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Joseph Savant
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Thoughts on Mexico...

9.22.2017

From the time I first mentioned traveling to Mexico years ago, I never heard a single good comment, Everyone, especially those who've never been, would warn me over and over not to go. Surely I'll be robbed, decapitated, kidnapped or worse. There's a bandit behind every bush!

It would have been nice to hear an encouraging word, but those encouraging words only came from other motorcycle travelers who had actually spent time there.

My first venture into Mexico came in 2012 when I and four other riders rode to a BMW Motorrad Rally in Uruapan, Michoacan. I was afraid initially, as much about getting Montezuma’s Revenge as anything else. That trip turned out to be a hurried but absolutely rich life experience and I fell in love with Mexico and its people. Successive shorter trips came until February of 2017 when I spent three straight months exploring much of Mexico. It was a great time and experience. About the only dangerous thing I worried about was getting my toes stepped on in fiestas.

Unless you are hanging out in known bad areas, flashing gringo cash and toys, traveling at night or hanging in bars and drug related areas, you're likely to have nothing but a great time. I think travelers and vagabonds aren't worth a nickel to cartels, and the only thing you may attract would be the same that haunt any tourist area in the world - pickpockets and petty thieves.

Experiencing any place on a motorcycle is great in my opinion, and the people of Mexico have welcomed me with warmth, smiles and curiosity across the board. The only place that I felt unwelcome was in the large city of Uruapan with the indigenous people. They were cold and hard, but not as a whole.

As to driving or riding through Mexico, you'll encounter thousands of "topés" - concrete or blacktop speed bumps - randomly and at any area they feel needs to have speed controlled. Be warned, they can and do appear anywhere, on any road and unexpectedly. They are a great, low tech way to control speeds, but they are exhausting and irritating!

There are basically two types of roads in Mexico, the toll roads known as "cuotas" and toll-free roads known as "libré". The toll roads are similar to the ones in the US - fast, smooth and generally in excellent condition. If you need to make time they are the way to do it. There is a lot of truck traffic on them so generally the right lane can have potholes, and the left lane is very high speed and similar to the autobahn. Despite speed limits the left lane is for very fast driving and you are expected to stay to the right unless driving very fast. Be careful when you move into the left lane as there can be cars traveling 150 mph easily at times. Don’t ask me how I know.

Generally the drivers in Mexico are courteous and aware. Usually they will move to the right to allow passing, generally putting on their left blinker to signal that it's clear to pass. By the same token you never know if it really is a signal to pass or if they are signaling a left turn.

Also, cars from the oncoming lane will come into your lane to pass and it's normal for you to move over to allow them to pass. Sounds odd but you'll get used to it.

If you are on a motorcycle, you are expected to lane-split and move to the front of a line or at a stop light. This is normal for Mexico and drivers are used to it. If you can fit go ahead whether between cars, the oncoming lane or shoulder. I've also discovered that on a larger bike, they seem to honor you. Maybe it’s due to the machismo thing in the culture, or who knows what, but you'll be treated with a bit more respect, with cars making room for you on a large bike as versus the ubiquitous little Italika's and small local bikes that swarm everywhere.

Gasoline is plentiful, all stations being owned by Pemex. They are attended and small tips are appropriate to the person filling your tank. It's recommended, at least on a motorcycle, to use the Red Premium gasoline. The routine is to pull in, say "Roja" for red and then "lleno" for full. Using a credit card at one is difficult and in most cases they are cash only, so carry plenty of pesos.

Driving in Mexico is really more about common sense than rules, and when you understand that what seems like chaos will suddenly make sense. If three cars will fit in two lanes, why not? If there's a route between the cars in a traffic jam, why sit for hours in the sun on a motorcycle? I find riding in Mexico a lot of fun and a bit refreshing. Funny thing is, I've been riding in Mexico for many months and have seen very, very few accidents compared the the U.S. It's amazing to me. I’ve spent three months in Mexico ranging from big cities to tiny villages, and have seen three accidents, all minor. Comparatively, my first day back across the border back into Texas, I counted seven wrecks from Laredo to Austin in the four hours I was on the road. So much for our “rules and regulations”.

#Travel #Mexico

Tuesday 10.07.25
Posted by Joseph Savant
 

Lost In the Fog

9.23.2017

Fate, it would seem, had destined I not sleep much in Mexico. The little hotel in Comitán was great but a loud mosquito got into the room and I couldn't get it for anything. It landed in my ear canal randomly throughout the night, along with some very, very late hotel arrivals coming in, heralded by loud banging on the steel gate and shouts at some point deep in the night. I got revenge on them by opening my door in nothing but my underwear and glaring at them.

I was up and on the road by 8:30, having triple checked my passport, Mexican paperwork and all other foofooraw necessary for the border. Comitán was a nice town and I would have stayed another day but I just wanted to break the mental barrier of crossing into another country. The unknown of many unknowns yet to come gnawed at me and I wanted to allay the fears as soon as possible. Knowing no Spanish nor the procedures which would undoubtedly differ than the routine of Mexico I had learned made me nervous.

Guatemala lay an hour and a half away on MX 190, Ciudad Cuauhtémoc the last Mexican town on the way. The weather was beautiful and the air a bit chilly. Far on the horizon I could see monster cloud formations that I hoped would magically vanish during the day.

Ciudad Cuauhtémoc. Move along, nothing to see here...

Ciudad Cuauhtémoc is also where you check out of Mexico and the process was fairly simple and straightforward. Except that the computer system was down in the Immigration Office. For about 30 minutes I stood outside, having checked the bike out from the Aduana Office and getting my deposit credited back. A lonely dog spotted me and came over with the biggest smile on her face, then laid down by my feet and waited with me until the system came back on. Without the extra delay of a crashed computer system checking out of the country would have been about 15 minutes total.

From the Aduana office in Mexico, it's a few kilometers to the border, signaled by a sudden conglomeration of roadside shops and general insanity on the Mexican side of the border.

As I pulled up to the border crossing at La Mesilla I saw a set of red cones with no one there, so I bypassed them and parked nearby. A money changer came up and we did business, swapping pesos for Guatemalan quetzals. I'd forgotten to rid myself of a pocket full of coins in Mexico and he didn't want them, so I'll still jingle when I walk in Guatemala.

A few minutes after, the money changer found me and much to my surprise handed me additional money! Apparently I had given him more than I realized and he'd discovered the mistake. What an honest man.

The money changer pointed out that the red cones were where the fumigation process was, so I rolled the bike backwards into the cone area and the bike was sprayed while I chatted with a guy observing. The price wasn't posted, but I'd read somewhere it was 11 quetzals and I handed the attendant two of my new pre-owned 10 q bills, but when he pushed me the papers to sign he gave me back 19 q. So for me it was 1 q for the fee. Weird.

Next came the Inmigracion office, where I stood for a while at the empty counter. Eventually a grumpy man appeared from a side room wiping food off his face and grabbing my passport without looking at me. In a bit he returned a form for me to fill out and then pointed me to the Aduana next door.

I rode the bike 20 feet further into Guatemala and parked, a crowd of locals staring at the bike. Right off the bat, the Guatemalan people looked very different than the faces of Mexico. The women were in traditional garb of muted earth-tone colors such as maroon, dull green and mustard. Quite a different palette than bright Mexico, but subtle and just as beautiful.

At the Aduana window I presented my paperwork, handing several pieces including my still folded title in it's official envelope. Apparently this offended the clerk who tossed it back to me and changed his attitude. It was not intentional on my part, but just part of juggling papers, jacket, helmet, tank bag and wallet. I carefully opened it and passed it through the bars to Mr. Offended. After a while he was finalizing my papers and about to hand it all back, pointing to the bank office with its black-suited-12-gauge-pump-shotgun-wielding-guard at the door, when the computer system went down. He shrugged, took my paperwork back and went back into another room to watch a soccer game on tv.

While I waited for about 20 minutes, an SUV pulled up with a gringo and his guide/friend from Mexico. He had driven from Washington though Mexico alone, meeting his friend and then heading for Antigua. We had a long conversation while waiting for the system to come back up, and about an hour later the process started again.

My paperwork finally came through the window and I was allowed into the tiny, air-conditioned bank by the guard to pay my 160 quetzals. Then it was back into the heat, receipt back to the window, Mr. Not-So-Offended-Anymore going out to slap a sticker on the bike and wish me well, then a final inspection by the gate guard and I waved goodbye to the guys and rolled into a different world.

There was no mistaking that I and Toto weren't in Mexico anymore. The people were different, the colors were different, the trucks and monster buses were different. La Mesilla was a bit of chaos. Shops lined the streets, thick with people and traffic. Toyota pickups with the rear bed loaded with standing room only crowds of people, the rear end so low the front wheels seemed they'd lift off the ground and they were everywhere. Add a couple hundred more three-wheel tuk-tuks driving crazily and welcome to Guatemala.

The road into the country out of La Mesilla was narrow, twisty and full of traffic, not to mention potholes, but lead into an absolutely stunning set of mountains, with very steep and narrow canyons coated with dense vegetation up into misty clouds. As with Mexico, it's really difficult to find any place to stop for a picture. The views are seen in brief moments between brush and traffic. Stopping anywhere on the road to take a photo is dangerous with the constant trucks, buses and cars on the narrow shoulder-less roads. It's frustrating as hell to see such scenery and not be able to capture it. But trust me, it's great.

I was captured by the different dress of the indigenous people, the landscape, the roaring muddy rivers of red or brown and the deep, steep mountains with waterfalls. All this seen in brief glimpses since the road required major concentration for curves, vehicles and serious potholes. A couple of local men had told me the road was very rough and it would take a while to reach either Huehuetenango or Panajachel. They were correct.

By the time I did reach the turnoff for Huehue, my initial destination, the day still felt early and it seemed a bit foolish to not head on for Panajachel. I was getting tired from the intense ride, dodging oncoming cars and buses who weave back and forth across the road to avoid potholes and water. The drivers in Guatemala lack the courtesy of Mexico, driving aggressively, refusing to budge or make room when passing, trying to block you from lane splitting and more. It's a different game than in Mexico.

I grabbed a piece of grilled chicken from a vendor at the turn for Huehue, and then headed on for Panajachel, about an hour and a half away according to my myriad apps. My Garmin refused to cooperate, showing no towns or information in Guatemala whatsoever even though I'd paid for Central and South American maps. Defaulting to phone apps were the solution and a good one. Garmin, you suck. Even CanuckCharlie would agree.

The roads continued to stress and amaze, but became so bad in areas it would have been better to just be on dirt. Seriously. The bad part is that cars, trucks and semi's are all swerving into the oncoming lane to avoid potholes and multiple times I came close to a hit. At one bridge crossing they were doing repairs, which consisted of cutting out bad concrete with a saw and simply leaving an open 24" x 24" hole to the river below. It was insane dodging them, as they were all over the bridge and would easily swallow a front wheel.

A day of this!

After a while the fatigue set in. Elevations went up to 10,000 feet and temps down to 50º. I'd been lucky and able to skirt showers most of the day, but the cloud cover got thicker and thicker, eventually to the point where visibility was almost zero, yet the pothole and truck dodging continued.

About an hour away from Panajachel and Lago Atitlan, the dense fog suddenly became torrential rain. I didn't have time to really button up or put on my rain pants as there were no safe places to stop and in 5 minutes everything was soaked. My previously waterproof jacket leaked and my sleeves were full of water which pooled around my elbows and I felt the cold of water on my back and stomach. So much for an expensive motorcycle jacket. I've never had one that didn't eventually leak.

I finally found a gas station to pull in where I could check my phone and see where I was. Guatemala has no road signs and you never quite know where you are. The rain was coming down so hard I just couldn't make myself head back into it, despite already being soaked. After about 30 minutes it slacked a bit and I continued on. Roaring waterfalls of red water and mud spewed off the hillsides and onto the road in places, the ditches overflowing across the roads and as I entered towns, riding through foot deep water rushing down the steep streets.

In the town of Solola the fog was so thick at times I couldn't even see street signs. I didn't know how I'd find the hotels in Panajachel if it got worse. Seriously.

Continuing on the road down the mountain for Panajachel and Lago de Atitlan, the clouds lifted some as did the rain. I got a brief glimpse of the lake which was buried in fog.

Soaked as a wet rat when I rolled into Panajachel, I finally found an inviting place to stay. Dripping wet, I entered the office and paid my quetzals, unsure what the rate translated to in USD, but all I wanted was to get warm and dry. The girl running the place made me an awesome mug of hot coffee and brought it to the room which got me warmed up and feeling cozy pronto.

Looking forward to getting a view of Lake Atitlan and the volcanoes in the morning!

#Panajachel #Guatemala #Photography #BMWR1200GS #Adventure #Travel

Tuesday 10.07.25
Posted by Joseph Savant
 

Lago Atitlan

9.24.2017

The day dawned early to the noise of tuk-tuks zipping down the narrow street outside. The previous day's ride had drained me more than I realized, so it was a bit later when I ventured out of the room into a brief few moments of sunshine. The wet streets were active with vendors and traffic as I wandered towards the lake looking for coffee.

Five minutes of sunshine!

 

At the waterfront, the volcanoes were shrouded in white but the lake was beautiful, reminiscent of the scenes from Alaska from last year, dramatic and mysterious. Along the waterfront area were many restaurants, all empty and I ran a gauntlet of young men dressed nicely hawking the restaurants, as well as a few indigenous women selling wraps and blankets, mainly carried on their heads.

Panajachel is not brightly colored as with Mexico, but its people are very friendly. Instead of glares and heads quickly covered or turned at photos, generally people smiled and enjoyed the attention. As I walked people would make eye contact and smile warmly. It felt inviting.

 

Appearing in and out of clouds above I saw two parasails circling high above the city like the birds who were circling with them. They stayed afloat for long periods of time, often completely gone in the mist. What a sensation they must have felt.

There were a few tourists but not obnoxiously so, and a few funky cafes and bars but it wasn’t overwhelming and overdone.

 

Rain showers came frequently, causing me to duck and dodge into doorways or under overhangs, covering the camera from blowing mist as much as possible, then the slowly dissipating rain tugging me back into the street to dodge racing tuk-tuks and their passengers.

The tuks have been fun to watch, some festooned with lights and gizmos, some plain and some customized with racing style seats, custom wheels and aftermarket exhausts.

 

After dodging water for a while I ducked into a coffee shop patio where several older American men sat discussing politics and George Carlin. Ex-pats congregated together, sharing details of Social Security direct deposits and exchange rates. It wasn't too long before I was wishing I'd chosen a different spot, as I've found the lack of understanding language has created an ambient aural background that leaves me free of the details of politics and the yap of life.

I watched as a young girl came out of the rain and sat at the next table as my Café Americano arrived. A brief discussion proved her origin from Germany and she discussed her time as a volunteer for a month in a place outside nearby Solala.

I headed back into the sporadic rain to wander again and sneak a few photos, my cheap umbrella leaking drops of cold water down my neck, discovering a couple of Guatemala decals for the bike in a little shop unexpectedly. Travel decals are a bit harder to come by than expected so it was a nice perk. I'm finding the prices here higher than expected, and seem to be commensurate with the U.S. for things like food and such. Possibly it's due to being a tourist destination. Mexico was definitely cheaper for similar things, however the hotel is roughly the same. At the moment it's about 7.5 quetzals per USD.

In a particularly rainy blast I ducked under a vacant vendor shed and shortly afterwards were joined by another couple of street searchers. Guess what? Dos chicas de Israel. Yep, we laughed at the same random encounter as we'd had in San Cristobal de Las Casas. The two Israeli girls had ridden the bus in yesterday, in the same rains and fog. We laughed and parted ways, promising to bump into each other again in Antigua.

As the day waned, I wandered back to the lake where the vendors were slowly giving in and accepting the day's defeat from rain, women packing up entire stalls of goods, packing them into huge wrapped bundles and carrying them on their heads as they walked away.

Across the lake I could see nothing, as a white wall of rain came blowing for Panajachel. Boats pulled away from the docks and raced away, whether just from the day's ending or the approaching white wall, I don't know. I sought shelter under a vacant booth near the restaurants and others came and found spots nearby. The rains came hard and I spent much time watching water pour from plastic sheets overhead, feeling emotions long past from my childhood in southeast Texas, watching rains from a porch and the boredom I've not felt in such a long time.

Said boredom was broken quickly by two young boys suddenly bursting in from the rain with a lone beer and lime in the neck, as surprised to see me as I was them. In their white shirts and black pants it was obvious they were restaurant hawkers who'd snagged a beer from the place and hidden it for later. They quickly disappeared again, leaving the cold beer sitting and sweating in the humidity of the rain.

I watched the rain for a long time, silent others in different stalls watching the same. In the booth adjacent I turned and caught the stare of an indigenous woman whose eyes enlarged at being caught, trying as fast as possible to look away. Across the way, the two boys from the restaurant appeared, the youngest smelling of pot and stoned so heavily he had to hang on to his friend. He clumsily wandered over and found his beer for a swig, then walked back to his friend and laid his head in his lap, barely able to stay awake.

The rainy day was enjoyed very much, spending the remaining light walking through water puddles in my sandals and watching people racing home on scooters, the indigenous women always riding sidesaddle on the rear, holding bags and children as necessary, their esposos swerving through tuks, traffic and tourists to beat the rain.

#Panajachel #Photography #BMWR1200GS #Adventure #Travel #Guatemala

Tuesday 10.07.25
Posted by Joseph Savant
 

Peaceful Panajachel

9.25.2017

The rain was much less today, confirmed by a few rays of sunshine which only seem to appear about 11 in the morning. Of course, I'm here in the final couple of months of rainy season but it doesn't dampen my experience. Pun intended nyuk nyuk.

More street explorations and encounters. The ladies selling blankets and wraps here are even more tenacious than in Mexico. Young and old, they ask your name and call you a friend despite repeated "no gracias" only to switch to the tactics of saying they'll give you a day to think on it and will see me tomorrow. I swear one old lady could sell a saxophone to a man with no lips.

There was sunshine on the lake and the views were great, between interruptions of "Hello amigo. You wish to go in boat? No? I am an artist. Here. You buy these beautiful pen covers I made. No? Here is a bird quetzal for keys. No? Yes you buy. You are my friend. No? Here is a beautiful different color you buy? No? Put the gun away my friend. I see you mañana and you buy then!"

 

Wanderings and photos found, including the mercado away from the tourist area, the best small one I've encountered yet. As the day faded to darkness I ran across a photo and copy place and had a small print made for an old man I'd photographed. The rains came as I tried to find his stall in the darkness, trying to keep the print from getting wet from drizzle beneath my crappy umbrella. I walked the entire street to find him but he was gone and most of the street shops were closed up now.

I gave up and wandered back up the main drag looking for some dinner. Off to my left in a spot out of the rain, I spotted the old man with his huge bundle about to walk into the rain. I jumped a puddle on the way over and stopped him. His present made him smile and laugh, grabbing my hand and shaking it intensely. He said "Mañana." I gave him a pat on the back and headed back into the rain.

A few lonely tourists and local vendors heading home were about the only ones out as I found a pizza place, chosen for its seating and view of the dark street. Across were a few eating joints, empty save a person or two in each. My small pizza came hot and as I waited for it to cool, I watched as a three-legged dog came up the street. I wondered how he fared amongst the dog culture here I'd observed in my walks. He hopped along, looking at each restaurant and then going inside. After the fourth, he paused in the sprinkling rain across the street and looked me directly in the eye. In a few short hops he was up the steps and introduced himself, then laid down by the table. It wasn't long before a few bites of pizza came his way. A reward for his good manners.

I'd avoided all the tricks of the street vendors only to be sucked in by a three legged dog!

#Panajachel #Photography #BMWR1200GS #Adventure #Travel #Guatemala #Atitlan

Tuesday 10.07.25
Posted by Joseph Savant
 

Guatemalan Roads

9.26.2017

Where else can a 60 mile trip on a "main" road take 4 hours, cross a mudslide, then boulders and rubble across the road up high in the mountains, while dodging 999,999 potholes in rains and clouds, and then a river crossing because the bridge was washed away??? Guatemala!

Leaving Panahachel and Lago Atitlan

Okay, since the maps indicated roughly 60 miles and a two hour ride from Panajachel to Antigua, I took my time loading the bike, taking pics with the hotel staff of giggling girls and guys wanting to sit on the big BMW.

I had contacted Casa Elena in Antigua as suggested by a friend and had a room waiting there. I stopped for a last coffee and croissant downtown, shooing away vendors except for one lady who told me I was beautiful and wanted to know how old I was, before heading off for Antigua. I'd finally gotten my GPS working by reinstalling the OSM maps I'd uploaded back in Texas, and voila, I had maps of Guatemala!

Heading up the street, I was redirected by traffic cops into the market area and to a street that was torn up. I followed traffic and alternate route signs that led me back into downtown. I even talked to a couple of policemen who indicated following the signs. It seemed the detour was just a cyclical loop so I finally bailed and looked up a bypass through the streets that got me around the jam and onto the main road again.

It led up into the mountains quickly and steeply, and after a few miles I stopped for a landslide, obviously from a huge amount of water off the mountain. There were some government observers there, observing, and I stopped briefly to ask if it was from a quake or water. "Mucho agua!" was the answer as they took pics of the bike with their cell phones.

I went on around the corner and found that most of the debris had washed away but it was about 100 yards of shallow mud and puddles, two guys standing amidst it and waving. Whatever they were doing I have no idea as the waving made no sense, but I stood on the pegs as the bike slid a bit in the slick mud.

From there, the road climbed steeply into the mist with severe switchbacks, potholes continuous and constant. As I got higher and higher, the road worsened to the point I began to wonder if somehow I'd been "Garminized", but my Maps.me app agreed with the route so I continued forward. About that time the sprinkles began to get heavier and the road slicker. The views were stunning with heavy greenery and steep valleys. I kept going until the road was only pieces of blacktop at times, twisting its way uphill. Debris falls of rock and mud covered the road in spots, with just enough room to get the bike through by squeezing near the edge.

At this point I was convinced I had missed the main road, but continued. The rain came and went. As I descended into a valley, the blacktop road disappeared into greenery, the asphalt broken and gone. The only option was onto a dirt road that led down to a small river. From there I could see that the main road and bridge crossing had been washed away in a flood. I took it easy crossing the water, about 16 inches deep or so, and was glad I did as there were some big rocks lurking below. Being alone I didn't relish the idea of dropping the big Beemer in the water.

River crossing done, I was on pavement again for long time, averaging 15-20 mph dodging potholes. I've never seen roads in such bad condition but I figure it's preparation for further south.

 

The rains hit again and my leaky jacket leaked again. The GPS said I only had 30 miles to go but it was slow until I finally got onto a concrete highway with big trucks and their muddy spray. Eventually the rain died down just about as the road came to a stop in a major traffic jam. The GPS said 7.4 miles to my next turn and we were going nowhere. My only option was the narrow shoulder which I gladly took. It was a non-stop ticket, but I'll tell ya my butt was biting the seat as my bars were about 6" from the semi's on one side and dead even with the edge of drop-off ditch on the other.

I rode the entire 7.4 miles on the shoulder between the big rigs and the ditch. I'll admit to closing my eyes and gritting my teeth multiple times as it seemed the bars would clip a truck too close to the line. The drivers here are definitely hard and aggressive, racing to keep you from passing them, cutting you off and generally cutting no slack whatsoever. I was fully expecting one of the rigs to purposely swerve and knock me into the ditch but it didn't happen.

I had to laugh because my "60 mile cruise" to Antigua turned out to be a butt biting, pothole mania, rain soaked, river crossed, mudslide slippery, landslide dirt and rock day. I was wet and tired after the four hour trip!

Guatemala, if this is an indication of the roads, it might take me a bit longer to get through than planned... But I'm absolutely loving it!

#Landslide #Atitlan #Panajachel #Photography #BMWR1200GS #Adventure #Travel #Guatemala

Tuesday 10.07.25
Posted by Joseph Savant
 

Antics in Antigua

9.27.2017

My lodging, Casa Elena in Antigua, turned out to be a beautiful, relaxing bed and breakfast, and the owners Harvey and Diane are awesome folks. I was treated to a fantastic dinner at their hands and enjoyed hearing stories of their international travels. Harvey is a BMW MOA ambassador and a wealth of information. In fact, they were leaving the next morning to fly back to Vermont to pick up a new F800GS Adventure to ride back to Guatemala on a leisurely trip south.

Just as they were about to leave at breakfast the next morning, Harvey got a call from a Canadian couple who'd been robbed at gunpoint on a road south of Lake Atitlan on the same day I'd ridden the north side of the lake to Antigua. They were on a motorcycle trip from Canada to South America and were asking if they could get help with information on where to ship the motorcycles home from. Harvey said the road they'd taken was well known for getting robbed on. The couple were due in that afternoon and Harvey wanted me to know they were arriving.

The old town of Antigua is surrounded by three volcanoes, one of which is still active but it has not been making noise lately. I'm hoping for a clearer day to see all three, as the rainy season has covered the area with mist and overcast skies.

I walked the streets of the crumbling town, passing ruins of churches destroyed in earthquakes from the past. It had been the capitol city of Guatemala but after a big quake destroyed the town, the government moved to what is now Guatemala City. Antigua is active and there are a few tourists, but in the old section it is not as frenetic as other places I've been. The friendliness of the people who speak and acknowledge you on the street with a smile still surprises me. I do realize that I'm viewed as the gold-plated arse that spews silver coinage to those with anything to sell, but there is a genuineness in the warmth of the people who aren't just working the gringo.

The niche for a saint symbolically above the Mayan pyramid

 

The massive mahogany floats used in the Easter celebration of Santa Semana. It takes fifty people to carry each, twenty five per side

 

#Antigua #Guatemala #Adventure #Photography #BMWR1200GS #Travel

Tuesday 10.07.25
Posted by Joseph Savant
 

Le Francais in Antigua

9.28.2017

So the French Canadian couple who'd been robbed at Lago Atitlan had arrived while I was walking around the town. Christine and Jules were very friendly but definitely shaken from the experience. They had left the little town of San Pedro on the south side of the lake on the way to El Salvador, when two men wearing black masks and hoodies ran out on the road in front of them with guns. They stopped and the guns were put to their heads while the robbers searched their pants and jackets. One used a machete to slice open Christine's rain suit and steal her wallet. They also took the tank bag which had her cell phone, medicines and other things. The story is long and involved, but they were glad to be safe and were planning to cancel their trip to south America and ship the bikes home to Canada. They'd also had a bad experience at the border of Mexico and Guatemala, and after the robbery they had decided to forget their trip south.

Incredibly, there is a helmet cam video on YouTube of a couple on motorcycles being robbed in the identical spot on the road between San Pedro and Antigua. It is most likely these are the same two robbers that held up Jules and Christine.

Christine, who spoke English, and her husband Jules, who spoke only French, went in search of a new phone and to fax some information for replacement documents. I went in search of the mercado and boy did I find it. Antigua's mercado is like nothing I've yet experienced. Acres of everything in the world, stuffed into tiny, dark, narrow passages one can barely squeeze through. It was a maze and I have no idea how you'd ever pick a vendor or two in the place, or even find them again. I got overwhelmed and had to find my way out.

Pictures cannot capture this market!

Yes, even empty bottles and cans are for sale!

 

As I wandered quickly down a side street, I heard someone shouting my name. I didn't stop, assuming it was for someone else but the voice got more intense. I turned around and walked back a few feet, only to find Greg, the American guy I'd met briefly at the La Mesilla border, behind a barred window. He was in a small gym working out and had seen me walk past the window. We chatted a bit, but man that threw me hearing my name being called out in a foreign city.

My heart was warmed as always, seeing how much Texas has influenced the world. They even built a replica of The Alamo here.

When I returned to Casa Elena, the couple were playing with their new phone and downloading maps.me to be able to use it as a GPS. One of the bikes had a flat front tire so we pulled it and swapped in a new tube. Doesn't sound too interesting but when you consider that I don't speak French and Jules doesn't speak English, we both defaulted to trying to communicate in Spanish. Since neither of us really speak or understand Spanish, it was even more interesting. I defaulted to a "Marcel Marceau changing a tire" routine which seemed to help. Unfortunately the tube got pinched and we had to use his 2nd spare tube.

I told his wife Christine that I was having enough trouble with Spanish, and now having French thrown into the mix had really tossed a wrench in it. Jules will say something to me in French and I answer in baby talk Spanish. Somehow it feels satisfying though, as if I'm having a real conversation in a foreign language.

They're still waiting for paperwork and trying to get credit cards, etc., unsure if they'll stay on the road. Gail, the ex-pat overseeing Casa Elena while Harvey and Diane are gone, and I took them out for dinner and we had some laughs and good times. She and I determined to make them laugh and enjoy some things since they were so burdened from their experience. Once they have had a few days of rest and to clear the shock, I hope they will continue their journey. I stayed a couple of extra days to hang out with them and offered to ride with them if they chose to continue on their journey. It is very hard to explain, but Christine and I felt instantly like brother and sister and Jules and I felt like like family.

One thing I've enjoyed here are the variety of cars. In Mexico there are plenty of new versions of vehicles we don't get in the U.S., but here there a lot of older vehicles, lots of simple 4x4's similar to Daihatsu and Trackers, old BMW cars, and apparently all the old Isuzu Troopers flew south to winter in Antigua and never returned. Lots of cool old diesels around the town.

And of course, the coffee. Man is it good, smooth, and plentiful

#Antigua #Adventure #Guatemala #Travel #Photography

Tuesday 10.07.25
Posted by Joseph Savant
 

Rio Dulce

10.03.2017

My time in Antigua was a lot of fun, ending up relaxing a few days longer than expected. I enjoyed spending time with my new friends from Canada and while they are waiting for paperwork I decided to escape Antigua for a couple of days. The time at Casa Elena was great, relaxing and a lot of fun.

The combination of belching diesel chicken buses, enclosed streets and residual volcanic ash, combined with the constant rains and moisture, did a hellacious number on my sinus and allergies. They'd gotten so bad I felt a trip out of the area was the only solution, so I decided to visit the BMW dealer in Guatemala City to look around and then continue east towards Rio Dulce for a few days then return to Antigua. I'd been told Rio Dulce was a pretty area and it didn't appear too far away. Canuck Charlie texted me that he had arrived in Guatemala and was coming to the Guatemala City BMW dealer the same day, but we missed each other. Charlie also booked a stay at Casa Elena, and since I'd left my old room was now available. I told him about Jules and Christine's experience and knew they'd enjoy connecting.

The maps showed Rio Dulce to be about 200 miles and 3.5 hours from Antigua, but based on my experience so far, I figured it would be 5 hours. Getting out of Guatemala City was horrible as expected, but the road north finally opened up and the scenery was great, caught in glances between trucks and highway issues.

The roads quickly deteriorated however and miles of trucks became the norm. I spent much of the ride in the oncoming lane passing miles of crawling traffic and pulling off onto the oncoming shoulder to let traffic by. It culminated in a 1 hour stop for road construction. I'd ridden past a huge traffic jam and finally made the front where I sat with a couple of other motorcyclists in the heat. My accomplice gave me a piece of candy and a thumbs up as we sat there.

In my rearview mirror - better attitude than me!

Finally, the workers came up to move the barricade and we started up in preparation to get moving again. What I didn't expect was the reaction when the barricade moved. From behind and around me, it was like the start of a motocross race. Pickups and motorcycles took off in a cloud of dust, cars fishtailing and spewing gravel wildly. It was a flat out race and pure madness and there was nothing to do but try to beat the insanity so I cracked the throttle and raced to get out of the gravel spraying bedlam of vehicles, barely beating out an angry driver in his pickup truck. It was crazy and as I said before, the Guatemalans here drive hard.

I got ahead of all the traffic and using the big 1200cc engine to it's max, blew through the construction, dust and rubble on the road for miles.

I'd already been on the road for a few hours when I had to grab something fast to eat, as I knew there was no way I'd make Rio before dark and the impending storm cloud ahead. Amazingly there was a Burger King, and though I rarely eat at places like that, the burger and fries were dang good and lifted my energy. I know, Burger King? It was fast is why.

Ahead loomed a black storm cloud and fading daylight. Despite my best efforts, the sheer amount of truck traffic and seriously deep potholes kept the pace slow and I was getting worn out from the constant concentration. I rounded a curve and was instantly in a monsoon shower. It came so quickly that by the time I got off the road to suit up, I was completely drenched. I got a rain jacket on but I just gave up on the rest. I sat under a tree for a bit, as the sheer white rain poured and poured. Daylight was fading and I had no idea how long the rain would last, so I decided to push on. It was a scary scenario, because the wheel swallowing potholes now were invisible, filled to the road level with water and the heavy rains laying a sheet of water on the road. I rode slowly trying to spot the potholes which would easily swallow the front wheel of the moto. Subsequently I've read that Guatemala is infamous for the deep corruption of its highway department with money being shoveled into the officials accounts rather than used for repairs. Never have I ever seen such horrible road conditions and it bears witness to that corruption.

It's generally true that rains come in the afternoon, but here the roads and traffic are so bad that the delays push you into the afternoon rain, no matter what your plans are.

I could barely see in the rain and felt the insanity of what I was doing, but I didn't want to be doing this in the pitch black of night either. After about 30 minutes the rain lightened, but my boots were now filled with water as well as my jacket arms, and underwear. The rows of trucks never ended as the darkness finally came. Rain was heavy, then light, and finally disappeared completely. I rolled into Rio Dulce well after dark, pulling into a gas station under the suspicious gaze of a 12 gauge pump wielding security guard. The shotgun wielding guards are everywhere in Guatemala so I'm used to them, however this guy made me uncomfortable. He watched me intently for the entire time I was there trying to find a hotel on my phone.

By the time I finally found one, rode a few miles in the dark on a dirt road to find it and paid an exorbitant rate, it had been over 8 hours for a theoretical 3 hour ride. Riding here is very tiring and you cannot relax in any form. I spent the next few hours trying to dry out gear around the room and get my head cleared. But hey, it's adventure right?

#Guatemala #Photography #BMWR1200GS #Adventure #Travel





Tuesday 10.07.25
Posted by Joseph Savant
 

Guatemala to Honduras... Not.

10.04.2017

I woke up to a sunny day and a beautiful view of the river from my room. The sun was out and the intense humidity was already uncomfortable when I went to load the bike. I'd intended to go to the Mayan ruins of Tikal, but after the long previous day in the intense heat I decided I'd had enough of humidity and rain. Tropical storm Nate was already dumping on the region and none of my gear, clothes or shoes have been dry for weeks.

Charlie had arrived at Casa Elena, and he, Christine and Jules had decided to ride together. I was very happy to hear that my new friends had decided not to give up their trip, and riding with Charlie would be beneficial. My plan had been to ride back to Antigua to travel with them, however they and Charlie had decided they were taking the main road into El Salvador. My original route was to visit Copán, Honduras and then cross Honduras to Nicaragua, bypassing El Salvador to avoid an extra border crossing. Border crossings in Central America can be real nightmares, and I had no desire to go to El Salvador. Copán, Honduras was nearby, so I let the Three Amigos know I would meet them in Nicaragua rather than return to Antigua. My maps showed approximately 100 miles to the El Florido border crossing and the Honduran town of Copán with its famous Mayan ruins.

The day had started bright with beautiful blue skies, however it wasn't long before the rain began to fall. At 10 in the morning the temperature was already 95 and trying to find a spot to get off the road and suited up for the rain just didn't happen. I gave up and accepted the fact that my ride and gear would be soaking wet. The rains appear so quickly that it's impossible to keep swapping gear in that short of time and then 10 minutes later be baking in heat and sunshine.

The rain let up fairly soon, however the traffic didn't, until I made the turn for the 30 mile road to the border. It turned out to be a beautiful ride, the road twisting and turning up to a high ridge along the top of the mountains. There were no trucks, only the local traffic which was few and far between. The blue skies and sunshine finally allowed me views of spectacular scenery. I stopped on the road side to take a few pictures and eat a power bar since I'd skipped breakfast. Cars and trucks passed slowly, honking and the people waving. One motorcyclist coming from the direction I was headed waved, then looped around, came back and parked next to me. He began speaking to me in Spanish and shook my hand, then began talking about the road ahead indicating that a landslide had occurred, but also demonstrated the width and that a motorcycle could cross.

The little devil on one shoulder kept saying "Awesome, go ahead!" and a little angel on the other kept saying "This might not end well". I listened to the little devil, fired up the bike and continued on.

The road was in good condition considering, and I was really enjoying the twists and turns and spectacular views. I passed through a few small villages and saw evidence of major rains, with piles of rocks partially obstructing the road, banana trees having slid down in mud piles, water and mud running across the road and more.

A rare bit of color in Guatemala

Groups of Brahma cattle covered the road in sections, some herded by an attendant and others simply loose on the road. Brahma seem to be the choice of cattle here, as I see truckloads of them in my hours of road time.

There were some areas of road erosion, but I passed a small group of parked vehicles and pulled up to the scene ahead of several parked trucks, military and police officers. I could see where the mountainside had slid away under the road and there only remained a narrow portion of blacktop.

Taking the dirt road around, there were some officers who indicated I could go ahead, but as I got to the bridge two officers in black told me to stop. The main dude indicated that I couldn't cross, but shortly after an old man and some others began pointing up over the mountains. The officer came back and indicated that I could go ahead and around to Copán. Everyone seemed to agree, so I went ahead and rode across the narrow remains of the road. It was wide enough for pedestrians and hand trucks ferrying supplies over.

The road continued up to a fairly good-sized town, which twisted and turned so much that the GPS got confused. I worked my way up and down the super steep streets, and I'm not kidding about super steep, out the other side of town. People definitely were surprised at my presence, and a slow dribble of vehicles coming from the other direction seemed to confirm that the road went through.

It wasn't long before the blacktop became dirt with major rain ruts. It was very bad in some places and I began to question whether this was a good idea. It was the first real off-road workout I've had on the bike on this trip. The Heidenau's were great in the shallow mud and gripped like glue in the dirt. Love these tires!

It was getting harder to believe that this was the route to the official El Florido border crossing. Several times I stopped and walked ahead, having learned years ago about getting a big GS turned around at the bottom of a steep muddy hill. I pushed on in the heat and crossed several mud debris areas. It culminated in a long muddy downhill with a river crossing at the bottom. As I sat looking, a 4 x 4 Toyota pickup full of people came down the hill behind me and I watched him cross to see the depth and softness since it was apparent a lot of water had come through recently.

I got the bike through the rushing water and the soft stuff, to the gaze of the onlookers in the truck. They did not smile and were intently trying to figure out why this big gringo was on such a small road in their territory. I passed the truck and worked my way up some pretty steep hills with a lot of loose gravel and ruts. My GPS said that the main road lay one mile ahead and I was elated after working so hard in the heat. The road improved slightly which seemed to indicate it was nearing another main road, then got worse and turned steeply downhill. Halfway down I saw 2 ladies washing clothes in the water running through the ditch. From where they were, the road went downhill steeply and I decided I better walk it first. I managed to get the bike angled in such a way that I had somewhat of a chance of getting turned around if necessary. A few steps down the hill and to my disappointment saw the last bridge completely washed away. There was absolutely no chance of making it the last mile. Had I been able to, I only had a remaining 10 miles to the border crossing.

End of the road señor!

I walked back up the hill and see-sawed the bike back around, watched intently by the two expressionless ladies washing clothes in the mud red water next to me. My only choice was to head back through all the obstacles, crossing the river, mud and dirt track once again. The heat and hard work had taken its toll and I was getting tired.

Passing all the incredulous chickens and people again, I finally made it back to the initial landslide bridge. As I rolled across towards two officers, the female one turned to see me a few feet from her. It was such a shock she almost jumped off the ground. I will never forget her eyes and face at the utter shock of seeing a huge guy on a huge GS rolling towards her. Other than an alien, this was the last sight she ever expected. I laughed out loud.

I waved at all the policeman and soldiers who'd watched me go past an hour earlier, who whistled and waved back, then continued on back down to the town and the main highway. It was now 5 pm and my 100 mile trip had taken me seven hours only to go back to a new starting point, which would mean heading much further south and then coming back up to Copán on a different road.

I was tired, dehydrated and hungry. Stopping on the side of the road to assess what to do next, a young lady and guy walked past. Suddenly the girl spun around with a huge look of surprise and a smile. She ran over to the bike shouting "mil doscientos! mil doscientos!" She was truly elated at seeing a BMW 1200 Adventure and seemed to know a bit about it. What a shock.

In broken English she said "I never see in person!" I asked if they would like to take a picture but she acted sad and indicated she didn't have her phone. I motioned to them and then pulled over to safe place, pulled off my gear and pulled out my phone. They were excited and she had a blast getting her picture taken on the bike, then with my jacket on which almost touched the ground on her, she was so small. They walked away excitedly chattering about the bike and I texted the photos to her phone... with an immediate response from her esposo wanting to know who I was and how I knew her.

 

By this time it was 5:30 and I was completely beat, having spent the entire day trying to go 100 miles. I grabbed a hotel in Zacapa, which showed to be about 60 miles from the border, tomorrow's destination. When I left my hotel this morning I only had to go 100 miles, yet seven hours later I still have 60 or 70 miles left to go.

Guatemala, where every day is an adventure!

#Copán #Landslide #Photography #BMWR1200GS #Adventure #Travel #Guatemala







Tuesday 10.07.25
Posted by Joseph Savant
 

Copán, Honduras

10.05.2017

There was heavy rain all night in Zacapa, and it continued until almost 11 the next morning. I retrieved the bike from the parking area between downpours and packed up. The hotel was decent, costing 110 quetzals which is about 15 USD, but it was a fourth floor walkup. People were friendly and they definitely don't see many gringos here!

I rode up the streets, the water having been so strong it blew the concrete manhole covers off and people had piled up trash or sticks around the holes to ward off drivers. Several men carried customized pistols on their belt, as I'd seen in many of the towns in Guatemala. Open carry is obviously okay here. I read somewhere that over 60% of the population is armed. They do like 12 gauge pump shotguns that's for sure.

Once again, Copán Ruinas was my destination and I suited up in rain gear for the inevitable. I topped off at a Shell station (they take credit cards in Guatemala btw as to cash only in Mexico) and was on my way up into the mountains. Evidence of massive rain was everywhere, with lots of mud and debris in patches along the way, roaring red rivers watched by locals from old bridges, and mountains covered in mist and rain clouds. Over the ranges, the skies were black and foreboding.

The tropical storm forming off Nicaragua and Honduras made me nervous about proceeding to a degree, and I considered going back to Antigua for a couple more days, but the idea of 5 -7 hours in the mud and trucks on the highway back was more than I could stand.

Along the way man after man and boy after boy walked along the highway, well used machetes in hand, silent symbols of difficult lives. Bundles of firewood testified to life in the little villages, where the basics of fire and water consumed their daily existence. Withered crops of corn covered the clearcut hillsides, which expose the land to rain and the subsequent mud slides. No wonder the cartel culture is attractive to locals when it offers the lure of money and a way out of hard poverty.

There is no missing the fact this is a poor country, where one does anything and everything to live, and yet they are friendly and helpful each place I stop and each place I go.

The constant rain and difficult roads have dulled my senses and I'm taking very few photos, almost feeling the need to just race through Central America. The rain, relentless potholes and dangerous traffic occupy your mind and when the photo opportunity arises there is no place to stop. No shoulders or place to get out of the way of big trucks. Your gear is wet at night and still wet in the mornings, your clothes are damp and smelly and your boots never dry. The gods of stink must be considering me for the Hall of Fame.

Having read up on the process of an "easy" border crossing at El Florido (Copán), it seemed simple enough. The rush of excitement and concern hit as the town crossing finally appeared. There were no vehicles to speak of, but the process went wonky early on. It wasn't exactly clear just where the line of the border was despite the gate, and the buildings didn't seem to match what I'd read about on someone's blog. The gate guard on the Guatemalan side told me (in Spanish) to park there and I'd need 2 copies of title, driver's license, Guatemalan papers, passport, registration and maybe something else. He checked my VIN and paperwork then pointed to a building across the street for "copias". As I dug out and readied my papers, he came back and pointed to a different building. Off I went into that office, only to be told no copies could be made, despite the presence of a large copier. He then pointed down the street and began ignoring me.

I wandered further down asking people "copias?" until one pointed further away to another building. In I went and saw "fotocopias" scrawled on a piece of paper pointing upstairs. Up I went to find two locked doors and no one there. Back downstairs, a man appeared eating a piece of fruit with the juice dripping off his chin and fingers. I said "copias?" and he pushed past me and went upstairs. I followed, he opened an office and proceeded to start copying my documents. He indicated that I only needed one but I insisted on two of each.

Now, I'm sweating in all my gear, and carried the docs back to the gate where I was surrounded by guys wanting to look at the bike and talk for a while. After sweating a few more minutes, the gate guard lifted the bar and pointed to a parking lot ahead. I pulled up and parked, then asked a money changer for "Aduana" and he pointed to a large building further ahead. I walked up first, then walked back to ride the bike to the building.

Usually you cancel the bike permit, then yourself when exiting a country. The nice looking building appeared to be a joint Inmigracion/Aduana for both Guatemala and Honduras. I carried my things in and went to the immigration window, where I was then sent to another window. The girl was eating lunch but spoke a tiny bit of English and had a sweet nature. She took my Guatemala papers, went to the bike and checked the VIN, then peeled off the Guatemalan windshield sticker and affixed it to her form. She then took several of my copies and told me to go back to the immigration window to get my visa work done and a stamp on the copy of my passport. Halfway through the process, after having my fingerprints scanned and a photo taken, the officer stopped the proceedings and indicated there was no exit stamp in my passport from Guatemala.

I had no idea I was actually on the Honduran side of things, since the Guatemalan guard had sent me to the building and when the lady removed the sticker and did the VIN check I assumed the office was for Guatemala. Back down the street to the tiny Guatemalan immigration building and in ten minutes had my stamp. Back up the street and into the Honduran Aduana/Immigration, I found the friendly immigration agent on lunch leave and a surly replacement instead. He was grouchy and unfriendly, taking a long time to redo my prints and passport. He then quoted me the price for entry in lempira, but I only had 315 quetzals and a $100 bill. As I started to go outside for a money changer, he suddenly mentioned quetzal and said "trescientos". Amazingly I had the 300 q and then he sent me back to the sweet girl, who asked for my stamped copy of the passport. The guy hadn't stamped the copy, but then came over to her to discuss. Now, instead, I needed a copy of the stamped passport, rather than a stamped copy of my passport. The dude felt sorry for me and made the copy himself.

All in order, she handed me back my remaining copies and originals, and said "You are free to go into Honduras!" I asked about a decal or something for the bike and she turned over the paperwork copy, showed me some stamps on the back and said "This is all you need."

Okay, but it seemed odd. Nevertheless I geared up and rode past the guard hut in Honduras, only to be stopped by the gate guy. He asked for papers, then said "No" and pointed back to the building. Back inside, the nice girl was gone and Mr. Surly was my only point of contact. I said something about the moto and he said "aduana" and pointed to a lady in the far corner.

I went and disturbed her, asking about the moto and she wasn't happy, saying "aduana" and pointing out the door, then looking at me like I was an idiot. I was, but I still resented it.

Out the door and onto the porch, there were three glass doors, all which said "Authorized personnel only" and nothing about Aduana. I walked past them and out of the building, finding a policemen who pointed me back to the same building. Back on the porch, the guy who'd done my very first copies sat pointing to one of the glass doors. I went in and found several desks but no one there. After a while, a man came out, perturbed at my presence and grouchy because I didn't speak Spanish. He looked at my copies and then said he needed two of everything. Dammit! I had one of everything left. Back outside and after asking around found a snack store across the street, the owner who didn't want to be bothered firing up his computer and scanning the copies, printing one of each.

As I walked back towards the Aduana, Mr. Surly had come outside and was walking past the bike. He came up to wish me "Buen viaje" then warned me to cross into Nicaragua at Las Manos, indicating it was the only safe crossing. I thanked him and he shook my hand.

Back inside with Mr. Grouchy, we muddled through the process - eventually. He said he needed 735 lempiras. When I stood to go get the 100 USD changed, a man with him said he'd change the money. I'm sure he made a bit on the deal but I was ready to get going. Then Mr. Grouchy indicated he had no change, so his friend swapped out the large bills.

Back out to look at the moto and finally my yellow form to show the gate guard. Mr. Grouchy became less grouchy and indicated I was to turn in the paperwork in Honduras before Nicaragua. I was soaked with sweat in my gear and it wasn't even hot at the crossing. On the bike and off to the gate, where the guard smiled at the document for the bike and I was on my way. Finally Honduras! And only two hours at the border! Yeeeeeeeeha!!!

In short order I was in Copán just as the weather hit hard. I found a hotel in the rain that had decent reviews and sloshed my way upstairs. The hostess said they had no room for 2 nights and all the town was booked solid due to this being the main vacation week in Honduras. Dambit! I'd planned to stay a couple of nights. When I asked if I could stay one night, she thought a while and disappeared for about 15 minutes. She returned and said they had a "unique" room for me for one night, which was a dark stone grotto with a huge stone hot tub. Dry of course. But I was happy to get it.

After finally getting the gear in the room and some fresh clothes on, the rain stopped and I wandered out into Copán. It's a small, quaint village with steep and seriously rough cobblestones. There are some funky spots and it seems like a cool little town.

Tuks-a-plenty

Tons of dirt bikes here and in Guatemala for good reason

 
 

At the main square they'd set up vendors cooking food and a dance event was firing up for later. The massive speakers and thumping rap, mixed with traditional music for the dances was a bit of a flop, but the US culture is alive and well in every country I've hit.

Breakfast had worn off hours before and I dined on some salty grilled chicken while the cook kept chasing a dog out from under my table with a stick. She finally connected with canine tush and with a yelp he was gone. I then wandered a bit in the dark to collect a few more souls with the camera.

#Copán #Photography #BMWR1200GS #Adventure #Travel #Honduras

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Tuesday 10.07.25
Posted by Joseph Savant
 

Copán Ruinas, A Mayan City

10.07.2017

Copán and the ruins have been a nice surprise. The little town has had some great little surprises and despite a few fears from the general warnings of how dangerous Honduras is, it quickly dissipated with the warmth and friendly smiles. Of course, Copán is considered a "safe" area being a tourist town.

That said, my timing for arrival couldn't have been worse, as apparently Honduras decided to combine all their individual holidays into one week so that people had vacation time. At least that's what I was told. Therefore the streets were crowded with parked cars everywhere and the hotels were booked. I'd found a private room in a hostel for my second night, the upshot being that it opened into the lobby and had no airflow unless the door was open. That evening I had enjoyed the company of several folks who couldn't resist popping into an open door, only to a vision of Gringo Gigantica in his underwear that they'll never be able to wash out of their minds.

The next morning dawned sunny and with blue skies, something I'd rarely seen on this trip. Much of my plans have been foiled due to rains - Panajachel was so bad I couldn't take the boats to San Pedro and the other little towns, Antigua had such bad weather I never even saw the active volcano the entire week I was there, and Tikal was canceled due to the tropical storm.

I grabbed a tour to the Ruinas, packed into a minibus with several backpackers, but more importantly with a guide. Entry into the park was lush with many brilliantly colored macaws fluttering overhead, their reds and blues contrasting against the greenery and blue sky.

The Mayan ruins were superb, and our guide pumped so much information to us that I could have stayed all day. Explanations of the culture, religion and history of the site. It was the best $25 I've spent on this trip. The ruins are known for how well preserved much of the stelae are and it's an accessible site that isn't overwhelming in scope.

This is the actual sacrificial stone where an official would be beheaded after a ball game. The head was set in the round depression and the blood flowed down the curved trenches. The stone is in the shape of the rubber ball used in the game. The death differed in that the losers weren't sacrificed, but instead a royal official from the town. It was considered a high honor to be chosen. Hmmm. Sounds like a marketing ploy to me.

I followed the walking tour with a trip to the onsite museum for another $7 and it was well worth it. Definitely see the museum where so much of the original pieces are in pristine condition.

The tuk-tuk back to town was split with another explorer, a Kiwi lady who'd been traveling solo for a year. She had traveled the world as a conservator and we were both struck as to how Asian the designs appeared to be. She commented that some pieces were almost identical to Maori things she'd seen.

I was enjoying the sunshine but it came with a 95º price tag. It seems the two choices are either rain, gloom and 70º, or sunshine, blue skies and 95º. Nature picks your poison.

I've also been surprised that Honduras accepts and uses US dollars and credit cards, besides Guatemalan quetzals. In Guatemala and Mexico, dollars are verboten and credit card use is limited. The gas stations in Guat accept them easily but not Mexico.

Next morning I slowly packed up for the road, my stomach rumbling and something that felt like a brick sitting in my intestines. My first real "laundry" was running late, quite welcome after multiple soap and shower washings that mask the smell only until you put them back on. I retrieved the bike from the side lot and took the time waiting to air out the side cases from the sour water smell of the penetrating rain. I actually washed the windshield so that I could see through it again. By the time everything was in order I was already drenched from the blistering sun and climbed on the bike, looking desperately for a breeze.

I rolled out of the town just awakening on a slow Sunday morning, to big smiles and whistles about the big GS. Street vendors were already selling vegetables on the sidewalks and setting up what appeared to be a market. Quickly I was back on the twisting roads out in the scenery, passing old and ratty dwellings of small villages, but the views were great. The road and traffic were immensely better than Guatemala. I passed horseman after horseman, cowboy hats and boots intact, and plastic tarps laid out on the roadside in the hot sun, covered with either ears or kernels of corn drying in the sun. Men and children with machetes and huge bundles of firewood carried on backs. Pine trees and banana trees mixed on hillsides and mountains, a combination I'd never imagined to see.

The previous couple of days, I'd heard what I thought were arguments on the street between people, but later discovered that the way Spanish is spoken here seems to be very loud and more forceful than what I've typically heard. In fact the same morning outside my hostel room, I heard a man and woman having a conversation that seemed angry, their voices raised and gruff. I peered out the shower window to see them smiling and giving hugs as they ended their talk. Interesting.

My goal for the day was either the town of Gracias, if the roads took longer and if my stomach party became a party pooper, or Comayagua, roughly half way across Honduras. As I rode, the scenery was stunningly beautiful. I thought Guatemala was pretty, but in Honduras I was treated to huge vistas of valleys and mountains. The roads were soooooo much better than Guatemala, that I dared not complain about the potholes which appeared only in short stretches. I actually had time to see scenery since the traffic was nil, even though this was supposed to be the worst day with tourists returning home. The road conditions were smooth and easy.

The GS was rocking and rolling and I was riding fast and enjoying the weather and scenery, and maybe more the lack of stress and terrible roads. There's no feeling like the big 1200 loaded and heeled over at speed, the Heidenau tires howling in the curves. At one point, I hit about a 20 mile stretch of silky smooth new concrete highway that swept and twisted through the mountains. It was like buttah. So far, Honduras has been the prettiest country I've ridden this trip. Mix Guatemala, northern Arizona and a bit of Colorado together and enjoy the ride.

Honduras, at least in the part I've covered, is definitely a cowboy country. The men dress in western style clothes and cowboy hats, horse and saddles are everywhere. I was quite surprised. Never knew of that culture here.

One thing they do appreciate is the big bike. Everywhere along the way, whether guys in the back of pickups, on the roadside, gas stations, car and bus drivers, they honk, whistle, wave or flash their lights with big smiles and thumbs up. My favorite is sort of an NFL referee move where they extend both arms out to their sides, pointing index fingers and swinging arms down to the ground. They do love seeing the bike, and more than anywhere I've yet been.

There have been a lot of military and police checkpoints but no interest in stopping me, thankfully. One thing I've noticed is that churches don't dominate the culture and towns like they do in Mexico or Guat. I was told by an experienced traveler that Honduras was the asshole of Central America. So far I've found it to the prettiest and quite friendly. You definitely can tell seeing bikes and guys from the US is pretty rare however.

That evening at the hotel in Comayagua, I was contacted by Christine and Jules, the French Canadians, late last night. Canuck Charlie and they were heading out together for El Salvador and the coastal route today. I will spend another day in Honduras before crossing into Nicaragua. We'll try to meet up in Leon or Granada most likely, and I look forward to seeing the crew again.

#Honduras #Copán #Mayan #Photography #BMWR1200GS #Adventure #Travel






Tuesday 10.07.25
Posted by Joseph Savant
 

Honduras: Comayagua to Danli

10.09.2017

Well today was relatively easy! The roads were very good with only 5 miles here and there of potholes, but overalI the highway was great. I also found out the tollway sections are free for motorcycles, but you have to squeeze between the bar and I barely got through the two I encountered. I did notice more military presence than expected. Every couple of miles three or four soldiers were stationed, some up high observing the roadways. There were a number of police stops in the smaller towns, and they made me a bit more nervous due to their gun handling. There they'd stand with a folding stock battle rifle, holding it in one hand with a finger on the trigger. Firearms training didn't seem to be a part of their schooling.

I looped around Tegucigalpa on the Anillo Periferico and got a view of the enormous city surrounded by mountains. I was pleasantly surprised at how much I was riding in mountains and pines. This country really is a beautiful one. Anyway, I was glad to avoid what would likely have been a couple of extra hours and a pound of diesel particulate in my lungs by taking the bypass and avoiding the city center. I dodged a couple of serious showers on the way and once out of the fringe of traffic towards Danli, the road got much worse as to condition, but all my pothole training in Guatemala paid off.

When traveling on the bike, I ride hard and fast, pushing much more than I should maybe, but it's a lot of fun at the same time. Though I'm not paranoid, I do feel it's better to move quickly and I zing through villages and little towns. I figure it's better to be a moving target than to dawdle. Folks seem so surprised to see the beast blow by, but I'd rather be perceived as a fast moving spectre than someone easy to target. Plenty of time to dawdle when I arrive...

I made my destination of Danli by 3 pm and found a cool old hotel with courtyard. Much more rustic and original than some of the newer places, and to top it off, the owner has a few old Honda's around the place for decor. This one's just outside my room and I don't know old Honda's, but if they actually made this, how cool a bike is that!

Luckily I beat the rain by 30 minutes or so. Danli is an authentic town with no tourist bullshit and I enjoyed the crazy traffic and streets. People were coming up to the bike at stops and smiling and waving. It was a lot of fun being in the congestion. I stopped in a place to eat and everyone in the joint smiled and made me feel welcome cause...

"I'm Good Enough, I'm Smart Enough, and Doggone It, People Like Me!"

Well maybe not, but people are very friendly here and excited to see a gringo on a moto. Having fun with it!

When I checked in, there was a large group of women sitting outside my room discussing things and smiling brightly at me. It turned out they were having a mini Avon convention which in my twisted thinking was what I was guessing, but it turned out to be true.

Rain came hard and heavy all afternoon, finally lightening up about 6:30, so I slipped out in the dark to find something to eat. What I found were quiet streets with little lighting and almost everything closed. Any places that were open had armed guards, but I found one little shop with a couple of bags of chips and bottled water for my evening meal. I didn't relish wandering any further in the dark.

#Honduras #Photography #BMWR1200GS #Adventure #Travel

Tuesday 10.07.25
Posted by Joseph Savant
 

The Route So Far: Mexico, Guatemala, Honduras

10.09.2017

Mexico


Guatemala

Honduras




Tuesday 10.07.25
Posted by Joseph Savant
 

Into Nicaragua... It Sucked.

10.10.2017

So I left this morning in a good mood, having slept well in the rustic hotel in Danli. It was a good place and a tiny bit rough about the edges but enjoyable - the staff and host were super nice.

It was a warm day, but the breeze felt good on the bike as I rolled toward Las Manos, the "safe" crossing into Nicaragua I'd been told to use by the border official in Copán. I'd read up on it online and felt prepared to cross the next border, more so mentally than physically. Each one seems bit like leaping into a snake pit and not knowing if your boots are tall enough.

The long line of parked trucks on the side of the road told me I was approaching and soon I was rolling up to the rope into the border area. Several people were signaling differing things already and as I started to park from what I thought was a real official, another person waved me through and dropped the rope. I was directed by a guy in a tan vest that looked official to park on the left by the Honduras Aduana/Immigration, and he began walking me through the process, moving me to the front of the line and such. I was never quite sure if he was a real Honduran worker to expedite the process or if he was a fixer. I was constantly harassed by money changers at every step, but things went reasonably well until I was taken to the Honduran police office where I expected a cursory look at papers.

Instead I was taken into a dark inspection room and told to open all my pockets, tank bag, jacket and everything. All this process, while someone else had my passport. The policeman asked me to remove everything but pants and shirt, patted me down, checked every piece of paper, counted every nickel and bill in my wallet and went completely through my jacket including the armor pouches. He was determined to find something it seemed, and watched my eyes continuously. He finally indicated to drop my riding pants to check for hidden stuff I guess, but it was a bit weird. He finally seemed satisfied, sort of, and indicated I could go. That was a first and very weird experience. I will admit to being chuffed that despite his thorough search of my gear, he had not discovered my emergency stash of US currency.

The most disturbing thing about this border process is that your documents and passport are taken by officials and you don't see them again until other certain processes have occurred. It was a bit more disturbing than I liked this particular time, because it felt like it could easily turn into a shakedown. It just didn't feel right.

So much was going on I don't remember the whole process now, but it wasn't too insane getting out of Honduras, other than being in a darkened, closet-sized room with a Honduran cop and your riding pants down.

Getting into Nicaragua was a bit trickier. From the moment the gate was raised and I crossed into Nicaragua, it got much more confusing than expected. Official looking guys with embroidered shirts began directing me where to go and to show my passport, paperwork and other stuff. It was hard to tell if they were officials or not, but it became apparent they weren't as a bit of time passed. One got copies for me, another took me from official to official, introduced me to the insurance guy, then disappeared with all my papers and came back with a real immigration official who wanted to know where my hotel was and I told him I didn't have one yet. He disappeared and didn't return. The handler said the fee for the immigration was $12 US which I knew, but then said the official needed a "propina" for coming to me personally - and a $20 bill would suffice. The racket had begun.

Much time passed as I sat waiting with my money hungry handlers who would disappear randomly. It was obvious they were in league with the officials, who would from time to time come out of their portable building and motion to the handlers, then they would all disappear behind the building. Nothing happened for a long time, until I was told that my situation was "muy complicado" which I guessed was due to not having a hotel reserved. Even the policia got involved. Luckily I had data connection on my phone and just picked a hotel name from Granada somewhere. As a policeman came out to talk to the handlers, I just stuck the name in front of his face. He texted it to someone and disappeared.

As I waited, another government official of some sort sat at the luggage inspection booth with me, finally speaking in English. It was the first English I'd heard and I asked him about his job. He was there to poll tourists who were leaving Nicaragua about their stay and how much money they spent. I wanted to say, "Stop the border bullshit and Nicaragua will get rich quick!" but I didn't. He seemed the only good guy in the area. He asked if I was traveling alone, then got concerned when I said yes. He warned me "the highway was very dangerous" for solo travelers and to be extremely careful.

Probably close to an hour later the first dirty official came out and asked me about the hotel and wrote it down, disappearing again. 20 minutes later a handler came back with some documents and told me to go to the immigration window, where I was put in front of the line and the girl did some work on the passport, handed me a bill for 320 cordobas, to which I gave her a 500 since that's what the changers gave me. You'd think it was a million dollar bill and they acted as if they had no change and there was tumult. All they do all day is collect money so why they do the bullshit song and dance is beyond me. 20 more minutes passed at the window for no reason, until the handler just reached in and took my passport from the girl and ran it to the aduana window. I stood and stood until finally she gave me the receipt and change.

In the line next to me, a young backpacker was trying to explain that he didn't have a hotel lined up in Nicaragua since he was tent camping. There was much tension and ridiculousness inside the booth. I finally interrupted him and told him to just pick a hotel anywhere and give them an address. That solved the problem quickly and he thanked me.

A word of warning to travelers reading this, always pick a hotel destination before hitting the border even if you aren't going there. I learned later that this was common at border crossings.

I had now spent a lot of cash and had none of my documents in hand. Passport, title, drivers license were all in various places other than with me. I was frustrated and tired of the bullshit but at least I was at the last window, where after a while I finally got everything back and got to go buy insurance for the bike. I paid the handlers and as I was leaving, one of them pointed down the road and said "Policia. Veinticinco U.S. dollares" He was warning me that down the road the police would stop me and $25 US would get me out of it. Before the gate was finally lifted, yet another "official" came over from a booth outside the gate and demanded a dollar. The handlers said to pay it and I got a receipt, then got the feck out of there.

I'd been told that the borders of El Salvador and Nicaragua were corrupt and the officials and handlers worked hand in hand to run up costs for their pockets which definitely seems true. Welcome to Nicaragua folks.

I said a prayer for the road ahead and tried to stay at the speed limit, but it was hard not to run fast. I'd been warned that the tickets for speeding in Nic are very expensive so I bit my tongue and rode slow. The road was very, very nice and went through beautiful landscapes, but I wasn't interested. Around a curve there was indeed a police stop, and as I rolled in both cops were busy with two local motorcyclists, so I nailed it on through. Several more times there were police, but always engaged and could only look, so I guess my prayers were answered.



The town of Esteli came up about 30 minutes later, with rain clouds looming near. I found out my cell wasn't getting data so I couldn't locate any hotels, and the one I remembered happened to be in the Garmin GPS, which of course led me to a false address. I rode around town until I spotted one and luckily they had a room available. Parking was somewhat of a question and they indicated I could leave the bike in front. I didn't feel too good about that. I've had an anxiety since being here, partly due to the border crap, but also just in my gut.

Reminders of Nicaragua's not-too-distant-past

I find it fascinating that US dollars are the preferred currency here. Everywhere and everyone accepts them. Seems a bit funny after the socialist revolution and hatred of the US by Daniel Ortega and his goons.

Torrential rains hit and lasted for hours, the hotel manager finally arriving and telling me I should park the bike in safe parking down the street. In a rain break after dark, I walked several blocks down and never saw a parking area, other than a large lot that appeared to be a junkyard. Turns out that was the place and I took the bike down to the muddy yard. I have carried a bike cover this entire trip and finally felt the need to use it.

A break in the rain!

Back at the hotel, the rains continue roaring down and the streets are rivers. Rain. It's what's for dinner.

#LasManos #Nicaragua #Esteli #Photography #BMWR1200GS #Adventure #Travel

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Tuesday 10.07.25
Posted by Joseph Savant
 

Granada, Nicaragua

10.11.2017

The rain was bombing heavy all night and I awoke at 6 am sharp to an intense siren. I waited for an earthquake or tornado but nothing happened. Maybe it was an old official wakeup alarm to call the workers to arise and work the farms for the glory of the revolution or something. Who knows.

One other guest was up for breakfast, a guy who was touring cigar plantations with friends. He said he'd had a few GS's and I was crazy to be riding solo in Nicaragua. His crew all had armed guards with them when taking the tours of the tobacco farms. I silently thought maybe THEY were the ones in dangerous places lol. He said there's no way he'd ride in a country where tourists had armed guards assigned to them.

It was already hot and sunny when I got the bike from the junkyard parking and was surprised to see it still upright after the all night rains. The sidestand had sunk a couple inches but luckily kept the bike up.

After packing I was wished well by the cigar dude who said he was now jealous, and the hotel owner lady who was sad I was leaving, but gave me a couple of Nicaraguan cigars. Her little son's first name Elias, was the same as my middle name, so she figured I was special.

I've never smoked a cigar but now seems like good time to learn since I'm in the territory. Need to find out what the local drink is, then smoke a cigar and puke. I'll save the other to chew on while riding.

The road descended from Esteli's higher elevation down into a valley filled with rice fields and paddies, with a long line of people with machetes or knives slowly cutting a long line across the fields. I passed massive concrete lots with rice spread out, workers spreading and turning it with wooden rakes in the hot sun. The skies were blue with thick, white clouds everywhere, the humidity so dense it made haze in the sky.

I passed lone pigs and multiple herds of cattle loose on the roadsides, an old man under a tree with several green parrots for sale, perched on his arms and shoulders, sweat covered men washing semi's and trailers on the roadside with 5 gallon buckets of dirty water.

Everything seems to occur on the roadsides - animals, trash burning, people under trees, flocks of chickens, men on motorcycles texting, car repairs, you name it it's on the roadside. I even saw an old adobe house on fire, but no one seemed to care. Not much you can do, so may as well just sit under a tree and watch traffic go by.

Police were in every village and I generally ride the way the local bikers do. They rarely lane split, rarely pass cars and never cross the solid yellow line. That tells me the cops are serious so I try to be vigilant. And yep there were a couple of speed traps but luckily I had slowed down just before hitting them.

From a high point I could see the twin volcanoes that form the island of Ometepe on Lago Cocibolca ahead, a solo smoking volcano in another direction. To my right lay the city of Managua, where I've been told you will get stopped and shaken down by the cops, no thank you, and to the left lay my destination of the old city of Granada.

Stopping briefly for water and a snack at a large gas station, I shared a tiny table with a young guy with a helmet. In broken English he asked about the bike and where I was going. He was texting as we talked and incredulous that I was traveling alone. When he asked and finally understood and said "polo a polo", he shook his head and said I was crazy. Whoever was on the other end was asking questions and the cautious side of me made sure I spoke in generalities. Then I asked how long it would take to reach Esteli, where I'd just come from, telling him I was meeting four other riders there. Chances are it was all legit, but I try to never tell my next destination in conversations. When I get a weird feeling sometimes I ride the opposite direction a block or three and loop through town back to my original direction. The large gas stations and truck stops seem to have a lot of people hanging around so I generally try to avoid those places. A couple of times in Mexico in the past, I felt like there were people there just watching. I don't try to be paranoid but the big crowded stations make me uncomfortable.

I finally rolled into Granada, hot and sweaty, its atmosphere, style and coloration a welcome change. A few backpackers and tourists were on the sidewalks, and the town had a good feel.

Color - something rarely seen since Mexico



 
 
 
 
 
 

My hotel was at the quiet lakeside where I planned to take in the view, try a cigar and turn green until Charlie, Jules and Christine arrive in a day or two.

 





#Granada #Nicaragua #Photography #BMWR1200GS #Adventure #Travel

Tuesday 10.07.25
Posted by Joseph Savant
 

Lazy Days

10.13.2017

I didn't sleep well due to the heat of the city. I'd booked a hotel based on it having AC, but I discovered after checking in that the AC didn't actually work. I was told it was a power problem by the local utility, but I got the feeling the AC never really worked and realized I needed to add an additional question to my repertoire... “so you have AC, but does it work?”

After a leisurely breakfast I wandered the streets. Granada has a good feeling. Overall it's as if I'm on some sleepy Caribbean island, forgotten in a corner of the world. This place feels further from the U.S. than any country so far, which makes sense, as it is on my trip, but miles different than Guatemala or Honduras. It's hot, humid, lazy and slow. As with each country I've been in, the people look distinctive to their nation.

Though definitely a tourist sanctuary, the Centro is in process of refurbishing, the main church being freshly painted and in process of becoming a Sistine Chapel with murals underway. Being a tourist city, it's not real but it's relaxing after being on your toes in the other communities. One can't escape the warnings of solo travel danger, as the hotel owner again drilled into me this morning, not to mention the hotel manager as well and three travelers who were volunteering work in a village. They said they traveled with armed guards anytime they drove the roads. Since I can't afford secret service protection, I just have to trust my life to God and go on.

I spent a couple of hours wandering in the midday heat and humidity, draining me of any desire to do much, like the locals who sit in the shade and sleep. It's hard to explain, but Granada feels differently than anywhere else. It feels much like what I would expect Cuba to be like.

Back at my hotel, I took my third shower of the day in cool water and for a first, was happy the hot water didn't work. It seems rain knocked out one of the phases of power in certain neighborhoods, so only 110v is working. The AC and hot water heaters are 220 so they don't work. The sweet girl at reception said they were very upset at the mayor who insists every day that the power will be restored but isn't... Their competitor hotels don't seem to suffer this same outage of course. All I know is that the floor fan they gave me is my best friend since the AC is out.

When the direct sun dissipated as the day ended, I walked back to the lakeside where the nightly drum band was warming up. They practice for hours each evening by the water. As I stood enjoying the breeze in my face I heard someone saying "sail the bike from Panama on a German sailboat" and turned to see three guys talking and sidled up to join the conversation.

Bas (center) was from Holland and is riding his MotoGuzzi from NY to Ushuaia. We're on the same sail date on the German sailing ship "Stahlratte". The other two guys, Brian, an advertising photographer from Kansas City, and the other whose name I've forgotten, a banker from Managua, had rented bikes and ridden the mountains around the area doing some mission work. The two were also working on a documentary about a man made famous in an iconic Susan Meiselas photo during the revolution. Rumors had always been that the man tossing the molotov cocktail had been killed, however they tracked him down and spent several hours filming his story.

The image was used extensively, much the same way as Che Guevarra's previously, as a symbol of the Sandinista revolt.

© Susan Meiselas 1979

We had a good discussion and some fun, then the two guys said a prayer for Bas and I and our journey.

Walking into the quiet downtown, people sat simmering in silence on the street, chairs and tables outside in the evening air to try and cool off. The stillness did little but the evening ritual continues every night. Houses and families spill out on the street, lounging in chairs or laying on mats.

The central area of the city is undergoing the classic tourist refurb, with pedestrian only areas replete with the street cafes and shops. I finally picked a place for some limonada and fish tacos. In short order I was engulfed in the ever present peddlers, as had happened when I’d sat down for a smoothie to cool off hours earlier in the day. It's a constant stream of people to whom "no" is not an answer and you can't take a bite of food without having to say "no gracias" the entire time you sit there. After doing this daily for the entire trip, I'd decided to make an example of the next vendor, but unfortunately no more children came by, only those capable of hitting back, so my plan was thwarted.

Two persistent and charming ladies were trying to sell trinkets and such to my constant "no's" then changed tactics. She kept saying something I didn't understand then moved around and began massaging my shoulders. Suddenly I understood the word "massage", but her friend's look and smile indicated it would be a bit more than that. "NO gracias!" and they finally walked away, only to pass back by a little later, smiling and calling me "friend". Chuckled about it as I wandered back to the hotel, stopping to watch two women and their husbands dancing to the mariachi's playing by their table, then walked into silence and darkness for the hotel, people sleeping and dozing in the heat of the night on the sidewalks.

I'd finally heard from the Moto Diablos, Charlie, Christine and Jules, as they'd been without internet for 2-3 days. My phone data wasn't working so we hadn't been able to coordinate meeting up, but this morning a message got through and they were on the way to Granada. I decided to take a boat ride through the islands or "isletas" - there are 300 or more tiny ones off the coast of Granada, many of which are single home dwellings. As it turned out, a group of 5 people from Arizona who were doing some volunteer work in the countryside were at my hotel and we shared the boat trip.

Despite being on a tour, it was a good excuse to get a fresh breeze in the heat. We passed some kayakers and stopped at a couple of tiny islands that had a few monkeys waiting to be fed. There were several capuchin (capuccinos?) on an island with a home, plus a few wild spider monkeys on another. The tour then deposited us on a restaurant island for a wallet reduction.

A few of the almost 400 islands were for sale

The massive, cloud covered volcano Mombacho miles away in the background was responsible for the myriad islands, which are actually massive volcanic rocks tossed into the lake and area during a massive volcanic explosion

A couple of hours later back at the hotel, I dreadfully suited up in my gear and packed the bike to rendezvous with the gang at a house we'd rented online. My texts and data still weren't working so I hung out at a wifi cafe and called T-Mobile who reset something and my data came back online, however the ability to send texts did not.

Sitting. It's what you do here.

Charlie finally connected with me on WhatsApp telling me they'd arrived, so I rode in the sweltering heat to the house. They were all waiting outside and it was great to hook up again. We shared our border crossing stories and waited for the house to cool down, eventually wandering out late at night to the square and the lake, where we watched the drum band and dancers practicing in the darkness.

Now starving, we found a street vendor selling huge slabs of fresh grilled chicken and gallo pinto, the delicious bean and rice dish they have here. Our "to go" or "para llevar" was wrapped in banana leaves and we walked back to the casa, drenched in sweat in the heat of the night. The grilled chicken and rice/bean combo never tasted so good!

By 9 we were all nodding off except Charlie, who was up late working on his blog.

#Nicaragua #Granada #BMWR1200GS #Photography #Adventure #Travel

Tuesday 10.07.25
Posted by Joseph Savant
 

Sweltering

10.15.2017

The morning in Granada was spent taking a boat tour of "Las Isletas" again with the Three Amigos Canada. I'd planned to ride the bike down the coast and take the ferry across to Ometepe Island, formed by two volcanoes, however the weather prognosis wasn't good so I bailed and took the boat again to see the monkeys. It was a nice relaxing ride in the little boat.

Comida

Monkey spotting

On our way back to the house we'd rented, the taxi drove through the lakeside park and I got to see an old school motocross race for a couple of minutes. Apparently the city built a NX track in the park and it was fun watching a bit of the races. They were older 80's/90's vintage two strokes and not a vintage race, just what the locals were riding.

The line of vendors waiting to try and sell crap to me while I try to eat lunch at an outdoor cafe...

The evening was spent walking the streets in the simmering, still heat, which drains the heck out of you I can attest.

#Granada #Nicaragua #Photography #BMWR1200GS #Adventure #Travel

Tuesday 10.07.25
Posted by Joseph Savant
 

San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua

10.16.2017

Our goal for the next day was San Juan del Sur, an oceanside town near the Costa Rican border and not too far away from Granada. We ended up staying in a great resort outside the little community.

We spent a couple hours cooling in the pool waiting for official check-in, then cooled down in the AC and watched the rain.

Later we three took a free shuttle to the sleepy downtown to meet up with some other travelers. At the bar, Adrian and Andrea from Germany were waiting, as well as Maryna and Paul from Australia, along with my Dutch friend Bas I'd run into in Granada. We were all on the same sailing of the Stahlratte and spent the evening talking about travels and life on the road.

Paul


Bas Baaten from The Netherlands

The beaches of the town were littered with boats from a recent hurricane, and some repairs to shops and restaurants were underway. I liked San Juan and if I had to do it over again I'd spend two days in Granada and 2 or 3 in San Juan del Sur.

 

#Nicaragua #Photography #BMWR1200GS #Travel #Adventure

















Tuesday 10.07.25
Posted by Joseph Savant
 

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