Having done our chores in Guatemala City, it was time to move on. El Salvador was our next destination. We got incredibly lost on our way out of Guatemala City, of course. The road to El Salvador is fine, just smooth two lane highway till the border. At one point our front tire went flat again! Damn, where is the patch?? It had disappeared after only 50 miles and the hole was back. I repatched and off we went, cautiously.

The border to El Salvador was easy enough, but Michelle and I were concerned that we were ripped off at the last border so she went to go talk to a manager about our dillema. Apparently, we were defintely ripped off. The guy who "sold" us insurance was a con and we lost $50 for nothing, plus the fumigation fee was nonsense too. We had his name and signature but predictably they couldn't do anything, even though he was carrying one of their official badges. They urged us to be more careful in the future, which of course we knew.

I'm not angry at the conman though, I blame myself fully. I have a list of general tips and fees for crossing Central American countries by motorcycle. I read the Guatemala border info and saw "around $45 in fees" and that's what I was expecting to pay. When we couldn't get a receipt for our "insurance" I knew we had been overcharged, but I knew we were going to be paying big for this border. I looked back at the list and it said $15, not $45. My fault.

Checking into the El Salvador border cost us nothing, and took about an hour. Our visas were good for two or three months if I recall, no need for a "2 day transit visa" that I was expecting to find. Also, we weren't mobbed by "translators", "helpers" or money changers, unlike every other border.

We zoomed to San Salvador, the capital, and arrived just as it got dark. We had used up all our Quetzales before leaving Guatemala, so our first stop when we arrived was to find an ATM. El Salvador uses the US dollar, but we had about $5 left. Easy enough, it was near this majestic statue.

"Sorry, your bank does not allow this transaction." Try again, same thing. What!? Oh wait, wasn't there a country that my little bank said my card wouldn't work in? Oh $"&%! (Initially we had Michelle's BoA card too, to cover E.S., but it was accidently left back in Chihuahua with her cousin)

We were in the middle of El Salvador and had no money, no way to get money, and we hadn't eaten all day.

We called the support team back home and arranged for a little money to be wired via Western Union. All the offices were closed though, so we were on our own tonight. We found a location, and then looked for somewhere to sleep that would accept our good names (and passports) as collateral for a night. Luckily we found Hostal La Portada only a few blocks away. The young man working there, named Rafael, said it was no problem. Woo! Now, any place to eat for less than $5? Yes! Pupuseria around the corner! Bullets dodged!

I still don't really know what a pupusa is, but I will say it is the most delicious conconction I have ever come across. Some sort of fried rice or corn (your choice) meal, fried into a thick tortilla, with beans/cheese/whatever mixed in. Topped with a vinegar/cabbage/onion based salad. One of the most satisfying meals of my life.


Sidenote: Private security outnumber police in El Salvador. Everywhere we went there were guards with shotguns. Guards at the gas-stations, guards at the banks, guards at the ice-cream parlors. Everywhere, guys with shotguns. Signs of El Salvador's troubled past I guess. Michelle also talked with a guy who was around for the 1979 revolution, when there "were bodies lying in the streets", and who "witnessed" many massacres.

Tomorrow we picked up the money and decided to stay another night at La Portada. We got on the bike and rode around, halfway trying to find a new tire, mostly just looking to see the city.


Our hotel was near the Metro Centro, which was a huge mall.

EXACTLY like an American mall back home. Huge, sprawling. I hate malls at home, and I can't say I liked this one either. We looked all over for a road map of El Salvador, to know avail. Just a simple roadmap or atlas. We checked gas-stations, bookstores, papelerias, NOBODY had a map.

While we were in San Salvador my rear brakes started grinding. I took off the back caliper to find that my pads were shot! After only 4000 miles! Apparently I have a technique problem and I didn't even realize it (only been riding for a few months). Predictably, we weren't able to find replacement pads for a bike that doesn't exist in El Salvador. Several places suggested we "refill" the pads. Never heard of that in the states, but since I had no other option I gave it a shot. $15 and several hours later, "new" brakepads!


The only other person staying in the hostal was a very interesting Canadian, who I only spoke with once. He was an evangelical Christian who had been traveling around Mexico and CA for years, to "stomp on the neck of the devil". He described all the places he'd been, some a beautiful, many as "inbred dens of perverts and whores" in complete seriousness. "Good people" lived in some of them, but "the devil has a strong hold" on the whole area.

We cooked in the hostal kitchen, spaghetti and meatballs. We shared it with Rafael, who always watched the place at night. He shared his "green mangos" (unripened, sour, served with salt) and we talked for a long time. He makes about $10 per day, and works 12 hour shifts 7 days a week. Granted, his job is not difficult, but we can make that in 1 hour stateside. He talked about how he used to sell pirated DVDs, how life is in El Salvador, and we talked about life in the states. Very cool.


After three nights in San Salvador, we decided to head to coast for one night on the beaches before we entered Honduras. We had a little more money wired to us to cover our brake-pad emergency from the day before, and headed to western union to get the check. Got frisked when I entered the bank.

We went West to La Libertad and took the South highway along the coast until we decided it was time to look for a place to sleep. We hopped on a western road and ended up going along a sleepy little coastal village near Bosque Santa Clara. We saw a big palm-leaf structure on the beach that looked to perhaps be a hotel. We enquired about it, and the woman on the street said it was just somebody's second home, but she knew the woman who took care of it. She whipped out her cellphone and started dialing, while ushering us to bring the bike it. We obliged, and a few minutes later the caretaker/tenant showed up. She said we could stay, we just had to be out by 9am when the owners might show up. No problem!

Not a bad camping spot.

Not a bad sunset.


We were expecting to be asked for some money in exchange for the camping spot, but nope, never mentioned. She brought out a bunch of coconuts and cut us both one to drink. Delicious. Her little boy, Oscar, ran around the yard chasing the rooster with a lasso, trying to catch it. When the caught it he would let it go and do it again. We walked (or ran) along the beach with him, and he showed us where the turtle reserve where the sea turtle eggs incubate protected in the sand.

Hyperactive seven year old, and we loved him. He ran around showing us everything on the beach. The mother, Rosa (coincidentally both of our mother's names are Rosa as well) asked us if we wanted pupusas from the pupuseria down the street. Of course, and at 3 for a dollar we got enough for breakfast too. Her husband, Oscar as well, rode off to place the order and an hour later we were sitting down with them for more delicious pupusas. We talked about our various experiences living in the different countries and Oscar Jr. fell asleep in the hammock. Quite an amazing family, incredibly hospitable and friendly.


That night we decided to ditch the tent and sleep in the hammocks. What a night! We slept like babies. The sun rose at 6am and so did I. Great weather, great beach.

Rosa said the owners wouldn't be coming that day so we didn't have to rush out. We ate breakfast with the family and I took a swim in the ocean while the Oscars went and got their hair cut. I saw a few iguanas scrambling around the trees and the beach.

Me and one of many chickens:

Eventually it was time to say goodbye. We were heading to Honduras today, and had a few hours to go till the border.

The border to Honduras was a little frustrating. We had to make about 15 copies of various documents, and we had to pay about $40 in fees to enter. The women working at the office were young and not helpful. First they accepted our US dollars, then when we pointed out a math error (in their favor, of course) and insisted on getting a receipt for our payment, they decided they were no longer going to accept dollars and insisted we get Lempiras instead. Time consuming and frustrating (well, for Michelle anyway, she is fluent so she deals with the borders), but we made it through. It's only a few hours from the border of El Salvador to the border of Nicaragua, but we decided to at least spend a day or two in Honduras since we payed so much. Honduras may have much to offer, but since we were on the wrong coast the bulk of Honduras will have to wait for our East coast trip.

Soon after the border we came across an 18 wheeler which had somehow lost control in the middle of the road and was completely blocking the two lanes. No shoulders, so cars were offroading around. Ninja is turning into quite the dirtbike. Michelle got hit with a low hanging treebranch right after taking this shot, so enjoy it.


We headed to the first major city we could find (I was starving, as usual), Choluteca, which at first appeared to just be an unremarkable dusty, small town. We were surprised to be able to find an ATM! However, soon enough we found the historical center of town, and an affordable hotel (Hotel Central, L$200). I actually quite enjoyed Choluteca.
Town cathedral at night:

A Honduran Taco:

I was so hungry I ate two plates.


The next day the guy at the front desk told about Corpus, a little pueblo near there, accessible only by dirt road. We were told it had gold mines and very cool architecture. Very safe and friendly. We ventured out to find this city. About 15 miles of dirt road between us and the pueblo. Another river crossing!

When we ended up behind trucks or buses, the dust was so thick in the air that you couldn't see anything. Here is a picture of us approaching a dust cloud.


We found the little town and went to the central cathedral. We enquired about the gold mine, and the locals directed us to the main town office, where the town mayor was. He seemed somewhat surprised we were looking to see the mine, but he called up a guide to take us to there and in a few minutes we were being escorted. It was about a mile away, and the views were amazing.

When we got to the mine, we had to wait another hour for the head honchos at the mine to decide what to do with us. I imagine this is the first time any tourists have shown up to see the mine. I was a little skeptical, but Michelle had her charm about her and soon enough we were being escorted in with vests and hardhats under the pretenses that I was a geology student from University of TX (Sociology is close enough, right?).

Entering the mine with Fuast and the company lawyer:

Reflective vests make photography difficult!

It reminded me of the muddy caves of Texas.


We were walked through the whole process, from extraction, to filtering, to the labratory where they pull out the precious metals.
Filtering tanks:

This is what a good rock looks like!

Our labratory tech guide:


Now we know how gold is extracted!


We walked back to the town center and enjoyed fried chicken (all we could find) and icecream in the plaza.

You can't tell in this picture, but these stone streets were terrible for the bike! Big dips and big stones jutting out randomly. Probably the worst surface for the bike yet.

The Cathedral and our guide, Don Tino, who has lived in Corpus all his life.


We came back to Choluteca. That night an increasingly large number of ants were invading our room (and bed), so we switched to a different room, with slightly fewer ants. All part of the experience.

My right rear turn signal stopped working. Turns out the bigger tire was rubbing my re-wiring job (had to relocate turns for bigger bags) on the right side. I pulled out my electrical fix kit and whipped up new wiring for the turns, and moved them up so they wouldn't get rubbed. At first I was concerned my bike-fixing kit was overkill, but the last 2000 miles have shown that is not the case.

Next day we sent postcards and headed to Nicaragua, a short 45km´s away.