"Even if it is only $10, I still expect a toilet seat........".."

We left Belize the following morning and headed back to Flores. The idea was to retrace our steps from Flores to Rio Dulce, stay there one night and then make the run to the El Salvador border the next day which would hopefully give us enough time to put a good two hours ride down through El Salvador to the coast and the little town of Acajutla.

The border crossing was very quiet and uneventful. In fact there was only Lenny, me and two nuns, but it still took 1 ½ hours. We`d looked on the map and found this little town right on the coast and thought a little sojourn by the sea would be pleasant.




When we arrived in Acajutla it was disappointingly drab and run down, but nevertheless there were several “hotels” right on the beach. The first one we looked at wanted $15 which seemed a little on the high side so I suggested we check out another one.

“Tiene una habitacion por una noche?”

“Si”

"Cuanta cuesta por favor?”

“Diez”

That sounded much better so I asked to see the room. Ducking under three washing lines full of clothes he pointed towards a room. Call me old fashioned, but even for $10 I still expect a toilet seat. The bedding looked like it had never seen the inside of a washing machine. So back to the first one again.

We rode into the courtyard and asked to see the room. The good news was at least it had a toilet seat, the bad news was the whole room stank like a toilet. There was more sand and dirt in the bedroom than on the beach and again the bedding looked disgusting. With the light beginning to fade we had to make a decision quickly. We`d passed a couple of places on the way in, one was a “Love Hotel” (can`t imagine who uses such places!) which are always fairly clean and very secure (apparently) but Lenny had spotted what looked like a truckers hotel which had a restaurant so we opted for that. A ridiculously expensive $26 bought us basic rooms but at least we could get some food.

El Salvador was proving much more expensive than either of us thought. After the turmoil and misery of the civil war that raged during the 70`s and 80`s, the capital San Salvador is becoming a major financial centre for Central America and with foreign investment in the roads and infrastructure, the country is clearly not as poor and therefore cheap as it once was.

Still not giving up on the idea of a beachside stay we set off the next morning for the town of La Libertad, around which were supposed to be lots of surfer type accommodation. I found a hotel in the town with wifi so decided to stay there while Lenny opted for something on the beach. It was nice for one night to have air conditioning and a comfortable, clean bed to sleep in. After dinner in a local restaurant I came back to find the hotel car park packed with cars, which was unusual as there was hardly anyone else in the hotel. It turns out I`d stumbled upon an Amway meeting in full swing! I observed with fascination as the speaker explained the sales and marketing plan to a full house. Needless to say, I was approached twice in 5 minutes to join the group.

"No entiendo" I replied, and went for an early night.

The next day was going to be interesting. This was the day we would cross into Honduras. Of all the Central American countries, Honduras is the one with the reputation of being the most corrupt, bureaucratic and time consuming crossing. We`d both read many internet postings so we were as prepared as we could be for what was likely to come. Our strategy was to be as patient as possible and not be hurried or hassled by the gang of “helpers” we would encounter at the border. Nor would we hire any of the aforementioned helpers to navigate our way through the mound of complex paperwork. If we were patient and methodical, we believed we could do it alone.

About a mile or so from the border itself we had to slow down as several men rushed onto the road waving us down and offering their help. This was an obvious precursor to what was about to come. As soon as we had pulled up at the El Salvador side to process the paperwork to exit the country, we were inundated by a crowd of people offering their services,

“Hey amigo, I can help you. I speak good English”

“No thanks, we`re O.K.”

“I`m his brother. We will help you with the paperwork”

“No thanks, we don`t need any help”

And so it went on. Like pirahnas sensing blood! Lenny just pointed at each one of them and said calmly,

“No, no, no, no, no!”

The one with good English said,

“If you need anyone I can help you”

“Thanks. If we need anyone we`ll let you know”

And this was just to get out of El Salvador! Before we crossed to the Honduran side, we had to get photocopies of our exit papers. Lenny watched the bikes while I was directed to a small office to get the copies.

“Dos copias por favor”, I said to the woman behind the desk. With a look of total disdain she dragged herself from behind the desk, copied the paperwork and said,

“Veinte cinco”

I wasn`t sure I heard her right, so I asked again,

“Veinte cinco”, she repeated.

“$25 dollars! Are you kidding? For two photocopies?” I exclaimed in English. My Spanish wasn`t good enough to formulate “you`re taking the piss”.

She just shrugged her shoulders and repeated the amount, but I could tell from her body language that this was just another scam, so I just shook my head and started to walk away, refusing to give her anything at all. The crossing into Honduras was certainly living up (or down) to its reputation.

Once again we were hassled by “helpers” who insisted on trying to guide us through the totally ridiculous process, which is basically a simple 3 step process.

Step 1 Migracion - Get your passport stamped and officially enter the country

Step 2 Aduana – Import your bike on a temporary import permit

Step 3 Fumigacion – Pay for someone to spray your bike (for no apparent reason)

That 3 step process took between 2 – 3 hours in the fierce heat of the mid day sun.

We were sent to various offices were we had to provide our passports, vehicle documentation, drivers licence and exit paperwork from the previous country. At each stage we had to get multiple photocopies of each document at a different building. All down the line, the unhired “helpers” were insistent we gave them all our paperwork and they would expedite the whole thing much quicker (for a fee of course). Having been scammed for a ficticious $35 “road tax” early on in the process, I then had to go to the bank and pay 700 Lempiras for the official paperwork but it was closed,

“It`s closed for lunch and won`t be open for 1 ½ hours” my “helper” said, “but if you give me the money and paperwork I can go to another window and get it done sooner for you”.

“Great. Let`s go to the other window”

On the way there he insisted I give him my paperwork.

“No. I`ll come with you” I replied. At which he thrust my paperwork back in my hand and stormed off! Not surprisingly, the bank was now open and I processed the whole thing by myself and it cost 636 Lempiras! And so the whole fiasco went on and on as the temperature pushed into the high 90`s.

Rarely have I witnessed such a blatant process designed specifically to relieve the “Gringo” from his money and create mounds of pointless paperwork and meaningless bureaucracy. The Honduran border crossing must contribute massively to Rank Xerox`s and Canon`s bottom line.

We eventually did give our “helper`s” two dollars because at least they steered us in the right direction, but we managed to limit the damage by doing most of the leg work ourselves. It`s a shame because that experience leaves a distinctly unfavourable impression of the country before you even cross the border. (This is the abridged version of the border crossing, the full story can be found in Lenny`s blog at www.fromdeadhorsedown.com)



Having been checked several times in the first few miles we were also stopped at a police check point within the first ten minutes were the policeman attempted to give us a ticket because we hadn`t got reflective stickers!



The "Reflective Sticker" Scam!

“Yo tengo dos!” I said, as I climbed off the bike and pointed to the two yellow, smiley faces I had stuck on my panniers(bought at the NEC bike show for just such an occasion!)Lenny did likewise and the policeman just shrugged and waved us on.

Yet another blatant attempt to extract more money. We rode quickly across country and headed for the town of Choluteca, which was about halfway across Honduras. Our plan was to spend one night there and exit the country as fast as possible and cross into Nicaragua the next day.