Nicaragua to El Salvador - The Longest Day

28th August

I have never had such a testing day in all my life and yet I am still alive and have been rewarded with many amazing experiences since...

so from the beginning...

I woke at 5:30am to another beautiful sunny day at the Hotel Chancletas. It was hard to muster the motivation to pack the bike and leave, I even toyed with the idea of a morning surf but knew I had a long day ahead and needed to get going early.

In theory it would take 2hrs to reach the border with Honduras, 2hrs to get through the border, 3hrs to ride straight through Honduras, 2hrs to pass the border into El Salvador and then a further 1:30hr to get to my hostel in a town called El Cuco. All in all it was going to be 10hr day. I figured if I was on the road by 7am I would get to the hostel by 5pm before the dark set in!

In true Burnham style I faffed around packing the bike and having breakfast and was almost ready for just gone 7am. Before starting breakfast I asked the guys to get my bill ready, a young local lad of maybe 17 sat with a tick sheet detailing my stay and asked for $160... I had worked it out the night before to be $140 and after some debating we agreed that he had overcharged me by 1 night... no problem but it then took him 15mins to rewrite the entire tab, then add it up wrong, then get the tipex out and so on until it was 7:30am.

Finally ready to leave I typed in my destination to my phone's GPS which, because I was currently off the map, wigged out and said it couldn't find a route... I would have to do the entire ride using my famously crap map reading skills, the utterly useless latin road signs and a map that was so lacking in detail that it covered the whole of Central America on one A1 page!

Off I went trying to remember my way back to Chinandega using roads that weren't even on the map... I made it within an hour and only took one wrong turn! At Chinandega I re-fuelled and nailed it down the PanAmerican highway to the border with Honduras. By now I had the border routine fairly well sussed and was out of Nica and into Honduras within 2hrs, it was 12pm and I was an hour behind schedule.

I had been warned that Honduras was the most dangerous of all the Central American countries with a reputation for car jacking at gun point and other such friendly antics. With this in mind I rode as quickly as the bike would take me, weirdly everyone else had the same idea, even the lorries were hitting 100-120k's! To add to the fun the road looked like it had been shelled, pot holes bigger than my front wheel and half a foot deep littered the road causing the trucks, cars and bikes to slalom all over the road. Overtaking was a complete gamble... I'd wind the bike up to over 120k, clench butt cheeks and pray that the truck wouldn't jump lanes and that there were no craters awaiting me on the other side of the road.

After another hour I arrived at a town called Choluteca, the road split and I went left for no other reason than there were lots of people in the street and I figured I might find a place with wifi and get the GPS working... The word internet was met with blank faces in two cafe's in Choluteca and the people seemed annoyed that I had disrupted their sitting doing nothing so I resigned myself to the use of the map and rode on. At the end of town the road split offering five different options in some kind of abstract version of a roundabout. I needed route CA1 for which there was one sign with a town name not on the map... I took the turn after checking the other direction which said CA3... semi confident I was on the right road I continued on riding towards a dark looking sky draped over an inviting set of mountains. For the next hour and a half I wound my way through the mountains getting absolutely soaked constantly reassuring my self that the road felt right and I was definitely going the right way... I even stopped and asked a guy on the side of the road who told me it was only another half hour to the frontera!!! When I arrived at the frontera I handed my documents to a guy in a hut who then passed them to an overly friendly young lad (coyote) who took me to the customs office and ran in to get my papers stamped... 'Amazing!' I thought to myself I had made it through Honduras in 2:30hrs... when the little man came running back out and asked me for $20 to pay for entry to Nicaragua I almost believed he was joking... he wasn't, I had managed to ride 1/3rd of the way across Honduras before taking a road North East back to a different border with Nicaragua... Man was I pissed. It was now 2:30pm and I would have to ride another 3hrs to get to the border with El Salvador... despite the obvious rage venting from my person the young lad insisted that he needed paying and asked for $20... I, not so politely told him to go do one, gave him $4 and sped off back down the mountain.

Three hours later after speeding as fast as I could go in the still heavy rain, I arrived at the correct border, shattered and hungry having not eaten since 7am... it was 5:00pm and the sky was beginning to darken. Exiting Honduras was relatively quick and I began to think I could make El Cuco before dark... entering El Salvador was not... immigration was easy and I sailed through with growing positivity but then I had to sort the bike... Customs was about 2km down the road and filled with a que of trucks and their associated truckers who were impatiently waiting/hustling the friendly but slow and somewhat meticulous officials. I joined the que and filled out the necessary forms... whilst I waited I watched as they unloaded the trucks, sent in the dogs and gave everything a thorough once over... I had not seen this kind of competance in any other country!

My forms were accepted after a small group debate about the weight of my bike... the official insisted on needing to know the weight and when I said 'I dunno, 150kgs' he took his time asking around the truck drivers as if it were some kind of sweep stake... any way I then had to go sit in a shelter and wait for the Portacabin team to enter my details on to the computer system. The whole process (with me hustling them along) took about an hour by which time the sun had dissapered, the sky had turned black and a huge storm had started to shed it's load... I was anxious to say the least, an hour and half to go with no GPS in a huge  thunder storm in complete darkness except for the lightening with a crappy 50W bulb to guide me!

I rolled out of Customs at 6:30pm and was drenched before I made it to the main road. When I arrived at the final check point it was total gridlock... lorries on both sides had managed to wedge them selves so tight that not even the locals on their little chicken chasers could get through. We all sat in the pouring rain beeping and getting wet!

After 5mins a local managed to shunt his bike over a shin high curb and into the dirt on the side of the road... excellent I thought and attempted to follow... the front wheel went over with a hefty rev of the engine but as it did I heard a horrible crunching sound and realised I had beached the bike on the sump guard... never mind I thought and revved the bike hard to try and get the back wheel over. To my dismay and the amusement of everone else the wheel span and skidded sideways along the curb until I was wedged between a pickup and the curb! Well and truly stuck I got off the bike and asked the bemused driver to inch forward so I could pull the bike off the curb.

At this point I would have loved to be in one of the nearby cars watching me struggle trying to drag the bike backwards slipping in the rain until just as I almost had the front wheel up my foot went and I slipped off the handle and dropped the bike onto the curb with all the weight landing on my precious surf board... cursing at myself I got back up and heaved the bike back up right. With a sudden burst of angry energy I managed to bounce the front wheel up and over the curb and back into the que of complete ass holes who didn't once offer to help.

After an awkward ten minutes sitting in the rain a truck was allowed through the checkpoint and everyone burst out onto the highway keen to get away. I could see about 20m in front of me through a blurry, rain covered visor and decided to try and follow a couple of cars as a guide to where the road was going. Unlike English roads there are no cats eyes and the only clue as to where the centre and edges of the road lies are the white lines on the ground which are almost impossible to see when they are under water!

We crawled along at about 40mph and after 20mins I spotted a sign to La Union and took the turning off to the left. I was really struggling by this point, my eyes were straining and my whole body tense with the expectation that  there would be a pothole or turn in the road... the cars had continued straight and I was on my own in the dark. I was looking out for a hotel and would have happily admitted defeat but it wasn't for another hour that I would see the inviting neon lights. In the mean time I had been getting impatient and had raised my speed to 55mph on the basis that I hadn't come off yet and despite not being able to see I would never get there if I kept going slow... then, out of nowhere I hit a huge puddle that covered the entire lane and sent me flying across the other side of the road desperately fighting the handlebars trying to keep the bike upright, the bike aquaplaned and as I let off the throttle the speed dropped off and I came to a stop my heart pounding hard in my chest. I really thought I was going down and god knows what I would have done then!

When I finally came across a hotel I pulled in and and asked the guy how far I was from El Cuco and was there a restaurant... he told me at least two hours from Cuco which I knew was bull shit and there was no food other than a gas station 5mins away at La Union... I said I would get some food and come back. At the gas station the guys said I was only half an hour from Cuco and as I watched a lady dressed in a skirt and linen top (no stylish waterproofs like mine!) jump on the back of her boyfriends tiny bike and ride out into the storm I told myself to stop being a pussy and keep going.

It took another hour to get the hostel and it was far from simple... whilst on the main road I came across a roundabout which I had been told to go left at (the roundabouts in El Salvador are a hybrid between a motorway slip road and elongated traditional roundabout, it makes no sense in the light let alone the dark!), as I went passed a sign I took a left and mid way round the corner a car shot out of the darkness and skidded to a halt in front of me... I was going the wrong way round the bout and the guy had just stopped short of my front mud guard!

As the car drove off shouting out the window two random guys jumped out of hammocks in a thatched shelter and walked over to me in the middle of the road... I was shitting me self thinking I was about to get jacked when they started asking in a very friendly tone 'where was I trying to go?'. They pointed me in the right direction and I rode off wondering what the hell they were doing lying in hammocks by the side of a dual carriageway roundabout in the middle of a raging thunder storm????

Anyways about half hour from the garage I saw a sign pointing to Playa Esteron... this was not were I was aiming but I recalled that this was part of the lonely planet directions... I rolled into a desolate town and saw an old man sat in his doorway... I asked for directions to La Tortuga Verde and he said "Que"! Fortunately his son and daughter came to the door and spent five minutes repeating complicated directions which didn't make sense. I carried on as directed..."Directo, directo!!" and as the cobbled road turned to mud I began to question the decision to keep going... the unlit track went on for another 15mins and I came across two groups who said to keep going... I was far from Ok at this point and didn't have a clue what to do but keep going. Then in the middle of nowhere as I bounced through a deep muddy puddle I came across Douglas riding his bike with a brolly in one hand. As I asked for directions he told me with a big, gold plated, toothy smile that he worked at Tortuga Verde and that I should follow him! I had made it!!!!!!!!!!

I arrived at La Tortuga Verde at 8:30pm having been on the road for 13hrs, piss wet through, boots full of water and starving hungry... I have no idea how I managed to get there in one piece and am very grateful that I made it alive. So many things could have gone wrong and yet my luck held with the exception of the huge hole in my board. If there is a god he/she was watching over me that day!

Granada to Hotel Chancletas - The Boom!

25th - 28th August

Wearing clean clothes (yup, even pants!) I carefully backed my bike down the very narrow and very steep ramp out onto the street, nearly dropping the whole rig onto my board as the staff watched my stylish exit with concerned looks / grins.

On the way out of town I filled the tank for $15 and bought some more motor oil, the bike had burned through a litre in about 2,000miles and I am forever checking the level. Leaving Granada I headed West toward Managua passing the huge Volcan Masaya which dominated the view from the road. Blindly following my GPS I weaved through two lanes of traffic and round lawless roundabouts until I popped out the other side of Managua continuing West toward Leon. The sun was shining, the tarmac was smooth and I was in my T shirt and shades cruising through the mountains / volcanoes and buzzing past trucks, I was a happy boy!

After two and a half hours I was approaching the city of Leon. In the distance, to the North, large grey clouds were gathering ominously, I was desperately hoping for a left turn to take me toward the coast but as luck would have it the road to Chinandega required a right turn taking me directly toward the incoming clouds! Tired and not relishing the prospect of water filled boots (again!) I stopped at a road side shack and got a drink of fizzy pop, burned down a quick cigarette, oiled my chain and got myself pumped for the ride into the gloom. After twenty minutes with the sky getting ever darker I arrived at a fork in the road and to my relief was instructed by my GPS to go left and away from the iminent downpour!

After another forty minutes I had arrived at Chinandega, which although quite large was relatively easy to navigate. Out the other side of town the weather was getting brighter and the going was good, the road to Jiquilillo was smooth and mostly empty, the sweeping bends linking together like a long winding snake as I cruised at 60-80mph with a grin from one ear to the other.

At a random junction I took a left and continued in the late afternoon sun off into no-where's-ville passing the odd cyclist or farmer driving his cattle down the road, there was nothing but fields and trees for as far as the eye could see. At this stage of the journey I would always start to get a little anxious... Was the sat nav taking me to the right place? Was I going to make it before dark? Would they have a spare bed? What would I do if I couldn't find the hostel? etc... anyways I did find the hostel... but not before having to ride through two large herds of cattle, wiggling off down two dirt roads, missing the hostel and running out of map, stopping and asking a group of local football lads for directions and then going back and forth for ten minutes trying to find the gate with a pair of sandals on the front! I didn't see a single sign for the Hotel Chancletas but was nonetheless very happy, after riding for the best part of five hours, to have arrived at my destination and within 5mins of arriving at reception I had agreed on three nights instead of the one agreed with walkie talkie man.

Hotel Chancletas is an awesome place. The owners have beautifully developed a large, open and very neatly manicured area of land setback about 50m from the beach with several private houses, a main building with private rooms and a six bed dorm. I took a dorm bed for $10 a night and gorged my self on the excellent daily trio of meals on offer. Food was not cheap by Nicaraguan standards and I ended up spending, on average $30/day including accommodation but having camped for eight days I was glad of the luxury and figured I deserved it!

A short walk down a tiny dirt path takes you out on to the light brown sandy beach. On my first night I had arrived just in time for a beautiful sunset, with a beer in my hand and not a soul on the beach I watched the sun dissapear below the horizon and cast an insanely bright orangey glow over the entire sky, it was beautiful!

At 4:45am my dorm buddy Alex and I got up wearily and wandered down to the beach in the dark. The waves, just about visible had transformed from the onshore mish mash of the night before to a super clean, Hossegor esq wave with 3-5ft barrelling bombs crashing onto the steep beach, churning up the sand and blasting beautiful ribbons of spit out into the air in front of the crushing lip. I understood why the break was called 'The Boom'! My stomach started to churn with a mix of excitement and anxiety. I had been told that the previous day no less than seven boards had been snapped and a guy had involuntarily exfoliated his face on the sea bed. With only one board and not enough in the budget to buy another it was with mixed emotion that I waxed my board and strapped on my leash...

Three or four peaks up and down a stretch of sand roughly 300m long were pitching and forming quick and hollow A frame or closeout waves. The swell was a little mixed up as though two different swells were coming from two different angles resulting in a shifty and inconsistent break. Fortunately the period was about 16s and there was enough time to slip out between sets... however if you got the timing wrong you ended up with a mouthful of sand and a pummelling unlike anything I have ever experienced.

At 5:15am it was light enough to see the sets rolling in, about seven guys and I jumped in the water and slipped out back to wait for the make or break first wave of the day. After 5mins I picked up a small but sucky right hander... with two paddle strokes the wave picked me up and as the face quickly got more vertical I hopped to my feet and shot down into a bowly bottom and down the line. It was a great introduction to the wave and although I was too far onto the shoulder to get barrelled I felt the potential and power and felt my confidence lift. I hopped off the back of the wave and paddled out to await the next one. At this point another 3 guys jumped in and paddled out right in front of me, the guys from America were all friendly and had been at The Boom for a few days and had clearly had some practice. With the rips dragging us up and down the beach it was difficult to hold position and I struggled to be in the right place when the sets came through... it took the Americans 15mins to get off the mark but when they did I quickly realised the different level of surfing ability between us and the wave I had previously been quite happy with was put to shame! One guy in particular, Brian demonstrated how to surf a proper barrelling wave. See the photos... he would literally dissappear in the barrel for a few seconds before being spat out in glory, it was very impressive and humbling to watch. I still have a lot to learn. I caught a few other smaller waves and took a few beatings but my confidence was shot and I was too scared to break my board that I just couldn't commit to the bigger set waves. I hate that feeling and left the water frustrated and angry with myself.

The afternoons brought strong onshore winds and whilst it was still possible to surf the waves were just as heavy but messier and less organised... I got a couple but also got dumped and figured it was stupid risking my board when there was no chance of getting a decent wave so resigned myself to enjoying the hotel grounds, relaxing in the hammocks and reading. A father and son from the states, Brian and Dylan, (Dylan was about eleven I think) were there for a week on a surfing holiday and extremely chatty. They came over and said hello and told me they were going for a boat trip in the morning to a left hand point break about half an hour away. I asked to join and was immediately signed up!

The next morning at 5am I checked the surf and watched as Brian (the other Brian!) and his two buddies jumped in the water while it was still dark... I figured it was a good chance to get some photos so sat and watched for a half hour. Dude he got shacked! His buddies were less good and after twenty minutes a tall dude with shaggy beard got out having lost the nose of his board and grated a load of skin from his stomach! I went and grabbed my board and slipped out into the line up, the waves were a little smaller but still just as hollow... I had a much better session but still didn't snag any barrels.

A wave like this was so totally different from the majority of the waves I had been surfing up to now and required a totally different approach... in order to get into the pit first you need to be sat in the right place, too deep and you get swallowed, too far on the shoulder and you run out before the wave barrels. You need to paddle early and take the wave late which requires a knowledge of this type of wave to position yourself correctly and get the timing right. If you don't commit to the wave and sit too far out to sea or if you don't paddle quick enough you will get caught and thrown from the top of the wave as it begins to pitch. When you pop you need to have the board angled down the line and your toes dug into the board to hold your rail on the steep wall in order to keep a high and fast line to make the barrel... soo many times I would either drop too straight and not make it under the lip or simply get pitched, unable to hold the rail and end up on my back with the lip landing straight on top of me a drilling me into the sand... in short I couldn't figure out how to surf this wave. It was incredibly frustrating and humbling and highlighted the next level of progression required... I sucked!

At 8:30am after some brekkie and coffee Brian, Dylan and I jumped in the hotels 4x4 and were taken to a little village on the estuary where our boat was waiting. Ten minutes through the mangroves took us out to a boulder headland where a super fun and completely empty, left hand point was kicking up just over head high faces which peeled for 50-75m. We dropped anchor and dived off the boat (I smashed my board into the side of the as I did so!) and paddled the 100m over to where the wave was breaking. For the next three and a half hours the four of us took turns taking wave after wave, hollering and whooping and calling each other into the next wave as it jacked up on the horizon... whenever Dylan was on we would all scream extra loud, he got some great waves and would paddle back out buzzing with excitement and explaining each little movement with a massive grin! I must have had over forty waves and was frothing... a steep drop followed by a quick bottom turn up onto the face, a couple of pumps then cut back and pump and cut back... ahhh what a difference, I could actually surf this wave!! At 11:30am the wind swung onshore and we were all totally spent... I grabbed a last couple and hauled myself into the boat. We said goodbye and thanks to the boat driver with fist bumps all round and headed back to Chancletas to recover.

That afternoon was chilled with the exception of my ice bucket challenge which aided by the staff and the excitable Dylan went well. Thanks for the nomination Manko!

Brian very kindly gave me a mount for my GoPro so I could attach it to my board and finally get some video of the waves and invited me to stay when I got to San Diego. Very kind folk these Americans!

I was thoroughly spent after two days at the Hotel Chancletas, the wave was incredibly challenging and I would love to go back with a stack of boards and take a week to figure it out. I have no doubt, given the time I would score some great barrels at this place, it just wasn't to be this time. I would highly recommend this place to any intermediate -experienced surfer, it is an incredible place to stay and the wave whilst challenging is a great place to step up your game, there are also more approachable options available at the points for as little as $10 so you can find the right wave for your ability.

I was knackered after my time at the Hotel Chancletas and was glad to escape with just a flapping tail pad and a cracked rail... Time for some El Salvadorean right hand points... Boom!!!

Granada - A little Culture

25th August

From Papoyo the ride to Granada took an hour and 40mins, the first hour on a super fun, wiggly little dirt road weaving through tiny dusty villages with mixed populations  comprising of half humans, quarter chickens and a final quarter of pigs! Everyone in Nica seems to have a pig! They snuffle around on the side of the road with triangular wooden frames around their necks so as to stop them getting through the fences and into the fields where u would think they would live!

As I was cruising along I came across a section of road works in a village... they were laying a brick road and had completed one side so far... as I passed waving at the people I heard this solid thud from the rear of the bike. I had just slammed an upright brick into the back frame of my board rack!... the locals stopped waving and started shouting and whistling... I got the flock outta there!

A short distance further, whilst pondering the eternal question 'Why did the chicken cross the road?', I discovered the answer... 'To try and kill the motorcyclist!'. The little fluffy buggers are lethal... they walk out into the road, sometimes as many as six or seven at once, they look the oncoming motorcyclist in the eye then dart left, then right, then back left and then start flapping and sqwaking pointlessly in an attempt to attract the attention of their owners so that should said motorcyclist hit the totally deserved chicken the nice man with the machette will come and chop your arms off!

On this particular occasion a large cock with most splendid plumage played the game like a pro and had me weaving and second guessing for a good 20m as I got closer and closer until right at the last minute he played his trump card and made a break back toward the verge and consequently the direction in which my front wheel was travelling... I hit the brakes harder and pointed toward the ditch, off the road... the front wheel locked and I skidded to a stop just before the ditch in front of a machette weilding mans house! The cock, shook himself and walked off back into the road his head bobbing like he was some sort of gansgter, hustler who'd almost hit the jackpot. Not this time chicken features I scowled as I rode off grateful still to be upright and intact... I hate chickens!

Anyway the rest of the ride was thankfully uneventful and I rolled into Granada at 5pm dutifully following my GPS to the Hostal Mochillla, 100m from the main plaza. I parked my bike on the street outside and was quickly ushered in through the security gate... I paid the man $6 for the night and he opened another gate into the hostel and instructed me to ride my bike up the steep ramp into the secure courtyard as the streets were too dangerous to leave the bike.

The streets buzzed with people and the main plaza was full of small market stalls selling meat skewers, tortillas, hammackas, jewellery and rides in horse drawn carriages. A huge brightly coloured cathedral overlooked the main plaza and off in the distance a large volcano looked down over the city... all was very pretty in the dusky light. Calle La Calzada Runs East from the main plaza towards lake Nicaragua and is host to the majority of the restaurants and touristy shops... tables and umbrellas line the street and hundreds of people were out eating and sitting around chatting.  I walked to the end of the street following the sound of a guitar and found an open sided lorry back with two of the worst musicians I have ever heard singing in heinous harmonies (attempted harmonies) to an audience of 4 people!

I needed a bank which happened to be at the other end of town... without a hitch I withdrew $200 from the machine and made my back toward the hostel. As I walked down one of the main streets I noticed a rotund woman of about 50ish years, butt naked from head to toe stood on the side of the road scooping up water from the gutter in a bucket and hurling the contents down the street! I have absolutely no clue as to what she was doing but everybody else seemed to pay no attention as if it were perfectly normal... it was not normal!

I had been informed that a small local restaurant directly opposite the hostel was a much cheaper eat than the main tourist drag. Before dropping anything off at the hostel I went into the restaurant and sat down... the waiter was friendly and chatty and after I told him I was English he immediately exclaimed "Wayne Rooney!! Wayne Rooney, Manchester Red!!"... indeed. After placing my order I proceeded to take my phone from my pocket and started tapping away. The waiter comes back over and says that I should hide my phone, there are two crazies in the toilets right now and if they see it they will probably try and take it... I hid the phone and then watched as two local lads of maybe 20-25yrs fell out of the toilet cubicle looking high as can be, looked at me for a few seconds then stumbled through the restaurant to the front door fist pumping a few guys on their way out... you could see the owner talking quietly to one of the waiters gesturing that he wanted them out and looking pretty scared... after they had gone I asked what the trouble was and he explained they were a couple of notorious kids from the ghetto who often caused trouble, they carry pistols and had been in earlier and kicked open the toilet door... as they left he relaxed and all was good again and I ate my chicken in peace grateful to still be in possession of my $200 and phone!

Granada is a very pretty and lively Colonial town and well worth a visit but one night was enough for me.

Papoyo.... Sweet, Sweet Papoyo

22nd - 24th August

On the third morning of small waves at Maderas I was itching for a bit of size, a wave to get the  heart pumping. I was on the road by 10am having said goodbye to Oscar and settled my $6 tab for the two nights camping.

The roads from Maderas were a mix of dirt and stones/rock for the first half hour or so. Not long down the road I noticed the sky getting very dark and a heavy rain storm came over within ten minutes... I hid under a big tree for five minutes until it had all but passed then carried on. In a small town I had to ask for directions as the GPS on my phone wasn't working. An old lady pointed me in the direction of Papoyo and off I trundled.

Back on the dirt roads and dodging chickens and pigs I came to a fork in the road with a sign pointing right to Papoyo just as I was blindly following the truck in front going left... I stopped turned around and went right... a group of locals casually sat in a concrete shelter on the side of the road start whistling and waving at me??? In short they said it was left to Papoyo and I said why does the sign say right then??? They said left, something, something, something the road is better?!... I went left. Navigating around without GPS requires a little trust...

Another 20mins later I roled into a dusty little town with plastic and rubbish lining the streets and the smell of open sewers thick in the air. A sign saying Majestic Rock Hotel was left so I carried on straight??? The road just got narrower and narrower as it went around an estuary and dropped into a road/town lined with small hostel/hotel/cafe places just on one side, the beach side! I had found Playa Guanacasta??### at the end of the road is an ugly concrete hotel right on the mouth of a mangrove estuary looking out to sea. Across the river mouth I could see surfers walking back and in the background a quick looking, turquoise,  3ft clean wave!!

I wanted to get closer to the wave for camping so stopped in a really cool little 2 bed hostel / cafe which looked really nicely done up and asked in spanish if there was a closer place... he was an American and she was a Panamanian... we got chatting and the guy made me an incredible Banana smoothie with homemade granola mix and honey, it was genuinely incredible and they were really nice people. Anyway, they were full but gave me loads of good info on the wave and where to stay... I had to go back to the majestic rock sign in poo village and take a right around the estuary and ride out of town until I got to a big set of gates and a sign for Finca Papoyo. There a guard swung open the gates and said something, something, something to which I said ¡Si! And rode on along this tiny little farm track through the trees and around to a stone car park and thatched bar on top of a 20ft cliff bang on top of a beautiful A frame peak with crystal clear water and a reef bottom! It was midday and there were 6 guys out!!

With some bartering I agreed on $3 per night down from $5 on the basis that I didn't want to use their tent but simply put my hammock up between the posts of the lean to / barn. I setup camp under the thatched palm roof with a view directly over the wave. Bliss!

I spent three days at Finca Papoyo and endured a rigorous regime that consisted of waking up at 4:45am, cooking porridge and a coffee on the camp stove and watching as ten guys beat me to the waves despite me being the closest and only person staying actually on the wave!! I made it out to water just after 5:30am each day and surfed for about 3hrs. The mornings were super fun, light winds groomed the mid tide waves and the crowds were relatively small untill 9am when every man from miles around rocked up in 4x4's and joined the wolf pack. By mid morning there would be 50 or 60 guys hustling for waves with a hardcore of 5 local kids who had the wave dialed and would spent a good few hours showing everyone else how the wave should be surfed, snagging the odd barrel and smashing the lip so hard 8ft spray would come flying out the back of the wave. Very impressive to watch.

The wave itself is super fun, breaking over a slab reef with a long left and super quick but shorter right hander. It worked all the way through the tide but was better at mid and the wind, thanks to the lake in land, blew offshore all day long. For the three days I had here it stayed at 3-5ft and was exactly what I wanted, heavy, fast and challenging. It took me a day of floundering around before I got my first good wave, the peak shifts quite a bit and it took some learning but by the end of the 2nd day I had found my rythm and was catching a lot of heart pumping rights. My surfing, compared to the locals was embarrassing but I was up there with the majority of the gringos and definitely felt like I was improving.

On the 2nd day whilst sitting in the line up the best of the local kids kicked off and started berating this American guy, shouting at him telling him "get out, just go, get out now" when the American tried to stand up for himself the kid paddled right up to him and shouted "you wanna go, we gotta problem..." it was proper funny but I really thought he was gonna hit him! The reason he kicked off was because 30s before the Yank and I were paddling for the same wave, a heavy set wave with no one else in position but the guy was on my inside shoulder, in other words he had priority... I paddled alonside him hopeful that he would screw up or pull out but he looked commited until right at the last minute when he put the brakes on and pulled out... I had all but given up leaving the wave for him and despite watching closely, my last minute affort was not enough and I couldn't get into the wave... I was pissed but kept quiet. The local kid had watched all this from the inside as he was paddling back out and although it had not affected him at all he was clearly used to gringos ruining his or others waves and blew up... despite feeling somewhat responsible I watched from about 5m away as the guy was well and truly verbally destroyed, suffice to say I didn't see the American again!

At 9:30 - 10am I would get out, shower make a sandwhich and chill for a couple of hours on one of the hammocks at the bar. At 1pm most of the crowd had gotten out the water and buggered off back to the hills for some lunch... the tide was high but the wave still worked, it was just a little more mellow. I would surf for another couple of hours with only 5-10 other guys and catch a lot of fun waves. At 3ish I would go up for some water and chill then head back down for 4:30pm and surf till sunset with the crowds. This routine truly sucked?!!!!!! I was a happy bey!

On the 2nd night the barman who was busy serving no one came over to my hammock as I was cooking my spaghetti and hot dog sausage dinner and started chatting about the bike and the trip and gangsters, shootings and robberies etc!! He saw I hadn't much water and went away and came back with 2ltrs of clean drinking water free of charge... he then came back with Mosquito coils and carried on chatting away. We ended up chatting for a couple of hours in broken spanish and he made me feel genuinely welcome and safe in what was a very isolated location. There were no other hotels for another 10mins drive and no other people staying at the farm... they didn't have potable water other than from the fridge, there was a shower and toilet but other than that and the bar there was nothing... it was cool!

On the third day I surfed the morning and as I came back up the same kid who was working the bar the night before was still working and had made me a mango, papaya and orange fruit smoothie which was mind blowingly refreshing... and again for free. What a nice dude. He was young, chubby and had a baby girl due in November and worked solid shifts. The guys there, about 12 - 15 of them, rotated shifts at the bar, the gate and patrolling the huge grounds. They did 12hr shifts then slept for 4hrs on site then another 12hr shift for 4 days on the trot then went back to their families for 3 days before returning for more work. They were all super friendly and gave the place a super chilled and safe feel. The place was an amazing find and suited me perfectly. Give it another two years and there will be 3 large dorms and some private rooms, there was a constant stream of locals filling empty plastic bottles with sand in preperation for building the walls and as the guy explained there were grand plans for this place. It was a privilege to see Papoyo before it becomes even more developed, and interesting to see a place mid way through a big overhaul. 

I packed my kit, had a last short surf, paid the guy $20 for my three day stay (including drinks and beers), gave the guy a shameful tip as I had no more cash and got a Wave Project sticker on the fridge before heading off for Granada happy and surfed out!

Playa Maderas - Camping in the Dirt

20th - 21st August

After a morning swim at Playa Del Coco, I packed my tings and rode back to San Juan Del Sur... I poked around the shops for a while and picked up some supplies ready for some proper camping, they have lots of nice hammackas in San Juan but they were too much for my budget. On the whole the town is really cool with a nice chilled out vibe and lots of surf tourists cruising around. Still it was too busy for me and not close enough to the waves so I rode on to Playa Maderas.

For $3 a night I was allowed to pitch my hammock between a pair of friendly trees next to a super smiley group of backpackers who were also braving the weather in tents. There was water, of sorts available in the toilets and showers provided by the bar but it was very basic and far from drinkable. I set my hammock up with a nice view of the ocean and went for a small but fun surf.

In the evening I met a guy called Oscar from Barcelona who was travelling indefinitely in a 4x4 camper he had bought in California. He had made his way down through Mexico, Guatemala and El Salvador and was taking his time! We got chatting about the bike and compared trips and each others setups... I was almost jealous, he had done a real nice conversion in the back of his truck with a gas hob, fridge, bed etc etc... it looked soo comfy compared to my hammock! Oscar asked if I fancied a smoke and we went halves on a doobs worth of weak weed from a local guy and smoked one up in his wagon. We chatted for a couple of hours in Spanish, he was very enthuastic but spoke in a clear and easy to understand way and was patient as I tried to piece together meaningful sentances... I was chuffed to hold a conversation for that long!

Soon after the doob my brain shut down and I was struggling to form sentances so clambered into my hammock as the rain and wind came in and battered my tarp.

The next morning the swell was still small but I had a little splash around and then got out and setup the majestic Trangia for the first time! A Trangia is a Swedish military camping stove that my very kind friend Jules lent me for the trip.... my first cook up was some porridge and a coffee... yum!

The day passed with no real excitement and the surf never picked up... I did however manage to cook spaghetti in the Trangia which was mmmmmm.... bland!

Oscar had been into San Juan for the day and came back with another joints worth of weed and again invited me to share. In his wagon, in hushed tones to avoid locals over hearing him, he explained that he was working as an artisanal type person to pay his way as he travelled however on this trip he had scaled it up and rather than sitting in the street making bracelets and little money he had gone wholsale! He had bought up a load of necklaces, earings, bracelets, beautiful fossilised rock cut into pretty shapes etc, etc... and would go into tourist towns and sell direct to the shops. That day he had made $300 in an afternoons work!! He was careful not to draw attention to his work so only sold small $30-$50 packets to multiple shops and was very careful not to let the locals know what he was doing for fear that they would jack his van and take his cash and stock. A clever plan and it seemed to pay well... I was making nowwhere near $300 in a whole day of work and he was doing on the beach and surfing everyday... legend!

The next day the swell was still small and I decided to move on in search of real waves. Oscar and I got the maps out and he showed me the hundreds of waves I had to visit on my way North and I explained the South. He was appalled that I only had plans for 3wks in Mexico and impressed upon me the need to re-jig my timings to allow time for the mighty Olas of Mexico... Noted!

Leaving Costa Rica - Hello Nicaragua

19th August

With the swell fading it was time to move on. I packed my kit, ate some porridge and left Iguana Verde with a crowd of hungover locals waving me off.

I was anxious about the border crossing after my last attempt so was on the road early. My journey to the border took less than two hours and was easy going, I flew along the smooth tarmac roads weaving past lorries and loving my bike. As I got close to the border I hit a huge trail of lorries parked up waiting to get to the front of the line... I cruised past maybe a hundred trucks before arriving at the border control area where I was immediately jumped by four guys with official badges hanging around their necks. "This way, this way, hey, hey... hey, this way amigo, park here, here, here", I hadn't even put my feet down and they were all shouting at me that I needed exit tax, then immigration, then copias then customs... "oh and my friend has Cordobas, cambiar for dollars change for you, good rate... good rate". I hate this part.

I had been told that border 'coyotes' offered to help you jump the hoops and get through quicker for a few bucks but you shouldn't need them, it's easy enough. From my previous experience I had only seen kids working the tourists at the borders so when these middle aged men with official badges wearing shirts and trousers started hollering at me I took them to be officials. They asked for my passport and papers for the bike but were being really pushy and I had to tell them to back off... I handed my passport to a guy called Rudolpho who told me to follow him and we went to a small hut to pay the $3 exit tax in exchange for a receipt which I needed to present to immigration. We then went to the copy hut and got two copies of my passport and two copies of the permit granted for temporary import of the bike to Costa Rica... at this point I still had an entourage of four guys and was being constantly approached by money changers and realised that these were definitely not border officials but coyotes and I was already embroiled in their process... I told them all to piss off and that I would do it myself which worked for all but Rudolpho who was persistent and had my papers in his hand... "Aduanas, now amigo Aduanas, I help, I help"... I asked him how much he wanted for this kind service and he said "No mucho, no mucho"... I told him to give me a price or go, I don't have much money and would not be paying him... "no problema amigo, no problema"...

Rudolpho then led me across the road and over to the well hidden customs office where I joined a small que and presented my papers to an official behind the desk. With some head scratching he figured it out, asked for $7, then cancelled my permit and waved me on my way.

Rudolpho lead me out the office and told me I just needed to go to immigration and I was done. 'Great' I said, 'thanks'... and walked back to my bike quite happy but with Rudolpho still hanging by my side. At the bike he sticks his hand out and says "For me, ten dollars" aha... now he tells me his price... $10 for walking me between two buildings... I tell him that's too much I would pay $5 and no more. He starts arguing and his friends start coming over and they all chip in... "mister we watch your bike, seguro, seguro"... I had used all my Costa Rican currency and the smallest thing I had was a $10 note. Funnily enough Rudolpho didn't have any change and suggested I should just give him the $10! After 5mins of arguing with these four guys I was getting pissed and walked over to a different money changer and asked for $60 in Nicaraguan Cordobas.... what was his rate? I then played him off against the first changer and got him up to C$25 - $1 and using my change gave Rudolpho just short of $7 which the smallest note I had... feeling somewhat scammed but educated, I hit the immigration office who took another $2 or $3 and within an hour I had got all my documents in order to leave CR!

There was about one hundred meters of peace as I rode into the Nicaraguan side of the frontera and then the whistles started again and people start running up to you offering to get you through quick... I told em all to piss off I was fine.

I was directed into a set of cones where three guys in hazmat suits and respirators stood with back packs and hoses attached... I grabbed the food out of my saddlebags and watched as they sprayed down my bike with some type of pesticide. They didn't worry about my boots or clothes just my bike??? For this I had to pay a lady in a hut $7 in exchange for a certificate that I needed to give to customs... from there I rode another 500m to a big plaza / bus station and found the immigration building... they charged me $2 to enter the building, then I had to pay $7 to get my stamp in my passport... I then had to buy insurance and tax which was $12 & $4 respectively... then I had to get the bike inspected by a customs official... then go to the customs office and get mine and thr bikes details entered on to their system and a certificate produced... and then I had to find one of two policemen and get him to check the bike and stamp my paper work... it took 15mins to find the guy and he didn't even look at the bike! None of the buildings or offices have signs and the system is chaos but after about an hour and a half I had got everything done and rolled out through the last police check point and on to Nicaraguan soil!!! All done in 2:30hrs much better than the last time!!

Entering Nicaragua was awesome... two volcanoes, Isla Ometepe, wind turbines bending in the wind, smooth tarmac and almost no traffic. At La Virgin I turned left and 45mins later I arrived at San Juan Del Sur!

I took a trip north to check the surf at Playa Maderas which was small and busy. There was however a kool beach front setup with 3 small bars/huts and a hostel with room for camping. Maderas had a good vibe to it but I decided to check the South beaches before signing up so turned round to rode back to San Juan. On the way out of playa Maderas the road is bumpy as hell and on a steep, steep hill. Half way up was a brand new Toyota stuck with wheels spinning hopelessly and crabbing sideways on the steep rocky mud... I thought about offering a tow but just beaned all the way up skimming along on the bike. By some hilarious act of karma the bike ran out of fuel spluttering to a stand still on the side of a small dirt road in the middle of nowhere. After a short panic that the bike was dead I flicked on the reserve and rode into town to fill up.

From San Juan, I went South to Playa Hermosa which was closed for the filming if american tv show 'Survivor'.... I carried on South to Playa Del Coco and found a hotel with a bunker on the beach for $10. As I unloaded the bike I had to stop, leave all my stuff on the ground, run to the beach and watch one of the most amazing sunsets I have ever seen. Welcome to Nicaragua!!!!