Into Jungle America

Post date: Jun 28, 2010 10:37:18 PM

Nicaragua said goodbye with tears; it rained as I somehow found my way out of Managua, heading for the Costa Rican border.

The rain cleared and the butterflies came out. You don’t see butterflies in the U.S. anymore, at least not like in parts of Mexico and Nicaragua here. One butterfly somehow flew into my helmet and was crawling on my face with its tickling feet as I was zooming down the highway. I had to lift my visor to let enough air in to flush it out. The thing is probably traumatized, but I laughed.

Then I came to a town where the highway traffic had stopped. (this is the main highway from the U.S. to Panama, and it always go to the heart of downtown of every city… that’s like 69 intersecting Main and Lafayette, or 5 taking a jog down 4^th and G) There were people all about, but what caught my attention more than the roaming locals was the slow-moving parade of about 20 brightly dressed people. One guy in the parade muttered some incomprehensible Spanish, asking for some money as he thrust the can in my face. Another parader, a tall girl with silver front teeth and average beauty gave me a flirty “hi” and a smile. I tried to ask what the parade and the money were for, but I got nothing but honks behind me.

Next I met Rob, a San Diegan motorcycle rider coming back from Panama! He was solo. He had started with three others in San Diego, but all had dropped out due to motorcycle maintenance or emotional issues (they go hand in hand… kinda like the book, “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance”). What a treat that was, meeting another adventurer. Rob is a contractor by profession, and business is slow, so he decided to tour Mexico and Central America, hitting up various snorkeling spots. I shared the woes of my trip, my plans, and we talked motorcycles. He had an alternator issue that had him down close to a month, and he lost his netbook computer early on. NOW we’re laughing! He was headed north to Belize, and then back to San Diego. I offered to let him join me when he said he was tempted to forget about going north and join me. I didn’t see what he was riding. It looked like an old BMW cruiser.

Then I stopped in at San Juan del Sur, which guys at the shop had said was beautiful. Maybe it is during the non-rainy season. Twigs and debris littered the beach from the rivers that had washed into the sea. The surrounding landscape was beautiful, and there was a Rio de Janeiro-like-Christ statue atop a forested hill overlooking the beach. My stop here was nothing more than resolving ATM issues. After an hour of tries to avail, I called Chase from an internet café. The girl in Chinandega couldn’t figure out how to make the call, but this girl did. The phone made the Chase automated voice sound like the Muppets’ mom, so I just said “OK” to whatever transactions it said took place. Checked online later, and it looks alright. Once cleared, I was able to withdraw money for a while before they froze my accounts again. I was just relieved because I had more than $23 finally, which meant I could survive the entry and exit taxes at the Costa Rican border. I later called through Skype at the hotel and unlocked my accounts for 6 months of travel. Apparently unlocking my credit cards before the trip didn’t apply to the debit cards.

Just before the border I got some tacos for 30 cordobas ($1.50). The old lady – owner said 15 cordobas before I ordered, then when I was paying she said it was 30- 15 for each taco. Some scam, lady! Whatever. Young women I assume to be the lady’s daughters had a mammoth pile of red beans on a table. They were inspecting, sorting, and possibly counting them. Some life. The tacos were good. This was right on the side of the road before the border. While eating the tacos I see three Nicaraguan men strolling up the highway with a fat, hairy pig harnessed with a rope. One guy tapped it lightly with a limber stick to keep it straight, but sometimes it would veer off, go back the opposite direction, and kinda bolt. The men would sputter about, the pig squeeled under the strain of the rope, and then they’d quietly resume walking. I wanted to run up to the pig, say hi, squeeze it, and walk with it down the road, unharnessed. I freaking love pigs.

Crossing the border was smooth, and I was overjoyed to find that the Costa Rican customs offices were air conditioned! Man, I’m still smiling about that. The guide boys weren’t horrible here like in Honduras and Nicaragua. Crossing into Costa Rica is like coming home to the states. Costa Rica is the U.S., jungle-fied. The costs are comparable/a tad higher, but everything is so comfortable here. I think I could camp road-side in this country.

The brakes weren’t strong, and they worried me. I saw that the rear master cylinder was sucking air. I tightened a nut on it, and that seemed to have sealed the gap. Must have come loose during the accident. This morning I figured out how to bleed the brakes, front and rear. The rear is now strong as ever, and seems to hold. The front is better, for sure, but I can feel the warped front disk more now. I want to better investigate it in Panama while I wait for my boat to Columbia.

I’m heartbroken how late I will be to the Amazon, and I am beginning to doubt that I will make it there before Markus leaves the first week of August. I’m going to see if he can delay his departure so that I can help him build something. It is supposed to be one of the great highlights of this trip.

I think I’ve decided what boat I’ll be taking, so I’ll try arranging that today, internet providing. My laundry is being done by the hotel as I write. Also want to try to find a couch to surf on while I wait for the boat. Meanwhile I want to visit the beaches, see some Costa Rican and Panamanian sites (maybe the great Canal), and further tighten my bike.