A sad farewell.

Hidden pools

As the sun set behind the snow clad peaks of the Andes turning the mountains shades of pink and orange two condors gently spirraled down on the last of the days thermals, a subtle reminder that our own journey together has also come to an end, at least for now. It was to be our last full night with eachother and what better place to spend it than the hotpools of Baños de Colina. As darkness fell the lightshow of the southern hemisphere skies began. A silent storm raged somewhere far of in Argentina, bolts of lightning illuminating the eastern sky outling the jagged horizon. Shooting stars and satelites, strange constellations amidst old familiars and whisps of steam rising from the hotpools as the air temperature dropped provided the perfect setting to reflect upon the incredible journey that had brought us to this point. Beth, ever the pragmatist, had decided to return to the U.S. to prevent us from becoming stranded here later in the season. Needless to say things have not turned out as we'd expected, the reluctance to employ female guides and a strong case of cabin fever, no doubt, contributing to her decision.

The last month in the Cajon del Maipo has been a little frustrating. We seemed to reach a plateau in several areas. With the language, the more you learn the more you realise you are unable to say. In the beginning it was okay to fumble along with the basics but now, in conversations, when you want to express thoughts and feelings 'yes', 'no' and 'one beer please' just doesn't cut it. The river has kept me busy while stopping us from exploring further, the schedule is disorganised at best so it's an endless state of constantly standing by. There have been a few highlights, horse treks into the mountains, hikes to remote waterfalls and rabbit hunting in the hills nearby but overall it hasn't been as eventful as what we've become accustomed to.

Off the highways



We must have been very naughty last year because when Christmas came by Santa brought us the wonderful gift of food poisoning. The Astorga family, very kindly, invited us to join them for their annual celebration on Christmas Eve and bearing in mind all the Astorga children are born around the end of September we didn't quite know what to expect but a delicious feast with endless wine was served at the biggest table we've ever seen. On the menu was turkey, fish, salads, vegetables, some unpronouncable local specialities and streptcocai. Managed to work a trip on the river the following day but by evening several of us were enjoying the meal second time round. Won't go into details as we have all been there but while all of you were feeling stuffed and plump Beth and I actually lost weight. Skipped work for a couple of days before a hot spell (34c/94f) sent the river way past it's safe level cut off and operations closed down anyway. For a few days it looked like Willy Wonka's river of chocolate. It gave us a little time to tie up a few loose ends and tend to the bike before Beth's departure on the 31st. All too soon the day was upon us and after a 4am dash to the airport she began her marathon journey of 5 airports in 24 hours. With a heavy heart and a lighter bike it was time once again to turn South.

The 10 hour drive to Panguipulli along Ruta 5 is spectacular. Winding alongside the Andean Cordillera it takes you over crystal clear rivers including the once legendary Bio Bio, past distant white volcanoes and into the greener, wetter, temperate region that is central Chile. Refered to as the 'South' it's Chile's lake district and it is pristine, home to a small percentage of the population and teeming with wildlife. One of the fun things about staying with friends is ending up on their schedule and after a long day's driving meeting with Christian Labraña on New Year's Eve promised to be interesting. Saw the new year in with his in-laws with good food and champagne so when 1.30am came by I was feeling the effects of the day and looking forward to a good night's sleep. Chileans, however, are a nocturnal species and 1.30 in the morning is time to party so off we went in the truck to a strange shaped building on a lonely hillside outside town. The reason for the shape and location soon became clear, when they listen to music here they like it loud and as the sun rose after a full night's dancing the crescent shaped structure captured the lake view perfectly. Can't believe I made it through the night without fading but the following day was very relaxed. The only regret was not having Beth here to share it with. Gone with her is much of the magic that makes a trip like this so special. Nobody to share the ups and downs, the joys and frustrations, nobody to blame when you really know it's your own fault. Experience is all the more meaningful when it is shared, especially with one so close.

The Lake District



I'll be in Choshuenco for the next month, at least, working with Christian at Rucapillan Expediciones (www.rucapillan.cl) rafting on the Fuy, Enco and San Pedro rivers. With new tyres and a little attention the bike is running better than ever, continually impressed by the abuse it will take and it's always ready for more, it hasn't missed a beat on the whole trip, considerably tougher than me. Won't get too upset if it doesn't sell and we get to hold on to it, do I qualify for sponsorship yet? Send a new 1150GS to.....

With the new year comes a new location, new rivers and new friends. There's lots to explore and plenty to keep me busy. Each day brings a new adventure, the rivers are challenging but forgiving, there are hikes up volcanoes, through natural reserves and rumour has it the region is home to some of the best fly fishing in the world so now you can look forward to tales of the one that got away.

Volcan Villarica

Waterfall of the Spirits

Kayaking the Maipo


Cascada de las Animas on the Maipo river, so close to Santiago yet so far from the urban lifestyle, is a tiny slice of paradise on the western slopes of the Andes. Home to the extended Astorga family for many generations it encompasses an animal santuary with 'Willow' the resident Puma, an extensive avery, a modest farm where horses still do most of the labour, endless trails and splendid waterfalls with hidden pools for cooling off in the heat of the midday sun. It feels as though we are in midsummer already with temperatures in the 30's already(high 80´'s) and with a healthy covering of snow amidst the glaciers upstream the Maipo is flowing close to it's high level cut off. Luckily it appears to have stabalised so the rafting is continuing with some added precautions. The extra maneuverability and stability of the oar boat make it the prefered mode of transport which has, unfortunately, excluded all guides with little or no experience on these craft and regretably that includes Beth. The ice cold, silt laden waters make for near impossible learning opportunities. Menacing holes and hydraulics lie hidden threatening to severely punish even the smallest mistake with the opaque aspect of the water making it difficult to read. The safety kayak to raft ratio is one of the highest we have seen and a cataraft accompanies every trip as an extra rescue platform. The Chilean holidays do not officialy begin until January so we are still in the quiet season but there is enough work to get by on.

KC on the Oars, El Rio Maipo



With all the extra time off there are endless opportunities to explore and Chile has plenty to offer. The latest adventure was to the Nuble rivertaking us deep into the spectacular Nuble National Reserve. Crystal clear azure water cascades through endless class III and IV rapids, all of it easliy readable from the boat making for non-stop fun followed by a tranquil evening's campiny alongside the river. Sitting by the campfire under a full moon we feasted on a local speciality, the 'disco bbq', a mixture of meats and tasty vegetables cooked with white wine and seasoning on an agricultural steel disc taken from an old plow. The Kiwis demonstrating the 'Haka', the Chileans demonstrating their ability to mix Coca-Cola with just about any type of alcohol and Sebatian Astorga demonstrating his remarkable ability of hunting worms, unfortunately the fish on the Nuble don´t have a liking for worms so fishermen take note. We swapped tales of mountains climbed and rivers run and as the buzz of the booze took hold the mountains got steeper, the waterfalls taller, the waves bigger and many a glass was raised to all of you who couldn´t be with us. Tired and content but excited at the prospect of another day of whitewater ahead we slept under the stars of the southern hemisphere. At some point during the night a Jackal crept into camp and made of with our wooden spoon while back at Cascada de las Animas another type of Jackal was doing the same.

Where to now? The Ñuble


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Over the past week someone has been snooping around our campsite and on four seperate occasions they have made off with some of our possessions. At first it was Beth's waterproof camera and my head torch, next it was all the cash from her wallet and her swiss army knife, after that my shoes went missing along with an old cell phone but the straw that broke the camel's back was finding, on our return from the Nuble river, they had taken Beth's shampoo and tipped out all of our curry powder. Sadly we have had to pack up camp and leave but we are close by in a small granny flat under a large old house near the river. It´s sad how one person´s greed can cause feelings of anger and frustration, tainting the image of an area and stealing some of it's magic but we realise it is only one individual while everyone else has been more than helpful. Our efforts to sell the bike have so far been fruitless and what was promised to be a simple procedure has turned out to be near impossible in both Chile and Argentina. We have had many chance encounters along the way the latest of which led us the Ricky Godoy, Mr BMW South America, with many useful contacts so we expect it is just a matter of time before another opportunity presents itself. If not , there is a fine motorcycle here in Chile for any of you feeling intrepid enough to take it on it's next adventure.

Put in, day two on the Ñuble

The first chapter complete.

Street children in Cuzco


We made it, the first leg of this amazing journey finally came to an end at around 4pm on November 15th. We'd always intended to arrive on that date but it still came as a surprise after two months and almost 20,000kms.

Saqsayhuaman (pronounced 'sexy woman')


After Nazca our route took us inland to Cuzco and the Sacred Valley, the heart of the Incan empire. As the road climbed steadily into the Andes we caught our first glimpse of the snow capped peaks. We entered Cuzco shortly after sunset as the early evening sky came alive with a spectacular thunder storm. The city took us by surprise with it's lively tourist scene, narrow cobbled streets between huge colonial cathedrals which sat atop ancient Incan temples. We settled down for a few days to catch up with some friends and enjoy all the city had to offer visiting many if the old Incan cities which surround Cuzco. The scale and precision of the stonework is remarkable, with primitive tools they carved rocks weighing over a 100 tonnes to fit together in an intricate jigsaw which has withstood the test of time and numerous earthquakes. We could only imagine how they looked before the Spanish arrived and plundered their golden treasures. The Peruvian approach to tourism, however, left a lot to be desired and Cuzco is showing the symptoms of an over exploited destination. Selfishly, we wanted to explore alone but coachloads of tour groups stole a lot of the magic we had hoped for. It was a good opportunity to catch up on news of the road conditions in Bolivia and the reports were not encouraging. The early arrival of the rainy season was rapidly turning the already notorious roads into impassable quagmires and the prospect of riding two up on an already heavy bike was not something we were looking forward to. With heavy hearts and a deep sense of regret we made the decision to cut Bolivia out of the trip plan, for now at least. Reports since have confirmed we made the right choice but we can't help thinking `what if?´. From Cuzco we turned South towards Lake Titicaca. At over 3800m and surrounded by towering volcanoes it provided a nice change from the chaos of Cuzco. The lake itself is populated by the Uro people whose existence literally rests upon the Tortora reeds which grow abundantly around the shoreline. Their houses, boats and even the islands they live on are constructed from the reeds.

Sunday drivers


From Titicaca we decended once again toward the coastal deserts, through the `white city` of Arequipa and on to the Peruvian border. Getting pulled over for bribes was no longer amusing and in the end we would simply refuse to pay. They threatened to confiscate licences, we carry several fakes for this very reason, we even got escorted to their headquarters but in the end the only thing it cost us was our time.

The final frontier

Entering Chile brought home the realisation that this leg of the journey was nearing it's conclusion and with the faintest hint of reluctance we continued South. We made good progress through the northern deserts of the Atacama, the world's driest region although we were constantly battered by strong coastal winds. We stopped briefly in San Pedro de Atacama to appreciate the high altitude salt flats and enjoy the sunset in the Valley of the Moon, but the proximity of our destination kept us moving to where we are today. A mixture of emotions, wanting to reach our goal but wanting the adventure to continue, swept over us as we entered the Maipo valley. What little we have seen of the area so far leaves us in no doubt we have stumbled into another little slice of paradise. Snow capped peaks where condors soar overlook the steep sided canyon of the Maipo River. Pristine thermal pools lie hidden deep within the high Andean passes where you could spend weeks exploring the endless rock faces. The Argentinian border is a several days away on horseback so we may have to make that trip. We have been on the river several times already and although challenging it is well within our capabilities, how much work we will get is still and unknown but the area has endless opportunities for exploration so I doubt we'll get bored. With warm people, good wine, a fine climate and a superb river on our doorstep we are in no rush to move on just yet.

Sunset in the Valley of the Moon

We do intend to continue the blog so tune in occasionally and there will be updates. The real adventure of discovering Chile is just beginning and where that will take us nobody knows. Thanks to everyone who has supported this trip and all of you who followed our progress.

Across the Darien...

South American Goldfish


We finally bridged the Darien Gap, that infamous stretch of swamps and mountains seperating Panama and Colombia. It´s only 120 miles between the end of the Panamanian highway and the nearest Colombian road but neither country wants to build a link. They are equally suspicious and distrustful of eachother, a characteristic prevelant throughout this entire journey. A useful tool at borders is criticising the previous country to get on good terms with the guards of the country we are trying to enter, without fail it brings an agreeable response which at one time helped out of a very tricky situation at the Peruvian border. Back in Panama I dropped Beth at the International Airport and took the bike to the cargo terminal, about 10kms away. Before getting there I found the road blocked by an angry mob and a hijacked bus. They refused to let anyone pass in a protest over public transport conditions. Hardly surprising as a fire had broken out on a bus the previous day killing 18 people. I was assured the delay would only be for a ´few hours´ so I settled in for a long wait. Soon the T.V. crews and the press arrived to cover the event and shortly afterwards one of the lead protesters gave me permission to pass, took the chance and sped around the bus straight into a line of soldiers. Equally shocked they stepped aside and let me through. Prepped the bike for shipping and said goodbye hoping to see it in a similar condition on the other side. We´ve heard a few horror stories about bikes going to the wrong countries or turning up damaged.

It`s not sunny everyday


We flew into Bogota that evening, got a taxi into the city and spent the night at the Platypus Hostel, exhausted from the days events. Next morning it was back to the airport to liberate the bike. Lots of paperwork, lots of waiting and 3 hours later we were driving back into the city on an undamaged bike, hats off the Girag Cargo. Colombia has a strange law that requires all bikers to wear reflective vests with the plate number clearly printed on the front and back, a response to the use of motorcycles in drive by assassinations. We got a few nervous looks as we drove back into the capitol without vests. Immediately noticed a big difference passing through the hourglass of the Americas into the South. After the bottleneck of Costa Rica and Panama where U.S. influnces are most prevalent Colombia was a new experience altogether. The people are open and friendly, keen to dispel their reputation as drug barons or guerrillas. The country has more than it´s fair share of problems but there is a strong feeling of optimism and enthusiasm. After a couple of days in Bogota we located our bullet proof vests, enjoyed plenty of their second biggest export, coffee, and checked out the Museum of Gold, an incredible display of pieces from all over the continent. It was time to move South again and we drove over a spectacular 4000m pass towards Cali. Spent the night in the cloud forests of Salento , the heart of Colombia´s coffee growing region. Passed through Cali the following day, climbed over the incredible Devil´s Nose, a piece of road that defies description and we soon settled into the ´White City´ of Popayan. Heavliy damaged in the 1983 earthquake, 20 years of restoration have seen the city transformed back to it´s former glory. Tranquil plazas are surrounded by cathedrals, monasteries and haciendas, the streets are clean and cobbled and the people friendly and welcoming. Colombia exceeded all expectations and even getting pullled over for a traffic violation (bribe), this time undeservedly, didn´t spoil the impression of this beautiful country. For the last 30kms of the ride we were escorted by the local touring bike club. Stopped at the frontier, shared stories and email addresses, took care of paperwork and ventured into Ecuador.

Border party


Entering the country was surprisingly easy, no bundles of paperwork common at all the other crossings and we should have suspected something was amiss as we later discovered it was. Our enthusiasm to cross without further enquiries led to some major problems later which almost cost us the bike itself. Blissfully ignorant we carried on and spent the next few days in Otavalo, famous for it´s traditional markets and friendly natives. Driving along the spine of the Andes took us through many small mountain villages where locals worked the fields in traditional dress. A few curious looks were exchanged as they stopped and watched us pass by. Soon afterwards we crossed the Equator expecting some kind of fuss or at least an acknowledgment of it´s location but we slipped by it without even noticing and were soon on the approach to Quito. Typical Latin American city, not a sign in sight so we followed our instincts and promptly got lost. Stumbled, eventually, onto the Panamericana and once again we were on our way. The next couple of days we stayed in Cuenca, a large University town to the South. Took strolls along the river past remnants of Inca temples, explored the cobbled streets and checked out the cathedrals and flower markets. Sat in the central plaza enjoying traditional music played on classical guitar and the Andean pipes until they began playing western tunes in the same style. When will people realise ´Greensleeves´ no matter what instrument is used will always sound terrible.


Bad cop, bad cop, Peru
After Cuenca we planned and early start to tackle the Peruvian frontier, always good to have a couple of hours spare just in case and on this occasion we needed them. Leaving Ecuador should have been straightforward had it not been for the fact the border official on entry had neglected to give us the correct documents. Officially the bike didn´t exist in Ecuador and Customs were threatening to seize it as an illegal import. Suspected they were after another bribe but we decided to wait this one out. Eventually the agreed to ´illegally´stamp us out of the country and let us proceed with a severe reprimand. Without the correct exit paperwork from Ecuador the Peruvian Customs were immediately suspicious. I slowly explained it was because the Ecuadorians were stupid upon which the atmosphere lightened, we all agreed and they happily gave us what we needed. The delay turned out to be a blessing as we were unable to make it past the beautiful beach town of Mancora before nightfall. A swim in the ocean to clean off the sweat and grime of the border posts, a delicious meal of fresh seafood and we collapsed exhausted, falling asleep to the sounds of the waves outside the mosquito nets. The North has been full of surprises, had expected the ´deepest, darkest Peru´ Paddington Bear described but our road has taken us through seemingly endless desert broken ocassionally by an oasis where the rivers drain the Andes. Silhouettes shimmer on the horizon hinting at what lies ahead. Spent a night in Trujillo and another in Pisco before moving inland towards Nasca. And that is where we are today, not a hotrod in sight. Stopped along the road by an observation tower but it´s impossible to get an idea of what is out there so we splurged on the flight over the desert. The scale is impossible to appreciate even from the air and there are still many divided theories as to their origin. From here we move further inland towards Cusca and Machu Pichu...

Nazca Lines, click on em if you want detail

The end of an Isthmus....

Jaco Surf

Costa Rican roads remind us of the people who live there. A patchwork of different colours, origins and eras, they get you there in the end but at their own pace and their own rhythm. Entering Costa Rica was relatively simple, a logical progression from one building to the next and not a bribe needed anywhere. We broke our own rules by riding a little after sunset hoping the rumours that Costa Rica was noticably safer that the rest of Central America were true. The first night we spent in Punteranas and while getting some food I got offered weed, cocaine and a hooker and we´d been there less than two hours. Beth said this was her kind of place but the next morning I convinced her we needed to move on. We spent the next few days in Jaco on the Pacific coast taking surfing lessons and enjoying the ocean lifestyle. Beth got her first fat lip when her board got between her and a wave. Soon it was time to move east to Turrialba to find some old friends in the hub of Costa Rica´s whitewater region. It didn´t take long to track down Mario Vargas, a local legend, and bump into a few other aquaintences from past seasons on the Gauley and the Arkansas. After a few false starts we got to run the Pacuare on Saturday, a great stretch of class III and IV whitewater, a few tricky moves and some awesome hits. The most impressve aspect of the river is the canyon it cuts through, the valley is alive with sloths, monkeys and birds of all shapes and sizes. Overhanging vines cling to dense virgin rainforest, the occasional native village visable through the trees. After the river we continued through to the coast and partied the night away in Puerto Limon as it celebrated the end of it´s own two week carnival with a huge free concert and an impressive fireworks display which began a little prematurely so the band had to compete for attention over the pyrotechnics above. That night we spent in a nearby barn sleeping next to the bike where a rooster with a poor sense of timing woke us up early the next morning.

Safety Meeting and Side Creek on the Pacuare

Back on the road we cruised down the Caribbean coast past beautiful beaches and sleepy villages to the border crossing of Sixoala. Stamping out of Costa Rica was quick and painless at this less used frontier but physically crossing the border was another issue all together. A disused railroad bridge spans the river separating the two countries. Random rotting sleepers were bridged by loose heavy planks. Fine if you have four wheels but on two it was quite a challenge. Too slow and you risked having to put a foot down but more often than not there was nothing either side of the plank to prevent the bike from dropping and plunging into the river below. Too fast and you risked missing a plank and losing the front wheel into the gaps between the sleepers. A new road beyond linking this part of Panama to the rest of the country made for a lot more traffic but neither side wanted to take responsibility for the bridge so it lies in ruins. It was the most tense I´ve ever been on a bike.

Festival Night in Puerto Limon

Getting into Panama was slow but free once we had all the paperwork in place and a smooth drive over the central mountains with a few other bikers took us into Santiago for the night. Back on the Interamericanan Highway saw us making good time but somewhere outside Penonome we got flagged down for our first speeding ticket. Well deserved, we were doing 98kph in a 60 zone but the $60 fine seemed a little excessive. When we suggested paying $20 "here and now to prevent all that paperwork" the officer happily agreed and we were soon on our way again. Unsurprisingly Panama City lacks any sort of useful signage and whatever logic the city planners employed is totally lost on us, we´ve come to accept that finding the cities is the easy part but finding an address is more about luck than anything else. Driving over the canal was cool seeing all sorts of ships passing underneath us. We got established in the city and set about finding a way into Colombia, we had originally planned to fly into Bogota but a significant hike in prices prompted us to search for other options. While Beth scoured the internet and called all kinds of boats I made for Colon at the north end of the canal, the major port for boats to Cartagena, Colombia. Saw a very different of Panama on that drive, a part that will be hard to forget. Panama city has gleaming skyscrapers but Colon is a slum, following a lead to Pier 3 took me into the worst parts of the city past signs warning tourists not to pass. Guns have become a common sight on this trip but here the police and soldiers were armed and armoured to excess. They travelled in packs and even then they looked tense. Some areas they didn´t even patrol. It may have been a fine city when they were building the canal but today it is in ruins, easily the most umcomfortable place I have ever been. I found the Pier, made my enquiries and left empty handed. Looks like we are flying. Spent a morning looking at flying options and it looks like we´ll have to bite the bullet and pay to airfreight. It´s still within budget but it makes a big dent on the buffer we had for emergencies.

Narrow Gorges of the Lower Pacuare

Rode to the Miraflores lockgates through a spectacular tropical storm and arrived thoroughly soaked to the bone to have a closer look at the canal. Extremely smooth and efficient after almost 100 years in operation. Ships are charged by weight the average being $30,000 but that day the most expensive transit ever took place at $230, 000. The lowest fee ever paid was $0.36 by Richard Halliburton who swam through in 1928. So from Panama it´s on to Colombia and who knows what will happen there. Time is short and the roads are long so we´ll need to pick up the pace a little in South America....

The Miraflores Lock, Panama Canal

Volcanoes in the mist....

"San Simon, patron saint of alcohol and tobacco"

After a visit to San Simon, the Mayan saint of tobacco and alcohol, for a blessing to help us on our way it was finally time to leave Xela behind. One last hike to the top of the local volcano was a fitting way to end the stay and a 4.45am start saw us on the summit by 10 to witness the spectacular sight of neighbouring volcanoes spewing smoke and ash. The early start was worth it as 30 minutes after reaching the top the clouds rolled in and visibility dropped to 50 meters. Suddenly the top erupted in song as various Mayan-Christian ceremonies began. The singing, carried on the mists, accompanied us as we made our descent. The following morning as we packed the bike we discovered Beth´s wallet with her passport, credit cards, ID´s and vacinations record had been stolen, sometime within the previous two days. Obviously a bit of a setback so a visit to Guatemala City and the U.S. embassey would be needed. We had planned to avoid the capital but now we had liitle choice.




We decided to stay in Antigua, about 45 minutes from the capital which provided a respite from the roads which are still in terrible condition since Hurricane Stan hit a year ago. Antigua is beautiful, old cathedrals nestle alongside earthquake damaged ruins. Cobbled streets converge upon a town square that hasn´t changed in centuries, each street and avenue holds endless surprises. Traditional food stalls, contemporary restaurants, an artesan´s market and architectural wonders all set between 3 towering volcanoes. It provided a good base from which to resolve the passport problem. For some unknown reason Central American cities have a strong aversion to signage so although it only took 45 minutes to reach Guat. City it took another hour of suicidal driving to reach the embassey only to find they are closed on Mondays so we had to do it all again the following day. Any excuse to hang out in Antigua for a few more days was more than welcome. In the end it only took two hours to issue a temporary passport so before long we were back on the road. Couldn´t resist another hike up another volcano, this time a fully active one.



A short drive from Antigua is Volcan Pacaya with a road taking you to within 2 hours of the crater providing you don´t have any Dutch people on the hike, 3 hours later we were as close to the crater as you´d want to get. A matter of footsteps seperate lush rainforest dripping with moisture and a moonlike surface of hardening lava and acrid fumes. The contrast is remarkable but one is totally dependent on the other. We were able to get within a meter of a lava flow, molten rock bubbling up from within the mountiain. Occasionally a larger chunk would break off and tumble down towards us, we were reassured by our guide that only ¨some people¨ had been killed on these hikes.

It was now time to make up some time and distance so we hit the road early Thursday and the next few days were a blur of border crossings and long hours in the saddle. We were behind schedule so a night in El Salvador on the shores of the incredble Lago de Coatepeque, only 4 hours in Honduras, two of which were spent at the borders doing paperwork and we found ourselves in Nicaragua. The border crossings require a good deal of patience, lots of practice of our broken Spanish and plenty of small bills for greasing palms at each part of the procedure. On pulling up you get surrounded by guides and fixers who assure you you won´t make it through in less than 4 hours without there generous help for only a small fee. At the Honduran border seeing the lines of trucks and people with armloads of paperwork convinced us that this time some help would be a good thing but in retrospect there is no reason we couldn´t have done it on our own. The day was wearing on, it was hot and humid and the prospect of being on the road after dark was not appealing so we paid over the odds and got through in just over an hour. Wish we´d done a little more research on that one.

So now we are in Granada, southern Nicaragua, another beautiful colonial city on the shores of Lago de Nicaragua surrounded by Volcanoes. Decided to stop here for a few days over the weekend to give the bike an oil change and enjoy the festival currently taking place. Think it´s more of a politcal rally but the streets are filled with music and everyone is in good humour. The central plaza comes alive in the evening with people, birds and music. It´s very hot and extremely humid so there is nothing else to do but grab a cold beer and watch the world go by. We are now halfway through the journey, a month on the road and realising it will take more than another month to get there so may get to Chile by the end of November

Serendipity

Ever try asking directions to a town you can´t pronounce in a language you don´t understand? The reponse is generally a sympathetic smile which we supect means "you poor simple folk" before a rapid diatribe of of expressions and gesticulations which often leaves us more than confused than when we started. Hence the need to take Spanish classes and what better place to do that than in Quetzaltenango, once we found it. Called Xela for convenience, its Guatemala´s second biggest city famous for it´s language schools, the warm, friendly people and the week long fiestas which seem to take place every week to celebrate saints, scholars, independence and just about every other excuse they can come up with for a party. It´s been relatively peaceful here for the past 8 years but every evening you´d think a war was raging throughout the city as fireworks and rockets light up the sky.



We thought we´d made it through Mexico without getting ripped off by officialdom but a fat, sweaty border guard, the last person we'd see in Mexico, made sure we didn't leave with any misconceptions regarding people in uniform. Entering Guatemala was like....well, entering a diferent country. Gold toothed smiles abound and everyone is more than willing to offer indecipherable directions and advice. A huge improvement in road conditions made for swift progress but no sooner had we entered when a new vibration from deep within the bike dampened the exhileration of opening the throttle once again and enjoying the endless 'curvas peligrosas'. Several stops for a roadside inspection revealed nothing but as we neared Xela the dreaded sound of metal on metal made the undeniable transition from an overactive imagination to reality.


For those of us who don't believe in fate or providence what happened next is still a little hard to comprehend. We literally stumbled upon the president of the Guatemalan BMW owners club who had a workshop within 100 meters of where we had pulled over. Inside the workshop was a collection of classic vintage and modern touring bikes, all pristine beamers. Roberto Ascoli, if you are reading this, "tu eres un heroe". A more thorough inpsection revealed one of the rear wheel bearings was in damaged and in urgent need of replacement. Luckily our plans included a week long stop early in the trip for Spanish lessons so the timing worked out perfectly. While Roberto ordered the parts we enrolled in language school opting for the full immersion method. For the past week it's been 5 hours in the morning of one on one lessons 'mucho gracias Magda y Claudia' followed by activities in the afternoon, tours of the local community, hikes and salsa lessons all while living with a local family close to town. Traditional meals 3 times a day and endless opportunity for practice. It's been a full week culminating in a pre dawn hike up a dormant volcano, Santa Maria, which looms ominously over the city flanked by her very active little sister. Time to move on, however, past Lake Atitlan and on to Antigua. As we look back on Xela one of the more bizzare events in the journey will no doubt spring to mind. While walking through the outskirts of the city we got attacked by a stocky little indiginous woman who accused Beth of stealing her children. Many come to Xela in search of work but find alcohol instead, social services take thier children and for some reason there is a rumour circulating that westerners come here to buy them. No harm done but an interesting insight into how we are perceived in some places.