More Borders To Cross

Getting into Honduras was one of the quietest border crossings we have had so far in Central America. Nothing like we were expecting. It all happened in one building and Honduran customs was only 100 metres up the road. Stamp the passport with the bike info and we were away. We were doing the short route from border to border which you could ride across in three to four hours but we decided to spend a night in the hills and not have the hassle of crossing two borders in one day, as we had heard the next crossing out of Honduras was a bit intense.

The first thing we noticed was that the countryside was a continuation of Nicaragua; dry, scrubby, rolling hills and trashy. People were doing their washing in the streams, collecting water from the roadside wells and carrying home large bundles of firewood for cooking. An all-day activity in some countries is collecting dry firewood. But what we weren’t expecting was the response from the locals. Everyone was waving, whistling, which is big in Central America, and generally interested in what we were up to. Even following the local country taxis, which is a 10 tonne truck loaded to the brim with people, had them waving, These people-movers are funny to witness. All these heads sticking up over the tops of the truck as they get picked up and dropped off through the country-side. Looks like scenes from the war as people were sent off to the camps. The cheaper taxi drivers use smaller Toyota pickups. Ten people standing on the back and these pickups have their bums dragging on the tarmac. Watching them going round corners has your heart in your mouth, as being top heavy and loaded they get a fair old roll on. How people don’t fall out is a mystery as they have legs and arms hanging out all over the place as well as little kids sliding round the deck and Mums with babies trying to keep a hold. By the end of the day our left arms were numb from all the waving we had been doing.

The hill town we stayed in off the Pan Am was a delight. Clean, cool and very welcoming. Hard to ask for directions to a hostel when everyone just wants to talk. We had everything we needed close by and spent the afternoon sitting in the plaza keeping cool and talking to the locals. These guys must be on happy pills, it was amazing how genuinely friendly everybody was. We had never experienced this much friendliness before, anywhere.

Next day it was off to the border and try and stay out of the way of the police. We were warned at the border that they are notorious for being corrupt and will look for any reason to pull you up for a ticket. Lucky for us they look to the north for the gringos coming south, so their check points are mostly set up on the other side of the road, which meant we managed to get through without being stopped at all, one up for us after our Peru experience.

We passed through the rest of the country and soon it was into the throngs of the sharks as we tried to leave Honduras. We had to ride through guys yelling at us to follow them and they would get us through the border quick. Long story short, we managed to leave Honduras with some pissed off people behind us. Because we would not play ball we had two fixers having a fist fight in one building and another who tried his best to extract money from us anyway he could. All a big game and you cannot blame these guys as it is the only way they can make some sort of living. I think the most honest guy there was the shoe-shine man who cleaned our boots, at least you could see what you were paying for.

Getting into El Salvador was a breeze and very efficient, with only the customs building being 2 km away, which was a bit hard to figure.

Once into El Salvador we headed for the hills again. We did a couple of side trips and ended up in the small mountain village of Perquin. It was a place I wanted to visit as it was the headquarters for the FMLN guerrilla group which waged civil war with the then government for nearly thirty years. Although there were other cells of the group throughout El Salvador, this was their main seat of command, as it was close to the Honduran border where they could be supplied from and they could also evacuate their women and children when the conflict became too intense. It was a lovely quiet hilltop village where we could laze in hammocks in the evening and take in the surrounding view and listen to the frogs. A bit different to when it was being bombed and strafed on a daily basis and when you looked closely you could see the bomb craters and shrapnel scarred trees. We took in the local FMLN museum and nearby encampment, as well as talked to fighters who took part in the conflict. Now they look after the museum and tell their country’s young their history. It was amazing the number of people there so early on a Sunday morning.

The one theme that always comes from these Central American conflicts is that it is the repressed poor from the country areas that take up arms after being promised change for many years and still nothing happens. What they found confusing was the US would support a dictatorship against them when the US stood for individual freedoms and enterprise. Being the only gringos there I made sure I had on my NZ shirt and pointed out to anyone that we were not from the US, not that they would have not accepted us, as many doctors and others came to help their cause from all over the world, including the US.

Soon we were back on the Pan Am again and winding our way through San Miguel en route to bypass San Salvador and stop at Santa Anna so as to be closer to another border crossing. We are due to meet up with Scott and Joanne in Guatemala on the 20th which will be fantastic, so these next couple of days will be the last time we ride alone since leaving John in Southern Argentina three months ago.

We are loving the Central American countries we have visited so far. Very friendly everywhere we go. Nothing is a problem and life is simple and a bit slower than what we expected. The roads are not too hectic, so far. I think Guatemala may be different as the population is so much bigger. But it’s the people who have left the biggest mark on us by far.