmas day in El Salvador.

Our Christmas Eve was near perfect. Mario D.’s house was a lovely bungalow a short path from the beach. It had two small houses, an outdoor living room, kitchen, and a pool. Inna cooked us a huge salad and a marinated herb chicken fried in a pan. The chicken in El Salvador is so much juicer and tastier than the chicken we get at home, and after weeks of eating out, the home cooked meal was divine. We were so happy with the food and the wine we were in bed watching Wall-E by 10 pm. I remember being woken up by the loud explosions and knowing midnight had arrived and that it was Christmas.

Thursday, December 25

We slept in for the first time what felt like ages. Inna cooked us a great breakfast and we were both going to be sad to be leaving a kitchen behind. We hit the beach after breakfast. We found our first scorpion of the trip clinging to our beach bag. Inna is nicely tanned now, but I still look like the ghost of Seattle past. It definitely didn’t feel like Christmas. Our friends and family were thousands of miles away, and we were surrounded by beaches and fireworks.

As is the tradition in El Salvador, the beaches were crowded as all the families head down for the day. Mario D., his wife Carlena, and their family arrived in the afternoon. The fourth Mario of our El Salvador experience was Mario D.’s son Mario. Mario D. and Carlena continued the high standard of hospitality. Inna made up a salad and some eggplant, while Mario and Carlena provided the hot dogs for our communal dinner.

Inna and I really enjoyed the company of Mario and Carlena. Mario owns a security consulting business while Carlena is a logistics and project manager for multimillion dollar development projects, all while raising a family of four. Both of them had spent significant time in United States earlier in their lives. The kids don’t fool around with their trips to the beach – they brought a TV, a DVD player, and an Xbox with 2 guitars for Guitar Hero contests.

Friday, December 26

Inna and I had planned to leave Friday morning for Honduras, but were easily persuaded by Mario to stay another day. Inna went to the beach while Carlena and her daughters took me into La Libertad to see the market along the pier. It was another lounging afternoon for us and we even managed to get some time in on Mario’s giant trampoline. We had a late lunch/early dinner bbq of chicken and beef. Inna and I made it an early night while the family watched a movie.

Saturday, December 27

We got up early to make our run through Honduras. Mario D. got up early with us and gave us an escort for the first hour down to the big bridge. It was a sad farewell for us, to Mario in particular and our experience in El Salvador in general. Mario L., Mario D., and their family and friends were so incredibly hospitable and gracious to us. They took so much time out for us during the holiday week usually reserved for family time. Inna and I were just strangers posting on a website and these people took us into their homes and treated us like family. By the time we left, everyone felt like old friends and Inna and I were both sad to say goodbye. It had been a very humbling experience for us and it is an inspiration for us to pass on the hospitality to others when we return home to Seattle.

Mario L, Fernanda, Mario D., Carlena, Juan Carlos, Javier, Mirna, & Patty – thank you so much for your kindness and good company. We will remember El Salvador as one of the real highlights of our trip.

Saturday, December 20

Getting in and out of Monterrico was quite a thrilling adventure that left me breathless and pumped adrenaline into my blood on a number of occasions. Monterrico is a beach town on the Pacific side of Guatemala not far from the border crossing with El Salvador. We were going to stay there one night to get some Guatemala beach experience and get up early the next day to cross the border.

First I have to mention that for the most part, Guatemalan roads suck. They are poorly marked; their quality ranges from perfect asphalt to a dirt road within a mile distance on an interstate (and the Pan American) highway; the crazy bus drivers run you over without even blinking; other drivers are honking constantly with utter impatience at a slight sign of others slowing down or not driving to their liking.

That said, we had a little bit of trouble finding our way to La Avellana, a town a couple kilometers from Monterrico on the opposite side of a mangrove swamp, where we needed to take a boat across the mangrove swamp to get to our beach destination. We got to La Avellana and right away were whisked onto a hand built boat that already had a car in it.

We rode onto the boat on a narrow plank and before we realized what was happening the boat was already moving. We could not put the kick stands down because the boat bottom consisted of unevenly plastered planks, so we had to sit on out bikes holding on to them to make sure they stayed straight up. I think we were both in awe of the situation, it seemed strange, improbable and hilarious at the same time. How and why in the world did we get on this boat? How are we going to get the bikes off the boat? And what about the ride back the next morning?

After about 30 minutes of sailing through the swamps we touched down in Monterrico. We had to back the bikes off the boat on the single plank, only this time we needed the help of three men to push us up to the shore. When we were finally safe on the ground I had to get off the bike, because my limbs were trembling and I was absolutely drenched in sweat.

We found a suiting hotel and hit the beach around 4 pm. The beach was very expansive with black volcanic sand. It was rather hard to enjoy the ocean, as the current was incredibly strong and the waves were rolling onto the shore with great intensity. I did manage to take a short “bathe” in the ocean after which we had some drinks at the beach bar, and went to see the turtles being released into the ocean as part of the preservation activity.

Tourists could sponsor a baby turtle for 15 quetzales ($2) that has been kept in the sanctuary for 2 weeks, to ensure it grows up and gets back into the ocean safely. Unfortunately, all turtles were taken by the time we arrived so we just watched 15 of them race a few meters from the beach into the ocean.

Later on, we had dinner at the only good restaurant in the area and headed for bed early. We had mosquito nets in the room which were pretty much inadequate because they were too short and had a slit on the side that was impossible to keep sealed. The AC in the room did not work, we only had a small fan, and it was extremely hot and humid. Needless to say we had quite a miserable night.

The next morning we got up early anticipating the nerve-racking ride in the boat and an ordeal at the border. This time, we decided to roll onto the boat backwards, so it was easier to get off. Yet again, it took a few locals to maneuver us on the boat and I was terrified of dropping the bike, because as they rolled me on the narrow plank, my feet could not touch the ground and I was afraid I would just slide off the plank which was three feet off the ground.

Coming off the boat, again, I was terrified of not being able to hit the narrow plank perfectly straight and collapsing onto the side, but thanks to the skills from the dirt riding class, managed to come off without any problems. Whew! It was only 7:30 am and I was already covered in sweat.

The border crossing to El Salvador took about 3 hours. I was watching the bikes while Matt was doing the paperwork hassle. It was uncomfortably hot sitting in full gear. I tried to concentrate on my book, so not to invite any conversations from the local “helpers” and onlookers.

Finally, around 12:30 pm we were done and on our way to meet Mario, an ADV rider and local Salvadoreño who had contacted Matt and invited us to meet up with him and his friends once we were in El Salvador.

Thursday and Friday, December 18 and 19

Antigua, a former capital, was the only large colonial city in our Guatemalan itinerary. It is sited in a highland valley between the cones of two volcanoes and is a host to a collection on UNESCO-listed churches, elegant buildings and plazas. In its day Antigua was one of the great cities of the Spanish Empire along with Lima and Mexico City, and today it seems popular with “bohemian” European tourists. We, however, found it to be gloomy and a bit of a depressing city. On the first account, when we rode in, we thought we were at some provincial town on the outskirts of Antigua.

The city felt dreary, possibly because most of the old cathedrals and churches for the exception of one were in ruins; a lot of buildings were scruffy and in decay; many stores and establishments had metal bars and/or walls, we guessed to protect from unwanted visitors or possible burglaries; at night the streets felt dingy and unsafe; and the people in general seemed cheerless.

We gave it a name of “a city without a future” because while it is famed for its former colonial glory, apart from the ruined churches, which I admit still looked magnificent even in their half ruined state, and a few good restaurants, the city doesn’t seem to offer much to a discerning traveller. It seems to be putting little effort into preserving its status of a colonial jewel. Understandably, there is lack of funding for reconstruction, and as we found out later, “the ruined city” is the draw for the tourists, and that’s the way they want to keep it. After all Antigua means “ancient” or “antique.”

It is likely that our lack of enthusiasm for the city was fueled by Matt’s stomach flu that started in Atitlan and lasted all throughout our Antigua stay.

On Friday morning I had breakfast by myself in a whole on the wall place across from our hotel, that nevertheless had great fresh juices and a nice combo of well prepared eggs, toast and coffee. Poor Matt overcoming his bug was able to join me for a walk around town.

We visited one cathedral that was newly painted and boasted with incredible ornate architectural details. We ventured inside, but were a bit disappointed because unlike the well managed facade of the building the inside was in shambles, scruffy halls, and no rooms or passages accessible to tourists. The main fountain in the middle of the grounds was surrounded by two large ad banners for local radio stations, which seemed a bit tacky. The building had been rebuilt a few times after numerous earthquakes. A century ago, it took them 50 years to reconstruct it only to see it being destroyed again by an earthquake two years after the reconstruction was completed.

We wondered some more around the city and marveled at the majestic architecture of the half ruined churches. For lunch we found a cafe with wi-fi and did some research online trying to figure out our plans for Christmas and New Year’s Eve. It looked like Christmas will have to be spent in El Salvador and New Year’s in Nicaragua.

We had dinner at a nice courtyard restaurant with loud live folk music. The menu was probably the most inclusive fare I have ever seen, from Greek food and pasta, to curry and hamburgers. We finished the evening by watching the second to last episode of The Amazing Race on our laptop at the hotel and went to bed early.

The next morning we did some more internet research and headed out of town to our next destination on the Pacific coast of Guatemala, a little beach town called Moterrico. This was our last stop before crossing the border to El Salvador.

On the way out of town we saw one of the volcanoes puffing out smoke from the top, which was quite amusing to see.

Tuesday, December 16 – Thursday December 18

We arose early and made the short trip to the Guatemala border. We had done our research and this border was supposed to be the best, but we were still expecting the worst. It was a pleasant surprise. We returned our vehicle permit at Banjercito in Mexico to ensure we would not lose our $400 deposits. The immigration official in Guatemala at first questioned our lack of an exit stamp from Mexico, but I told him Americans don’t get stamped entering Mexico and he dropped it. There was no line at the aduana (customs) and it was really painless. They didn’t even charge for the photocopies. All in all it took about 1.5 hours and we even got our boots shined by a young boy while we waited.

The first miles in Guatemala were quite different. CA-1 followed a river down a valley framed by steep mountainsides of thick green vegetation. The hills were sometimes so steep the GPS would lose its signal. The first 10 miles had no topes (speed humps), and I dreamed that we had entered a land free of incessant topes. The first topes appeared shortly thereafter, but generally there are far less than in Mexico.

CA-1 doesn’t waste too much time before it starts to climb. It was an adjustment to start using the Guatemala map after using the Mexico map for so long. I could fold a small panel of the Mexico map into my tank bag and use it all day. Guatemala is so much smaller than Mexico I would have to fold a new panel on the map every hour. Progress seemed amazingly quick and it’s a testament to great size of Mexico. Shortly after our stop for lunch we found ourselves climbing over 9000 ft passes. Rain clouds appeared over the peaks so we stopped to put on our rain gear. This staved off the rain with the added benefit of keeping us warmer at altitude.

[Photo from Google Images]

I had seen so many pictures of the infamous, brightly painted, gaudily chromed Guatemala buses. I had always thought they would be cool to actually see in person. I must have missed the descriptions that said the drivers of said buses were lunatics. Apparently for each minute they drive they lose money because I’ve never seen buses take corners so fast. The buses leaned heavily to the outside of the corner as the drive railed through the curves. They seemed moments from tipping over. To top it off, on one occasion someone opened the rear door of the bus as it sped through the mountains. He climbed onto the door, swung through one arc, and then climbed the ladder to the roof. The man actually fell as the bus changed direction, but managed to fall flat on the roof and hold on. Madness. The buses also tend to smoke terribly, some seem to be smoke generators that came with free buses.

We arrived in Atitlan near sunset in the town of Panajachel. As the road wound down towards Lake Atitlan, we were rewarded for our day’s efforts with breathtaking views of the sunset over the lake. The lake sits in an ancient volcanic crater, bordered on the south by three beautiful younger volcanoes. It’s so beautiful it didn’t seem real but more of a creation for a movie set. We road through the town towards the beach, where a man came up to us and told us we should stay at his family hotel. He ran ahead of us to show us the way, and it turned out to be a nice quiet spot with covered parking for the bikes.

The only other person staying at the hotel was an American from Kentucky. Ross had previously ridden through Guatemala and Mexico on a KTM, but for this journey he was traveling solo in his 1971 (?) Volkswagen Beetle. Ross was a photographer at the beginning of a trip around the world in his beetle, photographing “the most exotic, secluded, awe inspiring entities and cultural events that remain on earth”. He had bought some proper, gigantic Mexican fireworks that day and gave us a great show before joining us for dinner in town.

The next morning we toured the main part of town, browsing the shops, as we made our way to a renowned coffee shop Inna had read about in our guide book, the Crossroads Cafe. We were greeted by the owner, Michael, an extremely jovial American expat who had quit the rat race in SF to make great coffee in Panajachel. His coffee was the best we had had yet, and we were treated to seeing the “secret” room where he did his roasting. He was building a new guest house with his family nearby and really seemed to have figured the best way to live his life doing what he loves to do. You can see it on his face that he has found his niche.

That afternoon we rented a two person kayak and spent an hour on the lake. It took some practice, but we did eventually learn to paddle in a straight line together (no rudder on these). We had planned to paddle down the shore to some other villages, but the strong winds discouraged us from roaming too far. We instead went to the hotel and took a short ride down to the villages. The lakesides villas were pretty, but these were definitely places people lived rather than tourist destinations so we took a few photos and headed back to the hotel.

We ate dinner that night with Ross from the street vendors on the main street. I ate the same tacos as Ross, but Inna ate roasted chicken from a different vendor. Since this one was of the few meals Inna & I did not share, and it’s my best guess for the source of my misery. After escaping unscathed from Mexico, I finally got my Montezuma’s revenge (food poisoning) which would haunt me for the following days. I need to contact Ross to see how he fared and if it really was the tacos.

It was a long night for me, but Inna and I got up at 5:30 am to see the sunrise over the lake. It’s hard to adequately describe the sunrise over Lake Atitlan. The sky gradually lightened from black to blue, and the dark pyramids in the sky lightened to the dark green volcanoes to the south. As we sat on the docks the tips of the volcanoes received their first golden beams of sunlight. The light slowly marched down the side of the volcanoes as the lake water gradually shifted to lighter shades of blue. Make it a point to see this at some point in your life.

We slept for another hour after sunrise that morning, handled some business in town, including visiting the Crossroads Cafe for the best cup of java South side of Seattle, and packed for the brief ride to our evening’s new destination, Antigua.

Here’s a quick movie of the lake at sunrise:

[qt:/southernexposure/wp-content/uploads/2008/12/atitlansunrise.mov 320 240]