'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!
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!
posted by Michelle at 12:20 am
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