Walking the gravel path to the front gate, our taxi driver is waiting for us. The driver seeing us steps out of the car and introduces himself as Alex. Shaking his hand, he's clean cut and sharply dressed in black leather shoes, tight denim jeans, a pink polo, and large white sunglasses. Opening the trunk for us we put our dirty backpacks in his immaculate black trunk.
"How do we get the boards on the car since there aren't racks?"
"I guess we just strap them to the roof the best we can."
"Lets do three straps just in case."
Putting the boards on the car, they immediately want to blow away due to the incessant strong winds. Karen handing us the straps, we begin strapping the boards to the car as best we can. Synching them tight, Chet grabs them and wiggles them around.
"They still aren't very secure."
"It's the best we are going to do. Besides, I don't think we are going to be going very fast since we're on a dirt road."
Looking at the boards I'm more worried that the case is going to break than about the boards flying off. We have shoved two boards into a bag that is supposed to hold one board snuggly. The seams are splitting and the material is tearing. The bag is fraying like an old burlap sack.
Stepping into the front seat, it's the nicest vehicle I've been in for at least six months. Unlike a majority of the other vehicles in Central America, there isn't one spec of dirt on the shiny white exterior. Tinted windows and air conditioning so cold I have goosebumps - I tell myself this is a luxury.
Making several attempts to turn around on the one lane road, our three point turn increases in number to a five point turn. Dodging a few potholes we make it to the main road.
Alex says in Spanish, "where to?"
"Rivas."
"San Jaun del Sur is only a little bit more money and it's better and faster than taking the bus."
Chet, Karen, and I confer with one another for a minute.
"Okay, take us to San Jaun."
Unlike the other vehicles we've taken to get to Popoyo, we are making some headway. The car is actually moving fast enough that I'm worried a tire might pop on the large chunks of rock in the road. Hitting the speed of about 25kmph, the surfboard straps start buzzing. Alex gives me an annoyed expression and stops in the middle of the road.
Opening the car door my goosebumps turn to sweat. My sunglasses become fogged over from the temperature difference. Readjusting the straps, we hop back in the car. Alex testing out the straps by accelerating the car seems satisfied. Making himself comfortable he puts his music on through the car stereo. The car stereo screen reads hip-hop and I can just make out the lyrics through the speakers - American rap music.
I turn around and give Karen a look saying "do you hear this, American hip-hop!" Hearing Coolio's famous and morbid rap song "Gangsta's Paradise" playing, I tell Alex "me gusta (I like)" since the three of us know the song. In doing so, he turns it up. Turning back to look at Karen, she shoots me a look of "why did you do that."
Through the stereo we hear bass and the lyrics.
"Been spending most their lives, living in the Gangsta's paradise. Keep spending most our lives, living in the Gangsta's paradise..."
Passing signs that say 25kmph, I look at the speedometer that says 50kmph. We only slow down for potholes and to avoid rear ending motorcyclists. Passing the bus stop, gringos sit in the sun and stare at us while we leave them behind with a dust cloud. Thirty minutes later, the dirt road turns into miles of brick pavers. I lose track of the time as I daydream about why a road crew would lay brick patio pavers down instead of asphalt.
Speeding up and over a hill, located at the bottom is an orange cone in the middle of the road. A speed trap and a checkpoint. Caught red handed, the police officer waves us down. Pulling over to the side of the road, the officer has parked his motorcycle under the only tree with shade around. The motorcycle is an unmarked bike, nothing about it says police. Peering through Alex's rolled down window, the officer asks for what I presume is the license and registration. Alex fumbling around for the papers successfully finds one but not the other. Alex takes his wallet out and begins fingering through the large wad of red, yellow, and green bills. The officer continues to wave other traffic through and takes out his phone to text. Alex hops out of the car and opens the trunk to search for something. The officer board with texting walks over to Alex. Alex hands him a few bills from his wallet and hops back in the car.
"Lo siento. Dinero. Dinero. Dinero (I'm sorry. Money. Money. Money)."
Leaning his seat back to make himself comfortable, he turns the music back on and we're speeding down the road again. Ten minutes later we come around a corner and a hundred yards ahead we see the familiar orange cones with two officers.
Alex looks at me and says sadly, "Es no mí dia (it's not my day)."
The officer waves us to the side of the road. Alex rolls down the window and shakes the officer's hand with a few bills in his hand. The officer waves us through like an air traffic controller and we are on our way back to San Juan. Staring out the window we pass some wooden carts pulled by ox. Spacing out, I laugh to myself about how Coolio's song seems to be the motif of our taxi ride.
"Been spending most their lives, living in the Gangsta's paradise. Keep spending most our lives, living in the Gangsta's paradise. Power and money, money and power..."
After the second checkpoint, we made it to San Juan del Sur without a problem. Chet having lived here for several months when he was younger doesn't recognize anything. A small village is now an upscale tourist town similar to Sayulita Meixo. Fully built up, it's eerily empty but is gearing up for holidays like Semana Santa. Here are some photos from the last few days.
An old shack at the wharf
Iv'e been planning on starting a new type of post called "Characters" documenting the people that I meet. I believe that with anywhere you go, and with anything you do, the surrounding people or "characters" dictate an experience just as much as the surrounding environment. Naturally since I've been traveling with Karen and Chet I would start with them. I'm still thinking about how to go about writing it so it may take some time. Anyways, I want to include their perspective on traveling too - Chet and Karen's blog.
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