A Postcard From Somewhere: Australian

Hitting the kick starter several times with his foot, it was hard to hear the engine turn over in the roar of the wind gusting around 30 mph. Standing almost a foot smaller than me, the 200cc motorcycle even looked small for him. With his backpack resting on his chest, I hopped onto the back grabbing the seat handle with my right hand. Looking down I found the exhaust pipe to make sure I didn't burn my leg. My hiking boots rested near the exhaust, it was the first time I've really been thankful for lugging them around during the last six months. Picking up the empty propane take in my left hand, I did my best to place it in my lap without being too uncomfortable. I heard the the property manager's muffled voice through the wind.

"Are you ready? It's a little bit of a mission?"

"Yeah I guess so."

"It's a good thing that you ran out of propane for the stove today, cause if you ran out tomorrow they would have been closed."

"Yeah good thing."

The motorcycle bogging from the weight had a hard time pulling us up the gradual slopes of the washboard road. Seems to be the standard for most transportation in Nicaragua.

Making it to a flat section of road, we picked up a little speed. Headed directly into the wind, each gust felt like someone pressed the on button to a wind tunnel. During each gust, we leaned into the wind to try and counter balance the motorcycle. I gripped the propane tank and the motorcycle seat harder.

Weaving around potholes, I heard a honk from behind and a second later, a motorcycle passed us. All that was left behind was a thick trail of dust and sand that we rode through. Coming from the other direction I'm bewildered by the family of four on another motorcycle. Two toddlers sitting on the gas tank, the husband driving and the mom on the back carrying an ice chest under one arm and a canvas bag under the other. The only person with a helmet was the man.

While I think it's crazy and dangerous for the family of four to be on the motorcycle, I'm sure it was amusing for them and everyone else to see two gringos riding too small of a motorcycle. Let alone the biggest gringo riding on the back holding a propane tank.

My left side tired from holding the propane tank was beginning to shake like a faked smile held too long. Making it to the hardware store, I plopped the propane tank down, I hopped off as one of the attendants looked at us and laughs. The other attendant grabbed the propane tank and hands us a new one.

"It's kind of a mission huh."

"Yeah that wind is horrible."

"Yeah it's like this here a lot. This is the worst I've seen it for a year. At least they just grated the roads. And good thing it's not a muddy mess yet."

The property manager hopping onto the bike kicks the starter like a cowboy spurring a horse. As the engine kicked to life I hopped onto the back once again. Picking up the full propane tank, I mentally let out a groan as we rolled away.

Here are some photos from the last few days. Due to the large inland lake, the Southern section of Nicaragua blows offshore about 300 days a year. What they don't tell you is that it could blow so hard that it will white cap offshore.

Mornings with a view.

Popoyo perfection

The quiver is waiting

Since there isn't much to do in the wind, we get excited about the fruit truck that comes once a day. Karen is clearly excited

Our spoils

Prep time

Karen showing us how to make pasta from scratch

Noodles rolled and ready

Tamale pie, beans and rice

Heres whats cookin'. Recipes from thousands of miles away...

Update**

The Australian girls have now broken down three times since the last post but it wasn't their fault. Some guy was going to buy their Jeep so they went for a test drive. Popped a tire and twenty minutes later the spare. After the girls spent all day in town fixing it. They walk out the next morning to see that another tire went flat. In their words he was "driving like a madman." They saw him last pushing a motorcycle down the road that he said blew a carburetor when he was riding it. Said it wasn't his fault.

Read about getting to Popoyo and the Australian girls

"Chica blanca!! Chica blanca!!"

"Amigos!! Quieras un taxi, la buse es 4 horas!"

After we lugged our backpacks, surfboards and food for a week through the city of Rivas, the last thing I wanted to encounter were taxi drivers. Since we stood out in the crowd like peacocks, the taxi drivers swarmed us like flies at the bus terminal.

Rivas open air market

Rivas, a city where horse drawn wagons are still used and wheelbarrows still have wooden wheels.

The bus terminal in Rivas seems to be a hub for many of the other places in Nicaragua. Looking at the old U.S. International school buses painted brightly, covered in a thin layer of dust and outfitted with safari roof racks, they don the bus routes in fancy calligraphy. Managua. San Jaun. Grenada.

Since the bus terminal is a main hub, the Rivas open air market spills into the terminal along with street vendors selling toys, jewelry and baked goods. As the taxi drivers hound us, it seems that everyone with in eyesight is enjoying the circus taking place. Some of the street vendors take a break to watch and sit around us. Sitting down, one of the street vendors looks at me and gave me a look as if to say "I'm sorry."

The taxi drivers giving up on us, eventually left to find another potential prospect. After about fifteen minutes of waiting a man comes over and helps us get to our bus. Walking over we hand the bus attendant our luggage and he throws our backpacks and boards onto the roof racks with a loud thud.

Chet looking at me says, "how much you want to bet our boards are going to be damaged?"

"I don't even want to think about it."

Climbing into the crowded bus, we were lucky enough to get seats. Squeezing into the well worn green vinyl seats, I try to make myself comfortable as my knees dig into the seat in front of me. I considered myself lucky as many of the seats had three to a seat. As the bus filled up, it was standing room only - it was more tightly packed than a dance club.

While the bus was waiting to depart, vendors flooded into the bus to try and sell their goods to last minute buyers. Since the bus was so tightly packed money and goods were fire lined back and forth between buyers and sellers.

Fully loaded with people and goods, the bus stirred to life as we putted out of the terminal. Packed with buses trying to both leave and enter the terminal, we snaked our way along out to the main road.

Hitting a pot hole caused the bus to rock making it clip the bus next to us. As if it were a common occurrence our bus continued on it's way only to stop for more people. More and more packed, the more and more sweaty everyone became.

A long hour and a half down the gravel road, the bus stops as the glass Coca Cola bottles beneath our feet continue to clatter across the floor. The people around us murmur that this our destination. Funneling out of the bus, the attendant that has been sitting on the roof unloads our boards and bags. The bus driver with his gold fillings, white t-bucket hot rod shirt and gold chained necklace fixed with a cross pendant points to our next vehicle coming down the dusty road.

A van so sad looking that it looks as if it were going to lose parts with every pothole that it hit. Loading our luggage onto the racks, I pause to admire our chariot. No license plate, side panels so warped outwards the back hatch doesn't close, the tires are billowing off the rims from the weight of everything on and in the vehicle.

Our golden chariot

Strolling around to look at the other side, there are 15 people in the van the size of a dodge caravan. Not seeing any room, Chet pokes his head out from inside and says, "there might be room on the roof..."

Looking up at the five people on the roof with all of the luggage, I look back and say "I guess so."

Climbing up the makeshift ladder, I sit down on a rice sack and make myself comfortable. The engine emitting crying noises drags us down the road while black smoke rich with the smell of oil is spewing out of the exhaust pipe.

Lurching to a stop, we are told to hop off and we are handed our luggage. The van taking off at a snails pace down the road leaves us wondering where we are supposed to go. Finding a sign, someone says "it says down that way."

I ask Chet with a sly smile, "you want to carry the boards this time."

He gives me a look that says no but I guess so.

Lots of weight, hot, and dusty

With everything on our backs or under our arms, we begin walking down the hot dusty road. Too hot to continue on, we pause underneath a tree with the little shade it has to offer.

"Where is this place."

"I don't know."

"I guess let's continue on, we'll find out."

Picking up our stuff we turn around and see an old Jeep wagon pull up. Dusty, rusty, velvet interior, cattle guard on the front, Mexico plates, surfboards in the back, and two blond women in the front.

Through their Australian accents, "You guys need a ride or something."

"Yeah, that would be awesome! You guys are heroes!"

"Throw your stuff in the back! There's two seats in the back and one in the front."

Chet and Karen hopping in the back seats, one of the girls moves to the jump seat as I hop in the front next to them.

The one in the jump seat says to me, "sorry my seats a bit sweaty."

"Doesn't matter to me and beats walking, you guys come from Mexico?"

"Yeah, we bought our Jeep in Puerto and have been driving down Central America the last seven months!"

"No way, you guys are hardcore."

Pulling up to our destination we unload our stuff in front of the hostel. Sitting down in the shade, I look their Jeep over.

"Have you guys had any car troubles driving down here."

"No not at all, we ran out of petrol one time so we went surfing and waited for someone to show up."

"How did you guys go about licensing?"

"Someone at the border foraged some stuff in Mexico and wrote us a letter. We haven't had any trouble at all with the border crossings."

As I continued to check their rig out, they headed inside the hostel. Glad to finally be at our destination after two days of travel, I took a seat back in the shade and relaxed.

Here are some more photos over the last few days.

No more room on the bus, find a comfy seat on the floor instead