Making it through Honduras for the third time felt a lot better than the first attempt. Why? Well, for starters we were less on edge about our security and prepared for the reality of bribing cops and general sketchiness. Also, it wasn't pissing rain on us the whole time because of a tropical storm, though several were brewing off the Pacific coast. Our time in Honduras was extended by a couple days as Dan dealt with a stomach bug that laid him out, but the day he felt better we made our move into Nicaragua.

Arriving at the border offices of Nicaragua we parked the van in the exact same place we had parked about a month prior when we had been denied entry because our passport expiry dates were too close (they required at least 6 months). Now, with brand new passports we were assured an easy entry.

Above, a bike "taxi" is parked outside the vehicle registration office of Nicaragua. As you may remember me mentioning before, in Mexico and Central America, the only thing that really complicates your passing between countries is a vehicle - especially if you are a tourist. For this reason, many people hitch or take a bus or a taxi to the border. Then they walk (or take a taxi) to the other side, where they can get on another ride to their destination.

While at the border, we noticed a teal green pick-up with Quebec plates. We were happy to think that people from our native land were here, too. About an hour down the road we pulled into a gas station and the pick-up pulled in beside us. The young couple in it (Pauline and Thomas), as it turned out, were French but we decided we didn't care (haha!). Pauline had been studying in Montreal, Thomas had joined her and they had taken a few months to drive down this way to reunite with his brother who was living in surf town called Popoyo on the Pacific coast. We decided to caravan with them seeing as they were going our way.

On the road we had a little excitement when their truck got a flat tire. The excitement wasn't in the changing of the tire, or the subsequent search for one of the tire repair shacks that pepper any major road from Mexico southward; rather, rather it was the opportunity to use our emergency triangular reflectors. These things we all had been obliged to buy for our vehicles by the Honduran police...to avoid tickets/bribes like those which we paid on our first trip through the country. Above, the glee on the faces of Dan and Pauline is irrepressible!



Nicaragua's highways were quite scenic. Lush green flat lands lay on either side of the road, usually in use as fields for crops or grazing. Off to one side or the other rose impressive humps that were active volcanoes; one was always in view.

The infrastructure was a stark contrast to the area of Honduras through which we had just passed. Homes were in pretty good shape. Roads were decent (except for the old highway that we found ourselves on at one point which basically was pocked by islands of pavement). Buildings seemed structurally sound, too. People seemed in good spirits. And all around were the familiar signs of the benevolent hand of corporate citizens like big oil companies' in the shape of their giant service stations and truck stops. These are the perfect places to park and sleep in safety. Every Nica/Nico (nickname of a Nicaraguan) that we spoke to said that the country is very safe. (Above, behind the curtains, Pauline getting dressed in the morning.) Ah yes, very safe. Ironically, we were told there was some kind of gang brawl in the parking lot by our French friends. Dan, Moses, and I slept like babies.


Above, trottin' down the highway. Nicaragua seems to be a great land for horses. Lots of fields filled with nice looking stock and many people still partnered with a horse for their work herding.



Above, I said the roads are in pretty good shape, this does not mean that they are free of potholes that will break your axles, as evidenced above.



Popoyo is in the south-western end of Nicaragua. Like many spots known for surfing, it is not on the main drag and requires travel down about about 30 or 40 kilometers of dirt roads. These roads were in decent shape though because it is the rainy season, creeks and streams are swolen everywhere and so having one wash over the road is to be expected. That being said, the seasons' rains can also leave some roads completely impassable. As we were finding our way to Popoyo, we did run into a few of these, the photo above shows one.

Looking on the highway map in Canada is usually a good way to predict the kind of roads you can expect; down here a map, if you actually find one, can only tell you where there is supposed to be a road. Hell, sometimes the people don't even know!


A few minutes Before running into this mess, we were asking locals some in their front yards and some on horseback if we could make it through to the road that would take us to Popoyo. And they all seemed to think we'd be fine. And if we were riding horses, we would have been fine. We had forded a few deep streams and skidded down a few sloppy runways, but a 50 foot long puddle, with more than a foot of greasy mud was our match. We made our way back to the main road, and got a second opinion as to how to reach Popoyo.


Arriving in Popoyo in the mid-afternoon we went out to the beach to swim and find Thomas' brother who was catching the afternoon surf. Popoyo, is becoming well known because its gentle, predictable, and beautifully shaped waves. The secret is the off-shore wind that blows all year round Lago Nicaragua to the east. This wind keeps the shape of the wave longer before it collapses in on itself, in turn allowing the surfers a few more seconds of bliss. Or at least this is what I was told.

Nicaragua is open for business and many people have been coming from other countries (U.S., Canada, France, Germany, etc...) to take advantage of the relatively stable political climate to buy cheep land. A surf spot like this will not remain quiet for too long and perhaps is already pulling a much larger number of tourists. Is this good or bad? Who knows at this point? But for Thomas' bro, things seem to be good. After leaving a skateboard shop he started in France he came here. Now, he owns a plot of land close to the ocean, surfs, and bakes French bread every day. Perhaps his tune will change if the beach becomes overrun with surf-tourists. Or maybe that is what he's waiting for? Regardless you get the feeling this is just the start of that wave coming to this country.