Ep 20: Corazon Salvadoreno
Ep 21: Surfer Campesinos
Ep 22: Mi Vida Salvadorena
Ep 23: Construction on The Way to Honduas
Ep 24: Bienvenidos A Nicaragua
Ep 25: Leon To The Beach
Ep 26: My Fortune In El Transito
Ep 27: Bomberos in Managua
Thursday, August 27, 2015
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
The Center of Central
(Lago De Atitlan, Guatemala -- Guasaule, Nicaragua)
Ironically they came and went, and I stayed at the lake longer. Luckily though I didn’t have ride out solo. Towards the tail end of my time at the lake I befriended another touring cyclist, Ryan Brown, from Pitsburgh Pensilvania.
It was a short but very steep day and a half ride to our next stop, Antigua Guatemala.
Volcano Acatenango is the third tallest volcano in Guatemala, and the third that I added to my list of conquered volcanoes:
When Ryan was finally feeling fit to move again we took Jose’s suggestion and blasted down the highlands to the beach in one day. We rolled into the town of Iztapa at night. Jose’s got some connections down there who own a little palapa hut on a sandbar island. A little place called Surfshack.
Through an alternative-community organising, agriculturalist, soap-making, travelling friend of mine; Tamara, I discovered that in El Tunco an owner of a hostel wanted to begin a community on one of his properties. Since I have a goal of stopping on organic farms in each country I pass, and plan on helping out on such communities, I figured I’d go by and ask if he needed any help. The man’s name is Cho-Yiu a Chinese/American from L.A./Hong Kong who owns the hostel qi-X, which I later found out used to be a surfboard factory as well. The day before dropping Ryan off at the airport I went by qi-X to have a talk with Cho-Yiu, and quite a conversation we had. From virtual reality, to aliens, to government corruption, to surfing, to growing food, to God, and much more, we went around the world & beyond with our lengthy & very interesting chat. The conclusion was that yes Cho-Yiu wants to use his properties in El Salvador for more than just lodging travellers. He wants to do something more ‘sustainable’ something that provides more to the community, and to the people of El Salvador. He’s been entertaining the idea of starting a community where he grows food, raises chickens, fish, and iguanas (which are a delicacy in this part of the world).
I feel blessed to have had the opportunity to experience a couple days of living with a hard-working Salvadoranean family, and seeing what life is really like in this tiny country from the inside of an average families home. Their generosity literally knocked me off my feet. I even felt a bit uncomfortable receiving so much without giving much back. They insisted that I slept in the master bedroom, made me three meals a day, took me on tours of the surrounding lakes, lava sites, and archeological zones.
A couple hours later I arrived in Cojutepeque. A very authentic & pretty town in the heart of El Salvador. I don’t think that many people around those parts see many touring cyclists, and all the prying eyes were making me a bit uncomfortable. I decided not to hang in town too long with all my things.. All I had were the brief directions from the farm-owner. With the directions in hand I went off to find the farm. Riding down the road outta town I finally crossed the bridge which the directions told me about. The road was a relatively steep downhill so I didn’t want to pass the farm accidentally, and then have to backtrack back. Shortly after crossing the bridge I saw two guys washing their bus in front of a house by the road. I asked them if they knew of the farm. They said “no.” I asked if they knew Archangel, again they said “no.” Then luckily I dropped, “He’s got long hair and a beard..” The guy immediately said, “Oooh that’s probably the hombre from over there..” The other guy agreed, and they pointed me to an uphill driveway in sight.
There was no sign, and so I wasn’t sure if I was walking into the right place. I left my bike along the long driveway, and began walking into the property yelling out, “Hola! Buenas tardes!” It wasn’t long before the six guard dogs hunted me down. A lady hushed the dogs away, some of whom still wanted a piece of me. She confirmed to my great satisfaction that I had arrived at Finca Jalapa. The lady was the wife of Chepito, the main worker at the farm. The Zamora family built a house for Chepito & his family along the road entering the property. When I came back around with my bike she directed me to the main house.
Upon entering the farm I committed at least a week to see how things went. I didn’t know at the time that I’d actually be there for the next month and some change..
The first afternoon Archangel and I just hung out getting to know each other a bit. To the delight of both of us we are both beginning string musicians with a desire to jam with others. Soon my mini guitar and his ukulele were out, and we were jamming on the porch. He asked me if I wanted to go into town to Cojutepeque to his families cafe, and perhaps after we’d take a ride into the capital. It was after all the beatification day of Saint Romero, and San Salvador was packed w/ people attending the event. We took a collective shuttle into Cojutepeque, and not long after we were at his families cool little cafe/juice bar in Cojute, El Topo:
The song Archangel taught me that day literally was, ‘Jamming’ by Bob Marley. The rest of the night I spent jammin’ away with Archangel & a talented artist friend of the Zamora family, Mauricio. A teacher/cartoonist happened to come by and drew this cartoon of us that night..
Jose Ines Garcia was born and raised in El Salvador until the civil war broke out, and his family sent him to Montreal, Quebec. He spent the next 20 years growing up in Quebec where he went through school, and later became a worker for a cleaning company that had contracts with high security locations. He worked for Canadian banks which are the equivalent of the Federal Reserve in the US, high-tech software companies, and other places where the average person will never see the inside of. After years had passed, and the civil war was long gone, Jose decided to bike back down to his homeland. He cycled from Montreal back to his hometown in Eastern El Salvador. It took him just over a year. Since then he’s started his own family, continued & progressed his parents businesses, and hosts cyclists who are riding by.
Right around this time a man asked permission to sit at the table with me. I accepted and we began chatting. He asked me about my bike and we talked a bit about my journey. He was a Salvadorean trucker who was waiting for his papers to be processed. He knew the roads up and down from Guatemala to Panama as he often ran shipments for a company. I got around to asking him about which town would be better to stay at, El Amatillo or Goascoran. He assured me that El Amatillo was much safer as it was a border town teeming with cameras and guards, as opposed to Goascoran a few k’s away from the border which was just a little rural town without even a hotel. He gave me some tips about some sketchy areas that I’d want to ride quickly through, and not stop. One was not long passed the Honduras border in Nicaragua in a town with a big metal bull statue where truckers have been hijacked before. Aside from the few warnings he told me that I’d be fine, and that the areas I was going through were for the most part ‘tranquilo,’ and were mostly farm lands. At some point in our chat the owner of the comedor, Marvin, jumped in and I made his acquaintance. The trucker left as we both bid each other farewell. He told me he’d stop for a chat if he saw me on the road. After the trucker left me and Marvin chatted a bit more, and I decided to get some food since I now had the whole day to kill.
We were all forced onto the sidewalk to finish what was left of our beers.
The family was getting ready to go. One of them curiously asked me where I was staying the night, and I explained to him my predicament. Instead of offering me a spot in his home (which I was kind of hoping for), he told me the boater (father of the kids) would probably let me sleep on one of his boats. The boater had just finished tying off the boats and was right there drinking beers with us. He told me that I could sleep on any one of his three boats which were anchored in the bay. He claimed that it would be safe, and that the local police do surveillance rounds throughout the night there. I asked him about my bicycle, and he told me that he was good friends with the night watchman of one of the Seafood restaurants on the water font. He said that I’d be able to stash my bike there. I’d just have to wait till 8pm when the seafood restaurant closed. If it weren’t for the friendliness and helpfulness of these guys I’d perhaps not be so inclined to take this offer. They seemed like honest men though who were genuinely just trying to help me. So I went with it..
Carlos escorted me to the gate where he let me out. I shook his hand and with a smile I thanked him for his help. Riding out that morning I was glad to be alive, and being on the road before 6am is always a great feeling. I have no idea of what Carlos was really capable of. I have no idea whether or not I had really even been in danger. I do know that I have, to my judgement, a good sense of peoples character. I indeed did feel that Carlos has some dark crannies in his being, and that perhaps had I triggered them in the wrong way things may have turned out worse. In the end though his rough appearance and heavy stories were only on the outside, and his actions only proved the contrary. Based on actions alone, Carlos was quite a decent guy to me, and the ramped up fears in my head were really the only culprit of my one tireless night in Honduras. I will continue to heed to my instincts as I am sure they are there to protect me, but one never knows where the next helping hand will come from.
The Magical lake of Atitlan captured my time & attention for over 2 months, but the wheels had to get spinning again sooner or later.
(Me with my mother. Close to the time I left the lake)
As I mentioned in my last written update, I stalled at the lake as long as I did partially because I was awaiting a group of cyclists that I had ridden with up in the Yucatan Peninsula, the Bykings:
(From L to R; Carla, David, Omar, Edgar, Miguel, Gilberto, Ana, and Memo. Photo from bykings.wordpress.com)
Ironically they came and went, and I stayed at the lake longer. Luckily though I didn’t have ride out solo. Towards the tail end of my time at the lake I befriended another touring cyclist, Ryan Brown, from Pitsburgh Pensilvania.
(Ryan playing a little harmonica the day we left Sotz Hostel, Panajachel)
Ryan posted some nice stories on his blog “Tales of Wandering” about some of the activities and hikes we got into before leaving the lake: Staying with the Wizard as well as the story of our ride out of the lake: Panajachel to Antigua.
Since we were both off the bikes for the longest break either of us had taken up to that point we implemented a series of hikes into our lake routine right before rolling out. Mostly between Santa Cruz La Laguna - San Marcos, which is roughly a 4k trail that hugs the hillsides along the lake. It’s a beautiful walk and it also saves one 10-15Q of ferry service if travelling between Panajachel - San Marcos. I did that trip quite often as I was going between volunteering & chilling with my friend Ares at Sotz Hostel in Panajachel, and taking it easy with the hippies on the other side of the lake at Merlin’s house in San Marcos. By the way there's an excellent little German restaurant/hostel in one of the little towns in between, Jaibalito. With real Guatemalan prices & as tasty as it was I declare it the best affordable food on the lake! : Posada Jaibalito
Since we were both off the bikes for the longest break either of us had taken up to that point we implemented a series of hikes into our lake routine right before rolling out. Mostly between Santa Cruz La Laguna - San Marcos, which is roughly a 4k trail that hugs the hillsides along the lake. It’s a beautiful walk and it also saves one 10-15Q of ferry service if travelling between Panajachel - San Marcos. I did that trip quite often as I was going between volunteering & chilling with my friend Ares at Sotz Hostel in Panajachel, and taking it easy with the hippies on the other side of the lake at Merlin’s house in San Marcos. By the way there's an excellent little German restaurant/hostel in one of the little towns in between, Jaibalito. With real Guatemalan prices & as tasty as it was I declare it the best affordable food on the lake! : Posada Jaibalito
After tying off whatever loose ends we had, stocking up on goodies from the lake (coffee, cacao, peanut butter), and saying our goodbye’s, we fiiiiinally hit the pavement again.
It was a short but very steep day and a half ride to our next stop, Antigua Guatemala.
(Climbing out of a large volcano crater. Photo from Tales of Wandering)
Tough climbs followed by ‘way more fun than a roller-coaster’ descends, and to top it off we got to spend the night between the lake and Antigua at the Fire Department in Patzun, Guatemala!
The next day we arrived in the colonial, pretty, touristy, and relatively expensive cafe town of Antigua, Guatemala.
(Antigua, Guatemala. Photo from google.com)
There is more than just expensive cafe’s to enjoy around Antigua however. For example, we climbed one of the city's three surrounding volcanoes.
Volcano Acatenango is the third tallest volcano in Guatemala, and the third that I added to my list of conquered volcanoes:
(Climbing Volcan Acatenango. Photo from Tales of Wandering)
From her peak the other two volcanoes surrounding Antigua, Agua & Fuego, are a beautiful sight to look upon from above. Especially the ‘Vulcan De Fuego’ which is active, and shoots out black clouds of smoke every 30 minutes or so.
(Volcan de Fuego as seen from Volcan Acatenango)
They say Lake Atitlan is visible from up top. However, since we were there on cloudy day all we could see Atitlan's three volcanoes popping up above the endless white carpet below. In fact, in all directions all we could see were little volcanoes popping up above the clouds like little pointy hats everywhere. It gave me a firsthand view of how Guatemala is truly volcano country.
(Volcan de Agua as seen from Volcan Acatenango)
Being at that height was also more than just a little chilly, and I learned the hard way after stubbornly ignoring a tour guides suggestion a few days earlier that I take ‘heavy winter clothes.’ I thought I could get away with a hoody & jeans like I had at the other volcanoes I'd already climbed. I was wrong, and paid by having to sit out the sunrise peak hike in my sleeping bag lest I turn into a windblasted popsicle.
Once the sun made its luminous presence felt, and the conditions outside became survivable, I crept out of my tent. Around which time the others were returning from the peak. I borrowed some gloves from one of my compadres and ran up the last 300 feet or so to quickly see the top for myself. Hiking a rugged and steep 5 hours the day before, then camping in a wind-blasted & freezing volcano crater, to just get near the top isn’t acceptable..
(Photo I snapped before running back to my tent to cover myself)
Once the sun made its luminous presence felt, and the conditions outside became survivable, I crept out of my tent. Around which time the others were returning from the peak. I borrowed some gloves from one of my compadres and ran up the last 300 feet or so to quickly see the top for myself. Hiking a rugged and steep 5 hours the day before, then camping in a wind-blasted & freezing volcano crater, to just get near the top isn’t acceptable..
(Our camp in the volcano crater)
(Selfie @ the top of Volcan Acatenango)
It was amazing, and well worth every step. The 2-3 hour hike down an alternate & steeper path was also exhilarating as we ran down parts of it like madmen.
(The way down Acatenango)
Ryan and I had originally planned roll out of Antigua after climbing the volcano, but the fates had other plans. Whether it was from a lowered immune system due to our intense bike/hike regiment, or drinking contaminated water, or some sort of parasite, we didn't know for sure.. Ryan came down hard with a stomach bug the day after returning from the volcano. We’d spend the next 10 days in Antigua as he recovered. Luckily we had a very comfortable, chill, and affordable place to stay on the outskirts of town.
(Colegio San Jose)
Colegio San Jose is both a hostel and a school for local children. The hostel proceeds help pay the costs of the school.
(Down the hall of rooms
@ Colegio San Jose)
(Kids at school @ Colegio San Jose)
(Open kitchen @ Colegio San Jose)
Not only is it nice to support a great project like this but the owner Jose is friendly, generous, and very helpful! He’s also got quite a good reputation amongst the hippies/alternative travellers. So much so that when I was looking for a place to stay in Antigua I messaged around to my travelling friends who had passed by there, and three separate people I had met in different places all told me about Colegio San Jose. It’s a pretty impressive operation Jose's got going on considering the hostel is virtually unrecognisable as a hostel, it’s outside of the official town of Antigua, there’s zero marketing efforts, it’s 100% based on word of mouth, and yet it was at least half full during our entire time there..
I guess in a way it’s not so surprising since he only charges 20Q a night for a bed, 50Q if you stay 3 nights, and camping is a mere 10Q a night. You can also volunteer if you so choose. That’s about a third of the price of the next ‘cheap’ option available anywhere in the surrounding area.
I guess in a way it’s not so surprising since he only charges 20Q a night for a bed, 50Q if you stay 3 nights, and camping is a mere 10Q a night. You can also volunteer if you so choose. That’s about a third of the price of the next ‘cheap’ option available anywhere in the surrounding area.
(Hostal patio @ Colegio San Jose)
When Ryan was finally feeling fit to move again we took Jose’s suggestion and blasted down the highlands to the beach in one day. We rolled into the town of Iztapa at night. Jose’s got some connections down there who own a little palapa hut on a sandbar island. A little place called Surfshack.
(The surf shack)
The Surf Shack was started by a Guatemalan friend of Jose's named Adixa. She's the wife of a Dutch engineer who designed the breakwater in Iztapa. It provides a free place to sleep w/ free surf boards for the local kids to learn how to surf, and for a place to sleep if they don't have one. It is also a guest house for traveller's who hear about it, and at 50Q ($7) a week it was nearly free. Granted we had to swim or take a 5Q ‘ferry’ across the channel every time we wanted to go to town (unless a friendly fisherman gave us a lift which happened often), there was no electricity (but there was a solar generator which gave us light at night), and some of the towns kids were known to have sticky hands (we kept all of our valuables at the Surfshack hostel in town though). Our time in Iztapa was good for relaxing, reading, playing guitar, getting out in the surf, and generally enjoying some downtime. A nice surprise was that some friends we had made at Merlin’s house back at the lake of Atitlan had discovered the Surfshack as well through a different contact, and spent the week with us there. Mirko & Gavo from Italy, Mariona from Catalan, Logan from Missouri, and Sean from Colorado/Chile.The neighbours of the Surfshack who ran a little comedor were nice and friendly and often shared dinner with us. In particular Katy the daughter of the owners, and of course there was the surf kids who were also around all the time shredding waves.
(A moment in time @ the surf shack)
(Moment in time @ Surf Shack. Photo from Logan's Facebook)
When we finally got tired of the hot sandy life we pushed out. Iztapa is fairly close to the El Salvador border, and we made short work to get there. During our week at Iztapa Ryan was offered a promotion to go back to work for his former employer, and he decided he'd take it. He bought a return plane ticket to Pitsburgh from the El Salvador international airport. That meant those were the last days we’d ride together. Since he was still recovering a bit from his stomach bug, and especially since at that point his return home was imminent, he decided he wanted to up the comfort/quality level of our lodging & food situation. I say ‘our’ because Ryan generously invited me to a number of nights at a few hotels as well as a few nice meals during this time. I depend humbly on the sponsorship of my father for most of my finances (between $150-200 a month), and so to not ‘break the bank’ I employ a series of strategies to stretch the precious bit that I receive as far as I possibly can. Some of these strategies include never paying for lodging when I have alternate options (which is most of the time), eating out as sparsely as I can, and when I do eat out I go where the locals eat. Rarely do I eat or lodge at places designed for tourists. With that said, it was a nice change of pace to not worry about my spending meanwhile enjoying a bit of the bourgeois traveller’s comforts for a bit. To show my gratitude, as well as keep my legs warm, I accompanied Ryan the 40k from the little touristy surf town of El Tunco to the International Airport the day before his flight.
(Ryan and I's goodbye moment)
Through an alternative-community organising, agriculturalist, soap-making, travelling friend of mine; Tamara, I discovered that in El Tunco an owner of a hostel wanted to begin a community on one of his properties. Since I have a goal of stopping on organic farms in each country I pass, and plan on helping out on such communities, I figured I’d go by and ask if he needed any help. The man’s name is Cho-Yiu a Chinese/American from L.A./Hong Kong who owns the hostel qi-X, which I later found out used to be a surfboard factory as well. The day before dropping Ryan off at the airport I went by qi-X to have a talk with Cho-Yiu, and quite a conversation we had. From virtual reality, to aliens, to government corruption, to surfing, to growing food, to God, and much more, we went around the world & beyond with our lengthy & very interesting chat. The conclusion was that yes Cho-Yiu wants to use his properties in El Salvador for more than just lodging travellers. He wants to do something more ‘sustainable’ something that provides more to the community, and to the people of El Salvador. He’s been entertaining the idea of starting a community where he grows food, raises chickens, fish, and iguanas (which are a delicacy in this part of the world).
I just wouldn’t be the right fit for the job though. Not because I’m not qualified or capable but since I’m a travelling nomad, and I can’t commit the amount of time necessary. Due to his responsibilities abroad he can’t do it himself, and needs somebody to spearhead this project full time for the next couple years. A cool project it would be indeed, and maybe something I’d be willing to do in the future. As of now I still have more of America to explore. We got off well though and Cho-Yiu told me that I can camp a few days there for free if I needed. So after returning from the airport that’s where I crashed for a few days.
(qi-X Hostel & ex surfboard factory)
I used my time at qi-x to plan and route the next leg of my journey. I was now solo in a country that doesn’t have the safest reputation, and one of the my father’s few terms for helping me financially is that I ride with other people. Due to unforeseeable circumstances, which I couldn’t control, that wasn’t the case anymore.
The last of all my cycling friends who were still behind me were half of the Bykings group. Here's another picture of them from when they climbed Volcano Atitlan:
(From L to R: Edgar, Gil, Memo, Carla, Miguel, Ana & David. Photo from bykings.wordpress.com)
Memo went back to his hometown of Queretaro via bus from Lake Atitlan. Edgar, Gil, Miguel, & Omar (present in the prior Bykings photo) rushed down south faster, and they were at the time already in Nicaragua. David & Ana, were all the way up in Chiapas, Mexico. They’d gone off to Chiapas via hitchhiking from Guatemala City to attend a permaculture seminar. Carla stayed in Guatemala City waiting. While David & Ana were in Chiapas they also rejoined with one of the original members of the Bykings group: Cheto:
(Photo of Cheto during our adventures w/ The Bykings in the Yucatan)
The Bykings had all been staying at Cheto's aunts house in Guatemala City. Cheto was about to turn 18, and thus would finally be able to rejoin us by legally being able to leave his home country of Mexico. They had to wait a week or so for Cheto to turn 18 before crossing back into Guatemala. I had, or so I thought at the time, a big group of friends not too far behind. I figured all I had to do was burn 2-3 weeks for them to get back on the bikes and catch up to me.
I have a goal of stopping on a farm in each country, so this situation actually suited my plan quite well. There were only two farms listed on WWOOF.org in El Salvador though. One wanted to charge me for food, and the other never replied to my request. This being the case I finally signed up for Workaway.info, and through them I got in contact with Finca Jalapa. They claimed to be mainly a coffee & cacao farm but also had a long list of other fruits they harvest. It sounded perfect, and when I sent my request they replied quickly telling me they were in urgent need of help. The farm is located near the town of Cojutepeque, almost exactly in the center of the country. The most direct route would probably take me through the capital city of San Salvador.
(Photo of route to Finca Jalapa from El Tunco using: www.cycleroute.org)
I estimated that it would be better to do a short day ending somewhere near San Salvador, arrive early, spend a night or two, and then ride out from there to the farm early. I did some snooping on warmshowers.org and found a host in the neighbouring city of Santa Tecla. My to-be host informed me in a message that her town was relatively tranquil and one of the better parts of the San Salvador metropolitan area. From there it would only be a one day ride to Cojutepeque.
I was in need of getting a new tire and getting some new covers made for my panniers. So stopping by the city would be ideal. Boom, I had my next itinerary.
(Photo of me with La Bici Abuela de Santa Tecla)
Vera Campos, or the ‘bici-abuela’ (bicycle grandmother), runs a program in Santa Tecla where she takes in used bikes, fixes them, and donates them to children. She’s also a lover of coffee, and with those two passions combined she came up with the name of her bike operation, Bici Tecla Cafe.
Vera runs Bici Tecla Cafe out of her home where she also hosts bicycle travellers and couchsurfers alike. I spent a few days there getting my city needs met, and enjoying some mighty fine Salvadorean coffee. One night I expressed to Vera a curiosity about the Mayan ruins in El Salvador, some of which weren’t too far away. She told me that she’s got a good cycling friend, Will, who lives right next to Joya De Ceren, an archeological zone just down the hill from Santa Tecla.
From Joya De Ceren I’d also be able to take another highway and bypass cutting through the centre of San Salvador, which Vera highly suggested. In fact she told me I may not make it alive if I went through the center of the city. I figured I ought to heed this warning. After getting my city needs met I shot down the hill to meet Will and his family:
(Archaeological map of El Salvador. Photo from www.google.com)
From Joya De Ceren I’d also be able to take another highway and bypass cutting through the centre of San Salvador, which Vera highly suggested. In fact she told me I may not make it alive if I went through the center of the city. I figured I ought to heed this warning. After getting my city needs met I shot down the hill to meet Will and his family:
(Me with Will's family. From L to R: Rio, Jesus, Nallely, Vicente)
Will, Jesus, and their kids are some of the most generous people I have had the opportunity to come across on this journey. They are probably some of the more modest people who’ve hosted me, and probably more alike a large majority of Salvadoraneans.
(Jesus washing clothes)
(Will & Jesus' bedroom where they insisted that I slept)
(Photo of me enjoying a Salvadorean breakfast!)
(Fishing day off @ Laguna Calderas, Joya De Ceren)
(Joya De Ceren archaeological site. Roughly 200 feet from Will's house)
They wouldn’t even let me do my dishes there.. Something my own mother won’t let me get away with! I only spent 2 days there, as I didn’t want to/need to take up their space any longer. They’d filled my stomach, heart, and soul with good energy. I figured I’d go off on a good note. Will’s workweek was coming back up, and I know he would want his own bed after a long day of work. I spent little time there but they sure touched my heart in those couple days.
(Vicente, Nallely, Jesus, & baby Henry)
The ride on the day that I left was perhaps through some of the more ‘electric’ parts of the world. I would be riding around San Salvador, cutting through Soyapango, and finally to my destination at the farm near Cojutepeque. If you didn't know, which luckily I didn’t at the time, the murder rate in El Salvador had been skyrocketing in 2015, and certainly during the time I was crossing it. Most of these homicides happened in and around the capital city of San Salvador, of which Soyapango is one of most dangerous parts of. There is a war currently being waged between the infamous gangs (18th street & Mara Salvatrucha) versus the police.
Soyapango is known to be a stronghold of these gangs. I knew this much, but according to everyone I’d spoken to if I stuck to the highways in the daytime I should be fine. I was neither a target nor a threat, and a relatively small fish in the big picture of things. In my logic it would be foolish for gangsters to try to bust a heist on the open highway full of eyes around. At most they'd come away with a bicycle and a few bucks from a random traveler. I was counting on this. My faith is my strength that keeps me positive, and this day I would indeed receive a blessing from above. It would come through a Salvadoranean Saint no less!
Soyapango is known to be a stronghold of these gangs. I knew this much, but according to everyone I’d spoken to if I stuck to the highways in the daytime I should be fine. I was neither a target nor a threat, and a relatively small fish in the big picture of things. In my logic it would be foolish for gangsters to try to bust a heist on the open highway full of eyes around. At most they'd come away with a bicycle and a few bucks from a random traveler. I was counting on this. My faith is my strength that keeps me positive, and this day I would indeed receive a blessing from above. It would come through a Salvadoranean Saint no less!
A brief history of Saint Romero, his tragic death, and his beautification into Sainthood
(Oscar Romero. Photo from wikipedia)
Oscar Romero was born in San Miguel near the capital of San Salvador in 1917. He entered the minor Seminary at the age of 13, and completed his priesthood studies in Rome. Upon returning to the American continent with a friend from the clergy they were detained in a Cuban prison for several months for coming from a fascist country. Eventually Romero made his way back to El Salvador where he served the church for over 20 years. In 1977 he became the fourth Archbishop of El Salvador. He is perhaps most known today for speaking out against poverty, social injustice, assassinations, and torture during the civil war in El Salvador which began in 1979. He openly called on Salvadoran soldiers to obey God's higher order and to stop carrying out the government's repression and violations of human rights. He also wrote a letter to the then U.S. President Jimmy Carter requesting that the United States cease financial & military aid to the tyrannical military regime ruling the country. He was assassinated while standing on the altar a moment after giving a sermon in 1980. It is now widely recognised that the assassination was ordered by the then government of El Salvador.
(Photo of Romero's assassination. Photo from wikipedia)
On Sunday the 23rd of May 2015 Oscar Romero was officially to become canonised as a Saint in San Salvador to the joy of many Salvadoreans. The day immediately became a national holiday, and all San Salvadoreans were given the weekend off. I happened to pedalling through these relatively strife lands on Saturday the 22nd of May, and since most residents of the capital had the weekend off I was far from the only cyclist on the highway. To my contentment there were many cyclists on the road that day enjoying their special day off in celebration of this very revered Salvadorean national figure, ‘Monsenor’ Romero.
(Salvadoreans flying a Romero banner during Romero's beautification. Photo from google)
I rode with two different cyclist groups during my ride that day. One through parts around the capital and another through Soyapango. It was nice making some new friends, sharing stories, and leisurely chit-chatting away when I thought it would be a high adrenaline day.
(Riding through San Salvador. Photo from Ali's facebook)
(New friends. L to R Hector, Rio, Ali, Manuel)
There was no sign, and so I wasn’t sure if I was walking into the right place. I left my bike along the long driveway, and began walking into the property yelling out, “Hola! Buenas tardes!” It wasn’t long before the six guard dogs hunted me down. A lady hushed the dogs away, some of whom still wanted a piece of me. She confirmed to my great satisfaction that I had arrived at Finca Jalapa. The lady was the wife of Chepito, the main worker at the farm. The Zamora family built a house for Chepito & his family along the road entering the property. When I came back around with my bike she directed me to the main house.
(Front courtyard @ finca Jalapa)
(Front patio @ Finca Jalapa)
On the porch was Archangel Zamora, the son and one of the heirs of Finca Jalapa. He’s also the one who runs the Workaway program there, and who I’m glad to now call a good friend of mine. After a brief greeting Archangel, seeing my large cargo, directed me to the ‘Chocolate House’ where the volunteers stay. It was nice to unload my weight.
(Calle Finca Jalapa)
(My house for a month @ Finca Jalapa
Upon entering the farm I committed at least a week to see how things went. I didn’t know at the time that I’d actually be there for the next month and some change..
The first afternoon Archangel and I just hung out getting to know each other a bit. To the delight of both of us we are both beginning string musicians with a desire to jam with others. Soon my mini guitar and his ukulele were out, and we were jamming on the porch. He asked me if I wanted to go into town to Cojutepeque to his families cafe, and perhaps after we’d take a ride into the capital. It was after all the beatification day of Saint Romero, and San Salvador was packed w/ people attending the event. We took a collective shuttle into Cojutepeque, and not long after we were at his families cool little cafe/juice bar in Cojute, El Topo:
Archangel’s mother, Chatiya, runs the cafe mostly on the fruits and coffee from the farm. It’s a really cool and alternative spot in town with a nice atmosphere of people who come by. We took our instruments with us, and began jamming in the back.
(Back of El Topo)
(Mauricio, Archangel, & I jamming)
Had it not been such a nice evening getting to know Cojutepeque for the first time, and some of it’s colourful residents, I perhaps would have regretted not putting up the $$ to go to the capital for Saint Romero’s ‘beautification’ that evening. Things have been a bit slow for the Zamoras, and despite their richness in land, fruits, & coffee they are very much a hard working family struggling to make ends meet. Even just taking the bus & spending a few hours at the capital was a significant enough cost to reconsider going. On the plus side making new friends, playing music, and doing farm work don’t require spending anything. I was off to a good start with the first two. The next morning the farm work began which is the real reason I was there. Looking back now I’d say we did quite a bit in my time at Finca Jalapa:
(Built a bamboo wall for the 'Chocolate' house)
(Planted these 1000 baby coffees)
(Cleared 4' of grass, helped tomatoes up with string, planted new onions)
(Helped build this goose house)
Working hard is the norm in farm life, and since working the land is gratifying to me, it felt really good. Especially when the best coffee I’ve ever had & which grew right in the backyard was served daily, the meals were tasty & abundant, and for a snack all I had to do was walk around and find/pick an orange, mango, zapote, banana, avocado, etc.. It was nice getting my upper half a solid daily workout as well with all the digging and filling holes I got to partake in. Another big motivator was seeing how hard Chepito, Don Juancito, and the other worker laboured each day. They only got paid between $6-$8 dollars daily for 8 hours a day. In many parts of the world that is much less than the amount I’d have to pay to eat the three meals I was given for my volunteer work.
(A days bounty @ finca Jalapa)
Although I’d come to find comfort at the farm, and see it as a safe haven in my later days, in the beginning I felt slightly sketched out a few times. Between being unfamiliar with the territory, in such a huge plot of land, in my own little makeshift house, situated a quite a ways from the main house, and with the bad reputation some of the areas around had.. You could say I was a bit paranoid on some of the nights early on. An incident on my first few days added a bit to my initial unease of the area. I went to get some beans for lunch at a little house/store about a kilometer or two from the farm. The store was down a small road. Upon riding down the road some teenagers curiously spotted me, and a bit later had assembled with more. They slowly made their way towards me. Luckily I had my bike and after giving them a smile & a casual hello I started peddling away. I went a bit faster then normal but not too fast until I heard, “Ey Voz!:Hey you!” and the youngsters were in a full sprint after me. Thats when I took off without looking back. I let the hill take me down before finally peeking behind me. Two of them had chased me all the way to the main road, and seemed to be having fun doing it. They were smiling and laughing but I didn’t feel like sticking around long enough to see what it was all about.
My solo days at the farm were to be short-lived though, and soon a host of volunteers showed up at Finca Jalapa. First to pop up was Mike from Ontario, Canada. He’s a hitchhiker, and a quite gnarly dude. We did some serious hole-digging & hole-filling work together. Next was three guys from New York City who are travelling in an SUV from New York to Ushuaia, Argentina. Their whole trip is funded by a production company, and they spend most of their time filming their every move. They are known collectively as the Global Goulets:
(Global Goulets @ finca Jalapa. Photo from http://globalgoulets.com)
(Lunchtime @ finca Jalapa. Photo from http://globalgoulets.com)
Lastly a German couple arrived and at that point we were at full capacity. With 7 volunteers around to feed, find work for, and keep busy, Archangel had his hands full.
Out of the group I was the first to show up, and I would also be the last to leave. I spent about an extra week at the farm after all the others had left. Totalling just over a month at the farm I was becoming a real campesino. My hands were calloused, my arms were bulking, and I’d gotten used to waking up with the sun everyday. The Bykings, who I’d been waiting for all along, ran into a series of problems and complications. In fact, out of the four riders I was expecting, only one of them remained. Carla got sick, Ana and Cheto dropped out, and David was the only one left. This had all happened back in Guatemala, and I knew of the drop outs. In fact David had messaged me asking if I knew of anyone who wanted to travel by bike, since he now had two spares. I was actually able to find somebody. A backpacker I met in Antigua, Jorge, from Chile jumped on one of the spare bikes:
Up until my final week at the farm it seemed like, despite the complications & drop-outs, that I would indeed be riding out with some friends. The fates had other plans though. My two friends David & Jorge confused the name of where I was, and instead of riding to Cojutepeque, they rode to Coatepeque. Quite a ways west of my location.
(Jorge; backpacker turned Byking. Photo from his facebook)
Up until my final week at the farm it seemed like, despite the complications & drop-outs, that I would indeed be riding out with some friends. The fates had other plans though. My two friends David & Jorge confused the name of where I was, and instead of riding to Cojutepeque, they rode to Coatepeque. Quite a ways west of my location.
(My friends were looking for me in Coate while I was 100 kilometers away in Cojute!)
After realising the mistake Jorge & David rode down to the coast. At the beach they got hooked up with a free spot on a property in front of the water in El Palmarcito near El Tunco. On one of our weekends off the farm Archangel, the volunteers, and I went on a little surf trip to El Tunco. I actually met up with David briefly one night. This enticed me to stay & wait even longer at the farm. It seemed like the guys were making progress, and they were relatively close. But, like I said earlier, the fates had other plans..
During the next week, and my 5th consecutive as a campesino, I was really starting to crave the road again. I pressured David to give me a solid answer as to whether or not he’d meet me at the farm. He told me that things weren’t going very smoothly between him & Jorge that week, and that he was really digging their set up at the playa:
The situation had become apparent that I would either be waiting indefinitely for David & Jorge, who I wasn’t even sure were really going to make the trek up there, or I’d hit the peddles again and let them catch me later. I’d waited a long time, my visa situation was starting to get tight, I’d spent over a month at the farm & around Cojutepeque. I even took three trips to the beach in that time. There’s a feeling I get when I’ve been at a place long enough, and seen/felt/done what I had to do there.
During the next week, and my 5th consecutive as a campesino, I was really starting to crave the road again. I pressured David to give me a solid answer as to whether or not he’d meet me at the farm. He told me that things weren’t going very smoothly between him & Jorge that week, and that he was really digging their set up at the playa:
(David during his time @ El Palmarcito. Photo from Bykings facebook)
The situation had become apparent that I would either be waiting indefinitely for David & Jorge, who I wasn’t even sure were really going to make the trek up there, or I’d hit the peddles again and let them catch me later. I’d waited a long time, my visa situation was starting to get tight, I’d spent over a month at the farm & around Cojutepeque. I even took three trips to the beach in that time. There’s a feeling I get when I’ve been at a place long enough, and seen/felt/done what I had to do there.
My last week was extra special as there were some cultural events in town at the theatre next door from El Topo cafe, I was given an El Salvador jersey by a friend of the Zamoras named Flipper, and my last night at the farm was on the summer solstice. Archangel organised a little ceremony for the solstice and to me it was also my farewell. I had an amazing month there which I will fondly remember. I was taken in by a freedom fighting ranch family with an impressive & long history in Cojutepeque..
Archangel, his mother Chatiya, his sister Ariel, his girlfriend Emma, their friends and family all took me in that month, and made me feel like one of their own. I got to share meals, good times, work, and a little bit of life with people who I consider part of my Salvadorean/Global family. Gracias Finca Jalapa!
Archangel, his mother Chatiya, his sister Ariel, his girlfriend Emma, their friends and family all took me in that month, and made me feel like one of their own. I got to share meals, good times, work, and a little bit of life with people who I consider part of my Salvadorean/Global family. Gracias Finca Jalapa!
(Me with the Zamora family right before I rolled away)
Riding through Electric Lands
Riding out of the finca and getting back on the open road after over a month was a bit of a reality shock. It felt something like, “Oh yeah I’m peddling my bicycle through the middle of Central America, alone..” The adrenaline was certainly pumping on much of that first days ride. I had set my sights on a little mountain town which I had read online as being tranquilo, nice, and ‘the highest town in El Salvador.’ The town of Alegria, which later I’d learn wasn’t the highest town of El Salvador, was a two day ride from the farm. Before I left the farm I had snooped online about the towns in the surrounding region for a place to crash on the night in between. I found many troubling pictures of crime scenes and gangsters getting arrested. This left me slightly on edge on the day. But I figured like most times if I stuck to the main highways in the early hours I should be ok, especially since I’d be riding with my lucky new El Salvador jersey.
Google image search for towns between the farm & Alegria:
Google image search for towns between the farm & Alegria:
(google image search for San Vicente)
(google image search for Mercedes Umana)
Peak adrenaline moment: Just after going down into a hot valley by the Lempa River, I was riding in a very rural and undeveloped area along the highway when I passed three young men on bicycles. One of them had a machete and when I rode by with a friendly, “Buenas tardes!; Good afternoon!” All I received back were grunts and stares. It was a slightly uphill curve just after passing them, and no more than 3 minutes later I saw two of them coming up fast behind me. Including the one with the machete. Whenever I feel like I’m potentially surrounded by dangerous people I usually choose to engage them first. Most times I do so in a very laid back, and friendly demeanor. As soon as they were close enough to make communication I turned my head and exclaimed something like, “Hey hey! caliente hoy verdad?!; Hey hey! Hot today huh?!” with a laugh. They laughed back, scoped me out for a moment, and then they swiftly rode passed me. I can’t be sure if they were just going somewhere and my paranoia had me on guard, or if they considered giving me a tough time until my gregarious nature defused that desire. I will never know for sure, but I like to think that engaging people in their language with positive vibes goes a long way. I’m sure that regardless if that was what saved me in this particular situation, that it is true in general.
(Where the Pan American meets the Rio Lempa. Photo from google.com)
Mercedes Umana is where I got off the Panamerican Highway, and where I’d take a little mountain road up to Alegria. People whistled, stared, and made interesting sounds upon seeing me roll into town. I imagine I’m not the average Monday afternoon sight. I responded with smiles, “Hey heeey’s!” and returned whistles which seemed to be received with joy. Things were getting off to a good start, and so far I hadn’t felt the ‘dangerous’ vibe the internet seemed to portray of this place.
My first clue that perhaps there was some nasty business beneath the surface was when I rolled up to the police headquarters. I was going to ask for permission to sleep somewhere or if they could recommend me a place. The station looked so run-down though, and the police inside, who were staring at me, didn’t seem like the good kind. I immediately reconsidered asking them, but it was too late. They saw me inquisitively looking in, and one particularly bad-looking cop began waving me into the station with big & dark predatory eyes. His shiny metal teeth only made him look more menacing. Without much of a choice I explained my situation. I told him about my mode of travel where I attempt to find free places to sleep. After looking at me up and down he doubted that I’d really ridden all the way from the US, and after pressuring me to tell the truth, he saw I was the real deal when I insisted that I'd ridden down on my bike.
Finally the policeman gave me directions to the red cross in town with a sly smile. I thanked him and rolled away before he had the chance to come up with any nasty ideas. I rode a few blocks down the main road, and reached the 5th little crossing street. I asked a man sitting on a step if that was the correct way to the red cross. He told me yes but that it wasn’t open. Then he asked me what I wanted there, and that I shouldn’t go down that block as it’s a gang street with lots of hoodlums around. The sincere feeling I got from the man as well as the MS (Mara-Salvatrucha) graffiti around gave me the impression that he was probably giving me some good advice.
We talked for a bit, as I explained to him my way of travelling and answered his curious questions. He told me he was waiting for mass at the church across the street, and that I could wait to ask the Father if I could camp in the church. The father showed up about 20 minutes later. We talked for a moment. He told me that nobody stays at the church at night, and the only thing he could offer me would be to camp in the space outside. Even though it was gated with barbed wire he told me it would be dangerous, and didn’t recommend it. They also told me that since it was getting dark soon I shouldn’t wait around outside.
(google image search for Mercedes Umana)
My first clue that perhaps there was some nasty business beneath the surface was when I rolled up to the police headquarters. I was going to ask for permission to sleep somewhere or if they could recommend me a place. The station looked so run-down though, and the police inside, who were staring at me, didn’t seem like the good kind. I immediately reconsidered asking them, but it was too late. They saw me inquisitively looking in, and one particularly bad-looking cop began waving me into the station with big & dark predatory eyes. His shiny metal teeth only made him look more menacing. Without much of a choice I explained my situation. I told him about my mode of travel where I attempt to find free places to sleep. After looking at me up and down he doubted that I’d really ridden all the way from the US, and after pressuring me to tell the truth, he saw I was the real deal when I insisted that I'd ridden down on my bike.
Finally the policeman gave me directions to the red cross in town with a sly smile. I thanked him and rolled away before he had the chance to come up with any nasty ideas. I rode a few blocks down the main road, and reached the 5th little crossing street. I asked a man sitting on a step if that was the correct way to the red cross. He told me yes but that it wasn’t open. Then he asked me what I wanted there, and that I shouldn’t go down that block as it’s a gang street with lots of hoodlums around. The sincere feeling I got from the man as well as the MS (Mara-Salvatrucha) graffiti around gave me the impression that he was probably giving me some good advice.
(Mara Salvatrucha grafitti is a common sight in El Salvador. Photo from google.com)
We talked for a bit, as I explained to him my way of travelling and answered his curious questions. He told me he was waiting for mass at the church across the street, and that I could wait to ask the Father if I could camp in the church. The father showed up about 20 minutes later. We talked for a moment. He told me that nobody stays at the church at night, and the only thing he could offer me would be to camp in the space outside. Even though it was gated with barbed wire he told me it would be dangerous, and didn’t recommend it. They also told me that since it was getting dark soon I shouldn’t wait around outside.
They all told me about the one hotel in town, and it was seeming like a hotel night it would be indeed. I rolled a couple blocks over and arrived at the ‘Motel California.’ This name seemed like a nice synchronicity, since I had just learned the rhythm to ‘Hotel California’ during my time at Finca Jalapa. The next morning I was up early to get a good start on my way up to cooler lands..
(Bomba on the way up to Alegria)
I made short work of the mountain up, which was at a nice grade, and had beautiful scenery throughout. It helped immensely that the whole way was shaded by high trees. The people seemed like nice country folk, and there was a more tranquilo vibe the higher up the mountain I ascended. I stopped in Berlin, a town just below Alegria for some pupusas and a drink. After eating I rode up the final 8k, and made it to my destination by 11am mas o menos. I planned to take some days off & chillax after a month of hard work at the farm, followed by two solid riding days. It was nice and quiant town up in the mountains with an eagles view of all the land surrounding it.
`
(View from a hiking trail near Alegria)
I found a little room for $10 a night (my max). It was the only available option, but was a nice place with a pleasant owner & staff, and situated right in the town square. I’ve learned that every once in a while a rest day at a paid room can be a nice way to recharge batteries if I’ve been working/roughing it for a while. Kind of like taking a little vacation from the worries of finding a place to sleep and having a secure place to put my load down for a bit. I made good use of my time by scouting workaway options for Nicaragua, finding a warmshowers host in El Salvador near the Honduras border, writing my blog, and reading. I did quite a nice little hike one day to the famous Alegria Lake which has been dubbed by some as the “Emerald of El Salvador.” Unfortunately the lake itself has drastically shrunk in size.
(The shrinking emerald of Alegria)
I heard rumors that companies nearby may have been pumping water out of it. Whether or not that is true it is certainly true that El Salvador is going through a severe drought, and while I was there it was supposed to be the ‘rainy season.’ It rained about 3 times in the month and a half I spent there.
I rolled out of Alegria to a wonderful 30k’s of straight downhill right back to the stagnant heat of the lower lands. Back to the lands of electric vibes I peddled. At one point some hippy looking peeps cheered me from the bed of a large truck as they passed me by. Roughly an hour later, as the midday sun was starting to really get broiling, I passed the dreaded folks once more. This time they were on foot & called me over. We chit-chatted by the highway as they were curious about my trip. They were a guy and girl from El Salvador and a Spanish/Honduran from Guatemala. Artisans and machete jugglers, my kind of folk.. So when they told me they were going to take a little trek to a lake nearby for a picnic and to cool down I took the chance, and ended up having quite the idyllic lunch break.
(Picnic by the lake)
I usually don’t take strangers up on detours into unknown areas when I’m on the move, but I can usually tell when it’s ok to do so. This time it resulted in a very nice picnic of a chicken dish in an awesome sauce, rice, and tortillas from their side, and I threw in 8 Avocados & some pasteries for desert. One of the dudes, ‘Media-Barba,’ was quite the guitar player, and he was pleased I had my guitar. His playing attracted 20 or so local dudes who circled us, and it became a show. They even pressured me to play a couple..
After the show I tried my best to relax. The rest of my ride slightly beared on my consciousness as I laid on the shady grass overlooking the water. I eventually took off out after a perfect escape from the hottest part of the day. More importantly I rolled out having made new friends. While riding up the last little mountain range before getting to my warmshowers host’s house, a truck went by me rather slowly. The people inside yelled something out the window, and then the truck pulled up right in front of me. It all happened so suddenly, and since I was focused on the climb I didn’t really see the people well. It slightly bewildered me as the driver jumped out and came over to greet me. It turned out to be Jose Garcia, my host who lived just a few kilometers away. He told me that I was right near the top, and that soon an 8k downhill was coming. I decided to ride it, and in no time I zipped down to what would be my house for the next week..
After the show I tried my best to relax. The rest of my ride slightly beared on my consciousness as I laid on the shady grass overlooking the water. I eventually took off out after a perfect escape from the hottest part of the day. More importantly I rolled out having made new friends. While riding up the last little mountain range before getting to my warmshowers host’s house, a truck went by me rather slowly. The people inside yelled something out the window, and then the truck pulled up right in front of me. It all happened so suddenly, and since I was focused on the climb I didn’t really see the people well. It slightly bewildered me as the driver jumped out and came over to greet me. It turned out to be Jose Garcia, my host who lived just a few kilometers away. He told me that I was right near the top, and that soon an 8k downhill was coming. I decided to ride it, and in no time I zipped down to what would be my house for the next week..
(The Garcia house)
I didn’t originally intend to spend a week at Jose's family's house, but my two friends who were behind urged me to wait another few days as they claimed they’d be coming up behind me. The date kept getting pushed forward, and I had to keep asking Jose for more days. Despite Jose’s verbal acceptance of my prolonged stay I could feel that my presence added more weight to their already heavy ship. The household was composed of Jose, his wife Marie, their two small kids Charlie & Xochitl, their four adopted teenage kids/nephews, their dog, and their parakeet:
Jose was in the process of building his new family home down the block, and running his two stores a few towns away. Marie had to feed, take care of, and do the laundry of her kids. The teens were all in school & had a lot of studying to do, and they also each hand washed and ironed their own clothes, helped prepare food, and cleaned the house. It wasn’t the type of place where I could just kick back leisurely, and feel ok doing so. Beside the heavy work performed by all members of the family, they’ve also hosted over 40 cyclists, and so I was nothing new or necessarily very impressive to them. They’ve seen it all before. I was neither the most rugged nor the most innovative of the many cyclists that have gone by. So the ‘wow’ factor wasn’t present between them and I. I’m pretty good at telepathically sensing when my weight is being felt somewhere, and normally I move when that’s the case..
The greater issue for me was that I didn’t want to do Honduras alone, they live a days ride from the border, and supposedly I had friends coming up shortly. So I toughed it out, and I tried to make my presence as least intrusive as possible. Jose was building a house, and what better thing could I do then help him on his project? It started as just a way to give back and help out a bit. I wasn’t expecting to get paid. On the second day of work though Jose told me that if I wanted to work the same hours as the guys he’d pay me their $10 a day wage. That’s when I became a Salvadorean construction worker.
(Roby the parakeet)
Jose was in the process of building his new family home down the block, and running his two stores a few towns away. Marie had to feed, take care of, and do the laundry of her kids. The teens were all in school & had a lot of studying to do, and they also each hand washed and ironed their own clothes, helped prepare food, and cleaned the house. It wasn’t the type of place where I could just kick back leisurely, and feel ok doing so. Beside the heavy work performed by all members of the family, they’ve also hosted over 40 cyclists, and so I was nothing new or necessarily very impressive to them. They’ve seen it all before. I was neither the most rugged nor the most innovative of the many cyclists that have gone by. So the ‘wow’ factor wasn’t present between them and I. I’m pretty good at telepathically sensing when my weight is being felt somewhere, and normally I move when that’s the case..
The greater issue for me was that I didn’t want to do Honduras alone, they live a days ride from the border, and supposedly I had friends coming up shortly. So I toughed it out, and I tried to make my presence as least intrusive as possible. Jose was building a house, and what better thing could I do then help him on his project? It started as just a way to give back and help out a bit. I wasn’t expecting to get paid. On the second day of work though Jose told me that if I wanted to work the same hours as the guys he’d pay me their $10 a day wage. That’s when I became a Salvadorean construction worker.
(My co-worker and the pile of rock slabs we had to scrub)
We scrubbed rock slabs from 7am to 12pm, and then again from 1pm to 4pm. Grandpa hands and sore fingers would be a theme that week. You’d be surprised how many rocks are needed to cover a wall. Although it was quite a big place Jose was building to comfortably fit his large family:
(Salvadorean worksite/Jose's new home)
Near completing a week at Jose’s I told David and Jorge, my friends behind, that I’d be moving that weekend with or without them. Finally on the day before I planned to go I received confirmation that I’d indeed be continuing solo. David and Jorge were still unable to come to a solid agreement. David was also quite comfortable at their beach spot, and he informed me that moving wasn’t in the near sights for them. I had prepared mentally for this turn of events. Even though I’d waited an extra two weeks at the farm in Cojute, took a longer & slower path up the mountains which killed 5 days, then waited yet another week at Jose’s, I was still alone. I wasn't upset though. The experiences gained in my waiting made it all worth it.
(Marie, Jose, and I as I left for Honduras)
If I hadn’t pushed myself into Jose & Marie’s family’s life for a week I wouldn’t have broken through to them like I feel I did. The initial numbness between them and I melted into a warm friendship. In my later days as I earned a bit of rep for working hard, Marie served me a heap-full of food one night (more than normal), with a much more radiant energy than usual as she exclaimed, “Me gusta tratar los trabajadores bien!: I like to treat working men good!” On my last few days me and Jose had some really nice conversations. It appears that we share a lot of the same world views, and the problems in our collective countries are pretty much the same just with different names & faces behind them. He introduced me to the poet & song-writer Facundo Cabral who I’ve enjoyed listening to since, and we also shared many stories of some of our more memorable life experiences.
(Facundo Cabral quote; 'I'm scared of idiots because there are lots of them and they can choose the president." Photo from google.com)
Jose’s story is so interesting that I will summarise a bit of it here to the best of my memory:
Jose's Story
Jose Ines Garcia was born and raised in El Salvador until the civil war broke out, and his family sent him to Montreal, Quebec. He spent the next 20 years growing up in Quebec where he went through school, and later became a worker for a cleaning company that had contracts with high security locations. He worked for Canadian banks which are the equivalent of the Federal Reserve in the US, high-tech software companies, and other places where the average person will never see the inside of. After years had passed, and the civil war was long gone, Jose decided to bike back down to his homeland. He cycled from Montreal back to his hometown in Eastern El Salvador. It took him just over a year. Since then he’s started his own family, continued & progressed his parents businesses, and hosts cyclists who are riding by.
Here’s a pic of me with his daughter Xochiltl when we were playing with my ‘Photobooth’:
(Xochiltl and I playing with my photobooth)
Having some family time with locals and working hand and hand with Salvadoreans gave me the perfect energy to continue the next leg of my journey. The Saturday when I finally left I rode out of the Garcia house around 6am. I was feeling warm and confident inside. I felt like nothing could touch me, and despite the relative ‘heat’ of those areas I was completely at ease. I made it to my planned destination of El Amatillo on the Honduran border by 10:30am. I was so early that I didn’t know what to do. I had ridden 75 kilometers barely stopping that morning, and so I surely wanted to take a break. It seemed too early to stop for the day but if I took a break I wouldn’t end up riding out of there till close to noon, one of the worst times to ride.
(El Salvador/Honduras border. Photo from google.com)
The border town seemed a little sketchy with all the rugged characters walking around. All the bad news of Honduras & El Salvador also made me feel that the border between these two countries may not be the safest place in the world. I rode up to a heavily guarded intersection where the large trucks have to get their paperwork filled out before moving through. There was a comedor right on the intersection. I figured with all the armed guards around it was a good place to post up and figure out my move. It turned out to be the right place to stop..
I ordered a drink, pulled my map out, and began studying the terrain that lay ahead. Aside from a town just on the other side of the border, Goascoran, there was nothing for at least another 40k’s after that. Initially when I scouted this section I planned to pass through Honduras in two rides, which meant only one night in this infamous country. Out of all the towns on the little stretch I’d be going through there was only one along the highway that was on the coast. I looked it up, and the town of San Lorenzo seemed to be an ok place. At least many touring cyclists who’ve done the ride wrote decent things about it. San Lorenzo was about 20k’s shy of being exactly halfway across the Honduras stretch, and so logically it was an ideal spot for my one night. It was about 55k’s from where I was in El Amatillo, and that meant roughly 4 hours of riding. I’d have to go through customs first and that would potentially take up to an hour. It would be an ambitious attempt. I didn’t want to take any extra risks in a place with a reputation like Honduras though. More comfortably I could crank it to a town that was 40k’s away from the border and make it there before the late afternoon. Still more risky than riding fresh in the early morning.. Plus it would mess up my planned route to stay in San Lorenzo. I had no idea what the other town would even be like, and it also meant the following day to the Nicaraguan border would be 35k’s longer, all in all about 110k’s. Doable but again ambitious, and I’d feel better playing it safe with fire. I scratched those ideas, and the only one left was maybe just crossing the border and staying that night in Goascoran, Honduras. That way the next day I could get an earlier start without customs in the way.
(San Lorenzo's location: Photo from wikipedia)
Right around this time a man asked permission to sit at the table with me. I accepted and we began chatting. He asked me about my bike and we talked a bit about my journey. He was a Salvadorean trucker who was waiting for his papers to be processed. He knew the roads up and down from Guatemala to Panama as he often ran shipments for a company. I got around to asking him about which town would be better to stay at, El Amatillo or Goascoran. He assured me that El Amatillo was much safer as it was a border town teeming with cameras and guards, as opposed to Goascoran a few k’s away from the border which was just a little rural town without even a hotel. He gave me some tips about some sketchy areas that I’d want to ride quickly through, and not stop. One was not long passed the Honduras border in Nicaragua in a town with a big metal bull statue where truckers have been hijacked before. Aside from the few warnings he told me that I’d be fine, and that the areas I was going through were for the most part ‘tranquilo,’ and were mostly farm lands. At some point in our chat the owner of the comedor, Marvin, jumped in and I made his acquaintance. The trucker left as we both bid each other farewell. He told me he’d stop for a chat if he saw me on the road. After the trucker left me and Marvin chatted a bit more, and I decided to get some food since I now had the whole day to kill.
(Marvin the owner of Comedor La Esperanza, El Amatillo. Photo from his facebook)
Marvin is a really friendly guy, and after my meal he told me I should stick around because the final of the Copa America would be on TV. I took him up on it. What else did I have going on anyway? The comedor soon packed up with truckers, vendors, and even some armed guards stopped around every once in a while. The game between Chile & Argentina ended in a defensive 0-0 performance, went to overtime, and then finally penalties. It wasn’t the most exciting final I must admit, but perhaps in my situation it was ideal for running hours off the clock.
After the game I got up intending to go find a place to crash for the night. I interrupted Marvin & another man’s conversation to say good-bye, and he asked me where I was going. I told him I was off to find a place to crash, and that I was going to ask the gas station down the road. He jubilantly told me that I could sleep in his hammock that was set up outside the comedor. I asked him, “Well isn’t it dangerous at night?” He pointed to the cameras across the street, and the armed guards on the road. He told me that they’re both there always. He also told me he’d be sleeping inside if I needed anything. That made things quite a bit easier, and to my surprise the copy/print shop next door had a little computer behind the front door with internet for 50 cents an hour. I contacted my family, told my prior host Jose I was OK, talked with some friends, and then just burned off time online. As it was getting dark I went back to the comedor and ordered some coffee & pupusas for dinner.
(My last Salvadorean pupusas @ La Esperanza comedor)
Then I watched the end of Terminator 3 with Marvin, one of his server girls, and a couple truckers until closing hour. I helped them get the tables and chairs inside, and finally I laid in my hammock for the night with my bike beside me. One of the guards on the road told me that he’d keep an eye on me, and often times when people would be walking by the hammock he’d flash his light in my direction. Even though I knew the guards were right there, and Marvin was just on the other side of the wall, I still had a bit of trouble falling asleep. All the commotion going on around me most of the night made for quite an extreme sleep environment. It was certainly one of the craziest places I’ve ever slept. I woke up at first light, ate some bananas & bread, then took this photo before heading out:
(My bed for a night @ La Esperanza Comedor)
I did customs quick, and rolled across the bridge into Honduras.
(Entrance of Honduras)
Just upon rolling in I saw some ladies on the side of the street preparing food. They had a big coffee jug, and I got a cup. If I had known better I would sacrificed the extra ten/fifteen minutes, and eaten one of the elusive baleadas (Honduran traditional plate) which they were preparing. Apparently Baleadas are a breakfast food, sometimes dinner, but rarely lunch.
(google image search for Baleada)
I was pumping with adrenaline though, and wanted to crank my first day in Honduras out early. After getting through the Honduran side of immigration I was finally moving at around 7am. A bit later than I had wanted but still ok. One of my first interactions with Hondurans besides people on the border was a group of guys at an auto repair shop. I saluted them with a “buenos dias!” (good morning), and one of them replied back with a “porqueria!” (dirt, filth). It wasn’t the most welcoming thing to say, but it was soon rectified by others who gave me good vibes. It seemed like people were a bit more surprised to see me, but overall things weren’t that much different than El Salvador.
People often say to me, “but it’s so dangerous there” and ask “didn’t you get robbed?” I’ve also been asked, “Why did you put yourself through that risk?” and some people seemed unable to even understand why I’d even do such a thing. Unfortunately news has blinded some people to the point where their image of Honduras is ONLY death, robbery, and bad things. I like to remind people sometimes of the simple truth that there’s ALWAYS more good people than bad. Ok, according to statistics, which I take with a large grain of salt, Honduras has got the highest murder rate in the world. Even if that is true, people don’t seem to remember that this is a country which operates on the good biding of MILLIONS of people every day. What about all the students, teachers, cooks, vendors, construction workers, store owners, clerks, cleaners, mechanics, farmers, drivers, security guards and the many more professionals that exist? Where are all these people normally? Well, early in the morning a lot of them are probably on the highway going to school or work. Most criminals are opportunists, and they aren’t going to jack someone with a bunch of people around to witness it. Plus most drunks, punks, hooligans, and people of that sort are sleeping in the early morning. That’s not to say that I didn’t receive my share of scary stares or intense vibes. Time and place are vital ingredients to a successful robbery though. A bit of luck, and a lot of planning have been on my side. Most spots that are really abandoned are abandoned, and no robber is going to be sitting there in the middle of nowhere because they didn’t know I was coming. If one were to follow me in a vehicle it wouldn’t be long until another car came down the highway anyway. When are things the most tranquilo? Early in the morning, and like I said I ride early, reaaaally early..
With that said I zipped into San Lorenzo right on schedule at 11am. It was a bit more shabby than I had expected, but then I reminded myself that I was in Honduras.
(Entrance of San Lorenzo. Photo from google image search)
I missed my second opportunity to eat a baleada on my way in as I passed a little typical food joint and biked straight for the water front. I expected it to maybe be a bit more touristy & maybe have a bit of that generic & sterile commercial environment so typical in all tourist places nowadays. Good thing it wasn’t like that but at the time I was kind of just wanting some creature comforts, and to cool off my high vibes. Instead it was more of a place for local families to come on the weekends. The beach front street was lined in fish & seafood restaurants/bars, and with expensive looking hotels around. It was Sunday so it was packed.
(Pricey seafood & shelter. Photo from google image search)
All the places on the shoreline looked expensive, and the beach was packed with people. Some of whom had pointed and laughed at me while yelling, “gringo?! gringo..” and other stuff I couldn’t quite understand. I pushed my bike to the end of the street, and realising that it was probably the only beach I sat down on a hot bench in the sun. I hadn’t quite liked my reception from the only people who’d made contact with me so I wasn’t about to lug my heavy bike onto the sand to sit next to a chauvinistic crowd. Despite the heavy heat blanketing me I was happy to rest my legs and look out onto the mangrove bay.
(San Lorenzo beach: Photo from google image search)
I pulled out some sweet bread from my food bucket, and blissfully enjoyed the tranquility of the bay. Around this time a friendly man walked up to me picking up pieces of broken glass off the sand on his way. He was a lanchero (boater) named Mauricio. He worked out on the bay taking people on tours of the mangroves, and also as a fisherman. He invited me to come sit next to him under a tree on the sand. Since he had good vibes I took him up on it, and I was soon in a much better chill spot. I’d end up being there for a while during which time I met many interesting Hondurans.
After talking to Mauricio a while I met two local kids who I gave some bracelets to, then I spoke to two guys from San Pedro Sula who were working nearby installing solar panels for the government, next I spoke to the mother of a family from Tegucigalpa who’s travelled to many places around the globe, and finally I met another boater who was the father of the two kids I’d met earlier. The kids came back and began badgering me to play a game with them. I told them the only game I had was cards, and they were happy to play. We played cards for the next hour or so, although it was more me just explaining the rules over and over again, and ensuring that they weren’t cheating tooo much. Finally when my stomach informed me it was time to eat I told the kids I had to go, and I figured it would be a good opportunity to also find my spot to crash for the night.
After talking to Mauricio a while I met two local kids who I gave some bracelets to, then I spoke to two guys from San Pedro Sula who were working nearby installing solar panels for the government, next I spoke to the mother of a family from Tegucigalpa who’s travelled to many places around the globe, and finally I met another boater who was the father of the two kids I’d met earlier. The kids came back and began badgering me to play a game with them. I told them the only game I had was cards, and they were happy to play. We played cards for the next hour or so, although it was more me just explaining the rules over and over again, and ensuring that they weren’t cheating tooo much. Finally when my stomach informed me it was time to eat I told the kids I had to go, and I figured it would be a good opportunity to also find my spot to crash for the night.
Mauricio had informed me that the seafood soup in San Lorenzo was supposed to be spectacular, and being that it was on the shores of the pacific ocean, and covered in mangroves (where crabs love), I felt like he was giving me a good tip. But before I dropped what would be at the very least $7 on a plate of food (which is over twice the amount I prefer to spend on a meal) I wanted to secure a free spot to sleep. At least then I could justify the food splurge. First I tried the San Lorenzo Red Cross which was closed. It was sunday after-all. Next I rode to the edge of town to the fire station, and for the first time on my trip they denied me. The captain was off on vacation and nobody else there apparently had the authority to grant me permission. Then I went to the large cathedral but I couldn’t find a living soul in there. At this point it was hot, and I was really hungry. I spotted a juice place where they had antojitos (snacks), and I noticed the prices were nice. The seafood spot would have to wait till dinner, maybe.. In the meantime the juice place really hit the spot. The papaya/melon smoothie was huge and they even gave me the spare juice in a separate cup like they do in diners in the US. Plus the tostada was good & abundant. I got two.
After the meal I got to talking to the owners, a middle-aged couple, who were curious about my trip. I told them a bit about my saga, and how I like to find free places to sleep. They told me that I should ask the caretaker of the Municipal building, and one of them told me they had just seen him walk into the building. I thanked them and went over there. The building was just catty-corner from the juice spot, and it looked like a nice place with a lawn in the back. The watchman turned out not to be the most accommodating type though. He came out impatiently, and then just pointed to the square concrete floor out front under the awning & told me I could sleep there if I wanted. Then he closed the front gate and went back in to tend to his duties. Being that the building was right in the town square I didn’t feel like it would be the safest place for me and my things. Even if he was just a shout away. It was looking like I may have to pay.
I decided to get a feel for the room prices around town, and boy was I blown away. This was one of the most expensive towns I’d been to since maybe even the United States. The average price at a ‘fancier’ spot like the Villa Concha was $30 US for the non-AC room. That’s United States prices.
(Villa Concha, one of the 'fancy' hotels in San Lorenzo. Photo from google image search)
I found a 'mid-grade' spot for $15 US and that was for the cheaper option without AC. It was relatively shabby. At that price it just didn’t feel right considering what I’ve gotten for much less than that so many times before. The only affordable, and generally my limit, spot for $10 US was just appalling. Basically a hooker hotel. The room was a dark hole without a window. About 5’ by 8,’ with a dirty little bed, the mattress was about as thick as my hand, and the building itself was dusty, dark, & depressing. At that point I’d been rolling around town for a couple hours, and I was still doing zig zags with my loaded down bike. Locals were starting to stare at me suspiciously. I had a good lay of the land but I wasn’t quite satisfied with any of my options. I was tired of looking so I figured I’d go back to the only cool chill spot; the beach.
I had luck earlier meeting people under the tree, and so I decided to roll back to the same spot. A family was lounging to one side now, and on the other were the kids I had played cards with earlier. Now there were four kids. They wanted to play cards again, and having nothing better to do I pulled out my deck. If managing two kids was tough, four was nearly impossible. It was a mess, and thankfully the father of the family next to me saved me from the ‘game.’ We began chit-chatting and he soon offered me a beer. They were a local family from town enjoying their Sunday off work. I ended up meeting his friends and the whole family. Around that time the sun started going down, and the high tide was swallowing up the beach little by little.
(San Lorenzo bay at sunset)
We were all forced onto the sidewalk to finish what was left of our beers.
(Hanging in Honduras)
The family was getting ready to go. One of them curiously asked me where I was staying the night, and I explained to him my predicament. Instead of offering me a spot in his home (which I was kind of hoping for), he told me the boater (father of the kids) would probably let me sleep on one of his boats. The boater had just finished tying off the boats and was right there drinking beers with us. He told me that I could sleep on any one of his three boats which were anchored in the bay. He claimed that it would be safe, and that the local police do surveillance rounds throughout the night there. I asked him about my bicycle, and he told me that he was good friends with the night watchman of one of the Seafood restaurants on the water font. He said that I’d be able to stash my bike there. I’d just have to wait till 8pm when the seafood restaurant closed. If it weren’t for the friendliness and helpfulness of these guys I’d perhaps not be so inclined to take this offer. They seemed like honest men though who were genuinely just trying to help me. So I went with it..
A Night turned to Terror in Honduras
The family was on their way out. They told me I could follow them a few blocks away where they’d show me to a good pupusa spot for dinner. At this point I’d given up on the seafood soup idea. I’d made a case for why I go after free lodging.. ‘I don’t have really deep funds,’ it’s true and in that moment I felt like turning around & dropping a hefty amount of $ on my dinner just didn’t line up very well with my story. Plus I love pupusas anyways. Upon resting my bike out front on the pupuseria wall I was swarmed with kids. Four to eight year olds I’d say. The fisherman’s kids had beat me there, and they were with all of their neighbourhood pals. I was surrounded by at least fifteen children. The fisherman’s kids inevitably told all of their friends about my little bracelets and suddenly they were all pleading & sticking there little arms out at me for bracelets. I emptied the contents of my bag as more and more kids showed up wanting ever more bracelets. I didn’t have enough to give them all one, even a young chap not too much younger than me came up and asked me for one.
I showed everyone I had no more, and quickly made a cut to a table with a view of my bike Bomba. Bomba was a little further than I was comfortable with since she was surrounded with kids. I counted with the fact that I had been so generous to them that they’d like me enough to not mess with my things. They looked fairly small & innocent, and barely mischevious enough. Two minutes after I was gone most of them were already occupied in the next big thing going on across the street. Only the fishermans kids and another boy & girl remained. I signalled to one of the fisherman’s kids to watch my bike, and he happily affirmed. I enjoyed the pupusas, thanked the kids for nicely watching my things. Then I rolled back out front of the seafood restaurants. It was one of the last lit up areas left in town with some armed guards around.
I sat at a beach bench one restaurant down from ‘the restaurant.’ A young guy was hanging out around there, and he asked me for a little money. Pulling out my money at night, especially when it’s buried in a pocket in my front pannier, isn’t something I feel comfortable doing. I offered him a piece of sweet bread I had instead. He took the bread, and we both ate a piece sitting on either end of the bench. After finishing the piece of bread he asked me for money again. I told him firmly, “Ya te dije que no tengo ahora amigo! Porque piensas que estoy aqui?! ; I already told you I don’t have any now friend! Why do you think I’m out here?!” He looked at me up and down with a faint disturbance, and got up quickly saying, “dale ; right on” as he zipped off half smiling.
I waited for quite a while, which if it hadn’t been for the magnificent view of the stars, perhaps would have been boring. The middle aged lady who owned the little family style restaurant in front of my bench kept an eye on me with a mild suspicion/curiosity. I finally decided to roll my bicycle to the restaurant where I planned to stash my bike, and get a feel for how long I’d be waiting. I preferred to grab one of the tables outside which was far from the deep end of the restaurant, and where the only table left was sitting. Both the waitress and a man who was probably the owner were engaging in a conversation with the table. They looked slightly annoyed when they saw me from afar making my presence known. Maybe they were just squinting because it was hard to see me, I can’t be sure. The owner came up to me though, and beckoned me inside. I told him I couldn’t because I did’t want to leave my bike outside. He confusedly came out, and inspected my bike. I told him all I wanted was a coffee. In his Honduran English he exclaimed “ I don’t serve coffee, in none of these places will you find coffee here!” as he motioned up and down the street. I thanked him for unknowingly stashing my bike for the night, and I rolled Bomba out of sight back to the bench outside.
I laid back resting on my sleeping bag looking up at the stars. After a while I heard the last party leave, and the goodbye’s in the street. Looking up a moment later I looked right at the owner who was staring at me from down the street. It looked like he was now in more concerned state. I laid back again slightly amused by his expression. Not too long later a grizzled man came limping up to me. He looked like the description I’d been told of the watchman. He told me rushingly, “No podemos dejar su bici en el restauran, el dueno se entero de nuestro plan..; We can’t leave your bike in the restaurant, the owner found out our plan..” All of a sudden a guy from earlier showed up out of the dark. He was either a member of the family from earlier on the beach or probably just a friend of theirs. One of whom I’d barely talked to individually. He told me he came to see if I had gotten my things all figured out. Still under anxiety, the watchman told me he had a solution. He said I could stay at a bar/club down the street called ‘El Pelicano’ where he knew another watchman. There was no time to think, and we had to go quick since he had to start his shift & his boss was already stressed out. They both assured me that it was just halfway down the next block, in front of the water.
Taking a quick scan of the environment, the two guys, their faces & eyes, and the overall feeling of the situation, I decided to ride the swift change in events. The two guys escorted me down the block in the middle of the street as I pushed my bike behind them. We crossed the curious eyes of many local folks, some bearing slight concernment. Down the block we stopped out front of the gate of what looked like a fancy waterfront bar/club. The watchman called out, “Carlos! Carlos!” A moment later a sleepy eyed, rather small, craggy faced man unlocked the chain around the gate. The watchman quickly explained the situation to Carlos, and a brief moment later the three of them escorted me to a spot in the back by the water where I could park my bike & lay my mat down. After affirming the spot was satisfactory to me the watchman & friend were quickly gone. I heard Carlos lock up the gate, then he came by to have a chit-chat with me.
I was eating a banana, and offered him one feeling that it was the least I could do in exchange for the help. He happily accepted it, put it aside, and sat down rather quietly observing me. I pulled my thin mat out from the back of my bike, then put some pants over my riding shorts. I sat down opposite him. He asked me some questions, the basic kind. I talked a bit about my journey, and I could tell a lot of the things I was talking about were beyond his usual realm of existence. He was rolling a joint, and after he lit it he began going into some of his life’s hardships. Unfortunately life has been rather tough to Carlos..
First he began talking about his ex wife. She gave him an incurable virus, and then left him for a friend of his. I did my best to relate to him by discussing some of my own hardships relating to women, and my own failed ‘marriage.’ Barely on the same level but I think on some regard I was able to relate, and he appreciated that. During the heavy conversation he never passed me the joint, and before it was too late I asked him for some puffs. He handed me the roach, and then told me he’d roll another since he didn’t know I wanted to smoke. I told him just a couple puffs would do for me, and that I didn’t want to smoke more. He rolled another big one anyway, and told me it was for him. Then he went on to disclose to me that he’s got a bit of a problem with drugs, and that he likes some of the heavier kinds. In my experimental days I had my go at most street drugs, and so I was able to relate a bit to him. I also let him know that I don’t mess around with the heavy stuff anymore. Around this time some noises came from the bar/restaurant right next door. We both looked over through the fence, apparently something fell, and people were picking it up. Carlos went into how he doesn’t get along with the owners next door. He told me that ever since a heist occurred there a couple months prior the owner was convinced he was involved, and now wants to kill him. I didn’t have much to relate on that one, and he quickly pointed out to me that it couldn’t be true or else why would his current boss still trust him? Shortly afterwards he quickly showed me where I should put my mat down, and then he told me that he had to go take a spin in town for something. He left and locked me in.
First he began talking about his ex wife. She gave him an incurable virus, and then left him for a friend of his. I did my best to relate to him by discussing some of my own hardships relating to women, and my own failed ‘marriage.’ Barely on the same level but I think on some regard I was able to relate, and he appreciated that. During the heavy conversation he never passed me the joint, and before it was too late I asked him for some puffs. He handed me the roach, and then told me he’d roll another since he didn’t know I wanted to smoke. I told him just a couple puffs would do for me, and that I didn’t want to smoke more. He rolled another big one anyway, and told me it was for him. Then he went on to disclose to me that he’s got a bit of a problem with drugs, and that he likes some of the heavier kinds. In my experimental days I had my go at most street drugs, and so I was able to relate a bit to him. I also let him know that I don’t mess around with the heavy stuff anymore. Around this time some noises came from the bar/restaurant right next door. We both looked over through the fence, apparently something fell, and people were picking it up. Carlos went into how he doesn’t get along with the owners next door. He told me that ever since a heist occurred there a couple months prior the owner was convinced he was involved, and now wants to kill him. I didn’t have much to relate on that one, and he quickly pointed out to me that it couldn’t be true or else why would his current boss still trust him? Shortly afterwards he quickly showed me where I should put my mat down, and then he told me that he had to go take a spin in town for something. He left and locked me in.
A bit before Carlos left, as he was showing me where to put my mat down, I noticed a woman on the pier next door gaping as she stared upon us. After Carlos was gone the woman on the pier still had the same terrorised look. I was a bit confused, and wished that I could communicate with her. She was too far though, and something about her energy put me at disease. I began getting really worried about the danger I had potentially gotten myself into. The more I thought about Carlos the more I realised that he had painted quite a dark image of himself. There wasn’t much good for me to hold him in a good light by. I also realised that the only other people who knew where I was were two men I didn't know at all, and I had no idea whether they were good people or not. I realised that there was a significant chance that I was indeed in danger. I was contained in a locked space with all of my relatively expensive items, and some potentially not so trustworthy people were the only ones who really knew I was there. The large Honduran flag flying at the end of the pier only reminded me of the potential danger I was in. It was quite a relief I must say that the neighbours were there, and that they had at least seen me. I couldn’t be sure that they would be there for much longer though as it was starting to get late. I got my knife out and put it in an easy spot to grab incase I needed it. I planned an escape route down to the beach, and I moved my mat to a spot where I could easily get up & run to the beach. I also had a view of both the gate, and Carlos’ hammock. I wasn’t be able to leave with my bike even if I wanted to, and despite my adrenaline & paranoia there was still a chance that all was good. All I could do was wait.
I laid down and kept my eye on the gate. Any sound behind me, and I’d jump up like a mad man. This would be a pattern that night. Carlos finally came back, and to my ease he was all alone. Seeing me just laying above my thin mat without a cover he offered me a blanket. I told him I didn’t need one, and he insisted that I at least use it for my legs which my mat isn’t long enough to cover. He then laid back in his hammock. He was slumped back with his hat on so I couldn’t quite see his eyes. I spent the next 2-3 hours keeping my eye on Carlos, jumping up any time I’d hear anything behind my head, and then I’d pretend my jump was due to the uncomfortable sleeping space. I’d also look over quickly whenever I’d hear anything at the gate.
A couple hours went by, and suddenly a man began shaking the gate. He was yelling out for Carlos. Evidently Carlos had slumbered into a deep sleep, and not wanting to aid in letting a potential accomplice of his in, I decided I might not want to say anything. It went quiet, and not too long later I heard some more rumblings by the gate. I looked over again, and I saw a man inside the property. Worried about who he was, I sat up. The man was dressed trendy and didn’t look like the criminal type. He half laughed when he saw me, and went into the bar for something. I stayed awake, and at this point was quite confused. A moment later things started making more sense as a group of people showed up, and began drinking and partying. Apparently the owner had come in to do a midnight party with his friends. Finally I felt I could safely sleep. Even if it was to the sounds of hysterically laughing women and thumping latin pop music. I was just relieved that the fear of getting strangled to death was no longer imminent. At last I dosed off.
A couple hours went by, and suddenly a man began shaking the gate. He was yelling out for Carlos. Evidently Carlos had slumbered into a deep sleep, and not wanting to aid in letting a potential accomplice of his in, I decided I might not want to say anything. It went quiet, and not too long later I heard some more rumblings by the gate. I looked over again, and I saw a man inside the property. Worried about who he was, I sat up. The man was dressed trendy and didn’t look like the criminal type. He half laughed when he saw me, and went into the bar for something. I stayed awake, and at this point was quite confused. A moment later things started making more sense as a group of people showed up, and began drinking and partying. Apparently the owner had come in to do a midnight party with his friends. Finally I felt I could safely sleep. Even if it was to the sounds of hysterically laughing women and thumping latin pop music. I was just relieved that the fear of getting strangled to death was no longer imminent. At last I dosed off.
A few hours later Carlos nudged me awake to tell me it was 5am. The time I had requested to wake up. He showed me a bucket of water, and the space where I could bathe. I washed myself with the cold water, dried off, put my riding clothes on, and then I took this photo:
(Pelicano's Bar/Where I slept in San Lorenzo)
(San Lorenzo to Guasaule. Photo from cycleroute.org)
The next section of my ride was considered a fairly deserted & not so pretty section of Honduras. It was also known to be dry, poor, and fairly unsafe according to some cyclist blogs I’d read: Link. Good thing for me I was riding early early, and covered lots of ground pretty quick. By 11am I was already at the last little town along the highway before the border. Everyone I’d met up until that point along the highway had been nice, and most people waved or answered my whistles and “Buenos dias!” exclamations. The last 25k or so before getting to Nicaragua I noticed that the people were a bit more vicious/mischevious. Some gardeners cutting weeds near the ‘pulperia’ I stopped at for a drink stared at pointed at me rather darkly. Leaving the pulperia a young boy followed me with his bike. He asked me for money several times, and then pleaded for me to come take a break at his house. I told him I had to go, and kept pushing. A little later I passed a ranch house where the three girls out front rushed to the street upon seeing me. They were waving me down, and based on their desperate state I peddled faster. They chased me for a bit before giving up and laughing with predatory glee. Finally, after what seemed like a long stretch based on my rather desperate desire to arrive, I rolled into the dicey feeling town of Guasaule.
Upon rolling in I was just trying to get a good look at the town, and see if there was anywhere like the spot I had slept at the border in El Amatillo. I didn’t see any guarded spots. It was just a bunch of comedores, print/fax service centers, pulperias, a cyber cafe or two, and a couple of dirty mechanic shops. On the street were a bunch of money-changers & peddle-cabs. All the eyes on me and the lurking men with wads of cash made me keep moving. A well dressed and quite big man managed to get in my way though, and he wanted to know if I needed to change money. I told him that I didn’t have any Lempira’s to change as I was going to use them to eat. I asked him how much the dollar was just to check, and he told me $25 Nicaraguan Cordobas per U.S. dollar. I thanked him, and kept rolling. I soon got to the immigration center and realised that there was nothing left except for the bureaucratic buildings. I rolled back into town keeping my eye out for the elusive national dish: Baleadas. I couldn’t see them anywhere, and all of a sudden I was back in front of the big money changer guy. He had his arms up like, “Whats up?” I asked him where I could find some Baleadas. He told me I wouldn’t have any luck, as they aren’t served passed the morning. It was 1pm and according to him and some fellas to his side it was passed Baleada time. The big guy pointed to a little home with a ‘Comedor’ sign out front. He told me if I wanted a good lunch for a good price I could find it there. I took his suggestion and sat at the first table by the door.
They had two things on the menu, cow tongue or minced beef. I don’t generally order meat but when it’s the only thing available I prefer to skip the fuss and go with the flow. I got the minced beef. It was served with gallo pinto (rice & beans), tajadas (fried plantain), & a side salad. I got a tamarindo fresco on the side. Right as I received my meal the tall money changer came walking in. He glanced around and seeing that all the tables were occupied he asked if he could sit to my side. I told him of course, and he pulled up a chair. I could tell this guy was pretty tough based on his demeanor. He was curious about my bike, and I told him a bit about my journey. I asked him about the surrounding areas, and where I’d have better luck finding a place to crash the night. He told me to go to the other side of the border to Nicaragua, according to him it was much safer. I finished my meal, thanked him for the advice, and got up to head out. He asked me again if I needed to change money. I figured I may as well just trade my dollars. He hooked me up at $26 Cordobas to the dollar.
After over an hour of bureaucratic ‘fun’ on both sides of the border, I was finally rolling on Nicaraguan pavement. The immigration in Nicaragua were by far the most difficult to pass through in Central America up until this point. Partially because my Guatemalan extension stamps have an officer error on them. Foreigners are only allowed 90 days in the CA-4 region (Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua), and my Guatemala stamps are the dates the Nicaraguans had to go off of to find out how much more time I was allowed in the country . My passport was passed between two officers until it landed in that hands of the supervisor who came outside to speak to me personally. I explained the situation of how the Guatemalan immigration official made a mistake, crossed it out, initialed it, and crossed in the correct box stating that I had ‘entered’ as opposed to ‘exited’ Guatemala on April 25. He shook his head, walked back inside, spoke to one of his peers, and then sat down in his desk. He made me wait about fifteen minutes as he filled out several sheets for other passports that had been set-aside. He observed me quite pensively. I hoped he wouldn’t turn this little stamp smudge into a reason for extortion. He finally fingered me over and asked me to pay the entrance fee ($10). Then as I said before, I was finally rolling on Nicaraguan pavement, for real.
(Bomba in Nica!)
Despite all of my attempts & efforts to the contrary I was still riding alone. Since my friend Ryan had flown back to his home this had been the case. Regardless, I managed to safely pass through what many consider the most 'dangerous' portion of Central America. Although I'd been travelling solo I was very much with people through most of this time. A hotel/surfboard factory owner (Cho Yiu), the bicycle grandmother (Vera Campos), Will's family from Joya De Ceren, some San Salvadorean cyclists (Ali, Manuel & Hector), the Zamora freedom fighting & agriculture family, some hippies on the side of the highway (Media Barba & friends), the Garcia family & their construction crew, Marvin the owner of La Esperanza comedor, a San Lorenzo boaterman his kids & friends, some Honduran night security men (Carlos), and many others had made me a part of their family even if it was just for an afternoon, a day, a week, or a month.
Before ever peddling these lands I had developed an expectation that Nicaragua would be ‘safer.' Looking back now I've realised that my negative association with Honduras & El Salvador was constructed prior to ever actually stepping foot on either one of these countries. My judgment had been based on the very limited information I had, which had been presented to me by the media & by other people. Although I'll concede that I had some tense moments, that I witnessed some 'scary' looking people, that I saw quite a bit of poverty, and that I definitely wouldn't want to be in some of the places that I passed in the nighttime. Overall it was no different or more intense than many other places I've peddled in before.
In fact more than anything I had been helped and supported by the people in these lands. My fears and subsequent conquering of them made this a period of growth for me. What did I gain from this time? Courage and a feeling of breaking through perceived road blocks. I raised the bar on many levels, and I stayed true to the bike throughout it. I proved the news & the naysayers wrong. I survived El Salvador & Honduras, and most of it all by myself. I learned that danger is relative and safety is nothing more than a comfortable illusion. One never knows where the next helping hand will come from. Don’t judge or condemn people, and ride the flows of life when the currents are flowing in positivity. Circumstances can change with the winds, and in the end all that really matters is what you carry inside.
Before ever peddling these lands I had developed an expectation that Nicaragua would be ‘safer.' Looking back now I've realised that my negative association with Honduras & El Salvador was constructed prior to ever actually stepping foot on either one of these countries. My judgment had been based on the very limited information I had, which had been presented to me by the media & by other people. Although I'll concede that I had some tense moments, that I witnessed some 'scary' looking people, that I saw quite a bit of poverty, and that I definitely wouldn't want to be in some of the places that I passed in the nighttime. Overall it was no different or more intense than many other places I've peddled in before.
In fact more than anything I had been helped and supported by the people in these lands. My fears and subsequent conquering of them made this a period of growth for me. What did I gain from this time? Courage and a feeling of breaking through perceived road blocks. I raised the bar on many levels, and I stayed true to the bike throughout it. I proved the news & the naysayers wrong. I survived El Salvador & Honduras, and most of it all by myself. I learned that danger is relative and safety is nothing more than a comfortable illusion. One never knows where the next helping hand will come from. Don’t judge or condemn people, and ride the flows of life when the currents are flowing in positivity. Circumstances can change with the winds, and in the end all that really matters is what you carry inside.
(With an open heart one can go anywhere. Me in Joya De Ceren, El Salvador)
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