Action packed whether I like it or not!

---

Hello,

I have been very busy since my last instalment. I did indeed decide to go to Nicaragua the following day, and that was just the beginning of arguably the most condensed set of adventures to date…

So basically I hook up with a Spanish guy called Francisco, or Paco to his friends. Now I must stress that his father is Spanish and his mother is French. Paco has curiously developed into a delightfully stereotypical French Spaniard (or Spanish Frenchman). He has the ballsy sleaze of a Spaniard, regularly trying his luck with anything in a skirt, whilst having the nitro-injected philosophic insight of a fiery young Frenchman. In spite of the foreseeable complications with such a character we set off for Nicaragua. Now to begin with I was rather pleased with myself having found a route that completely avoided a one-night stop over in San Salvador. I was keen to avoid The El Salvadorian capital because I had heard that it was a very dangerous place to be. Remember I said that.

So Paco and I travel all the way to San Pedro Sula, a shoddy city in Honduras. I had visited this particular peach once before and remarked that bargaining with God was probably the most effective tool to aid self-preservation. Nevertheless, I feel safer now, I am with Paco, he could talk us out of a jam... probably. Actually before long he had introduced himself to a French girl who had also just arrived and checked into the same hotel as us. So I am sitting in the room, fuming because I was going to have to wait a couple of days before leaving the place, were as Paco had found out that on the following night there will be a big party to celebrate none other than 'San Pedro Sula Day'. What’s more it turns out that the French girl is not just some common traveller type (like yours truly) but is actually there to study the art of coffee growing! Before I know it Paco, the French girl, her mentor Denis, and mentor’s sister Eva, are whisking me out for drinks and planning the next couple of days for me. Now I am working on bout four hours sleep in the last forty eight so believe me, I was in no mood to party, much less any mood to pretend otherwise for the benefit of others. We stay out and enjoy some light conversation of a couple of hours, which was fine.

The next day Paco and I go and book our tickets to depart for Nicaragua. Upon return we are met by Denis, Eva and the French girl. Bundled in the back of a four-wheel drive and promised a secluded beach by the cost we set off. About four hours later we arrive at the property of some random family member in the middle of ‘nowheresville’, accompanied by two yummy Honduran mummies and a screaming child. We all sit down, eat fish soup, and I generally feel sorry for myself. Just about then it struck me, hey, I am out there, boldly going where no man has gone before, sure I was tired and kind of scared, but I was never going to get back to my room and sleep now, so I might as well relax a bit, and anyway, this isn't in any of the guide books, in fact, this is one of those great stories that travellers exchange over a bottle of local brew!

We finish our soup and surely enough we head to a beach, not secluded, but it had some sand (underneath the rubbish). After a while sunning myself on a bed of branded paper cups we shoot back to the city for a night out on the tiles! I was pumped, I was ready, I was... stuck in the middle of a national festival surrounded by drunken locals all sizing me up for easy money!! Worse still, Denis takes us all to a very expensive club then swans off with friends. Meanwhile my card is declined at the bar (because there was 'problem with the connection between Nationwide and the visa network' again), and walking back to the hotel is looking like the only option.

Ok, ok, everybody clam down, I made it out in one piece. Come morning (or later that morning) Paco and I are on the road to Nicaragua. On the bus we meet Ed, a fellow Englishman, a couple of Americans whose names escape me, and an Israeli girl called Miri. We all get off the bus at Managua, the capital, Miri goes on to Costa Rica and us lads share a cab to Granada. Granada is a fairly small colonial town, lacking the immediate cuteness of Antigua, but sleepier, more restful. We arrive fairly late and the next morning Paco left early. At that point I didn’t really know anyone well and to be perfectly honest it was the most alone I had felt since Belize City. Luckily Ed and Co were kind enough to take me under their wing and out we go for the night. This ended in disaster. Tired, under fed, and lonely, I drink too much; make friends with some random nobodies and stay out way later than the others. I end up at a local bar at the waters edge. It was much later on that I read in the travel guide that the waterfront after dark is best avoided, much like the plague. Sadly this information came all too late. Now it’s all a blur but essentially I ended up getting mugged in a rather spectacular way, involving a drugging and me tumbling from a taxi sans Visa card. All was well, no serious injuries beyond those afflicted on my delicate sensibilities, and my card was later returned to me a bizarre turn of events that I won’t get into now.

Still I am keen to get out of there, so Ed and myself leave the following day for San Juan De Sur. Now this was more like it, a little beach town, really safe, friendly, but not over friendly locals, I can relax. This I do, and would you believe, welcome back tantastic! Ed And I meet and mingle with Matt, a very funny skater type dude/chap, and Steve, one of the few people I have met with true comic timing. North American pair had journeyed all the way through their home territory (Canada), the US and Central America, planning to end their trip in Argentina! Along the way they had been picking up hitchhikers, and were at this point accompanied by Sarah, and rather stunning girl from England. For the next couple of days I spent my time challenging the mighty Ocean to a battle of who was the hardest. On the most part this saw me being tossed like a rag doll on a high speed washing cycle as I crashed between waves. Much fun was had by all.

Soon we leave, all of us together in the van, to Costa Rica. It is a long ride, but eventually we get there and I am content in the knowledge that I saved a few quid (a must after loosing a sizable amount at the hands of my Nicaraguan play mates). The first stop is Tamorindo, another beach town only with one main difference... it was dripping with American tourists and Australian surfers. This came with two associated problems, number one was that everything was twice the price, even for Costa Rica which itself is about twice the price of anywhere else in Central America, and number two, I was reintroduced to my old friend Mr. Crippling Insecurity! No longer was I secretly impressed my tan, no longer did I look on with glee at my slimming waste line! But hey wait a minute, I can handle this, I was mugged and thrown out of a car, I can handle anything. So I did, which is to say I still enjoyed the beach, and I did so topless, yes, you heard it ladies, topless!

This was all very amusing but the group was pushed for time. We set off for Santa Elena. It was getting dark as we approached a road that we were told could be a little difficult to navigate, so we were keen to make haste. At this point the van made passage for Matt and Steve (of course), Sarah, Ed and myself, and as an added bonus, Miri, who had joined us following a chance meeting in the last hostel. We stop to ask a local how difficult the road would be to travel at night (as it had become so). He assured us that it was way too dangerous, and besides, the van was riding far too close to the ground and would struggle over some of the larger rocks. Going by precious experience we decided to completely disregard the forewarnings of danger as offer by the local shop owner, and take the mountain on at full pace. A few hours later we are sitting on top of the mountain debating whether or not to sleep in the van that night and carry on in the morning thus greatly reducing the risk of a fatality. I think I speak for the group as a whole when I say that our faces were more than a little red. On behalf of our battered pride we pushed on through and made it to Santa Elena in time to check in at a nice hotel. The following day, yesterday in fact, we all go as a group on the Cloud Canopy Zip Wire Tour. This involved us flying from platform to platform, literally hundreds of meters at a time, and hundreds of meters high, dangling from a steel cable. The tour also included a Tarzan swing that saw me swing out in a distinctly ungraceful manor desperately clinging to my harnesses as a screamed bloody murder at the tour operator who had pushed my shuddering carcass from the swing platform. Over the last few months, mugging included, I can genuinely say that that the Tarzan swing was the most terrifying individual event.

Later today the troops roll out to pastures new, for all sorts of spectacular adventures to keep you ticking over.

Until next time folks!

---

Comments

[Hazel]

I'm scared now. When are you coming home Dave? ps: for the record, you're the bravest person I know :)