Getting to Nicaragua
Trip Start
Sep 28, 2007
1
17
33
Trip End
Ongoing
Leon,
Nicaragua
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
From Utila we spent two pretty long days getting to Leon in Nicaragua, via Comayagua. This required another couple of early starts and a long time on buses and minivans.
Comayagua
Nobody raves about Comayagua, but there didn't seem to be anything actually wrong with the place, although we were only there for one evening, where we had a delicious dinner and found a decent internet connection. The highlight of the place was that the hotel had a tall tamarind tree growing by its back car park, which we were able to raid. I know tamarind as a delicious sour past that makes pad thai so tasty. It was nice to meet the fruit, which looks like a large bean (the pods are similar to, but smaller than, vanilla) and has a tart, refreshing taste.
The lady at the internet shop shut her big double doors as soon as it started to get dark, explaining to us that it was to prevent people she didn't know coming in. When we left she told us that it was very dangerous and that we should be very careful. She mimed stealing Nancy's bag. Given that it was already dark, I wasn't clear what precautions we could take other than walking in the group of four that we already were. Anyhow, we walked in the middle of the road, so as to have a healthy distance between us and the dangerous locals, and saw no sign of trouble.
Leon
Our next day was fully occupied with getting from Comayagua to Leon. We started with a chicken bus to our connecting chicken bus, although it was not especially eventful by chicken bus standards. In fact, it wasn't really a chicken bus at all, although we had all expected it to be, and the buses generally seem a little more subdued than in Guatemala anyway. We then waited, and waited, for our connecting bus. It was apparently there, but for some reason was not leaving. The next one would be along in half an hour or so.
Meanwhile, John was having an animated discussion with some very vocal locals who were obviously trying to sell us a transport 'upgrade' to the border with Nicaragua. The conversation was pretty one sided. The Hondurans said a lot and John said 'no' a lot. Then the conversation would stop and a few minutes later they would be back with a new offer, or new arguments. Eventually they won. John looked at us and said 'you know how when you really don't want something the price keeps getting better?' We began to understand why when we saw the van that we were trusting our life to. With each pack that went on the roof, the flat tire got flatter; the sliding door first wouldn't open then looked like it wouldn't shut. It may have been a 12 seater, but it was being asked to take 15 plus the driver, and his 14 year old assistant (who stood the whole way and we suspected might have been on board to hold the door shut, but we were wrong in this). John gallantly (as always) took the worst seat - the little ledge directly behind the front passenger, but this involved very friendly wrapping of limbs with the person who actually had a seat facing him. In short, it was more crowded than a chicken bus. But as John said 'it's got to be faster than the bus right?' So he asked the driver how long and was told 'it all depends on the police'. In fact we did pass three police checkpoints, but, despite the rifles, we were waved through each of them without having to do anything at all.
But all that was in the future. The first thing we had to do was put air in the flat tire, which we thought was a good sign. Some people wouldn´t have bothered about a little thing like that. John commented that the driver looked very happy and 'it makes me nervous'. When the driver got back in the car he told us that he needed money for petrol as he had just spent his last 4 lempiras on air. Under those circumstances he might well be happy to have any fare at all. So John paid in advance the grand sum of 200 lempiras which was enough for 3.14 gallons.
It got us to the border, although he spent so long on the left hand side of the road that we wondered if we had somehow crossed international borders without realising it. Ostensibly this was to avoid pot holes, but I swear that sometimes there were more potholes on the left. At one point we had pot holes to the right (where the van should have been) and cars to the left (where we were). He dealt with this by staying left for as long as possible, moving to the right and braking to a stop until the cars had gone past and then resuming in the left lane. I suppose it is possible that the vehicle simply would not have survived a pot hole but I didn't like its chances in a head on collision either.
While Honduras no doubt has much to offer, I would not care to drive on its roads. On the way to Comayagua we saw three (perhaps four) traffic 'incidents'. The first that I can clearly remember now was a truck that had come off the road above and slid down the hill. It looked bad. Then we came across what looked like a fatal pedestrian accident, with a young girl laid out on the road as if dead, with a blanket up to her neck but not covering her face. And shortly after that, a simple rear-end accident. Obviously these things happen everywhere, but it seemed a lot in the space of a few hours, and there was not that much traffic on the road.
Crossing the border
Crossing the border to Nicaragua is an experience not to be missed. The money changers are numerous, vocal, persistent and descend on the new tourist like a pack of wolves the moment the door of the van opens.
Border control in Honduras is obviously just a reason to collect tax. I commented earlier on how easy it was to get in (we stayed in the van while 15 passports were handed over, but not stamped). The same method worked on the way out, although this time we had got out of the van, but only because the driver was not to cross the border. Nothing stamped, nothing checked. But a fee was collected.
(Although completely out of sequence, this reminds me of an interesting story about coming into Belize. We had a Japanese girl in our group who needed a visa to get into Belize. This can be arranged at the border, but when we got there the man who sells visas was at lunch and no one else could do it. This caused delay. When would he be back? Perhaps in 10 minutes. Really? No, really it will be two hours. The bus driver was breathing down our neck that the bus had to go, and that they should get the next bus. Obviously, John wasn't going to let the group split up (that is probably rule number one). So it was looking like a long wait at the border. But then one of the guys had an idea: we could give her a transit visa. But that only allows three days and we would be leaving on the fifth. I would have thought that this would be a problem but not in Belize. They simply post-dated the transit visa. And they gave it at a discount because it was only a transit visa.)
Once across the border we had a pleasant walk to the next chicken bus yard. The money changers were also keen to sell us rides on pedal powered tuk tuks, telling us (often) that it was 3 km to border. John had asked the driver, and been told 1 km. So we compromised and put the bags on three vehicles and walked. It is certainly not 3 km.
And at the end of our toil awaited a new van. It was spacious and had air conditioning, and seats that didn't look like Max (the voracious border collie) had been worrying them for years. How pleasant was this trip! But of course it was looking very gloomy up ahead and all our luggage was on the roof. Just before it started to rain John asked whether anyone's stuff would be ruined if it got wet. We thought of Nancy's down sleeping bag, but it had a cover and we didn't want to be a nuisance so we stayed silent. Then it really started to rain, and I at least cursed our timidity. But the shower passed quickly. Our driver then stopped and since we were stopped anyway it seemed sensible to get the bags in, even though the danger seemed to have passed. Now of course, we were back to being on a chicken bus - the bags took up a whole row and we were squashed in like battery hens. But it was just as well because from then on it poured torrentially all the way to Leon, and the bags got wet enough simply coming from the van to the hotel foyer. These things will happen if you travel in the wet season.
