Stage 7: Guatamala, 30 December 2003 – Panama, 20 January 2004.

30 December. Huehuetenango. 111 miles.

It was raining a bit still when I got up this morning, but only very lightly so it did not delay me setting off. Leaving Mexico was a orderly affair, signing both myself and the bike out of the country before a 3 mile ride to the actual crossing. Entering Guatemala by comparison was chaotic. Far too many people cramming through a small space. There was barely room for one lane in each direction, but as far as I could tell pretty much everybody was going in to Guatemala. There was more paperwork to fill out and my Carnet still was not of any interest. I changed a little money, the bike was fumigated, I paid a fee for a permit that was good for a month, and I was on my way. This took about 2 hours or so.

First problem was to find a road map. There didn't seem to be any to be had. People that I asked seemed to think that I was a bit crazy to ask, although they tried to help. In the end I was told it was best to go to Huehue (pronounced way-way) where I was sure to find one. It was on the only road out from the border so not difficult to find. There is a small road map in the back of my guide book, so I had that as a back up, but was not too comfortable with that. So I set off, first weaving through the monstrously heavy pedestrian traffic in Le Mesilla, the Guatemalan side of the border post. The road started well, a good quality paved surface, but for large stretches (as in several miles) it was either unfinished or washed out, I couldn't tell which. The scenery felt immediately more rugged than in Mexico – mountains with very sheer sides rose up and crowded around me. With heavy cloud threatening more rain it all made for a slightly foreboding mood.

However the weather cleared up and I was soon feeling more comfortable again. Huehue is only 50 miles or so from the border and I got there about 2.30ish, but decided not to go further that day to give me some space to get my bearings, and find that road map. It is a small but pleasant enough town that actually sees few travellers it seems, and certainly not many gringos. It has a street market if course and if anything this seemed even more hectic and crammed in than any I had seem in Mexico, including the capital. Looking for a map I called in on various local government offices and every bookshop I could find, which I think was all of them. However these were really just stationary shops. Not a single map to be found in any of them. There is a tourist office right opposite my hotel but its closed, and I think I was told it would not open again until after new year. The people I asked for information were all very friendly and helpful, but ultimately it was a fruitless search.

I tried to get money from cash machines but they would not take my card, and I noticed that the banks were going to be close for the next few days, so instead I cashed in a 100 dollar traveller's cheque

In the evening I went for dinner at a tiny restaurant recommended by the guide book on the square. They had no menus so I just ordered the first thing I recognised from what the waitress was saying. There was a kid on another table, barely more than a teeanger and very drunk who tried to strike up a conversation. At first he wanted to sell me beer – the restaurant didn't have any but didn't seem to mind him driking his own. However I was abit wary and declined. He kept talking over at me though so in the end I decided to go with the flow and invited him to come and sit with me. We had some English and we just about got by while I ate, but all the other customers and the waitresses were clearly enjoying this spectacle, especially when he kept thumping his head with his palm as if to shake the words out. He name was Sergio. Anyway eventually he did get round to trying to sell me his services as a guide, but didn't quite seem to grasp that this would be difficult with me travelling by bike. We were going round in circles and he clearly was not going anywhere, so I paid up and left.

My meal cost me less that £2, and with the hotel less than £6 I realised that maybe I was going to have trouble spending all that money I had changed.

31 December 2003. Anitgua, Guatamala. 152 miles.

I am very annoyed this afternoon because I lost something, but more of that later. I got up this mornign with more stomache troubles, but devoured some Peptobismol (the Yanks swear by it) which seemed to do the trick. Today I realised just how small Guatemala is. I probably could have ridden across it in a little over a day and a half. As it is I had a pretty easy ride through some great scenery and got about half way across. A police bike followed me for a while this morning but he soon pulled off so I could relax again. Another mixture of new tarmac and unsurfaced hardtop with some loose gravel thrown in for good measure. And most of this on one main road. I side tracked off my planned route for two reasons, the first being that the main road headed of towards some menacing looking clouds, and the second that the alternative, which looked about the same distance, took me down to a sunny lake. The roads down to, and then up from, the lake were very steep at times. Going down was quite busy with some slow traffic, but after the main towns it emptied out. I got a bit nervous going up again as the road divided a couple of times with signs to places that were not on my small map, so I had to trust to instinct a little. The road I chose also turned very narrow, old and patched which did not help my confidence in my instincts. However when I stopped and asked some villagers they assured me I was going the right way. Still I only fully relaxed again when I came into a town and traffic picked up again. For a while there I was also concerned about fuel, but this also turned out to be unfounded.

I arrived at Antigua, the old capital city, soonerthan expected (that sze thing again). At first I was not sure this was it (no real signs), until I got the detailed map in the guidebook out and could find the hotels on it. All Guatamalan cities use a numbering system rather than names it seems, which means the layout of each is preety much the same. Avenidas running one way and Calles the other. So you can see why I couldn't be sure where I was without finding the landmarks.

The streets in the centre here are all cobbled and uneven, making for very unpleasant going at times. I pulled over at one point and some old guy leapt out at me from the side of the road. He was an Englishman, from Leicestershire, but had been living in Guatamala for 50 years, sent here by, wait for it, the Jehovah's Witnesses as a missionary. He'd spotted my license plate and GB stickers. He still spoke with a recognisably northern accent and at first was all very friendly and chatty. I don't think he had seen anyone from England for a long time. Having worked with Phil in Arundel, another JW but nothing like the stereotype we all have, I was happy not to pre-judge. This guy clearly knew very little about life back home but still followed the football. However after a while he got all preachy and started talking about armageddon and the downfall of the Catholic church, which he thought was all about to happen thanks to Osama Bin Laden. And he was glad about it! Could wait for it to happen and prove that the JWs were the only true followers. So I scarpered. Riding round I tried a couple of hotels – no rooms. It was heavy going on the cobbles so I decided that it would be easier to park the bike and continue on foot. Before I could do that this tiny little guy (not a midget, but barely more than 4 ft 6)comes up and offers to help me get a room. I wouldn't normally use a guide, but he was very persistant, I was hot a frustrated by the cobbles, time was wearing on and my earlier experience of full houses was nagging at me. So I accepted assuming he had a place in mind he was paid to work for. He took me to a place nearby, running next to the bike, where I could park up for a small fee, for the night if necessary. A hotel that was full but had a secure central courtyard. I pulled off my map holder which attaches to the tank bag by velcro and had my guidebook in it, took my helmet and left the rest of the stuff on the bike. I must have followed him around for half an hour, one little street after another, each hotel was full. This is a travellers hang out so lots of cheap places but most pretty small. Clearly also a popular place for New Years Eve. I was getting very frustrated, this guy was really getting on my nerves, doing nothing for me, and didn't seem to have a clue. I took out my guid book and nade to ditch him as I had a reasonable map of the hotels. But he wanted to take me to one more place so I conceeded. It was an anonymous door on a back street that I would never have found, but opened to a courtyard where rooms were available. Run by a very nice guy called Raul, who spoke excellent English and had his own bike, a little 125 parked in the courtyard. I agreed to take the room. And then I realised I was no longer carrying the map pocket. I had gripped it in my armpit after taking out the guidebook, but must have dropped it. I back tracked to look for it, with my litle guy in tow (he hadn't been paid yet), but nothing. It was gone, and with it my Spanish dicitonary, my note pad with my diary in it, and the beginnings of a new story I was working on, and my Mexican map. All lost. I was angry at myself for being so careless, mostly because I was previously angry with the little guy and not paying proper attention. But there was nothing to do so I went for the bike and brought it round to Raul's. After getting unpacked (getting into the courtyard involved a slightly precarious ride up a wooden plank to get over a big kerb), I went for another look, but knew it was useless, it would have been picked up long ago. What a way to start New Year'e Eve.

It got better though. Back at Raul's I met Drew, an aussie travelling with his wife, Cyn a few years younger than me I guessed. We got chatting and he invited me to spend the evening with them. And we had a great time. A meal in quite a posh little restaurant recommended by an American we passed, then margeritas and tequila shots in a bar leading up to midnight when we got out onto the streets. They were packed with gringos as well as locals (lots of language schools here, it seems to be where everyone comes to learn Spanish in Guatemala). As the clock struck midnight it went crazy. These people love their fireworks. Not your professional displays – though there was quite a good one going on in the background – they preferred to be hands on. Bangers, rockets and thosands of crackers in big blocks of at least 50, just being set off in the streets. It seemed extremely dangerous, but if we kept a close distance ourselves, lots of fun. This went on through most of the night, all over the town. We wondered around then went back to another bar for more drinks and pizza, where we also got free hats thrown in. We then made our way back to Raul's sometime after 3 am. I certainly could not have gone on any longer. Definitely one of the best nights of the trip so far.

Raul with his two kids.

1^st Jan 2004. Antigua, still. 53 miles. Passed 11,000 trip miles today.

Woke up early as I always do with a hangover and went out for a walk to clear my head. Almost nobody about, but firework littler practically covering the streets in places. Round the corner from the hotel a laundry appeared to be the only place open. I needed it badly so decided I might as well stay here another day and get my stuff clean. It was a service wash so after a suitable drying out period I took the bike into Guatemala City where there was supposed to be a large bike shop. I still needed those tyre levers.

It was a short trip, barely 20 miles, and on the smoothest road I have seen in Guatemala, at least until the outskirts of the city. The roads were pretty much empty and I managed to find the shop easily. It was even bigger than I had expected, but also closed until tomorrow, which I should have anticipated except I was used to Mexico where they seemed to shut for nothing, enen on Christmas Day, when I had ventured out briefly for water the laundry had been open. Not entirely a wasted trip though, it looks like it will have what I need and I now know how to get to it. So I come back to Antigua, have a relaxing late lunch in a courrtyard restaurant and laze around for the rest of the day. In the afternoon with shops opening the streets were filling up with people again, although it looked like a lot were leaving with heavy traffic heading out of the centre. I found an excellent bookshop that not only had a half decent road map, but a selection of language books, so I pick up a new phrase book as well. This leaves me short of cash and with no banks until tomorrow I will have to have a cheap night tonight. I spend some more time wandering around and planning a route for the next few days into El Salvador and Honduras. No sign of Drew and Cyn today, which is a shame as I would have at least liked to have said goodbye. I left the camera in my room last night, more by accident than design, so I haven't even got a picture of them. I hope they haven't left.

It turns out they haven't, I caught up with Drew just as I was heading out. They're off to a movie. So I'm now sitting in an English owned pub haivng dinner. I heard about it yesterday from a couple of germans who are also at Raul's. They've got a big Union Jack, but from the sounds of it most of the people in here are actually aussies.

I chatted to the owner for a bit but he didn't seem all that interested in talking. He had come here years ago for a few weeks and ended up staying, married a local girl, worked for other bar owners before opening his own. Apparently there are quite a lot of brits around here on a regular basis. Even a group from Southampton last night, but they don't put in an appearance before I leave for bed.

Antigua, overlooked by volcanoes on all sides.

2^nd January. Jutiapa. 100 miles.

Disocvered that one of the bank machines accepts my cash card today so I didn't have to wait from them to open. Set off for Guatemala City and FPK – the bike store. This turned out to be a big general car and bike parts supplier, mostly to the trade it seemed, there was some heavy machinery on sael as well. I looked around for a bit but couldn't see any tyre levers amongst the tools on display, so asked a guy in my best Spanish for 'desmontedores das llantas' the phrase I had learnt back in Mexico. So he promtly led me to a big workshop machine which did indeed look like it was designed to remove tyres. My Spanish was running out so I tried a few gestures and then just said 'tyre levers' – at which point his eyes lit up and he took me straight to a cabinet that had just what I was looking for. At last. However I couldn't just buy a couple from him. This was the Argos of automotive supplies. He filled out a chit with a part number that I took to a counter where I paid and then stood in line at another counter to wait for my purchase. Fortunately they wanted my name for the order, so when it arrived I was called forward by name. If it had been the order number that was on my ticket, with lots of similar ones being called out, I might have been in trouble.

I have also noticed a couple of times when paying for something in a supermarket that I have been asked for my name, even though I was paying in cash. However when I couldn't understand what they wanted it for, they just typed anything in. According to a sign I saw at a till yesterday I think its something to do with government records, but what a weird thing to try and capture what people are buying. Anyway back outside FPK I was packing up and getting ready to leave, when someone behind me started mumbling in English something about William of Orange and our German monarchy. So I turn around and there's a cyclist standing there, a guy in his late forties. Turns out to be Canadian who spends most winters travelling. He seemed to have come up from the south – he was saying how hot it was in Bolivia right now. However the main thing about him was that he was clearly missing some screws. He was just full of disjointed snetences that poured out of his mouth in a string of non sequiturs. I put it down to endless hours of solitude and sun. Doh!

I got on the road east out of the city and made good time. I then found myself in a dilemma about crossing the border. I was going to reach it about 1.30 pm, okay for an easy crossing but if it dragged out I'de be left late in the day trying to find my way about. In the end the wind picked up enough to make it easier to stop here for the night, about 30 miles short. Its a small place, nothing to it really. Its a nice hotel here on the edge of town although I think I am their only guest. I decided to eat here rather than go out – there was little to the town – and by the time I was ready to eat they had closed the kitchen. However they were happy to make me some eggs with bread and refried beans. Basic, and very cheap, but filling enough.

3^rd January. San Miguel, El Salvador. 218 miles.

Damn this is a small country. Got to the border round 8ish this morning and was pounced on by someone to guide me through the paperwork – which turned out to be a good idea. We went from one office to another, a photocopy shop, back to another office. To the bank where I handed over a form in quaduplicate that was processed, stapled, stamped all over and handed back to me, for a fee of one dollar. At one point a guard shook my hand and said 'good luck' – I thought at the time I was nearly finished and he meant the journey, but now I reckon he meant with e paperwork. The bike was searched, I had more forms and stamped photocopies, that were than taken away from me 100 yards up the road by another official. Two hours of this and I was away. I paid my guide with my last quetzales, just over a couple of bucks. Welcome to El Salvador.

By 11.30 I was in San Salvador, about half way across west to east. Managed to catch a bank just before they closed for the weekend, to cash some travellers cheques. Its a god place to stock up on those dollars as here its the official currency. Then a quick lunch iand I was away again. I got a bit lost trying to get out of the city, ended up heading south towards the airport for a while before back tracking the taking a small but good quality mountain road to get back on the Pan Americana – the biggest road in the country and the main route through it. I pulled into San Miguel, the third largest city, around 4pm. I was hot and tired. Stopped at an Esso garage for water and to get my guide book out for a city map. I was accosted by some old guy, who I could hardly understand (even less than normal) but reied to talk to me for about 10 minutes. He was friendly enough but then started asking for money ( I got that bit). Insistant but not aggressive – in the end I just road away. Struggling to find my way around in the centre I alsmost gave up looking for a hotel and was heading back to one I had seen earlier on the highway that was not good for seeing the city, but recommended. Then I pulled up outside a very new looking place (lots of earthquakes here means lots of rebuilding), tha also looked expensive, but decided to find out. The lady at the desk started by quoting me 25 bucks, which I said was too much. She then proceeded to tell me about a couple of other places that were cheaper, and even phoned one to get a price and availability. All a ploy perhaps because she said this other place would charge me 10, but she would give me a room for $15. I had a look and it was very nice, with air con, so ckecked in.

This has to be one of the quietest places I have seen since leaving the states. Going out for dinner at 8pm I find the streets almost empty. Even those that had been buzzing earlier. And almost nowhere to eat. A couple of very closed places, a Pizza Hut and a fast food chicken joint. I had caved in San Salvador and gone into a burger place because I was very hungry and it was next to the bank, I was not going to do it again today. So I find myself now in the Cafeteria Puerte del Sol, on a Texaco garage forecourt. Very non-descript looking from the outside but recommended in the guide book. Its not exactly busy but they have beer and there are a few people here clearly making anight of it. I go for a 'plato mixto' not sure what to expect, and its very good. Especially a piece of chicken covered in onions that have been cooked in honey I think, delicious. Plus either all the people in here are the pump jockeys from the garage (there are loads of them at most petrol stops) or this is the place to be in San Miguel on a Saturday night. If its the latter, and I thingk it is, the it seems both cool and a little bit sad. Sad because its the best place to be, cool because nobody cares and they are having a good time anyway. I reckon I'm barely a couple of hours away from the eastern border with Honduras, so its likely that this will be my only night in El Salvador, as I try to make up for the late start to this journey. Despite the warnings of violence in El Salvador I think this seems like the sort of place where people generally try to make the most of a bad lot. With more time and better Spanish, it would be worth exploring the country more, but for now I feel the need to push on south.

Slight Post Script: As I came out of the cafe there were some police bikes in he garage. They were light weight dirt bikes, maybe 250s at most. I suppose it says something about the country that these are their machines of choice. I could probably outrun then easily, even fully loaded and on a good road. How different to the big beemers that my friends in the LAPD used. If nothing else they are a lot less intimidating.

Heavy goods traffic in El Salvador causes tailback.

4^th January. Choluteca, Honduras. 109 miles.

I'm pretty sure I got seriously ripped off coming into Honduras this morning. I was paying a guide, and needed one for all the different offices in different buildings. At each stage the sums I was supposed to pay rose, with a new piece of paper, and a reciept – which means bugger all round here anyway. In total I must have paid out $80. The guide book did say it tends to be more expensive on a Sunday, but this was ridiculous. Its really put a downer on my feelings about the place, so I'm now glad to be heading to Nicargaua tomorrow, I've really only cut through a very small corner of the country. Again I could have made the border this afternoon, but its suppoed to be one of the most time consuming, up to 4 hours, so I stopped short. Honduras is the poorest country in Central America and has not really recovered from Hurricane Mitch which hit hard in 1998.

Choluteca is a small looking town with little to recommend it, and its too hot to do much in the daytime anyway. I chose Hotel Pierre one because it was in the guidebook and two because I found it. But it turned out to have a bonus reason, the owner is a Welshman, Glen Harris. He said he lived in Feltham during WW2, and talked about an old BSA he used to ride back then – with hand operated gear change. Married a Honduran in the US then moved here to her home town. An interesting story and a very useful guy.

There's very little open here, and very little life on the streets, but then it is Sunday night. Had a quick snack meal in a comedor – a latin American greasy spoon, then it looks like there's nothing else but to go to bed and sweat out the night. I want to get up early in the morning , but need a stop at a bank before I push on to the border.

I told Glen about my experience at the border, he said it was very common at the over land borders, they even rip off their own people. Still you live and learn.

5^th January. Danli, Honduras. 163 miles.

Made a snap decision not to head for the border this morning. Reading on more detail the crossing nearby seemed a nototriously difficult one, so I decided instead to give Honduras another chance to redeem itself. I headed north for the capital, Tegucigalpa (Tagus for short) where I not only had a better chance of getting some much needed dollars, but could then head towards the supposedly easiest crossing to Nicaragua. I reach Tagus around mid morning, a good ride and road climbing in altitude so thankfully cooler than the day before. Its not much more than a large town really, the national football stadium was also a roundabout. I went into a bank , got into a queue and waited like a good Englishman. When I got to the front I was told yes they woud cash my TCs but I needed to go to a different clerk. The second woman said yes they would give me some dollars. She walked away while I signed the TCs, then came back and said actually they could only give me local currency, lempiras. I had plenty of those. However I had no choice now they were signed, so I took the cash. She told me I could get dollars at their main branch and wrote down the address, but it was not on my small map. So I head to another couple of places nearby, same story – need the main branch. There was a Lloyd's bank marked on my map nearby – but after a couple of attempts to locate it – and verifying I was on the right street – it was not actually there. Across the road however was a very imposing bank in a great big, brand new building, so I tried it. And they had dollars. Even though I was now changing cash they wanted some ID and I had left my passport outside on the bike, so I just winged it and produced the number from memory, knowing it wasn't quite right, but it kept them happy. All of this took a couple of hours so it was early afternoon before I got out of the city. The ride to Danli was very good, through trees and farmland with not too much traffic and only a few potholes to dodge. Honduras was looking better and Danli as it turns out is a very nice place. No bigger than Choluteca but clearly more prosperous. I've got a good hotel where the people seem friendly. Out in the evening though this is clearly not like other countries I have seen so far. The shops are closed where I have grown used to them being open until 9pm, and there are few places to eat. I am at another comedor where the food is basic but reasonable. The beef is overcooked but in this country that may not be a bad thing. Still I have a better feeling about Honduras now – I have seen what I can be like if there was more money. Strangely this town gets less of a mention in the guide book than Choluteca, but I think it deserves much more.

Lots of shops are given English names like this, round the corner was a 'Pulperia Kevin'

6^th January. Managua, Nicaragua. 188 miles

The border this morning was very straight forward. Nicaraguan procedures were a lot clearer , though I still needed the services of a guide. But at least the charges were clear and not heavy, about $30 including third party insurance, the first time I've had to have it since Mexico. I immediately felt more relaxed than in Honduras. The road was excellent – flawless tarmac most of the way – through forested hills at first but dropping down to flat arable land later on. About 30 miles from the border I was pulled over by the police. For speeding. To be fair to them I probably was, the speed limit was 25kph because there were a couple of schools nearby. But there were plenty of other drivers who didn't get stopped. He took my details and as far as I could tell wanted to take my license to the local station where I would have to pay a fine. I asked him if I could pay straight away and of course he took the bait. It cost me 200 cordobas, about ten quid. A good deal for both of us. As I was getting ready to pul away his mate flagged down another biker going the other direction, the only other vehicle to be stopped. He was a local, but we exchanged a quick knowing look. We were clearly softer targets than cars or trucks.

It took me about 4 hours to reach Managua, the capital city. Like most in Central America its not big but it is confusing as there are few road signs and no road names. They do have names, or at least some do, but they are not labelled. As they have no home postal delivery, this has less of an impact for locals than visitors. Addresses are more like directons – a hotel is two blocks north and one and a half west of the Hotel Intercontinantal (a major landmark). I managed to find the bus stop around which most of the cheap hotels are based. From there is was a matter of being bombarded by guides to take you to a place in your price range.

So I met Luis who stood out because he spoke very good English with a strong American accent. He didn't get a tip for the room, because he didn't find me first (an internal dispute I was not going to get involved in). However he sounded like he had an interesting story so later on I took him for a couple of beers and to try and get some good information from him. I'm not sure I believe all of it, but here is his story in a nutshell.

He was born here in Nicaragua to an American mother (by citizenship at least) and a Nicaraguan father, but was raised in the US in Miami. He was a gang member there, had 2 kids that are still over there. He was deported 18 months ago after being involved in a drink driving incident where a woman was killed. He now does not normally drink but had a couple of beers on me. He arrived here with almost nothing, rejecting his family for not supporting him (especially his mother for not ensuring he was born in the US). He slept rough, was mugged for all his clothes and spent some time in a mental institution. Eventually he contacted his granmother who sent him $300. He bought a gun, for protection (he said he was carrying it but didn't show me and I didn't ask), and now scratches a living as a guide for budget travellers, where his English is an advantage but as the new guy he gets a hard time from the others. He has a girlfriend, and another baby here, who is sick. He is waiting for identity papers which will enable him to get a job with a chain hotel, where the tips will be bigger.

Like I said I'm not sure how much I believe but he told it well. It seemed to come out as separate memories rather than a learned story, and for that reason it doesn't matter where the truth is too much. I gave him five bucks for which he was grateful. If the story is true he needs and deserves it. If not it was a good piece of story telling, and therefore still worth it.

7^th January. San Juan Del Sur. 91 miles.

Was awake very early this morning – there were people leaving at 3 or 4 and the wall in the hostel (more than a hotel) were very thin. So I hit the road as the sun was just coming up and headed south out of the city. I rose up onto a high plateau for a while, which was very windy, but other than that it was an uneventful journey.

San Juan is a small beach resort only a few miles from the Costa Rican border. I got here around lunch time and decidd to chil out for the rest of the day. Found a cheap hostel with good parking and then went out to the beach for a couple of hours to swim, climb some rocks and catch a few rays. I'm heading back to my room for some money to go for a couple of beers – and a touring biker goes past me obviously looking for a place to stay. When I turn the corner he is checking out my hostel. Not that big a coincidence – its the only cheap place in toen that advertises its parking ( or even has any). So that's how I meet Matt the radiologist from Louisiana. He's got a couple of months off work and is heading south. We have beers and dinner, swapping our respective stories. His girlfriend is flying into Costa Rica in a few days to join him for a week. It makes obvious sense for us to ride together over the border tomorrow and see what happens. He is also interested in learning to surf.

Matt from Louisiana.

8^th January. Playa Tamarindo, Costa Rica. 133 miles.

Another early start this morning and Matt and I rode the short trip out to the border, although he had to turn back briefly having forgotten his prescription sunglasses. Despite getting to the crossing at Penas Blancas by 8.30 it turned out to be a more painful process than we had expected. This is the only official land crossing between the two countries and it was packed on both sides, with huge queues, especialy for immigration. So while the process itself was not too tricky, for the first time well sign posted making a guide unncessessary, it ate up a lot of time. So it was nearly noon before we were on our way. Matt rides a bit faster than I have gotten used to – in the same way that I rode faster than Jon, so we pegged it down the 80 miles or so in fairly quick time. We had expected a quiet place but the small town was packed to overflowing, mostly with young surfers. Finding a place to stay at a reasonable rate proved very difficult, and we must have hunted round for an hour and a half. In the end we went back to a prety basic place that only had one twin room, so we are sharing tonight (Matt says he snores as well). Not ideal but I figure with the money we save we can get drunk and not care.

It was too late in the afternoon to try and get a surfing lesson, so instead we hired a couple of body boards and messed around on those for acouple of hours until the sun went down. It was a good laugh but there were too many people trying to catch too few waves. I had a minor clash with a surfer that was entirely his fault as he came across the wave from behind me, but we were both unhurt. We are just eating a cheap meal and chilling out this evening for an early start tomorrow.

9^th January. Jaco. 303 miles. Passed 12,000 trip miles today.

Its been a day of real contrasts. Beach, arable land, mountain, volcano, cloud forest. Sun, wind and rain. Top quality blacktop and rough tracks full of stones and potholes. Also one of the longest days I've had in the saddle for a long time. We were up early, Matt had a long way he wanted to ride today, further than me. Although we would be following the same route most of the day, I told him to push on ahead if necessary. I know what its like to feel you have to wait when you would prefer to go on. We had swapped contact details last night. Matt wants to make a trip to Europe next year, and I sold him on the idea of the Farnham Beer Festival.

We set off together but he was soon well ahead and I didn't see him again. I stopped briefly at Nicoya to go to the bank, and found a cash point that would take my card. A good thing as I have been hitting the TCs a lot recently. From Nicoya,capital of the Nicoya Peninsula, I headed towards Puerto Moreno where there was supposed to be a short ferry on to the mainland that avoided the need to backtrack a long way. When I got there the ferry was clearly no more. The small dock was empty but for a few fishing dinghys hauled out of the water, and the buildings surrounding it were falling apart. Fortunately the reason for this was a new suspension bridge just a few miles up the road, which I discovered by following a road sign to a town that I knew was not on the peninsula.

From there I went north into very windy mountains (with a sizeable wind farm at one point) to the town of Tilaran, where I faced a choice. To go to Monteverde and the cloud forest reserve, over what I knew was 25 miles of rought track (according to the guide) and/or take a trip to see Volcano Arenal, reportedly one of the most active in the world (especially around full moon so it is said, as it is now), and where you are almost guaranteed to be able to see lava flows towards the peak. I opted for the latter thinking I could go there and back in a couple of hours and still get to Monteverde well before dark. How wrong I was. The road to Arenal started well but detrirated badly for long stretches of gravel, muddy potholes, and hard packed washboard. Thats not to say I didn't enjoy it. The road led through high rain forest and there were quite a number of lemur type creatures on the verges although I didn't manage to photograph any. At several places the jungle had collapsed onto the road and been cleared just enough for traffic to pass in single file. A lot of the time I was conentrating hard on the surface in front of me, to steer a path through, and certainly put some of the stuff from the off road course to good use. It took at least an hour and a half to go the 40 odd miles to the volcano, but when I got there it was almost entirely shrouded in cloud, which was a little disappointing but as I had enjoyed the ride not too mcuh so. The road also ran round the edge of a large man made lake, the result of a hydro-electric dam.

After the town of Fortuna in rich farming country I got lost for a while, not sure if I was on the right road. It was good quality black top, which is usually a sign of a main route, winding up into mountainous forest. I went into the clouds (hence cloud forest) and it started to rain, so I had to stop and put the map away – a result of losing the map pocket. It lasted for half an hour or so but it was never very heavy or cold. As I dropped a bit lower again the sky cleared and I quickly dried out (well mostly). Through San Ramon I descended furthre back towards the Pacific coast. If I had gone barely 30 miles north I would have completed a circle that took me through the heart of the northern highlands. I got lost for a while again, this time by missing a turning thanks to poor sign posting, and lost half an hour backtracking through heavy traffic.

I had to push hard the last hour or so to make it to Jaco before it started to get dark. Its another surf beach, packed with tourists though bigger than Tamarindo, and more expensive. More choice in rooms, but the prices were all quite high, sometimes four time the guidebook price. I managed to find something reasonable for about $25 a night. This whole stretch of coast is supposed to be filled with great beaches that get more remote south of here. So my plan is to head slowly along the coast road and sample a few. Working on a tan and maybe spending one or two nights camping as well. At least its possible to eat cheaply here. I stayed away from the tourist restaurants and had a simple meal of chicken, rice and beans for about 2 quid.

10 January. Jaco

Today I became a surf dude. I had to wait until the afternoon for a lesson due to the tides. Apparently it is best when it is coming in towards high tide. So I did little in the morning. I had breakfast of a whole pineapple on the beach, it was very sewet and juicy, probably the best I can remember having. Followed by some body surfing which I fooled myself into thinking was useful preparation, but it was good fun anyway and I caught some good waves. Then I got some laundry done and messed about til 2pm. My instructor was Nicholas, an Argentinian with very good English, and also as it turned out a snowboard instructor. We spent about 20 minutes to half an hour on the beach, then hit the water. I had this huge 10ft board that is really only used for beginners. I have to say that I think I was pretty good, and so did Nicholas. I stood up, briefly, on pretty much my first wave. I tanked it quite a lot, especially in the middle of the 2 hours when I was getting tired, but on the whole I stood up more often than not. Straight after a brief break when I also had a bit more on shore practice of 'the pop', I nailed 3 really good waves in a row that had me punching the air. On one I did't even fall, but just stepped off the board when I thought I would run aground (though it turned out to be a bit deeper than that still). I didn't do so well trying to turn but you can't have it all. Its very tiring and I think I am going to ache over the next couple of days, but I get the appeal. Like the skydiving this is something I'd want to do more of, and Costa Rica's Pacific coast is littered with great surfing. I may not be making many miles over the next few days.

11 January. Ciudad Neily. 169 miles

It was too hot for a good night's sleep and I was up and away reasonably early. I soon made a detour to Manuel Antonio Park, reached via a 7km steep up and down mountain road. There's supposed to be a good beach with wildlife coming out of the jungle to say hello. However it was very crowded, overdeveloped, with expensive parking, so I didn't stop. South from there the coast road became a gravel and dust track for 35km, most of which I stood up for, if only just to avoid getting a sore arse. Stopped brieflt at Matalpa beach, which was huge and almost deserted. A local wanted to swap some land he owned nearby for my bike. Given the still relatively untapped tourist potential – as soon as the road is improved – it might have been a reasonable long term investment. But I declined. Further south again I stopped at Play Dominical, another long wide very picturesque beach, and again not very busy. This one had a small village to cater for the surfers that stay here. It seemed most of the locals just came for the day. I parked up on the edge of the beach a little way from the village under a line of coconut palms, reached by a muddy track. A few others have done the same, mostly with 4x4s but it is not crowded. I had an unpeopled view to the surfline, over 100 metres away. I would have stayed if I had been able to hire a surfboard, but it proved impossible. A shame because I liked the idea of camping on the beach. I did hang out for an hour or so, had a good swim and got a little sunburnt in the process. I left around 1.30 to push on. After Domincal the road was mostly paved again, albeit with some very big and deep potholes, except for a number of single track bridges over the ridges, some of them very dilapidated (the bridges not the rivers). For some reason (probably money) bridges are always in a worst state than the roads they connect. All of a sudden it clouded over and I was hit by a trolical rainstorm. Not that uncommon I understand even though it is the dry summer season. It had rained briefly yesterday during my surfing lesson. It was heavy enough for me to get a bit soaked (especially my jeans) but barely lasted 10 minutes or so. I could see clear sky ahead so kept riding, although the road became very wet. It would have been a nightmare on the dust tracks of this morning.

After the rain stopped I pulled over for some petrol. My chain was heavily clogged with dust, so I cleaned it of with some WD-40 and a rag then put some fresh lubricant on. I pulled into Ciudad Neily around 4pm having gone much further than I had anticipated. It has little to recommend it other than as a launch point for the crossing into Panama tomorrow – the border is only 10 miles away. Away from the beaches and tourist attractions is offers a different view of Costa Rica – run down and struggling to get by. Suddenly it is easy to find a cheap room, though as in most cases you get what you pay for. In this case less than $8, a room that looks like it hasn't been used in months, and ants in the sink. However there is a covered car port for the bike and no sooner do I get it underneath than the skies open up again, though only briefly. There seems little to do here but eat and drink. The biggest place in town is a Chinese restaurant cum bar which is where I am now. They also serve local dishes so I have had a very nice and very garlicy fish fillet of some description, but costing less than my room.

Crowds flocking to the beach on the main coastal road.

12 January. Santiago Panama. 171 miles.

A strange kind of day. The border crossing was a breeze. For the first time I prepared ahead and got photocopies of my documents, and for the first time I didn't need any. The worst part was the queue for my exit stamp from Costa Rica – over an hour to wait. I must have arrived just after a bus as by the time I was ready to leave most of the line was gone. Panamanian officialdom was straightforward enough – a dollar for fumigation (which they didn't actually do); 2 for a tourist stamp and 5 for customs clearance, then a police inspection. They did still manage to string it out in 4 different locations, just to keep the tramitadores in business, so it was another 2 for him, but still one of the cheapest. I was cleared within half an hour.

They have their own currency here, the Balboa, but they don't print any notes. Instead it is exactly one to the dollar and US notes are used (but they call them balboas rather than dollars). The have their own coins, but these are interchangeable with the US minted ones, except for the design. Very weird. A wind blew up mid-morning, though it did little for the heat, and I began to feel unwell, kind of queasy like motion sickness. I put it down to the fact that I had'nt eaten anything so pulled into a petrol station for some water and a snack. Some local bikers pulled up a few minutes later and we had a reasonable, if stilted, bike related chat in Spanish. English is supposed to be common here but these guys – young and wealthy from the bikes they had, spoke almost none.

I was feeling a little bit better so got back on the road. Mostly good quality pavement but a few potholes and the type of conctete that my tyres don't like, emitting a high pitched whine much louder than on regular blacktop. The countryside seemd strangely empty. Very little seemed to be cultivated and in between the odd town and village, no people around either, except for road workers who were either repairing the surface or burning the scrub at either side. They say that 40% of the population lives at one end or other of the canal, and it seemed like they were all here today.

Santiago is a funnly little place very reminiscient of small town USA. So it is that I am staying in a US style motel oustide the centre and next to a very big bustop. There's a KFC and a McDonalds just around the corner but the seafood restaurant across the road is closed. There is a small mall next door, but all the shops are closed for the day (as opposed to permanently closed down) despite it being Monday and their displayed opening hours saying they should be open. There is nothing about a publis holiday in my guidebook, but that's what it feels like. So I am sitting in a cafeteria whose only purpose is to serve customers for the buses. It was packed when I arrived , but with 4 coaches having gone off, I look up and its now almost empty. Its all very weird and makes for a dull evening, but at least I have cable.

PS. I decided to ask at reception about the holiday. My Spanish was not up to the task, and neither was her English. So she got on the phone to a friend. He explained that it was an official holiday on Friday (Martyr's Day) and they extend it to the Monday.

PPS. I got back to my roon, and the phone was ringing. It was the same bloke again. He was in local government I think and was offering t help with anything else I might need here in Santiago. How friendly was that? Almost a shame I won't be here tomorrow.

13 January. Playa Venado. 121 miles.

I made a slow start this morning having been glued to the TV till 3am. I got stopped by a policeman at one point and I'm sure he was trying to tell me about some infraction or other. He looked at my passport, license and customs documentation. It wasn't difficult for me to play dumb and I think he just got bored with me and sent me on my way. At Divisa I turned south off the Panamerican into the Azuero Peninsula. I made a stop at Las Tablas purely for an internet cafe, so I could email the BMW dealer in Panama City mostly as I need a service about now. Also picked up emails from home. After Las Tablas the road deteriorated to mostly gravel track, with some short, isolatedpaved sections as far as Podasi. About 25 miles. I then hit the roadworks where they were clearly laying new tarmac and then was on a new road most of the rest of the way. The beach here is long, clean and very isolated. A prized surf spot but unfortunately for me nowhere to hire a board.

I arrived in the early afternoon and there were barely half a dozen people here. There is a bar/restaurant and a few simple huts to sleep in, but as the camping is free I opted to pitch the tent. I took a nice spot under a tree after some advice from an American that it would be very hot tomorrow morning out in the open.

Although more people turned up in the late afternoon when the surf is best, but it is still far from crowded, and extremely laid back. I'm sitting in a roughly put together rocking chair in the bar, which is all verandah, looking out over the dark ocean and drinking beer at 50 cents a bottle. Apparently there were crowds at the weekend but I'm glad that I missed them. Its the sort of place designed for just chilling out and surfing. If only I had a board.

PS. I had an excellent fish dinner of unknown species but large and bony, served like a salmon steak, grilled with rice, beans and salad. Very fresh and tasty for 2 dollars.

I can do that. Sort of.

14^th January. Panama City. 231 miles.

I packed down the tent and had some breakfast before hitting the road. I took an inland route back to Las Tablas, some steep and twisty climbs on mostly good road. Then back to the Panamerican and a fairly straightforward if uninteresting ride into the capital. I crossed the canal via the Puente de las Americas bridge, about a mile long with gusty side winds which made it a little treacherous. The city itself is a confusing mess, with lots of signs to go towards places, but little indication of when you have arrived and not too many street names in evidence. Using the guidebook I found a reasonable hotel with secure parking, and checked in for a couple of nights. I'm beginning to wonder what sort of hotel it is though, there are five channels on the TV and one of them appears to be non-stop hard core porn. There is also a condom machine in the lobby. Hmmm.

I walk the streets for about 3 hours with one single goal in mind – to find a city map, primarily to locate the BMW dealership, which has not returned my email. No luck at all. Walking back to the hotel everything is closing down by seven pm and there seem to be few places to eat anywhere. There is a bar across the street so I grab a few beers and a cheap dinner in there. It was so hot in the tent last night that I didn't sleep well, and compunded with my frustrations with the city I am extremely tired . Its barely 9pm but I'm crashing out.

15^th January. Panama City.

Up and about early this morning. No response from the BMW people to my email a couple of days ago so I'm going to have to do this the hard way. To get a city map I have to go to the National Geographic Institute (not the magazine), opting for a taxi, where they sell a large scal version spread over several sheets of A3. The lady there was very helpful, we locate the dealership, which turns out to be not too far away, and I buy the necessary pages toget me there. Back to the hotel I unload the bike just in case they can ake it today and get over there. They can't, it will have to be Monday. So having sorted this I can begin to look at shipping options. I have taken some contact info and advice from Horizons Unlimited, but first decide to get in touch with the contact that came through Dad. There is a phone in my room but I can't dial direct, they have to do it at the reception desk then patch me through. Not an easy task to complete in Spanish, but we get there.

Fransisco Morcelli is very helpful and after a brief conversation he says he will call me back tomorrow with more information. My other avenue of investigation is to ride out to the cargo terminal at the airport and ask around, but its got to late to do that today. Instead I decide to relax for the rest of the day. I wander around for a while but it is very hot. I have a simple meal in the early afternoon, red snapper and chips with a couple of glasses of fresh, iced pineapple juice which I have developed a taste for. Less than 5 bucks. I haven't typed up any notes now for a couple of weeks – a long way behind – so I'm dedicating the rest of the day to bringing that more up to date.

16^th January. Penonome. 152 miles. Passed 13,000 trip miles.

Fransisco phoned me back this morning as promised. He had two options for me: an indirect flight via Bogota leaving Thursday and taking a few days in transit, or a direct flight on Tuesday that he said would be cheaper. Unfortunately with the bike booked for a service on Monday it would have to be a week on Tuesday. He also couldn't give me a firm price on either option. So I tell him I will call back Monday when I am more sure of the outcome of the bike service, and pursue the most recommended alternative by those that have done the trip. This involves nothing more than riding out to the cargo terminal just beyond the main airport, about 20 miles out of the city, and asking around the various couriers. I get lost on the way out there but manage to find the place around mid-morning, The first people I try are Panalpina. They tell me they can do it, but would sub-contract it to either Girag or Panavia, both of whom I can go to direct while I am here. I appreciate their honesty. Both Girag and Panavia are companies that other bikers have used, though both go through Bogota. Girag first, who keep me waiting and are not very helpful. I explain that the earliest I can deliver the bike is Tuesday. Half an hour later the bloke comes back and says he has booked a slot for me, I have to drop the bike off tomorrow. When I tell him again that I can't do that he becomes vague about when the next flight is. He is also a bit vague on the price, but when pushed it comes out to nearly $600.

Panavia, when I find them (at first attempt I discovered I was talking to DHL), are much better. I can bring the bike in on Tuesday, it will leave Wednesday and be in Quito by Thursday morning. Clear and simple, and about $150 cheaper. Sold. I can pay, cash only, on Tuesday morning. She, Asela, even gives me a chocolate. Next stop the passenger terminal to see how I'm going to get there. Straight forward enough – Copa Airlines fly twice a day to Quito, and they are not full flights so no need to book that until Tuesday either. In fact it makes sense to fly Tuesday afternoon, see the city Wednesday afternoon, and all being well ride out on Thursday. Sorted. And its only lunchtime.

Time to get out of the city again for a couple of days. I have two options. Head east for 40 miles into the Darien region before the road runs out, or go back the way I have come for some beach time. Two days ago I saw a newspaper headline that I'm pretty sure was about the capture of a Columbian drugs baron in Panamanian territory in the Darien. I take the easy option. First though I have to go back into the city centre and back across the canal. Its certainly quicker than crossing through the middle of London but being stuck in traffic in 30 degree heat is not pleasant. I have also noticed that it is always much easier to get into a city than find your way out again. The signs pull you into the centre but are reluctant to release you in the direction you want to go. Welcome to the hotel Central America.

Penonome is nowhere near the beach. I'm in a hotel right on the highway. It seems most of the beaches on this stretch of coast cater to daytrippers or richer holiday makers – so the choice of beach hotels is limited to the higher price brackets. Tomorrow I can sample one or two and still have time to find somewhere more reasonably priced to spend the night.

17^th January. Santa Clara beach. 131 miles.

Very little done today. Came to the beach here early and stayed for a couple of hours until it got really hot. Went for a ride to El Valle, a small resort town in the hills where it is a bit cooler. A dirt biker came up to say hello and chat – local guy, very friendly, pointed me towards a cheap place to stay for the night. I had a seafood soup lunch but decided there was little else to do here, and there seemed to be lots of elderly Americans about. There is not much other choice round here for cheap places, so I scrub El Valle and come back to this beach where I can camp for a couple of bucks and there is a bar where I can eat and drink. This mornind there were a couple of other tents up but it looks like they have gone now. The sun is going down and most of the daytrippers are packing up so unless anybody else shows up I'm in for a solitary night. There must be a lot of Germans over here, Ive had two approach me today about the bike and my trip.

Panama is definitely the most Americanised central American state, unsurprisingly considering the Canal Zone, 16 miles wide, was effectively US soil for many years. Along one stretch of the Avenida Central back in the city, near the expensive international hotels, there are expensive boutiques and international brand shops like Nike and Sony. Plus of course the ubiquitous McDonalds and Burger King. There are English signs all over the place. I'm sure its wealthier as a result but I think it has also lost a lot of its own identity – thoug its difficult to pinpoint many examples. Here is one. I am sitting ot a table in the beach restaurant and in front of me is a lawn. Not exactly manicured but definitely not natural grasses.

I guess I am reflecting on this as I prepare to leave these little republics behind and begin the South American phase of my trip. I have no real regrets about the speed with which I have ridden through. I could have gone faster if I had tried, but they do deserve more time. However if I am going to Ushuaia, the southernmost city in the world, I must continue to push on. By all accounts South America is going to be more challenging. The roads less paved. Plus it is the wet season now in Ecuador, Peru and Bolivia, which are likely to be the most mountainous as well, which means cold nights as well as washed out and impassable roads. There is definitely a part of me that is apprehensive about this next phase but for the most part I am looking forwar to it. I remember when I left the US having a similar mix of emotions, but I have grown used to this part of the world, and it seems normal to me now. Maybe it is because I am flying the next bit that I expect the change to be greater. We shall see. If I do have any regrets so far it is not learning enough Spanish beforehand. I can get by reasonably well now in the most common situations but I would have liked to have more general conversational skills. I have thought about taking an intensive course, but for now I keep moving.

How wrong can you be about a place. I was sitting quietly and got a tap on my shoulder, this guy wants to know where I am from. He turns out to be the owner of the bar, and a lawyer to boot. I end up spending the rest of the evening with him and his friends, getting drunk on rum and coke. They are multimillionares if you believe them, but great people. I get the history of Panama and the US. They are very pro the war and love Tony Blair for supporting Bush. I pay for my dinner but otherwise my money is useless. Its a great and unexpected evening and goes some way to changing my view of this country. My host is not only a lawyer and land owner, he also fought in Vietnam. His wife loves Harrods and the Queen, and when her back is turned he tells me about his 19 year old girlfriend. One of the party is a yank, also a Richard, and he loves living in Panama. They all think I have not spent enough time here, but such is life.

Camping on the beach.

18^th January. Panama City, again. 105 miles.

I was woken up this morning not by the heat or the sun but by daytrippers arriving before dawn. Although the first group to arrive, a party of at least a dozen, looked like they were settling down for the day, within an hour they seemed to have some dispute, though very low key, with the security guards and left again. Albeit without any kind of fuss.

I had a quick mornign swim then slowly packed up my stuff as it got ever hotter, and got back on the road to the city. I stopped for lunch at a very pleasant restaurant by a small lake. It turned out to be an enormous meal. First they brought me a free plate of clams, speciality of the house, then I had ordered a steak which was huge. It was battered and covered in a tomato and parmesan sauce, salad and patacones – fried plantain. I was stuffed by the end. Got back into the city in the early afternoon, and pretty much crashed out, hot and tired. Made a quick trip out to a supermarket for some fruit and chocolate milk for alight evening snack.

19^th January. Panama City.

Not much going on today. Took the bike in for a service, then did my laundry. In the afternoon I went back to the dealer, but they could not do an oil change as they didn't have a filter in stock. I also went looking for tyres, but couldn't find anything suitable. Both will have to wait until Ecuador. The mechanic told me that the British couple who were going for the record time for the Alaska-Ushuaia, and who I read about in the BMW magazine back in the summer, stopped here for some work. Apparently they broke the record and the dealer gets a mention in the Guiness entry. I am their first traveller of 2004 however and they take a photo, which they say will be for their website.

20^th January. AM – Panama City.

Back to the cargo terminal this morning and my English speaking friend at Panavia has not only moved offices, but is not there today. I am early and someone else will arrive at 9 am who can help. While I am waiting outside who should turn up but Matt, the radiologist from Lafayette Louisiana, having just crossed into Panama yesterday. Its a great moment of seredipity. He wants to go to Peru, and when my 9am woman arrives they tell him they don't do it so he goes off to look elsewhere. Meanwhile I am now told that I can't get the bike sent tomorrow after all. I will have to come back tomorrow, Wednesday, and it will then not be in Quito until Saturday. I am a bit pissed off about this as it means another night in Panama. I find Matt again half an hour later, with a view to finind out where he is staying so we can get together again later. He has now given up on Peru, but has found a direct flight to Quito with Copa Cargo on Thursday. So now we are going to cross another border together. I hadn't paid anything to Panavia , and with two bikes together we get a much better deal, only $350 each.

We can leave the bikes here today and with any luck fly to Quito tonight. Matt has gone back to the city to pick up his luggage. The we just have to book our own flights, which should not be difficult. Hopefully.

The very helpful Giovanni.