Day 202 - 207: Honduras and Nicaragua
Am still in this Costa Rica cafe trying to get this journal up to date.
I was in Honduras for just over 24 hours and in Nicaragua for 3 days. I flew through these countries as I am still aiming to be in Colombia by the end of the month. So I took zero detours and stayed on the main Pan-American road through them.
Nicaragua customs were interesting, both entering and leaving the country.
Entering Nicaragua, I took a picture of the “Welcome to Nicaragua” sign. Fifteen seconds later, there were guards with guns asking me to show them my passport and the photo I took. I was very confused but eventually realized I wasn’t supposed to take photos there. They zoomed in on the photo to make sure nothing sensitive was in it. They relaxed a little when I explained it was just the welcome sign.
Then a couple more passport checks where I had to explain that I didn’t have a plan for where to stay that night and didn’t have a hotel booked. I tried to explain that I’m cycling, so I’ll stop at some town when I’m tired. She eventually understood but said she still needed to fill out the location in the system. I see her look up a place online and enter some random hotel. Ok… note to self: just lie from now on.
Then I had to pay some fee in either USD or their local money. I only had Honduran money, which she wouldn’t accept. So she kept my passport and I had to cycle to “the bank” on the other side of the border. This meant I had to cycle past guards who rightly didn’t want me to enter their country since I didn’t have my passport. Eventually they seemed to understand. “The bank” was just 10 paces across the border and was just a woman lounging on a plastic chair on the side of the road with a foot-high stack of banknotes wrapped in elastic bands on her lap.
I asked her what the conversion rate was between Honduran and Nicaraguan money, while trying my best to look like I would know what the rate should be. At this point, my phone data wasn’t working and hadn’t been for the last day or so, which didn’t help. She quoted me something in rapid fire Spanish. I nodded like I understood, squint for effect, as if I am considering it, and then just go with it… As if I really had a choice. Was I ripped off? I have no idea, but probably, yes.
I cycled back across the border to the immigration office. I handed her a 500 local currency note and she didn’t give me change. Yes, probably ripped off again. She stamped my passport and gave me a piece of paper.
I then cycled to the border, handed the guard my passport and the piece of paper, and he didn’t let me cross. Eventually I understood that I needed some signature on the paper and had to get my bike bags scanned to get it. So I cycled back to the immigration office and played a game of “which building should I enter to get my bags scanned?” I picked the nondescript building beside the immigration one, which was a good guess.
I pushed my bike in. A lady came up and motioned that I should take my bags off and line them up next to the scanner machine. She then looked around and whispered under her breath, “You don’t have a drone, do you?” The way she said “drone” made it sound like an incredibly bad word, as if she was asking me if I had a bomb. Drones are very illegal in Nicaragua. I had been warned about this, and hadn’t been using my drone, plus it was pretty cheap so I gifted it to someone in a hotel a few days earlier. So I could honestly say no. She visibly relaxed.
I then waited in front of the scanner. The scanner person was apparently gone for lunch. An hour later, I got my bags scanned, the scanner lady signed the all-important scrap of paper, and I reassembled my bike and cycled to the guard at the border. Satisfied, he let me cycle into the country.
The next problem was I had very little money, and according to iOverlander, the next ATM was 70 km away. This was quite far for me considering I’d already cycled a fair distance that morning and wasted a lot of time at the border. My mobile data still wasn’t working, so I couldn’t check for a nearer ATM on Google Maps. I decided to just settle into the cycle.
Seventy kilometers later, I found an ATM, checked into a hotel, and fixed my mobile data problem.
The next few days felt much like the rest of my experience in Central America. My end of month deadline to be in Colombia meant I’d get up, cycle at least 100 km, find a place to sleep, and repeat the next day.
The people I met on the road were very kind. They’d often offer a hand, say hello, and welcome me to their country. On a couple of occasions, kids would run out to the road to shout hello and wave. Makes me feel a little bad for flying through their country so fast.
Leaving Nicaragua was almost as interesting as entering, but I won’t bore you by repeating the similar story.
That puts me in Costa Rica, and close enough to being up to date to call this a day and go to the beach.
