'F' its hot!

My Mum and Dad will be glad to know that I don't swear so much anymore. But in this case 'My giddy Aunt, it's hot!' doesn't quite convey just how hot it actually is.
I've set up a new map case for my handle bar, finally utilizing a compass/thermometer that I've been carrying around. Not only does it give me something else to look at, I can see just how hot it is - riding in the 40s just isn't fun. Even my new ventilated jacket is too hot. Naughty as it is (I now have to take back all the times I commented on the idiot bikers riding in London in t-shirt and shorts when the thermometer went over 20c), the morning ritual has gone from putting on bike jacket, gloves and helmet to lathering up in suncream, gloves and helmet. Long trousers always so as to avoid searing flesh on the melting bike seat, but still, I don't think my zip-off hiking trousers are going to protect much if I come a cropper. The other option though, in the words of the Wicked Witch of the West, 'I'm melting, I'm melting!'

A quick trip to Granada, one night with a late check-out so as to see what there isn't really to see there, (I'm not sure but we never seem to 'get' a lot of the places that other travellers do) and we head northbound. Oops, I should mention that we did have one of the best pizzas for dinner, a normal amount of cheese! So I guess that kind of made a visit to Granada worth it.

On the thinking that the mountains will be cooler, we decide to miss Leon, another colonial town in the north west of Nicaragua. We head for the middle border crossing of El Espino, going through the extremes of 40c+ through desert country to getting drenched on the mountain roads, twice. Of course the second time was two minutes before pulling into a hotel (after having dried off from the first drenching), got to love our timing!

We had already decided not to stop in Honduras. Pretty much everyone we had spoken to didn't have anything good to report about the place, except for the Bay Islands in the Carribean and we could do with making up some time. And with the heat that we were enduring, I don't think I would have hung around for too long anyways. So after a relatively painless crossing into, a fast ride through and a painless exit, we arrive in El Salvador. I thought the Costa Rican crossing was long. According to my trusty thermometer, it's cooled down to a mild 38c, I'm guessing humidity 95%. This is in the shade of the warehouse where we spent over three hours waiting for our Aduana papers to be typed up. It took about a half hour to get the paperwork sorted out and given to the officals. About an hour or so later, they come to check to Chassis and Engine numbers.
BIG problem.
For some unkown reason, Mike's engine number doesn't match what is written on his documents. Stranger still, is how we've come this far without it being picked up before. Another half hour later, someone else comes to check the numbers. Still not correct. Another half an hour later, I get the thumbs up, they're typing our papers up now.
It's just about this time that Vladamir rides up (Although 'rides' doesn't quite capture the essence of his arrival). Vladamir is an 'energetic' Russian. In a little over six months he has ridden his BMW GS1200 Dakar from Moscow down to Spain, caught a ferry to Tangier, continued down to Dakar and the west coast of Africa, through the Congo and all that, into Durban, South Africa. His bike then went on a boat to Buenos Aires, Argentina and then he headed north. Although he didn't wait the four weeks in Cartagena like us, he still got held up for two weeks in Medillin, Colombia, repairing his bike after a minor accident. All this in six months. Makes us look like turtles.
He carries a machette, taped between the pannier and the bike itself. Has he ever had to use it? Yes! In the Congo for cutting down jungle (?), for protection from the mad Africans (?) and apparently it is quite useful to scare off the hasslers at the border crossings in Latin America (I can understand this although we'd just end up in more trouble). He is a journalist writing about his travels. Basically what he sees from the bike. The road ahead, and glimpes to the left and right. Not sure how exciting a read that would be. Most of the time he must be describing a blur. But each to their own and he is on a time limit. He must be back in Moscow to his wife within the year. And for that he must get to San Fransico, ship the bike to Vladistock, Siberia, and ride more than 8000km across Siberia, Mongolia and Russia.
And he thinks the Africans are crazy!
I have no doubt he will get there with time to spare though, the guy couldn't sit still. And as for time spent at border crossings, athough he doesn't understand Spanish and we had to help him fill out his Aduana forms, his Russian mafia presence was nothing to be sniffed at. He was out of there in less time than us and I'm thinking that it was may be due to him that our papers were processed as quickly. They weren't game to keep him there longer than necesary and they couldn't very well issue his papers before ours.
We watched our fellow biker speed off into the fading daylight as we ourselves had a very fast ride to La Union on the promise of cheap seafood. Made it just before complete nightfall into what appeared to be (even in daylight the next morning) a port of dubious character. After a much needed cold shower, and a quick if slightly frustrating search for a restaurant, I got my lobster then it was off to bed. What a day!

With San Salvador reading like San Jose, the guide book stating its best kept secret was some little church, we opt for giving it a miss and heading up to Guatemala and maybe some cooler weather.
The good thing about Nicaragua, Honduras and El Salvador is that their roads are good and although they have stupid speeds i.e. in the same vein as northern Peru (25km zones on the PanAmerican highway) unlike Peru, the police don't seem to mind that they're the only ones sticking to the speed limit. We follow the locals' lead and after stopping for a Homer Simpson style breakfast of donuts, Gallo pinto (Rice and beans) just not appealling at that time of morning, and buying the obligatory El Salvadorian sticker, we head quickly for the Guatemalan border.

As I'm typing this, I'm now thinking that I've written this before. 'Mike should do the paperwork at borders'. He has us across in under half an hour and we're looking good for making our chosen destination.
Note for Mike: Next time there is a very dark sky in the direction of our travel and Michelle says, 'Lets just get going and see how far we get before we need to put our waterproof jackets on', don't listen to her. Go with your instinct. Five minutes after leaving the border, we come around a bend in the road into a wall of rain. Welcome to Guatemala!

Surf's up!

Smelly Biker Bob and his Peruvian girlfriend, Angie, are in La Cruz, just south of the border with Nicaragua. After spending the night drinking beer and boring poor Angie talking 'bike', and comparing notes on the crossing from Cartagena to Portobello, (We thought we had it bad, their boat nearly sank, caught on fire and the captain fell unconcious due to smoke inhalation during a storm with 8 meter waves) we head to the Nicaraguan border together, less hassle from the kids and more sets of eyes to watch the bikes while you're filling out paperwork. After what had to be the longest border crossing yet, we fianlly get to San Juan del Sur. Nicargua's surfing mecca.

Bob and Angie stay only one night, Bob, the Englishman that he is, not coping too well with the heat. We stay for two, catching some waves at a local beach. A mad Calafornian 'dude' rents us our surf boards and gives us some pointers. We spend the day frollicking in the white wash attempting to improve our technique. I don't do so bad, figuring out which wave of the set will be the best and I manage to stand up more than not, except for the period just before lunch when I started to confuse myself by trying to stand up 'regular' (left leg forward) rather than 'goofy' (right foot forward. Pirroettes don't quite work on a surfboard. The sun must have been affecting me. Mike took his time to warm up and it wasn't until after lunch that it came together for him. So of course the first wave he stands up on is perfect. For starters, it's a proper wave, I'd been playing in the white wash for the best part of the day, and he looks like he knows what he's doing. No flayling arms for this surfer. Damn him and his natural ability.

Things go downhill once back on the PanAmerican Highway. Mike is pulled over for crossing a line. $300 pesos and his International Driver's Licence confiscated. The unfriendly policeman speeds off in his car and we're left wondering what to do with the ticket just issued (unpaid) and whether he needs his International Licence or not. We've never had to show it and it looks dodgy as anyway. So we decide to ignore the ticket and continue on our way.

Isla Ometepe, refered to by Mike as Omlette Island (got to love how our Spanglish is coming along) is next on the list. Frustration over the price of the ferry and departure times, leaves us in a bad mood. We're sure the place is lovely just after the wet season, but right now, at the end of the dry season, it's stinking hot and the place looks dead. Grrrrrr........................!

Costa Rica, the cheap and friendly country!

We awake in Boquette and although its a little cloudy, we can see a heck lot more than the day before. With a light heart we head for the border of Costa Rica. The light heart fades quickly. Despite numorous border crossings under our belt, they never fail to frustrate me. Not that the Costa Rican border was particularly difficult, but for some reason I get charged $10 to leave Panama, Mike $1. Go figure.
So its my turn to check us into Costa Rica. After denying the help of the local kids, I set off on a mission of visiting 'this' window, then 'that' one. Back to the 'this' window to be told I now need to pay for 'that' piece of paper, at yet another window. The guy starts looking at the clock, 5 minutes to midday, or in his case 5 minutes to lunch time. I'm still missing one piece of paper. Get it and back to 'this' window and suprise suprise the guy has gone to lunch - for two hours! I notice the larger Aduana office and proceed, with a pretend girly tear in my eye, to explain that the Aduana booth is cerrado. The tear works! However it still takes an hour for the poor chap, who fell for the tear, to process our papers.

Costa Rica is supposed to be expensive, this is mainly due to the number of ex-pats living there, tourist prices and all that. But after bouncing up and down a dirt road in the coastal perma culture village of Uvita, we find what used to be a hostal of sorts. Michael, a German expat, is reluctant to let us stay but because of the Scotish connection and as we promised to make no work for him, we pitch our tent on a covered platform, in a rather pleasant jungle setting. Holly, the caretaker, who returns later to find us already set up, is English but grew up in Scotland, so after the comparing of notes on locations of education, work and living in Scotland, Holly won't except payment for the tent pitch or the coffee. Nice one.

A morning dip in a waterfall, more chatting about Scotland and perma culture, before we head off for San Jose in search of a new rear tyre for me and a new spring for Mike's shock absorber. We pick up a new tyre enroute and get drenched in the process. Once again, what would have been a scenic and twisty ride, is turned into a nothing but cloud and fog and 'Oh Michelle has a new tyre' and therefore a slippery ride into San Jose. Note to one's self. When riding through Central America in the wet season, it is better to get going early in the morning to miss the afternoon drenchings.

Riding into San Jose, I was reminded of driving into the outskirts of an Australian city. It had a nice familiar feeling to it. However, I kept this opinion to myself when Mike, pulled up next to me at one of the hundred sets of traffic lights in the city, exclaims, 'God this is a dump of a place!'
The city itself has nothing of excitement, unless you're playing 'Guess how many of the hookers are actually tranvestites' game. I was rubbish.
And of course we get caught out by a public holiday and have to spend the weekend there. We do a few day trips to the outlying areas, farms, volcanos and shopping malls (for the Cinema, food court lunches and to get rid of our material urges - we can't afford anything!). Tuesday comes and of course the part that Mike ordered for his shock absorber hasn't actually been ordered. This travelling marlarky is becoming a bit predictable. If we are in need of something for the bike, the only place to get it will be a dump. We will arrive on a Saturday afternoon of a long weekend and then what we need/oredered won't be available.

So onto La Fortuna and Volcano Arenal. We pitch our tent (Actually it was Mike who pitched the tent with the 'help' of a rather cute puppy) in the backyard of Hostal Sissy. Views of the volcano of course. And super cheap.
So what we save on accomodation, we blow on what has become a bit of a habbit of ours, Hot Springs. Mmmm, nice, and well, hot! Oh and I nearly forgot, Mike gets us some free drinks. An honsety system doesn't work if Mike sorts out the final bill, having to declare just how many drinks we've had. The volcano doesn't do much that evening, just a wee explosion of hot stones that last for all of five minutes and that we mostly miss. We bump into Lars and Sandra and find some cheap eats. Our budget's doing well in Costa Rica.

It has to be our shortest day so far on the trip (not counting our attempted departure of Uyuni), a mere 40km to Nuevo Arenal. Andreas and Christine had told us about a German Bakery and we follow the abundance of signs and with that amount of direction, we were never going to miss it! Without looking at the price, we're lured by the look of the struedal with vanilla icecream and the aroma of coffee. It's elevensies, so it has to be done. Tom, the German baker, is a keen biker and before we know it, we're on his boat watching the sun set with beers, delicious cheescake and snacks. Ah, this is the life. Dinner that night is raiding the restaurant fridge of imported cheeses, sausages, hams and local beer, setting the scene with tea lights due to yet another power cut. My cravings for European food satisfied.
When we go to take our leave the next morning, Tom refuses to accept payment for any food (The struedal and coffee alone would have set us back $12, ouch!) or for the accomodation, a nice cabaña that he has out back for the sole purpose of accomodating friends and family, and is a little put out by the fact that we actually want to leave. Apparently most bikers end up staying for a few days at least. Muchas gracias to Tom!

Panama

Well I'm sure there is a lot more to Panama then the canal but that is all we saw of it. After arriving in the rainy season (thanks to being delayed 4 weeks), spending an entire morning sorting out paperwork for the bikes, we head out of Portobello getting absolutely drowned. The road to Panama City wasn't exactly fun but we arrive safely and set up for two nights, enough time to do some much needed washing, have a decent Chinese and a decent Indian meal, not cheap but oh so worth it! Oh and I nearly forgot, a Dunkin' Donut.
Panama City is a refreshing change with tall sky scrapers and a very modern feel. There is still the old town which is going through the process of regentrification and there are still the street vendors to add some character - a nice blend.
The Panama Canal is quite something. Not so much a canal as I thought it was going to be, more of three sets of locks that lift the ships 26 meters above sea level into a lake and then lowers them back down to sea level about 8-9 hours later on the other side. We arrived at Miraflores Locks just before 10am and spent the next hour just watching the big ships go through, in between rain showers of course. We bump into Vaulker and check out the exhibition and museum. There are plans to build another set of locks by 2014 which will double the capacity of shipping through the canal and also allow boats almost double the size that can fit through now, mainly American Navy Aircraft Landing ships. Definitely worth a visit next time you're in Panama.
After the excitement of the big smoke, we head up north to the 'Swiss' like village of Boquete. Apparently there is some lovely scenery around the village but as it was chucking it down again, and the cloud was thick, we didn't see much of it until the next morning. It was nice to snuggle up underneath a duvet again though.
4 nights in Panama, next stop, Costa Rica.

The adventures of McLody

The KLR gets loaded.

Mike the stunt man performs his acrobatic tricks while I play photographer, again!

And she's tied down.

Next time I think I'd like to go sailing, will someone remind me that I get sea sick!
So we've waited 4 weeks to catch a boat to Panama, via paradise and what happen:

We should have realised something wasn't quite right when we boarded a boat called the MCLODY rather than the MELODY!

Day 1

Morning: We're all bright and chirpy, finally we're out of there. 9 of us on a boat that sleeps 6. This should be fun. Colombian Customs plus dog board the boat, searching for drugs, just as well we stashed them in my luggage, as my panniers were the only ones not searched, again (just kidding Mum, no drugs). An hour and a half delay.
Afternoon: I sit on deck trying not to move or to be sick, unsuccessfully.
Evening: Sick again.

Nice shade of grey/green

Day 2:

All Day: I spend the entire day flat on my back in bed. Positioned so as to have as little movement from the rocking of the boat as possible. Didn't miss too much as it's raining. Captain's comment 'Strange weather, it hasn't rained for months!'
Late Evening: Still raining, arrive at the San Blas Islands at 10pm (About 5 hours later than normal due to 'Unusual currents in the waters')

We're anchored in the San Blas Islands for the next few days.

Day 3

Morning: Stopped raining but overcast. After finally emerging, the captain and his wife ask if we'd like to watch a DVD, 'No thanks!'
Afternoon: Wife takes us, to Potluck Island. This is the stuff paradise is made of. Unfortunately, no sooner had we claimed the hammock and we're ushered back into the dinghy and shipped back to the yacht for lunch. Starts raining.
Evening: Rain continues.'Would you like to watch a DVD?', 'No thanks!' We finally get lunch at about 6pm. No dinner.

Here comes the rain again.

Day 4

Morning: It's raining. I'm feeling 150% better and have returned to my normal flesh colour. I make pancakes for those of us awake.
Afternoon: It's drizzling. Captain and wife finally make an appearance. 'Would you like to watch a DVD?', 'No thanks!' (If they ask us one more time....)
We ask, 'Can we go to Potluck Island again and play Volleyball?', 'No!'
Captain asks us to eat more fruit. Lars, Sandra Mike and I spend the rest of the afternoon and evening concocting exoctic fruit cocktails with rum.
Evening: We get lunch just before 6pm. No dinner. More rum cocktails (There was nothing else to do)

Day 5

Morning: Happy Easter. It's raining. Set sail for a Kuna Indian township on some island 2 hours away. This is Mike and my extra 'treat' for having been kept waiting for a month for this god damn boat. Some treat. I spend the two hours getting there, in bed trying not to be sick. We get dropped off, on some slum of an island where the townsfolk are all drunk and annoyingly chatty (worse than when I'm drunk I imagine) and there's not even and Easter Egg hunt. It's still raining. Our treat is a load of bollocks and is actually Captain and wife wanting to go to church, they're Mormans. The only memorable thing is Lars (fellow traveller), meets a local by the name of Siete Bullets. He was shot 7 times in the one go and still has a bullet lodged in his shoulder. Nice town.
Afternoon: Hey it's stopped raining. And we get lunch at lunch time. 'Do you want to watch a DVD?', 'NO!!!'
'Can we go to Potluck Island for a swim?', 'No'. 'Oh!'
Sandra tries 'Can we go to Potluck Island?', 'Ok'.
Cool, we like Potluck Island and even Fidel Castro comes with us this time.
Evening: BBQ dinner, it's good. Cake for pudding too. Spend the night getting drunk on Rum, bitching about the boat trip.

Sandra, Lars, Neil, Ethan, Mike, Me and Vaulker, cast-a-way on Potluck Island.

Day 6
All day: I spend the day in bed, successfully trying not to be sick. Despite the hangover.
Evening: Finally arrive in Portobello, Panama. Hooray!

A bit wobbly when we get off the boat. Just wish we'd arrived in day light, then I'd have some great photos of the bikes getting unloaded. First, using the main sail rigging, the bikes are lifted/lowered into a small launch. Mike manages to hang on to them while they're shipped into a jetty. After getting rid of one nuisance local, (he was drunk and fell into the water, twice, thankfully not taking the bikes with him) there are a couple of men waiting to heave them out of the launch. All this in the pitch black. The only damage to the bikes is the BMW has lost it's horn button, nevermind, it was in a stupid place anyways.

So, am I glad I waited 4 weeks for that? No! But as always, after the event, I'm glad we sailed.

Our Ruta Map of South America

I was a bit bored still waiting for that bloody boat, so here is a map of our route so far. With points of interest notated.

Update on the boat, we leave at 6am on Wednesday 4th April on 'The Melody'.