Day 92 - Entering Costa Rica

What a moral dilemma today!

We rode to the Nicaragua-Costa Rica border on what is perhaps their busiest day of the year for crossings. There were perhaps 2 dozen tour buses parked at the Immigration offices when we pulled up to the border. The result was 3 massive lines slowing snaking into one small building.

Later we were told that the massive lines were due to many Nicaraguans returning back to work in CR after spending the holiays back home with family.

Thankfully, the folks processing the paperwork to get us out of Nicaragua were quite efficient, and we were able to complete the first half of of the border crossing in about an hour.

We paid a guy $10 to get us through the process, and it was a good thing. We handed him our passports and bike documents, and he went off with Cory in tow to get the papers processed. Thirty minutes later Cory shows up, and each of us now have a new document with 6 different signatures scrawled across it. Cory says each of the 6 signers was standing in a more-or-less random location around the parking lot, and our fixer had to consult with other fixers to even find them. We could not have done this one on our own.

The second part, getting into Costa Rica, now that was some madness! As we pulled up to that border, we saw literally thousands of people waiting in a line that snaked around and around a small parking area -- like so many snakes writhing and twisting in a pit…

We ran into two very frazzled looking Swedish moto travelers who were just on the tail end of getting their paperwork completed to enter CR. They told us they had stood in line for SEVEN HOURS to get their immigration document stamped.

This was a job for the Fixer.

Normally, I have no problem paying these guys to make a small problem go away. Today though, seeing those many thousands of people standing in the hot sun, who our few US Dollars would allow us to bypass, almost as it they weren't even there…

The right thing to do would have been to just just join the end of the line, no?

We, however, paid the fixers, who shared the money with some Immigration officials, guards and local police officers -- all of whom worked their magic to get us through in less than 2 hours.

Why do I feel so shameful?

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Earlier in the day we rode past another windmill farm -- this time in southern Nicaragua. I'd say about 30 gleaming white windmills, all going full-tilt. I am being constantly surprised as to the extent of wind-generation capacity here in the developing world.

That's a good trend, no?

Day 89 - Leaving Honduras

One of the constant concerns on this trip is how will we fare at the border crossing. Even if we spoke perfect Spanish, the processes and procedures at the borders a would still be confounding.

Dealing with El Salvador was nice and simple. Once you actually get to the offices of their Customs and Immigration people, they have signs posted in Spanish and English, letting you know you there are no more fees to be paid to anyone to get into the country.

It's all waiting for paperwork after that, and dealing with the multiple photocopies that every inpector or agent seems to require.

Getting into Honduras seemed a little challenging. In our group of 4 bikers, I elected to stay outside with the bikes at the start of this particular crossing.

I'm still not clear on what actually happened (that whole 3 sides to every story thing..) but it seems our guys felt the Hondurans were trying a extra special scam where some officials were directing us to pay some agents in one office, who then funnel the work to other Customs officals sitting in yet a third office.

I'm not entirely sure who said what to whom, but it was quite clear by the time I came inside to get my paperwork started, that the tensions were through the roof. It looked like our guys were right on the verge of pounding someone. Not good.

All I can actually report though, is that when I came into the office, I was dealing with a small chubby, almost entirely useless fellow, who just keep looking at my 8 photocoipes and commenting on the bad quality. Well duh -- they're from a beat up old machine in the office next door, a machine which probably has not made a decently recognizable copy of anything in last five years..

As I was standing there, Tim came in with the video camera to get the female officer to speak into for a 'translation'. Her instructions were quite simple and plain. She needed to process our paperwork, and we were required to pay in their local currency. If we couldn't exchange the US Dollars we had on our own, we would have to wait for the bank to open in the morning.

From that moment on, everything seemed just fine. I sat at her desk and she processed all my paperwork, and entered the data into the computer in 20 minutes. We cracked jokes, shared smiles, compared the traditional Christmas music of our respective culture's, took photos, and she even shared some of the grapes she was snacking on.

Here's Tim's far more detailed account of the process, including bits I didn't witness..

Honduran Border Official

We left there in the pitch blackness, but according to the reccommendations, the next decent hotel was 32 kms away. No choice but to ride again at night…

Hotel Vista Hermosa in Nacahome Valle is a big luxry hotel with a lovely pool in the inner courtyard, and a large restaurant with just about the slowest service imaginable. Over priced for our standards, but with no other real options the $60 US room rate was the best we'd get.

Teacte, MX Part Dos

I was going to write about all the drama that ensues when a traveler loses his wallet while in a foreign country... but you can fairly well guess that I forgot to use my Sunday School words.

Just as I had stripped off all my gear, and locked my jacket to the bike to prepare for the hike to retrace my steps of the morning, I got a call from the the bike shop -- someone found and turned in my wallet!

Oh happy day!!!!

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The trip down to Mexican border took us through some really cool canyons. I live the amazing scenery of this part of the world. The area seems to be an arid semi-desert, with mostly scruffy, tough-looking bushes among the outcroppings of rocks that appear to have been place along the landscape with the delicacy of Jackson Pollock splash of paint.

The road is the constant winding twisties that all motorcyclists love. I really envy the folks for whom this region is only a quick post-breakfast sprint away.

I took too long at the Kinko's in making my fake wallet, so the light was fading fast on me. My plan was to stop on the US side of the border, and wait until morning to deal with all the paperwork and such.
As I approached the border, I realized there's NOTHING on the US side. On the Mexican side, Tecate is a fairly large town/small city. On the US side, there are maybe six dodgy-looking shacks (IF that much!) offering currency exchange.

So, I enter Mexico.

It's quite amazing to me. On the Southbound side of the US/Mexico border crossings, the guys standing around with guns and badges are only directing traffic. As you pull up to the 'control' gate the arm swings up and the 'guards' hurry you along to clear the lane so more people can come into their country.

The US side .. ha! You don't want their armed guards waving at you for anything. You'd think their country was too full, or something the way they want to keep the Mexicans out. Or perhaps they're spitefully ignoring  the fact that statistically the country actually needs immigrants to keep the birth rate up, so the US halts it's decades long slide into being a nation of Viagra-popping, Depends-wearing old folks...

I inquire as to where I can get a Temporary Import Permit for my motorcycle, as required by Mexican law. Hmmm... not in Tecate is the reply. I'll have to go to Ensenda for that.

This is not a good thing to hear.

It's already dark, I've just entered a Spanish-speaking country, and I'm told I should ride the 110 kms to the next town to complete my paperwork.

Fat chance. I inquire about the nearest hotel, and am directed to Hotel Rosita.

Tomorrow is another day.