Country, Country, Country

The smaller states of Central America seem to come in a quick succession of borders and changing landscapes.

As we cross into Guatemala we are confronted with steep green clad cliffs and escarpments with trees hanging onto the rocks and onto life in the most precarious ways. We are running valleys from the border that for almost a hundred miles leave us awestruck with the sheerness of the sides of the mountains. This is underlined when we arrive at a landslide where half the road is now 50 metres further down the side of the mountain and we are faced with a rocky descent and climb being used by trucks and buses or a slippery and muddy track. The rocky side seems the least bad choice and nearly every-one makes it through although we have one minor spill. This was not helped as the rain has started explaining why the valley is so green and lush.

From the valleys we join a new and nicely finished main road and most riders breathe a sigh of relief. However our destination is Lago Atitlan surrounded by three volcanoes which is at the bottom of a narrow, twisty and wet descent of 15 miles. After the border crossing and a great but wet and tiring day the town is a welcome sight and Alan, who is becoming the resident restaurant critic has a recommendation for a Uruguayan Barbeque, and very good it is too.

We have several nights in Guatemala and enjoy local markets and a couple of days in the former capital of Antigua. Short days riding, plenty of time to speak and interact with the local people, leaves us all with great warmth for the country. It is poor and life is tough but the people are genuine, friendly and seem only to keen to share whatever they have with you. We have been blessed by a Shaman, stayed in an old monastery, watched as the local people burn incense on the steps of the church and leave the aisles strewn with petals. We all feel blessed to have been here.

We leave Guatemala on a Sunday and find that the customs officers have gone for lunch at 11 in the morning and will be back about 2. Or maybe 2.30. So we walk through the border and go and see the Honduran guys who are quite happy to let us do all the paperwork to enter Honduras before we exit Guatemala, as long as we promise to go back 50 metres and exit Guatemala afterwards. Of course we do and are through the border relatively quickly. The timing was in fact perfect as there was a full tropical rainstorm, while we were in the border post for an hour, and it has passed when we leave to ride the short distance to Copan.

Copan is a must see site of Mayan Ruins with a small town existing really to service the backpackers and visitors who come. We have time to visit the ruins, explore the town and savour the cocktails at one of our favourite bars en route. Twisted Tanya’s - Tanya is from Cambridge and her hubby from the Honduran Islands and they can make a mean Margarita and a perfect Peña Colada.
Riding across Honduras provides a huge variety of landscapes and roads. Dirt, Tarmac, Concrete, Swoopy, Straight, Rocky, Mud, it has it all. From tiny villages with kids with no shoes to the capital city with Burger King and MacDonald’s scaring the view.

And all too soon we are heading into Nicaragua and the old Colonial town of Granada. Exciting, beautiful and at times seedy it is a town with interesting architecture and people. The Cathedral, like our hotel is on the main plaza which is lively and bright by day and shady and dusky by night. We are looking forward to visiting an old friend in town. Three Finger Jimmy runs his Alabama Rib Shack in town and won an award for the 7th best ribs in the whole of the USA. Our American Cousins, sometimes not great at geography, failed to notice that Three Finger Jimmy’s Alabama Rib Shack is in Nicaragua, not Alabama! However he is not in Granada and the story is he has slipped town to Managua with outstanding debts to some Canadians. You couldn’t make it up!

From Nicaragua we will be heading to the most chaotic and busiest border of the trip. The border compound is over a mile long and full of trucks, officials, fixers and “others”. The trucks are queued in 2 mile long slots for 8 miles before they are even let into the compound. We just hope that we do not have a repeat of the 2009 Trans Am when a truck tore down the power lines and left us stranded for 10 hours! Fingers crossed.