Coastal Nicaragua: From the Pacific to the Atlantic

Since arriving in Managua, we have explored and experienced many things. Some of these things have been in Managua and other things in other parts of the Nicaragua. To make a very long story just a bit shorter, I'll touch upon some highlights.

Just a couple of days after arriving in Managua, another good friend, Steve, flew in from Ecuador to spend some time with us before heading back to the States. It was also right around my birthday (I, David, am writing this part- but just this paragraph, I have nothing to do with the rest of this blog ;) ) and we headed out to Guacalito which is on the Pacific coast of Nicaragua near San Juan del Sur for a weekend of beach bumming. Before heading there we hit up the mercado in Granada and to add to our fun and the confusion of the mercado we decided to drive through the mercado causing us to feel like a bull in Pamplona.

The company that Enrique works for is developing the area into a giant high end private beach resort. Right now however they are still in the planning phase and and the beach is empty, beautiful, private and just our speed. We stayed in a little "ranchito" they have there - just some basic rooms and beds and a kitchen- all you need for a weekend on the beach. So we spent the whole weekend body surfing in too big of waves (the sunset session with the full moon rising over the hill at the same time was KILLER), cooking and eating some good food, walking around checking out the place, teasing the howler monkeys that were hanging out right next to the ranchito, talking about life, eating tamarindos until our mouths were full of canker sores, watching the sunsets, staring at the stars, getting astrology lessons scratched in the beach sand from Enrique, walking the beach in the full moonlight, falling asleep on the beach looking at the stars and talking about the most important things in life.
The other highlight was my birthday celebration. For the last two years I have been asking Leah for a pinata and finally we just happened to be walking through Mercado Huembes (a GIANT mercado that we get lost in for hours every time we go) and there was a section full of pinatas. I finally got my wish. We got a small one that looked strong enough for everyone to get a chance at it and picked out special candies to fill it. Isai climbed up in a tree with the pinata attached to a rope, Leah manned the camera and Steve and Enrique spun me around 27 times. I then proceeded to swing like a mad man, of course nowhere near the pinata, while everyone else laughed hysterically at my haphazard approach to the game, I just wanted to make Isai's job easy... Steve and Enrique had somewhat more refined approaches to the pinata, walking around with the stick out until they felt the pinata, then "Barry Bonds"ing it. We finally broke it open and found out that half of the candy really sucked.

At the end of the weekend we stopped in Granada on our way home so that Enrique could introduce us to a couple of Nicaraguan treats, quesillos and cacao refrescos. The quesillo is stretchy cheese (called quesillo) wrapped in a corn tortilla, placed in a plastic bag with some spicy pickled chilis and creme. The bag is tied in a knot, you bite one corner off and squeeze the tortilla, cheese, creme and chili through the hole. The cacao refresco is ice, milk, cacao, sugar and cinammon (I think) in a bag with a straw in it. Together they hit the spot!

After saying our goodbyes to Steve and Isai a few days later (Steve back to the States and Isai back on his bike to go to Monteverde, Costa Rica for a volunteer job), we were ready for another adventure. Enrique was also leaving to spend a week in Costa Rica and we figured there was no reason to putz around big city Managua when beautiful beaches on the Atlantic coast called us. We decided to go by bus rather than bike so that we would be back in Managua around the time Enrique returned from Costa Rica. So, we packed up for a trip clear across the country. Unfortunately, the only bags we have are our panniers and two big dry bags without straps, so we weren't quite as comfortable walking around as our backpacking counterparts we encountered on the buses were.

The bus ride from Managua to El Rama (2/3 of the way across the country) took 8 hours (by far our longest yet) and went through the ranch land areas of Nicaragua. Not so green, but scenic nonetheless, with open pasture, volcanic cinder cones, and cows cows cows. We arrived in El Rama and then headed to Laguna de las Perlas where we hoped to catch a ride on a boat to one of the Pearl Cayes to camp on our own deserted island for a few days. To our dismay, this involved another 3 hours by minibus, but this time it was on dirt/gravel road through green pastures, forest, big controlled burns, and later sand and palm groves. Finally, we arrived in Laguna Perlas much more tired than we imagined we'd be simply from sitting on buses all day.

The Atlantic coast of Nicaragua is very different from the rest of the country, so here's a bit of background for y'all. The population is similar to that of the Belizean and Honduran Atlantic coast people-- some Garifuna (and other groups of African descent), some mestizo (what people refer to there as "Spaniards"), and also a few indigenous groups with the most populous being the Miskito people. And as if the visual difference isn't shocking enough, they speak English (as well as each subgroup speaking their native tongue, namely Miskito and Spanish in Laguna Perlas). So, as you can imagine, we really did feel like we had left Nicaragua and entered another country upon getting off the bus.

We spent a few days wandering around Laguna Perlas taking in the sights and asking around about how to get to the Cayes. We met a very nice fisherman and sat on his porch and talked for a few hours with him about life in Laguna Perlas. He told us that it's hard to find work if you aren't fishing and that even as a fisherman it's hard to make a decent living. Gas costs around $6 USD per gallon there and it takes most boats about $100 USD in gas to get out to the good fishing areas and back. Ouch, not really a day trip as you can imagine. But, lobster season was starting soon so the town was a buzz with people fixing lobster traps and salivating at the thought of more money in their pockets. The fisherman we spoke with ingeniously came up with his own solution to decrease his business expenses (legally, thank goodness) and...he built a sailboat, which he had just completed the week before. He hadn't fished with it yet, but was very excited to begin using it. He also showed us his homemade shotgun (illegal, complete with the foam sole of a slipper to pad his shoulder) and proudly told us about all the animals he's killed with it. Over 150 deer and four jaguars in the past six years, among numerous capybaras and other animals I can't remember (also illegal, we're not so fond of those types of stories). Before leaving, we of course listened to his tirade on the current President and his account of the revolution (it seems most people we meet are very critical of the current President, Daniel Ortega. We haven't found a big fan yet and we're wondering if any exist as rich folks, poor folks, ex-pats, sandanistas, and liberals ALL have spontaneously divulged their lengthy and critical diatribe). We learned that during the revolution, when bullets started flying, the people in Laguna Perlas clambered onto boats and headed out to sea. He said lots of people died though and there was a lot of fighting going on in the area (which was news to me as I thought the fighting was more consolidated in the other half of the country), but the ocean was their safe haven.

Regrettably, we discovered that a camping trip to the Pearl Cayes wasn't going to work out. First, it would cost us around $200 USD to get there and back. Second, we didn't find anyone we trusted whole-heartedly to drop us off AND remember to pick us back up in a few days. And lastly (and perhaps the most convincing), there is known narco-trafficking in the area and many of the boats involved use the deserted cayes to stop off at. Hmmm... the decision to pick another location for our "honeymoon" wasn't so hard then. (David and I have started to call our side trips off the bike "honeymoons," mostly, so that we allow ourselves to have a good time without feeling too guilty about spending money on things like good food and decent hotels. Yeah, we're nerds, but the mind-trick works). We decided to move on to the Corn Islands after a friend highly recommended them to us (thanks Jason).

We left Laguna Perlas on a panga (small boat) to Bluefields and enjoyed the one hour ride on glassy inland waterways with mangroves and birds galore. The twice weekly boat to Big Corn Island was leaving the following morning, so we spent the afternoon and evening bumbling around Bluefields people watching and trying to find an ATM that would give us money (fruitlessly). Lets hope the one ATM on Big Corn Island works for us, we thought. We sampled quite possibly our favorite snack yet in Bluefields, bunuelos-- mashed cassava (like potato) wrapped around a little ball of cheese then deep fried, served with warm honey steeped with cloves and cinnamon on top. Riquisimo! We arrived at the ticket booth one hour early (at 6 am) to get our tickets for the boat to Big Corn as we had been advised to (apparently it fills up fast). After a bit of shuffling and elbowing to keep our place in line, we got our tickets and hopped on the boat for a '5-hour tour' (Gilligan's Island theme in the background :) ). Lamentably, the '5-hour tour' was less tour-like and felt like much more than 5 hours (for me). David got lucky, went outside early and found a spot where he was comfortable on the starboard side bow. My original spot in the cabin was far from comfortable as three passengers around me were throwing up (straight on the floor nonetheless and not cleaning it up) so the air in the cabin of the boat reeked of puke. I went outside of the cabin to find a more comfortable place to sit, but the only places were right on the bow or on the port side, both with their own drawbacks. The bow was moving up and down, up and down as we hit the swells and moving much too much for me to stave off seasickness for the entire trip, but the port side was getting the splash from the swells head on (along with a bit of rain). What to do?... I elected wet clothes over nausea and found a spot on the port side. As you can imagine, I arrived in Big Corn completely drenched and more than ready to get off that boat pronto. But the adventure wasn't over yet, one more boat ride to go to Little Corn Island, our "honeymoon" destination. After two hours on Big Corn and another fruitless attempt at the ATM, we left on a panga for Little Corn, just 30 mins away. Because we were unable to get any money out of the ATMs, we were restricted to quite a limited budget on Little Corn. Thank goodness for our tent we thought. As we pulled up to the dock on Little Corn, we immediately knew that it was just what we were looking for-- small island, few people, no cars or roads (just one sidewalk), crystal clear water. We finally let out a big sigh and settled into relaxation mode.

Las Manos, Nicaragua to Managua, Nicaragua

The border crossing into Nicaragua at Las Manos is located at the top of a very steep and long pass. This means pain leaving Honduras, smooth sailing entering Nicaragua. We passed more than eighty semis parked on the side of the road (I counted them) and we were thankful that it was a Sunday and the commercial border crossing was processing extra slow, keeping the traffic to a minimum for us. After an uneventful crossing we hit the pavement in Nicaragua and instantly we decided we liked it here. We were starting the country up in the mountains with nice cool weather, the road was new and in very good shape, there was very little traffic, and the first twenty to twenty five kilometers were all downhill! Having gone without bathing for several days and now riding down a canyon criss-crossing a ribbon of river we decided to take advantage. Leah didn't feel comfortable bathing in the river under a bridge but Isai and I had no second thoughts about it. After bathing Isai decided that the best way to dry his now wet boxers was to ride in them. Not wanting to have it be obvious to everyone that that was what he was doing he donned some other attire including his leg covers and a bandanna to cover his buttonless fly. This provided Leah and I will a pretty good laugh. The rest of the day was pretty uneventful, the most remarkable aspect being the heat. We passed through some Nicaraguan tobacco country and some buildings where they were drying the leaves and the tobacco odor was unmistakable. Somebody told us that a lot of Cuban cigars are filled with Nicaraguan tobacco, I couldn't tell you if that's true or not.

That night we set up camp right next to the Pan-American highway in Palacaguina. We stopped there for some water and got to talking to Francisco and his family that told us that if we camped right in front of their house, under the street lamp, no one would bother us. As we set up camp they gathered 'round to watch, something we are getting quite used to at this point. The next part of the entertainment was the cooking show as we showed them how to cook pasta on our little stove. They added to our little feast by giving us some tomatoes, onions, and chili pepper oil for our pasta and some corn tamales to complement the meal. When the pasta was ready we gave them a sample and they seemed very impressed. Leah, Isai and I ate, they watched and we all talked. We settled in for the night, a little worried about being in plain sight of the highway and anyone who might be curious about our tents, but the only events out of the ordinary were the group of cows that walked by, almost stepping on Isai, and the people that arrived at the bus stop at 4am and sat talking loudly for what seemed like forever until the bus finally came and took them away. In the morning we rolled down the highway toward Esteli. The landscape was dry, hot and consisted of mostly of rolling hills.

On our way out of Esteli we encountered three civil engineering students riding our same direction and we rode and talked with them until they reached their destination. We told them we were planning to stay the night in Sebaco and Carlos told us that Raphael's family lived there. Carlos offered up Raphael's parents house for us to stay at by saying, "Hey Raphael! They can stay at your house right?" Raphael agreed reservedly and drew us a map and told us that he would call his family and let them know we were coming. We took the map, said goodbye and started down the 23 km long and very gradual descent toward Sebaco unsure if we would take up Raphael's (or more like Carlos's) offer.

Just before arriving in Sebaco, Leah and I had our first "fender bender". It started when we passed someone on a squeaky bike. Then he put on the gas and passed us back (nothing out of the ordinary). Then while he was in front he passed the ice cream man riding his tricycle. Not wanting to be bested, the ice cream man put on his game face and passed squeaky-bike-man. That put me close behind squeaky-bike-man and Leah close behind me. All of sudden the ice cream man saw a potential sale and slammed on his brakes. This in-turn caused a chain reaction in which everyone ended up stopping suddenly and Leah bumping into the back of me. It was nothing serious, but provided us with some entertainment and tire tread marks on the back of a pannier.

When we arrived in Sebaco and started trying to follow Raphael's map we realized that we didn't really understand it, furthermore we also realized that we didn't know Raphael's last name or even his parents' names either. All we knew was what was on the map, they had a blue house, and there was a small store, we weren't sure if it was across the street, or in their house. Following the map's directions we got to what we thought must be the right street and area and found a store and asked if they knew of Raphael. We had to describe what he looked like, that he was a student, etc. They told us to ask across the street in the blue house. It turns out that it was the right house! It also turns out that Raphael had not called. His family was confronted by these three dirty bike tourists saying that they had met their son/brother and he had offered them a place to sleep. Real smooth. Needless to say it was quite awkward for some time while thy told us to sit down in the yard while they called Raphael to figure this whole mess out. We of course said we'd leave to find another place to camp, but they insisted that we stay. They got a hold of Raphael and straightened everything out, I'm sure not without reprimanding him first. We still felt a bit awkward but it wore off as we sat and talked with Raphael's sister who spoke very good English and was eager for some people to practice with.

We left very early in the morning hoping, but not expecting, to get to Managua that day. It was the 14th of April and we wanted to be in Managua with my good friend from Seattle University, Enrique, for my birthday the next day. The ride out of Sebaco in the early morning was cool and we had a tailwind helping us to really cruise. The entire ride to Managua went very smoothly as a lot of it seemed to be downhill. We stopped for my favorite kind of break at a roadside fruit stand and enjoyed some pineapple and watermelon. Eventually we could see Lake Managua and we knew we were within a stones throw of Managua and would arrive there the same day. Riding into Managua was reminiscent of riding into any big city, lots of traffic, people, exhaust fumes, and confusion. Stopping numerous times for directions toward Enrique's we eventually pulled up into the parking lot of Galerias Santo Domingo, the mall right around the corner from Enrique's house. It was 1pm, we had jut ridden 108 km, and we were ready for some lunch! Enrique pulled into the parking lot honking, flashing his lights and whistling out the window. He didn't hesitate to hug his stinking friends before he escorted us to his house. It felt great to be in the presence of a familiar face and good friend.

Watermelon Gut - Watermelon Farm, Honduras

Before writing of our travels in Nicaragua, I must add this story. It's one of my favorite memories from Honduras. Hopefully, it's not one of those you-had-to-be-there to get it kind of stories.

At around 10AM cycling out of Villa San Francisco, we came across a watermelon plantation. There was a huge shelter packed with watermelons, thousands of them. It was already hot and we decided that it was time for a watermelon break. I walked across the road and bought the smallest watermelon for $0.50, it was still pretty big, but just enough for the three of us to fill our bellies with it's juicy goodness. We looked for a place to sit and Isai asked the classic question, "Which pile of trash looks best to sit next to?" We decided the one near the cow pasture had our name on it. Just as we were about to crack open the watermelon we noticed a woman walking toward us with a watermelon about twice as big as ours, maybe 20 lbs. We all looked at each other with an, "Is she bringing that for us?" look, kind of hoping that she wasn't, as we knew it was just too big and we could never eat it all. She came up to us from where she and about 15 other people were sorting and loading watermelons onto a truck and we all said hello. She returned the greeting adding, "Comen (you guys eat this)." We graciously thanked her, sat down, and tried to configure in our brains how we would strap a 20 lb. watermelon to one of our bikes. Since I had the only bike upon which the watermelon could be strapped, I pushed for eating the big one and saving the small one (and my legs in the upcoming hills). Leah attempted to cut the big watermelon and it cracked right down the middle after only the tip of the knife punctured the rind. Our eyes widened and we immediately thought, "this is going to be gooooood." We gorged ourselves on the watermelon and after only half of it was gone we were already feeling full. "Uh oh," we thought, "how in the world are we going to get rid of the rest of this watermelon?" We couldn't simply toss the watermelon away because the watermelon workers frequently looked over at us and we of course thought they were looking at us to monitor our progress with eating the watermelon. However, they could very well have been staring at us for the same reason as everyone else does and simply wondering, "What are these people doing here and why?" While we were concerned about not wasting the watermelon and offending them if we did, they were tossing watermelons they deemed unfit for sale on the ground where they burst into pieces spilling sweet juice and flesh all over the place and a nearby cow munched contentedly. So, as you can deduce, our concerns were pretty much unnecessary. Nevertheless, we continued to eat, but at a much slower pace and gusto and by the time 2/3 of the watermelon was gone, we were absolutely stuffed and almost in pain. We began "accidentally" dropping pieces in the dirt so they would be inedible and also began throwing the rinds to the cows with more and more pink flesh on them. After we had almost completely finished eating and "sharing" our watermelon, a young boy came walking towards us with two large watermelons upon his shoulders. We looked at each other with the same wide-eyed expression and thought, "please don't be coming over here to give those to us." We all started to laugh at the thought of strapping these watermelons onto our bikes or devising another plan to "share" these watermelons. This of course added to the discomfort of our bursting bellies. As he got closer to us, we tried to straighten our faces and wipe the drool from our lips, however our thoughts and actions were in vain as he walked past us and on into the nearest house where we imagined the kids saying, "Ah man, watermelon again?" We finally finished the watermelon with a little help from the cows. With distended bellies, we mounted our bikes and barely made it 5 km before I had to pee. The assumption was that we would eat the second watermelon for lunch, but come lunchtime, not surprisingly no one felt like eating watermelon, so we continued to climb the hills with that damn watermelon strapped to my rack until we ate it the next morning. I was just glad it was the small one.

Tegucigalpa and our run for the border

After getting some good shut-eye in La Paz, we headed for Tegucigalpa where we would meet up with our friend Isai (the bike tourist from Mexico). Unfortunately, to get from La Paz to Tegucigalpa one must take the highway, and a very busy section of highway nonetheless as it enters the capital. So, not wanting to repeat a very noisy and at times death-defying ride (like we previously endured on the highway) we took the bus. We later learned that the highway we'd been following since entering Honduras is known as "the dry canal" because it crosses Honduras from the Atlantic (at Puerto Cortes) to the Pacific and many businesses use the route for transportation of products instead of using the Panama Canal. So, as you can imagine, lots and lots of trucks fly down this road. Throughout the 90km bus ride, we noted very arid forest, factories of course (Honduras is littered with all kinds of factories everywhere), and a few serious hills. Even when we travel by bus or car now, we seem to notice every incline. We knew before coming to Tegucigalpa that it would be the biggest city we've come across yet, but the size of the city was still a shock as we looked out the bus windows. Tegucigalpa itself is actually half of the city (or probably more like 1/4 of it), the city is split by the Rio Choluteca. One one side is Tegucigalpa and on the other is Comayaguela, where most people live and the markets are located. From what we saw it seems like Tegus is mostly office buildings, historical sites, fancy hotels, and really expensive neighborhoods. The Rio Choluteca is also the most polluted river we have ever seen. We could smell the stench from blocks away, piles of trash lined it's banks and floated along, and the water looked like sewage- black and sludgy. Looking at the river evoked feelings of hopelessness as the widespread poverty and corruption here evidently occupies most agendas and budgets. No one has the time or money to worry about cleaning up and taking care of the environment when the people can't take care of themselves or each other. Another natural resource gone forever.

We got off the bus in Comayaguela and met Isai shortly after. (We parted ways with Isai roughly one month prior in Belize when we went into Guatemala and he went the other way to continue South. Isai has extended family in Comayaguela and had been staying there for a couple of weeks already). We too were welcomed into the home of Dona Regina, Don Enrique and their son, Christian. We stayed there for a few nights while passing our time getting lost the city, doing a little bike maintenance, catching up on journaling, watching too much TV, chatting, and just plain ol' hangin' out. Some of the characteristics that defined our time in the city were people honking their horns incessantly and pollution galore (trash, exhaust fumes, and smog being the most plentiful). Something else that struck us as unusual and would NEVER fly in the states was the way the water system worked. At Dona Regina's house they had to have a water storage tank and a pump to distribute running water to their house. This is because in their neighborhood the city water only arrives every other day from 10PM to 8AM! That means that they only had running water provided from the city less than 25% of the time. They had adapted well though and it didn't seem to bother them watering their plants and starting the laundry at 10 at night. Numerous times in Honduras we were declined water after asking for a fill up because the water wasn't running that day. In a very small town where we stopped to fill up water, the kind woman who gave us some informed us that they only get water every four days. This is quite different from the States where if someone realizes they are without water in the middle of the night they call someone to come fix it right away, isn't that right Chuck?

We decided that it was time to head out of the in the direction of Managua if we were going to make it there in time for David's birthday. We headed out very early in the morning to try to beat rush hour in the traffic laden city. Within five minutes of leaving, Isai's chain broke open and we were immediately reminded of what it was like to travel with Isai, something always goes wrong with his bike. However, for the first time he had left Chicago he was actually riding on good tires and wouldn't be expecting many flats. We were back on the road in fifteen minutes and headed out of town the way we were told was "fastest." This "fastest" route included what felt like a circumnavigation of the city on a very busy belt route and finally 20 km later we reached our exit out of the city. We figured that it must have ben the fast route for those riding in cars. We decided to avoid the highway out of Tegus and take the "mountain route." On this route, we passed through mountainside and fancy neighborhoods, skirted the edge of La Tigra National Park, and of course climbed and descended multiple times noting the marked difference in air temperature every time. We stopped to eat our lunch at a bus stop in Cantarranas. We seem to have lunch in bus stops a lot. They're usually shady and have a bench, two things that provide much appreciated relief. The road out of Cantarranas to Villa San Francisco was dirt and lined with sugar cane and watermelon fields, which also means sugar cane and watermelon trucks of course. So, to save us from an upper respiratory infection or something worse, we donned our bandanas over our faces and set off down the road. We became the bad ass bike bandits...or at least pretended to be for a second.

The police of Villa San Francisco hosted us for the night and we camped next to their sheep (or maybe the neighbor's sheep). They liked to baaaa very early in the am, it seemed like they baaa-ed earlier than the roosters crowed. I now know not to ever invest in a Latin American alarm clock business. Very bad idea. From Villa San Francisco, we left for El Paraiso, just shy of the border with Nicaragua. The Paradise (El Paraiso) sure sounds like my kind of place I thought as we sidled up with semis and inhaled the hottest dry and dusty air. Through Danli we went and rolled into El Paraiso after a long day of cycling. We first went to the police station to ask if we could camp there for the night. Unfortunately, the boss wasn't in, but they directed us to a place across the street that likely could accommodate us. They described the place as somewhere "where people work, but not a factory or store." Hmm... But they had a parking lot, so we ventured on over to check it out. As we strolled in, we noticed some big garage looking stalls with solid metal gates. Weird, we thought, as no one ever has a garage here. Then, we went a little further and peered into an open stall where we saw a door to what looked like a hotel room. The cogs in our brains were slowly clicking and then we saw the sign: "Cuatro Horas por 180 Lempiras." In the words (or word shall I say) of Emeril, BAM-- it hit us, we realized all of a sudden where we were and we got out of there before we had to answer any questions. The sign said "Four hours for 180 Lempiras (about $10 USD)" and we were entering either a brothel or "no-tell-motel". Only in Honduras do the police direct tourists to camp at a brothel. We ended up camping in the yard of a family with very curious and energetic kids.

After setting up camp, David and I took a stroll into town to get some supplies for dinner and have our last Honduran beer (poor Isai got stuck dealing with the kids). We hadn't showered for a couple of days and were really tired, but the lure of that beer was too much to resist, so we went. On the way, we asked a man for directions to the centro and he responded with "El centro del pueblo o el centro de salud?" Wow, we must have looked much worse than we thought because he asked us if we wanted the town centro or the health center. I think that's when you know you need a shower. I'm sure Dave's beard doesn't help either. Nevertheless, we savored every sip of our beer and were ready for a new country in the am. Nicaragua.

Passing time in timeless Guajiquiro, Honduras

We decided that leaving our tent out for the cows to kick and the dogs to pee on wasn't the best option so we packed everything up and headed to the safest place in town, the police station. They locked up our bikes for safe keeping and we headed off for another type of overland journey, walking on the mountain trails headed for another aldea (small settlement). We were headed to Pueblo Nuevo for the day, which, as people were quick to tell us, was a long ways off, and over that next set of hills that we could see. We headed off with our lunch, water, and soap (since we'd be encountering a river and hadn't bathed in a couple of days). The trail started with a steep drop into to the canyon below Guajiquiro and we soon ran into some traffic, mule traffic that is. What was amazing was that the surefooted older man, Cervelio, and his mules were coming from BEHIND us, moving faster than us (even though they were loaded up), coming from farther back than us, and headed even farther than we were, 20 kms away-- and this was his usual bimonthly supply trip! His mules were pretty well trained too, he had no need for a rope as they would just follow him, stop when he stopped and go when he went. Like some of the other people in the town he asked us if we were working in Guajiquiro and we were confused again until he mentioned the "Cuerpo de Paz." Finally it registered, the Peace Corps had a presence here. He told us that there was a volunteer that lived right there in Guajiquiro. We were excited at the prospect of meeting a volunteer of the area to get an insiders view, as we really had none but what we could see with our own eyes (and limited Spanish skills). As we continued on the trail we found that folks passing us was often the case, even when we passed a young couple (maybe 17 years old) with the girl appearing to be 8 months pregnant. We made our way to the river and decided that right under the bridge would be the best place to bathe. It was a nice, cool, clear mountain stream at the bottom of a hot canyon and provided some much welcome refreshment, and cleanliness. Unfortunately the cleanliness didn't last so long as we were again sweat drenched within minutes of leaving the shade of the bridge. As we continued along the path we encountered a few more people all headed to various places and on various missions, but all had at least one thing in common, they were headed somewhere hours away. Throughout the journey we felt that we were a part of some secret society of people that journey through the rugged hills of Honduras, each on their own quest. We were united by the fact that we were all walking the hills, although each took different routes, but as we passed each other and looked into each other's eyes there was an apparent mutual understanding of the other's experience. Each time we passed someone and exchanged one of the numerous greetings, such as "Que le vaya bien!" ("That it goes well with you!"), we would also ask the other where they were headed, comment on the heat and head off in our separate directions. It was apparent, however, that we had missed the initiation ceremony to the secret society as we did not don the proper equipment: an extra large radio with a strap worn around the neck blasting music and an extra long machete carried in a beautiful leather sheath complete with tassles and other adornments (at least ten pieces of flair required:) ).We reached our destination and continued a little farther to where it looked like there might be a good vista and we sat down on some cliffs to look west. As we munched on our lunch, we realized that we were looking at El Salvador and more shockingly, the Pacific Ocean! We had biked almost entirely across Central America (far from a great feat, but a cool realization at the time.) We headed back to Guajiquiro on another mission, a cold beverage, which we searched out with rabid ferocity (I'm sure you understand how we felt Billie and Cole). We soon discovered however that there was only one place in town with a fridge as it is usually so cold up there (by their standards) that room temperature is plenty cold for the average Joe. After satisfying our thirst with some 7Up from a glass bottle we went to find Landon Karr, the infamous Peace Corps volunteer that everyone seemed to know about. We just happened to get lucky because he had just returned from Tegucigalpa that afternoon from a week long trip and was completing his two years of service in just two weeks. Spending the rest of the evening and well into the night talking to Landon was a real treat. He gave us much insight on a variety of subjects including but not limited to: international aid and development work, local history & geography, life as a peace corps volunteer, water systems of the Guajiquiro municipality, dangerous areas of Honduras (some of which we had already passed through), local dating customs, and what we found to be the most entertaining, the description of the typical modern day Guajiquiro wedding. Landon was kind enough to let us throw our sleeping bags on his floor for a good nights sleep before departing in the am. Prior to leaving town, we attended the Sunday market and stocked up on produce and tortillas while absorbing the activities of the local people interacting in the market. Up and down hills we went to La Paz (although mostly down with a couple of STEEP uphills) where we stopped for the night. En route, we also dealt with our second flat tire of the trip, quite notable considering we had traveled over 2300 km.