I was becoming bored and frustrated with my travels, which manifested itself in unnecessarily  sour or rude behaviour towards others and developing a  psychotic-suicidal driving style.  Fates turned though when I decided to go out in Tela, Honduras on the Atlantic coast.

Gangster and Coca

I went out to drink beer at the Yellowman - an outdoor bar with cheap plastic tables, cheaper beer, and reggaeton music blaring. I had just ordered and beer and while walking past a table of 2 men and a woman one of the men said somewhat offensively to me that I looked just like the singer (from UB40) currently shown on monitor. They soon invited me to there table where it prevailed that one was the bodyguard of the other and the woman was a Gallina in his words – a chicken that would sleep with whatever rooster came along – I was included in this list of potential roosters. I spent several hours being lectured on how I would not be messed with because I was sitting with them, how the bar owner would charge us less, play whatever music we wanted, etc. as my new friends ‘taxed’ the bar and controlled the town.  Cocaine, like throughout much of the isthmus dictate the nightlife, travel patterns, and social tensions of Tela.  It was clear how it was distributed and consumed even while police drove by or watched from passing pickup trucks.

Mayor and Beer

After declining to go with the gangsters to the disco as well as their offers of the avails of woman who normally charge but wouldn’t in my case, I ended up talking to an older man who was with a very drunk pushy fellow who turned out to be the mayor.   The mayor’s role in overseeing these thriving drug gangs seemed to consist of saying incomprehensible things while demanding absolute attention and buying him more beer.  Fortunately for me, after buying him several his handler suggested discretely that he shouldn’t have any more – to which I concurred and made my escape back to the hotel.

Nicaraguan Border Town Transgendered Folks

Waking up with a grogginess befitting such an night I drove diagonally across Honduras to the small border town El Paraiso (which it was, beautiful scenery and reviving twisty roads through pine covered hillsides). The border crossing was exceptional in that it didn’t require 3 photocopies of everything and that a line of two people took 1 hour to process.  So in the dark I wound through the Nicaraguan hills to the first town with a hotel – Ocotal.  While having dinner I was invited to sit with a slightly crazy woman who was moving to Spain – leaving her two children with her parents.  Soon we were accompanied by her friend and transgendered woman who told me that there were at least 30 others (in a town of 13,000) and that this was socially accepted there with no real problems.

Un-bribing Cops

In order to meet Kai in San Jose, Costa Rica and because I’d been to Nicaragua before I decided to drive clear across Nicaragua straight to the southern surf town of San Juan Del Sur.  About 15 minutes en route, a fork in the road, and confused GPS, and a man with his thumb out lead to me driving a policeman 2.5 hours south to the capital Managua.  Buying him a coffee and breakfast seemed only fair to have the fun of breaking every speed limit and traffic rule in existence as we speed down from the mountains to the sweaty plain surrounding Managua.  Not later than 15 minutes after dropping him off I pulled up alongside a car at a stop sign leading onto another highway.  I pushed in front of the car and turned the corner and found myself face-to-face with a policeman sternly waving me over. It was explained to me that I had not stopped behind the other car and that my muscling in was worthy of a 300 Cordoba ($15 USD) fine. I pretended not to speak Spanish, then later demanded to see the law in writing, then handed over my expired license (kept just for this purpose), and then demanded a proper written ticket.  They hummed and hawwed and showed me the ticket book and told me my license would be taken to Managua and that I’d have to pay the fine at the bank and couldn’t leave the country without my license, etc.  I explained this would be an ideal scenario and then they started saying, well it’s completely voluntary but instead i might buy them some refreshments instead for their dutiful service. I suggested 100 Cordobas which was accepted, but when I tried to get out the money to give to them was told that people were watching and might get the wrong idea. Eventually one slyly took the money I held down beside the bike.  They then became chummy and asked me about my trip, the bike, the GPS, etc.  When I was about to leave one shook my hand and told me mucho gusto to which I said I sadly couldn’t return the complement as I had just had to pay them.  He became affronted and stopped me from leaving and I thought I had messed things up worse. Instead he said something to the other cop who then handed me back my money.

Final note on the day, met Adrian, an interesting Dutch fellow on a BMW 1100 with whom I happily spent the day with in San Juan Del Sur trading stories.

Tela, Honduras, to San Juan Del Sur, Nicaragua