March 7, 2000

I crossed the Honduras-Nicaragua border in one hour flat! My personal best by several hours. In part, due to the help of a little angel named Darwin, an eleven year old tramitadore, or border crossing helper. The little champ saved my place at the front of the line when the border opened at 8 am and helped speed me through the mountains of paperwork necessary at this and every other border.

The four-hour trip into Managua seemed a lot shorter and was certainly more lively in the company of two young ladies I picked up hitchhiking just inside Nicaragua. I was happy to have someone to talk to and they were ecstatic when I bought them lunch and sodas. And as usual, the digital camera was a big hit. I went to the airport that night to pick up my pal Scott, who will be my co-pilot for the next few weeks.

We checked out the Manangua night-life and got ready for our expedition into the Nicaraguan countryside. We enlisted a few more gringos along the way, including a German tourist traveling by herself, and two American brothers looking to import hammocks. The next day was not my lucky day. I had four encounters with the Nicaraguan Police, two of which were a little touchy with threats of going downtown and the confiscation of my drivers license. In between interrogations, the Gringo Gang had a great time visiting the active Massaya Volcano and finding a place to stay in the tiny town of Catarina that had no hotels. The town of Catarina overlooks the pristine Lake Apoyo and is as picturesque and friendly as you can imagine. Most of the Gang moved on, but Scott and I stayed another day. With a healthy dose of serenity, we are now ready for the trip to the Atlantic Coast and the Corn Islands!

March 6, 2000

I put in quite a few miles on the roads of Honduras (Even more kilometers!). The conditions were pretty good considering the destruction that Hurricaine Mitch brought to the country just not so long ago. Seeing the number of temporary one-lane bridges and bridges under construction, the country must have been crippled for some time after Mitch.

Interestingly, I saw several businesses named after the hurricaine, the reasoning for which I can’t quite grasp.

Lots of roadside treats were available. I enjoyed chocolate covered frozen bananas and had the opportunity to purchase an armadillo. After the whole iguana episode, as you might guess, I decided to pass on the armadillo.

 Some of the drivers were not as good as the roads, however. I was almost run off a mountain road by a truck passing another on a blind curve. My personal speed limit went down 10 mph after almost soiling my shorts. 

I encountered other drivers who weren’t so lucky. I came upon the scene of a multiple vehicle crash only moments after it occurred. Three cars and a bus were smashed together with someone still trapped in a mangled vehicle. My speed limit went down another notch as I considered the lack of emergency vehicles responding to the scene and the odds that the “jaws of life” were probably not forthcoming.

March 4, 2000

While waiting for a boat to Wawina, a group of iguana hunters arrived with their catch of the day. They had over 20 of the critters ranging from 3 to 5 feet long. I was asked if I had ever eaten iguana. Niether the menu at my favorite Burger King nor the deli section of my Safeway has ever featured iguana, so, no, I’d never tried it. It sounded quite exotic and I thought it would make a lively journal entry. I plunked down 35 lempiras ($2.50) for my four-footer that Laura was eager to prepare for me.

The reality was not as exciting, nor exotic as the idea. The captured iguanas are kept alive until cooked with the tendons from their claws tied together behind their backs like convenient little handcuffs. This effectively immobilizes them but a few of the fiestier ones will still bite. These unlucky troublemakers have their heads stomped until they calm down. In transit, they are flung around by their tails, much like a piece of luggage. It gets worse from there but I think I’ve said enough.

I was finally served my bowl of iguanna stew, I could only stomach one tiny taste. It was an experience that could easily convert one to vegetarianism. At the very least, I won’t be eating iguanna again anytime soon.