Homeward Bound

Thursday

After our exhaust and tire escapades, we were ready to cross over into El Salvador. Ironically, a pair of Jonathan’s shorts were made here. So after 10 years and 20,000 miles, they finally get to go home. However, since Jonathan has become a bit attached their stay in their homeland will be brief. Their slave-driver of an owner will continue to keep them and wear them until they fall apart on him.





This was our longest border crossing yet, mostly because it is apparently a major trucking route. The road, CA2, that leads to the La Hachadura border crossing was a decent two-lane paved road. And while we did encountered few vehicles going the same direction, when we arrived at the border, the wait was a mile long with semis out the wazoo. We pulled into line at about 11:30am. We slowly moved forward every 10 minutes or so. It gave me plenty of time to stop by one of the many shops along the way and get copies of everything.

Eventually, we decided that I should walk ahead and see what the process would be when we got there. At that point, we weren’t too far off. I went up to an officer and explained that we were driving a car across the border and didn’t know the process. He said to come on up (at the border there were two lanes on each side, one for regular cars, one for semis, you just didn’t know that until you got there). So when there was a gap in traffic in the oncoming lane, we bypassed the remaining semis to the buildings; I guess we could have done that from the beginning, assuming we could have found a clear path. We pulled up and parked along the building where I had talked to the officer. As soon as we got out an unofficial man came up to help us with the process; this happens a lot at borders and they expect a tip. I tried to explain that I had no money at all, and he said not to worry (later I learned that he was a border-crossing guide for a group of American motorcyclists) and helped us through the entire process.

The officer had to stamp the vehicle permit, and I made sure to tell all people handling the vehicle permit that we would be returning to Guatemala soon. Then, leaving the van parked, we had to walk down (closer to El Salvador)to Migración to get our passports stamped. After the stamps, we had to get copies made, so we walked across the street to get those. Apparently they need two copies of the Guatemalan vehicle permit (I got one more copy as one of the write-ups of the border crossing said that they would need another one at the el Salvador Customs—turns out the third didn’t work as it didn’t have the stamps—one on the front and one on the back—that it needed so I had to get another copy anyway). We also needed two copies of the driver’s passport with the exit stamp page as well, so I gave him two copies I had already made and he put the copy of the stamp on the back that page. For the 5 prints, I paid Q5 ($0.64), which was all the Guatemalan money I had left. And, you need two copies of the vehicle registration with driver’s license—I already had those. The man who was helping us put them in order—two stacks of the permit copies on top, followed by the registration and passport, plus the original copy of the permit.

Then we had to walk back across the street, and then across to the far side of the building (the side where those entering Guatemala drive) and on the end farthest from El Salvador, there was an office that I assume was Customs. At least the room was air-conditioned slightly. So far we had been the only ones in line and it had taken less than 5 minutes. At this point however, there were 8-10 people in front of us (it was hard to count as some where in and out). And, apparently the two people working the counter were overworked. We stood there for 20 minutes probably waiting for them to call us. We handed him the stack of paperwork we had copied and the driver’s passport and told him we planned to return to Guatemala soon. He took the papers, disappeared for 5 minutes and then returned and wanted to go look at the vehicle. He verified the numbers and then we all went back inside. A few minutes and stamps later, we had our passport back and the original permit and one full stack of copies (to be given to El Salvador customs). Now we could drive to the El Salvador side.

Leaving the Guatemalan customs area, we once again entered a two-lane road, that soon turned into a two-lane bridge. Again, technically, if you can fit and and if the lane is clear of oncoming traffic doing the same, you can bypass the semis and drive up to the El Salvador customs area. However, we weren’t comfortable doing that (or sure that we could) until we were over the bridge and the semis began to pull off onto the shoulders to make room for other traffic. The semi in front of us actually waved us to go on ahead. Interestingly enough, while we were on that bridge, there was a police vehicle in front of us, coming to the Guatemalan side, with his lights on. He was having lots of trouble making any progress. It didn’t help that the driver of the vehicle he was behind had left his truck a while ago. So, eventually the semis pulled forward on our side and left a gap that he could maneuver through. It was slow-going, though.

The bus is driving through the middle of the road, bypassing the semis. We followed them.

When we crossed over to the El Salvador side, there was an officer standing by a semi at another bridge. We weren’t sure whether we were supposed to stop or not—he didn’t wave us down or anything, so we bypassed him. Apparently, that was NOT the thing to do. The officer at the other end of the bridge waved us down and told us to go back. So Jonathan backed the van up the bridge back to the officer. We apologized. All he needed was to see a copy of the vehicle permit, he may have stamped it, I am not sure. Then we were allowed to proceed to the other end of the bridge. That officer checked our passports. I asked him where to go from there and he said to pull to the right and go the building right next to the green road sign. We could see it from there, thanked him and went forward. There was a bus parked in the middle of the street where we were supposed to go, so we didn’t think there was parking there. So Jonathan parked along the road and we walked to the Migración counter. As we stood in line, a military officer came up and told us we couldn’t park where we had, but at this point we could see there was parking closer, so I had Jonathan move the vehicle there.

There was a line here. After 5 minutes, we made it to the counter. This guy wanted our passports. Then he asked if we had a vehicle and what its tag (placa) number was. I told him and he wanted a copy of our registration (which he returned). When he was done, I asked him where to go next. He said customs and pointed the way.

When we arrived there, we were the only ones in line. He wanted the stack of copies we had made in Guatemala. He also needed a copy of the Guatemalan permit with the stamps that we had received since we had last gotten copies (as in the extra copy I got earlier wouldn’t work). It cost either $0.10 or Q1. (Interesting note about El Salvador: their official currency is the US dollar—has been since 2001, I think.) After I did that, we went out with the customs agent and verified the numbers and he inspected the contents of the van. He didn’t ask about any vegetables or meat or anything, and I didn’t have any showing either. So I guess you can bring that into El Salvador without contestation.  Thinking we were about done, instead he said we needed to go get the mandatory vehicle insurance. This office was farther down the building (more into El Salvador) and on the other side. They gave us a form to fill out and we paid $15 instead of the normal $10, I guess because it was classified as a Microbus. The printed out an insurance card for us. Now with all the required paperwork, the first customs agent gave us the go ahead to get our permit from the next customs agent. He printed off the permit and then told us to go get a copy of it to bring back to him. So off to the copy machine again.

Finally, after we brought back our copy of the permit, we were free to go. It was now about 2:30. We were tired and hungry and not sure exactly where we were going. I suggested making lunch, but Jonathan was ready to escape from that place. So we pulled out and made our way along the highway. We wanted to go Bosque El Imposible, a national park near the border and the highway. Unfortunately, I didn’t know how to get there, exactly. I was hoping for a nice sign to give us a clue. We paced what I suspected was the road into the forest, but there were no signs for it. We continued on a little longer. I then decided we should probably turn around and try that road. We went for a while with no signs or anything. Then we came to a town sign that had symbols for tropical rainforest and camping. I thought we should stop there and eat lunch and then figure things out.

After lunch, we decided we would go through town looking for a tourist info center or a park sign and then make a decision. We went through the entire town without spotting one. Then when Jonathan was ready to turn around, I spotted a brown sign with yellow lettering at the end of the road. That looked like a park sign to me, and sure enough when we got there, it said Bosque El Imposible. But, there was a locked gate across the road. There were plenty of people walking along its road, but none came to help us. We learned later that they were the locals who lived in the forest (their families were there before the land became protected), and apparently we came the back way into the park, the main entrance is near Cara Sucia with a sign on the highway (we just didn't go far enough earlier). After another minute or so, though, a man in a polo came from the nearest house and welcomed us to the park. We paid the entry fee of $6pp and got to camp just a little ways down the road into the forest on nice leveled ground where the locals had been playing soccer.

Friday

The night before, we had set up a tour guide to take us around the park at 9 am. The gatekeeper said it only cost $10, so we thought that was reasonable. We read in a guidebook later, that guides are free, but tipping $5 is customary. She ended up taking us on 4.5 hour trip, so I figured $10 was more than fair. She only spoke Spanish, so I translated for Jonathan, but the things she told us about the plants were nearly the same (and less detailed) as what our cave-tubing guide had told us in Belize.

This huge Ceiba tree is 200-300 years old, 8 meters (24 ft) in cirmcumference and 34 meters (102 ft) tall. Jonathan is having an intimidation war with an inch long ant that is colored like a bumble bee. It reared back and was ready to spew acid on him, quite the mean little creature.

But, man, I should tell you, trekking those 5 km one-way up that mountain was arduous. I mean, the path was nice and clear and easy to follow; but it was covered in rocks, which were sometimes loose, but mostly just uneven and awkwardly shaped. It made walking a weird sensation, almost like walking in sand without the sinking and with more foot rotation—basically just a lot of work. And the way back down was even harder, but I only fell 2-3 times, mostly to avoid rolling an ankle. It made all those US national park trails look really tame.

Our guide almost stepped on a snake, which meant that it nearly came at me. Fortunately it wasn’t aggressive.

Interestingly, our guide never broke a sweat. I was already shimmering from the heat and humidity before we started walking and by the end my cotton pants were soaked with sweat. Whereas our El Salvadorian guide didn’t even shimmer, and she was wearing a cotton polo, skinny jeans and Converse-like shoes. I was totally jealous.

The lookout point. It is hard to look good after walking 5 km (and another 5 km to go).

We left the park after soaking in the nearby stream and eating some lunch. We stayed at a swimming resort, Turicentro Manantial Los Bajios, in San Juan Opico for $4. They had an interesting pool setup, filled with lake water.



 

They had a pool with a bucket on top of a covered platform. When it fills, it spills water all over the roof.

The Most Expensive Hobby

Life can be a strange beast.  Finding fulfillment can be an arduous task.  Many of us find it through hobbies; non-work (read non-essential to security/food/shelter/retirement)  activities.  This of course leaves out the lucky few who find fulfillment in their bread-winning.  In the US a rough way to judge how cool/awesome/worthwhile a hobby is by the cost (in USD) it incurs upon the practitioner. 

I have always held that time=money.  Thus, for myself, I have gauged the successfulness and/or value of my hobbies by how much time cost they incur.  For myself expensive hobbies have been computer games, fixing things, and marriage. 

Over the last few months I have developed another hobby, watching sunsets.  This hobby has in fact turned out to be the most expensive yet.  You might ask yourself how watching sunsets (a max time cost of 45mins a day) could compare to computer games or marriage?

It ends up that the cost is not just the viewings, but the cost of getting to and finding them.

  

Alaska

Baja California

 

Belize

Yukon Canada

Guatemala

 
 

Nevada

Grand Tetons, Wyoming

Yucatan, Mexico

There is much time invested in the viewing that resulted in these mediocre photos.  Both in preparation and transit.  Thousands of hours in accruing savings as well.

There is something to be said for taking a few minutes, to sit and watch the world turn.  In the big scheme of things, we are simply on the rock floating through space, and no major or minor actions of mere humans will alter that meaningfully.

Perspective is astonishingly hard to find, and even harder to hang on to.  Today I watched 16 children play a soccer game on a basketball court sized dirt field cleared in the jungle.  Five teenage girls then watched, giggling as we did some Insanity cardio (We seem to make the locals day, as the crazy gringos are a rare treat in these parts).   I then rinsed off in the local river (rio), and tried (and failed) to catch some tiny zebra striped fish. 

To many trees to allow sunset viewing today.  Guess we will have to spend another few days in El Salvador.  ;)

56K Warning, Lots of pictures; (central american internet has renewed my deep seated psychological need to strangle the inventor of the dial-up modem.) 

Tubo de Escape and Other Capers

The last post was titled, “One Thing After Another,” where I outlined several events that seemed to pile on one another in a single, eventful day. Now, let me add on to that. After bringing our now mostly dry clothing and laying them about the van to complete drying, we set out on the return trip from Semuc Champey to civilization. With Jonathan’s impressive driving knowledge and skills, we made it safely back to paved roads. However, when we stopped at the beginning of the pavement to air up the tires, Jonathan discovered that at some point in the last 24 hours, we had hit something (whether a mega-tope [or túmulo as they are called in Guatemala] or just a large rock in the road) that discombobulated the entire exhaust system. Jonathan can give you a better description, but basically, it was in such a condition that he was almost uncomfortable driving to the next major town.

Those two L-brackets there are supposed to parallel to the ground.

We had been unsure of our next destination after departing Semuc Champey, but this incident cemented it for us. We were going to go to Guatemala City, as we probably needed a shop with exhaust-design experience plus a tire shop with a large variety of tires that weren’t exposed to the sun all the time. So we navigated the paved roads (hallelujah!) to Guatemala City. Interestingly enough, they apparently had issues with erosion here. At certain points, they would have signs saying “PRECAUCIÓN HUNDIMIENTO,” which means “CAUTION SINKHOLE.” And then varying amounts of the road would have sunk down and worn away. These had happened long enough ago that they had time to put up permanent signs, speed bumps, and occasionally a dirt road bypass when the road had been completely worn away. They apparently have difficulty for one reason or another in getting the heavy equipment and workers in to fix the underlying issue.

One of the milder ones. On the more severe, they had police there to direct traffic on the one remaining lane.

This is one where the entire part of the original road had dropped off and they had built a dirt-road bypass for it.

Guatemala City was intense with its traffic and the number of miles it took to get through it, but it could have been worse. We had at least in 2-3 lanes on each side of the divider. There were also lots of ridiculous, pimped-out old school buses.



 
We finally made it all the way to the other side of the city to scope out our campground options. The first place, Turicentro La Red, looked like it was closed for the day and we didn’t see anyone around to let us in. The second option, Turicentro Automariscos, also looked like it had closed for the day. But as we sat there thinking about what to do next, a man walking through the parking lot spotted us and came to talk to us. I told him we were looking for a place to camp and he said we could, we just needed to go to the other entrance farther up the road. They soon had us set up and we were settled in just before dark.

The next morning, Jonathan went to work examining the exhaust jumble in detail. Besides the crumpled exhaust, it had nearly broken off the oil fill/dipstick tube. However, he was able to pull, pry, and bend things roughly into place and replace the torn isolator mounts. He thinks we have something that will last a bit longer, so we didn’t have to figure out how to get a new exhaust designed and installed in Central America.

The exhaust rubber isolator/mount had broken off.

Jonathan sawed through the L-brackets and repositioned them to hold up the exhaust in its new lifted position. (Apparently Central America provides ground clearance upgrades, Gratis)

After that, we still needed to obtain a replacement tire so that we had a spare. So, we packed up our gear and asked the staff if there was a good tire shop nearby. They had a couple of suggestions, and put the only one our GPS could find into the route. On the way, we found a tire shop, called Llanresa, that they had suggested. It was right on the road and looked pretty professional (we had seen so-called tire shops along the road where the mechanic was prying the tires with pry bars, etc.). So we went there. We managed to communicate to the staff what we wanted done, during which time I learned a few more terms, including spare tire, rim and plies. We actually got to hang out with the mechanic who put on our new tires. It was quite the experience for me as I had never seen the process for putting tires on rims.

If you are a "legit" tire shop in México or Central America, it is a requirement that you have a tire labeled with tire shop  on it. Interestingly, the word for tire shop changes. In northern México, it is llantera. In southern México, it is vulcanizadora. Then in Guatemala it was pinchazo.

Chuck gets a lift. 

Mounting new tires.  

Afterwards, we tried to go to watch Iron Man 3, but the audio was only in español, so we didn’t go. I personally am not opposed to watching movies in different languages, but Jonathan wouldn’t understand the language at all and the whole point of the Iron Man series is the witty dialogue Tony Stark has (at least for me) and that doesn’t translate well.


Spanish words of the Day:
Rim: aro
Spare tire: rueda de repuestos