Sunday, April 29, 2007

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........................!

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