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Trip Diary - Photo Diary - Start the trip in the UK - USA - Mexico - Belize - Continue on to Honduras
The El Salvador crossing was quick and efficient, with the exception of the money changers; A mob of men, frantic in body movements, waving wads of cash and calculators and squawking “good price”. I go in hard nosed with a price in mind (7 squirts to a dollar). 7.63 is what I’m offered and there’s no budging. 540 squirts by 7.63 comes out on a squawkers calculator as 63 dollars. No, I want 7. I take a calculator and type 540 squirts by 7 equals 105 dollar. What? That doesn’t look right. Another squawker offers me the same deal, 7.63. He types 540, by 7.63 and it equals 68 dollar. What???? Helge walks over with his calculator and tells me that he’s just been stiffed by the same trick and that I should use his simple, non scientific calculator. Who’d have thought it. 540 by 7.63 does actually equal 70 dollars. I point this fact out to the crowd, some of whom laugh, some look sheepish and some of who still insist their calculators are correct. Balls. I push once more for 7 then get bored of the whole exercise. You want it more than I do. I’ll wait until Panama and find a more kosher money lender. See you later shmucks. Over the border and the poor country, recently ravished by a bloody civil war doesn’t materialize. We ride along the Route de Flores, which is suitably floral. Switch backing through low hills, the road is well maintained and smooth. It passes through little villages, all of whom have new or newish cars parked in their drives.
We arrive at Juajua and into the middle of a food festival. We look for accommodation and strike it lucky. A small family run Hotel, with a pool, three rooms, parking for the bikes on the lawn and a view over the coffee plantations and Volcanoes! Over the next couple of days Antonio the manager and Ernesto the owner are more than helpful. Breakfasts, coffees, trips around the family owned Finca. All of which I miss, as I’m crunched up with food poisoning. 24 hours of eruptions and stomach cramps see me emerge with a reduced appetite and a thirst for Coca-cola. Making time we head East. Past the San Salvador. Past the International Airport. Then off on a smaller road towards a town high up on a Volcano side. 20 miles of twisting dirt track and Daisy and I are standing on the pegs for the really bumpy stuff. Past suicidal chickens, angry dogs, herds of cattle being driven home for the evening and very, very, very poor people living out of tin shacks. Last day, we head North for the quiet border crossing near the town of Perquin. Daisy and I get the first flat of the day, which proves pretty easy to fix with warm rubber, an ex bike mechanic and a life long, fifty year old bike enthusiast.
Up to Perqui, the home of the armed revolt and now just home to a musty museum guided by a ex-fighter with a limp. By the end of the civil war 75,000 people had died, including a revolutionary sympathizing bishop giving mass in San Salvador, 4 US Nuns raped and murdered, whole villages of peasants and basically anybody else who just happened to be in the way. All this just 25 years ago. This area was also an area of land disputed in part of the Football wars with Honduras in the late 60‘s. So named the football wars, because hostilities escalated when Honduran fans were attached at a world cup qualifier match in the El Salvadorian capital of San Salvador. Eat your heart out Millwall, these guys know haw to do it with style. Now, along the Northern border of El Salvador are areas of dispute between the two counties. Because they are in dispute, they are somewhat off (or in this case on) the beaten track.
Riding towards the border crossing, we traversed two large hill ridges and one valley on a rocky, bumpy track. Finally we reached the last El Salvadorian outpost, a small village with a Police Station. The officer looks at our passports, looks at us, then tells us Honduras is 300m up the track. No stamps. No export papers. No money lenders. No flags or fences or barriers or gates. Just a track. Up we go, into Honduras. By: Daisy Bell It was a sad day leaving Guatemala, made even sadder by one of The Boys getting a flat tyre just before heading out. A kindly Beatle driver led us through the bustling streets of Guatemala City, past children juggling at the traffic lights for pennies and a blind chap lost, confused and without assistance in the fast lane of the 3-lane highway
Nearly ran over a score of currency touts at the El Salvador border, in their rush to rip us off. Left them behind in favour of El Rota de Flores, a gorgeous floral road bursting with well-kept gardens, expensive cars and happy, wavy people. Hardly seems like the civil war is barely over. Antonio and Alberto pandered to our every need in their charming, converted barn opposite 2 x volcano's and El Salvador's biggest coffee plantation. Fresh mountain air, fresh mountain coffee and freshly squeezed OJ, straight off the tree still didn't save Mu from the inevitable Delhi Belly. On the plus side, we got a few extra days of doing just about nothing. Except for being shown around Alberto's coffee plantation which grows none other than Starbucks' coffee beans! He sells them 1 pound for $1 and they kindly sell it worldwide for $40 - justify that if you will.
With Mu slightly less sick in stomach and in head, we trundle off down the volcano-round-every-corner roads; gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous! Even a flat tyre on the roadside couldn't ruin it. Plenty off-road "Jesus Christ" tracks and herds of skinny Cows on their way home later, we turn up to stay in a family home in another far too lovely mountain village. The village are excitedly decorating the trees in the plaza with home made wreaths and baubles - when they run out, they hang cans of Coke & Papsi - looks strangely appealing. It's the fairy lights really get us in the mood though - works every time.
More crazy off-roading takes us to a beautiful green lake in the crater of a volcano - we assume dormant, but who cares, it«s stunning. Adequately inspired, we end up in another village complete with "war museum" whose heroes, martyrs, big guns and crashed helicopter amuse the boys but leaves a bitter taste for me. Che paraphernalia as far as the eye can see - "Violence is necessary" he said. Hmpf. War bad. Very bad. Still, the people of El Salvador aren«t bitter and are desperately happy to have visitors to their wonderful country - they don't seem to get many but when they do they bend over backwards for you, more so than anywhere else we«ve been so far. Stay up 'til an obscene hour talking crap to our landlord of the Roach Pit Hotel. Lovely man but all I know is he's owned the hostel for 12 years and his daughter is called Tatijana. Don't quite know what the other 3 hours of conversation consisted of - amazing how much you can communicate with limited, shared vocabulary between you!
ES proves to be an absolute gem and we love it! Continue on to Honduras |
From: Mark
| ©2006 Mark Bell |