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Anticipation !
Fortified and mellowed by three glasses of French red wine and a medium tough 'steak' offered on this DC-8 service from Toronto to San Jose, Costa Rica, I feel sufficiently brave to start my diary for this trip. Ahead lie five glorious (hopefully) weeks of bicycling through five Central American countries. They include Nicaragua, recently devastated by Hurricane Joan, and Honduras, both also profoundly affected by the civil war between the Nicaraguan government and the 'Contras'. I am looking forward to experience these countries from the 'grass root's level', as much as one can do so in a brief passing through.
Worldways Flight 540 is a charter flight full of, not quite full, package tourists, going for a one or two-week holiday in one of the package resorts, video camera toting and glad to escape the Toronto rat race for a short time. Little do they know that I am embarked on a little more ambitious endeavour.
Now we are almost two hours into the flight, probably somewhere over Georgia. The cloud cover has broken into fluffy strings, almost reminiscent of 'trade wind' clouds. The weather at our destination is supposed to be accentuated by frequent afternoon showers, which I shall hopefully be able to escape on my short five kilometer ride from Santa Maria International Airport into Alajuela, about 16 kilometers outside of San Jose, the capital.
Later the same day, Alajuela
The liqueur, that was served after the meal on the plane, had put me to sleep, and I only woke up, as we were approaching the Central American mainland near the San Juan river, which forms the border between Nicaragua and Costa Rica. This river drains from Lake Nicaragua, and unloads a lot of brown silt into the Caribbean. The border between the effluent of the river and the blue Caribbean waters could be seen sharply outlined from our altitude. The sun gave way to mountainuous thunderheads, as we ducked under them into the Meseta Central, the 1000 metre high valley in which San Jose lies.
Passport and Customs controls were perfunctory. All they wanted to know, did I come from Colombia? Hearing I was from Canada made them happy. Colombia with its narcotics trade does not seem to be liked here at all; there was an article in today's paper here, about Colombian gangs stealing from jewelry shops in this country.
It did not take me long to get my bicycle put together, change some money, and be on my way. I had a few interested and polite inquiries, while I was working, from taxi drivers and the like, also the first offer to buy the bike. My odometer only showed 3 kilometers, as I arrived in the center of this quiet provincial town, and without delay I was installed in a room with private bath in the spotless Hotel Alajuela for the reasonable price of Can$ 11.00.
While it had felt quite warm at the airport on deplaning (32 degrees) it felt almost cold as I cycled away under the low threatening clouds. It gets dark early here, at about 17:30 hours, and the rain (it is still the rainy season here for another month) had held off today until now. It did not prevent me, though, from wandering the streets, and stopping in a little restaurant for supper, definitely superior to what had been offered on the plane. My bill for pork chops with tomato sauce, rice, and ample fresh salad and a beer was C$ 6.00., maybe not as cheap as in some other countries around here.
20 November 1988, Alajuela
As much as it had rained off and on during the night, true to form, the day brightened early with brilliant sunshine. Being a Sunday, I had promised myself a day off, so to speak. As the airport already lies west of San Jose, I would not be passing through the capital on my way to the coast. The natural thing to do, was to make a day trip into town to see the sights.
First I took a walk through the sunlit streets of Alajuela catching some of the early Sunday morning scenes around the Parque Central on video, then I had breakfast and took the bus (30 cents) to San Jose, about 20 kilometers to the east. Buses here do not take any standing room passengers, nor is smoking allowed on them.
It was a perfect day weather wise. The capital is not overcrowded. It is much like a larger provincial town, pleasant but with all the facilities. It is hard to believe that it has almost one million inhabitants. The Sunday morning concert at the Parque Central had drawn a colourful crowd, and it was pleasant to sit there in the shade of fig trees and royal palms, and watch the Ticos (Costa Ricans) stroll around with their children and their boy or girl friends. Shoeshine boys were vying for business, and vendors of sweets and balloons were blowing soap bubbles into the gentle breeze, to attract the attention of the younger set.
Lunch in the capital was somewhat more expensive, but still I had a full meal with soup, dessert and beer for little over C$ 6.00. The waitress was attentive, and the destructive American custom of tipping has not established itself in this country yet, except in the big hotels, which Americans usually visit.
In the afternoon I visited the National Museum, small but well kept. It has a small section in tribute to President Arias' efforts towards peace in this region, for which he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Like in a truly democratic country, video filming was allowed inside. The museum lies on a hill, which affords a fine view over part of the city with some of the surrounding mountains, the tops of which were again covered by clouds. It does not seem though, that we shall have any rain tonight.
After returning to Alajuela, there still was some time to take my bike and make the short ride (11 kilometers return) to Ojo de Agua, a small park with swimming pool and hot springs just below the airport. I did not go into the grounds as there was lively Latin dance music playing in the restaurant next door, and instead I sat there with a bottle of beer, and enjoyed the sights and the sounds. But it was getting dark quickly, and I had to return earlier than I liked, not having any light on my bike.
This evening again, singing drew me to the park. Yes, they were the typical melodies, which fundamental Protestant Christians in Latin America sing. After the song the audience was treated to a sermon, which was carried on with a loud voice and embellished with plenty of waving of the bible and other gesticulations. How much more measured and dignified is a service in a Roman Catholic church, which I witnessed this morning! If only the catholic church could rid itself of some of their outdated dogmas, then these groups would not have so much success.
21 November 1988, San Ramon
Finally on the Road!
This was my first day of serious bicycling on this trip, and it went rather well. At the end of it I have covered 60 kilometers, and while I am somewhat tired, I have no sunburn and am not saddle sore (yet). It certainly was not an easy day. The country started off rolling, and it ended up roller coasting, to say the least. I will say, though, that I never had to get off my bike to push, but I had to stop at various times to catch my breath, and to let my pulse rate slow down. My left wrist, where I had dislocated a bone by extended riding on rough roads, using the typical mountain bike handlebar, and which had only recently been reset by a chiropractor, did not give me any trouble at all, which is encouraging for the remainder of my trip.
The country I rode through was very pretty, most of it in coffee, some in sugar cane. There is also some light industry around, engaging in welding and fabrication of steel articles. There were a few sugar mills, and at Sarchi I saw many places making beautiful local wooden furniture, as well as models of the picturesque traditional Costa Rican ox carts.
As I said, the surface of the Meseta Central is far from level, it is rather hilly. What makes it worse for cycling, is that the many rivers coming down from the volcanoes have deeply incised valleys, and to cross each, the road dips down all the way to the bottom of the valley, before rising up again to the general level of the meseta on the other side. With all the ups and downs, I must have gone up in elevation a total of close to 1000 metres, while my net gain was only 200.
Luckily the sun was only out for short periods, with low clouds scudding in from the north. It seems the cloud cover has something to do with a hurricane supposed to be around there now, if I can believe my limited understanding of the local papers.
As I was travelling the old Highway No. 1, I missed all the traffic, but I added about 17 kilometers to the distance and, of course, paid for the lack of traffic with more irregular and steeper gradients. As a matter of fact, I think I got off the old highway altogether somewhere after Naranjo, because the road became just awful, and there was no traffic on it at all. On the downhill stretches I could proceed only very slowly, to avoid the potholes. There were no road signs, and I had to stop often to ask for directions, to confirm that I was still heading in the right direction. With all the hills I did NOT want to have to retrace my steps.
Ticos, I found out today, are rather reserved, while very friendly and helpful when spoken to. No 'Hi Joe's' here, as in the Philippines, waves as in Indonesia, or staring crowds as in India. As I am spending more time in this country, I note that the people are relatively well off, compared to other Third World countries, which makes prices at bit higher for most things. There are quite a few bicyclists around, but mostly on racing bikes, most of them new looking. In the paper I read today, that with the 30% inflation, they currently have here, the minimum wages have again been raised. For semi-skilled workers they seem to be now around C$ 2500 per year. In the towns the current rage seems to be, to buy apples or grapes imported from the United States. At about C$ 0.60 for one apple, the price was too steep even for me. I rather stick to the local fruit, which are much cheaper.
For tonight I made a point to check into a cheaper hotel. While the bath and toilets are down the hall, I got a real nice and cozy corner room with windows on two sides. The place is on a quiet side street and only costs C$ 3.00 for the night. Tomorrow I should be able to reach Puntarenas without any trouble. It is only 52 kilometers away, and in that distance I am going to drop down 1000 metres to sea level. I am looking forward to it.
22 November 1988, Puntarenas
Not all of today's ride was downhill. I got up at six to a cloud covered sky, and was able to buy some baked goods. A huge glass of freshly pressed orange juice at one of the street stalls cost only 7 cents. The bus station restaurant was open, and I bought two glasses of coffee to go with my cake. The coffee here is just as good as in Colombia.
The first five to eight kilometers on the main highway were mostly uphill still, when I reached the height of land, and then it was 1000 metres down in just over 20 kilometers. Traffic was not heavy, although this was the main highway connecting the country's main Pacific port with the capital. Drivers of trucks, buses and private vehicles were courteous to a fault to a bicyclist, slowing down when they could not pass. For much of the way there was a paved side strip, which I made use of, whenever it was not too rough.
As I came over the crest there was nothing to be seen of the coastal plain, as it was covered by thick cloud trying to spill up the mountains. Up on top, where I was, it was starting to clear with the sun peeking through the clouds. Halfway down, I hit the low land clouds, and they enveloped me like a thick fog. Visibility on the road was not too bad at my speed, so I still made good time, hitting at one time 55 km/hr.
On reaching the plain the clouds were above me, and becoming thinner the farther I got away from the mountains. Riding in the coastal plain, although not completely level, was such a relief! No more of the infernal shifting of gears, panting up the hills. So it did not surprise me, when I arrived here already at noon after a 60 kilometer ride. No point in overdoing it at the beginning of the trip! Still no sunburn and no saddle soreness, so perhaps tomorrow, unless I decide to laze a day at the beach, I shall attempt the 75 kilometer ride to Canas.
Actually, Puntarenas has now been replaced as the Pacific port by the new harbour of Caldera about 20 kilometers to the south. The 'city' lies on a long spit of land in the Gulf of Nicoya. Tomorrow I shall have to retrace about 15 kilometers of the approach road, in order to regain the main coastal highway. On the southern side of town is a long gray sand beach with all kinds of beach stalls, restaurants and open bars. It will be an interesting place to visit tonight.
23 November 1988, Canas
Well, last night was interesting alright, although the place was almost dead. At the beach there were people in only one of the restaurants. After sitting there for a while, I addressed one customer at the bar, who looked like he could be an English speaking tourist. Since most Ticos are of the Caucasian race, it is relatively difficult here to pick those by sight, who might speak English.
It turned out he spoke better German than English. His parents had emigrated to Mexico in the early Fifties. He had also spent some time in El Salvador, and was now settled in Costa Rica. He was just back from a visit to the capital, and was staying overnight in Puntarenas before catching the ferry tomorrow, to return to his tourist resort on the Pacific coast of the Nicoya Peninsula. He said that the tourist business was developing very well. In particular more and more Canadians were coming down here for their holidays. While his clientele was about 70% Costa Rican, he was getting foreigners from all corners of the world, including Chinese and Australians. Actually the operation was getting a little bit over his head, and he planned to rent the operation out to somebody else to manage, and to retire to his other property in the hills. He has no money borrowed from the bank, and he seems to have a good life here.
Later, at one of the other two bars I spoke to an American from a tuna fishing boat. He says that the waters around here are immeasurably richer in fish than those of the Caribbean coast, and every year at this time, they come over here from the eastern seaboard of the States to fish. The problem is, the fishing takes place within the 200 mile economic zone, which all these states around here claim as theirs. The United States does not recognize this, and they are flouting the local laws. Particularly Nicaragua has the naval power to give them chase ever so often, and that is what they have to watch out for. Begs the question: why do the United States have to be a law unto themselves, and why cannot they respect, what is universally accepted by other countries? This bodes ill, I think, to Canada's relationship with them in the future under the so called 'free trade' arrangement.
This morning I was off at 7:00 as usual, though having been up late last night. Nine hours on the road and 91 kilometers brought me to this little crossroads town in cattle country. In fact that is all I saw today, 'fincas' and 'vaqueros' (cowboys). Here they have the Brahman cattle from India, which seem to be more resistant to tropical diseases than their northern relatives.
It was rolling country for most of the way, and not the easiest riding. But the surface of the land is levelling off, the farther north I get. There was actually about half an hour light rain in the morning, which did not bother me at all, as the spray from the passing trucks was clean water, and the wetness seemed to cool me down. Later the sun came out, and with it a myriad of little white butterflies, fluttering back and forth across the road. It was really enjoyable to ride along in the warm sunshine. On this stretch of the Pan-American Highway traffic was not too heavy, and the driving habits of its users quite acceptable to a cyclist.
Another nice aspect of this road is the many roadside restaurants, where one can stop, sit in the shade on little tables, and rest from the weariness of the road. There are two other aspects I found of interest: The high number of ambulances passing back and forth along the highway, and the almost complete absence of police vehicles. Even in the towns one sees hardly any police or 'Guardia Civil'. As everybody knows Costa Rica is perhaps the only country in the world not possessing an army. The US. claim that the heavily militarized Nicaragua next door presents a threat to peace in Central America obviously is not shared by Ticos.
Here I am staying at a hotel right on the Parque Central, which is not of the best standard. But then, with fan and private bath(?) I am only paying Can$ 3.75, and one cannot expect too much for that price. At sundown the thousands of birds in the park made quite a racket, as they were coming back from wherever they were during the day, and were trying to find a place to spend the night in the trees of the park. I do not know the breed, but they are black with a long tail and curved beak.
24 November 1988, Liberia
The land really flattens out now, as the mountains, the Cordillera de Guanacaste, recedes to the east. Soon I shall leave it behind me altogether, and I shall be in that part of Central America, where there are no mountains at all between the Pacific and the Caribbean Sea. It is here, where the canal connecting the two oceans should have been built. Even now ships of moderate size can proceed up the Rio San Juan into Lake Nicaragua; and between it and the Pacific is only a narrow isthmus 15 kilometers wide with elevations of less than 150 metres above sea level. The level of Lake Nicaragua itself is only 30 metres above the sea. In practical terms, this means easy riding for me for the next few days.
The weather has now settled down. The hurricane, or whatever it was, has blown away, the sun is out and there is a fresh breeze from the northeast. This does not bother me as it comes from the side. For my 51 kilometers today I needed only about three hours, which brought me here in ample time to visit the Nicaraguan consulate to obtain my visa. However, I was informed, that I did not need one, being only in transit through that country. My guide book says, that transit visas are granted at the border, but are only good for 72 hours. My claim, that I would be in the country for almost two weeks, did not change the official's answer. Well, we shall see, whether the answer will be the same at the border. If worst comes to worst, I shall have to take the bus back for another try, although it will mean I lose two or three days because of the weekend.
Today I am hogging it, as I checked into this motel with swimming pool etc. But it cost only C$ 6.50, so I suppose, I can afford to spoil myself. My lunch, though, set me back another C$ 9.00 for 'ceviche' (marinated fish), a taco, a huge fruit salad and two beers. I was a little knocked out after that, and had a two hour siesta. Now, as the sun is going down, I am ready for a little exploring of the town.
Oh, I was stopped today on the road by a couple of guys in a little truck. Did I want a lift with them? They had seen me in Puntarenas two days ago. No, of course, I did not want a lift, because that would defeat the whole purpose of my journey, and also takes away most of its enjoyment. This I was able to put across in my basic Spanish, and we parted with plenty of handshakes, after satisfying their curiosity as to 'de donde va?' (wherefrom) and whereto. If I understood them right, they where Nicaraguans on their way back.
Tonight again the birds came in to spend the night in the trees of the plaza, the same as in Canas. As I was sitting there watching and listening to them, I was addressed by a local school teacher, wanting to practice his English. And this was exactly his purpose, not just an excuse to cloud an ulterior motive, as so often happens in some countries. We had a good discussion about Central America vis-a-vis the United States, why people in Third World countries are not as prosperous as they could be etc. His wage as an elementary teacher runs at C$ 4500.00/year before taxes or C$ 3900.00/year clear. At that, he finds it difficult to make ends meet, although he is able to save some money for large purchases. Nobody here thinks well of Americans; people dislike being used by them. He felt that it would be much better if the Central American countries could unite to form a stronger political and economic unit, and thus resist American domination more easily. He also realized that Costa Rica is much better off than El Salvador and Honduras, where the differences between the few rich and the many poor are vast.
Later during supper at one of the restaurants around the Parque Central I talked to a German girl, here to get her Nicaraguan visa, and on her way to Managua, where her parents where occupied with some work for Salvadorean refugees. She had just spent two weeks at a resort here in Costa Rica, and was returning to her parents. I do not think she had been in Nicaragua long, at least she was of two minds about the character of the Nicaraguan people, at least the ones in Managua, which are the only ones she had met so far. She felt that there was a lot of selfishness among them, and not quite the revolutionary spirit she had expected.
25 November 1988, La Cruz
Today I feel like I have come home. For this I have been waiting ever since I left the Philippines six months ago, to be among people which are simple and still relatively unaffected by the greed and artificiality of modern 'civilized' life, the 'real' people, as I call them.
This is just a small place a few kilometers from the Nicaraguan border. As a matter of fact, when you look across the bay, there is Nicaragua over on the other side, although it is wild and uninhabited hill country, as best as one can determine from the distance. I am staying in a little homey pension, 'Cabinas Santa Rita'. My room is tiny, the shower room is down the hall, but it just feels like home. The lady, who owns it, tried to tell me, that her son is also into bicycles. What exactly he has to do with them, I just could not make out. My Spanish is not too good to start with, and to boot the people here swallow up the last syllables anyway. The notice in my room reads (translated): "Brothers! When you leave this room be with the Lord, who leads your steps, and that the work you effect, your good duties and your good thoughts may be for the honour and glory of the Lord." What a nice change from 'Checkout time is 2 p.m.' and 'No female guests are allowed'!
The place is actually fully occupied, as there is a Mariachi band staying here tonight, which will play at one of the restaurants for the school graduation festivities. Today was the last day of school, and the long (three months) school holidays begin. Before I went to supper, there was a lot of practicing with trumpets and guitars. I am really looking forward to go over there later, and listen to some 'real' music over a rum and coke. Mariachi is the stuff that brings the tears to my eyes.
My total for the day was 60 kilometers through slightly rolling country. Still all cattle ranges with the Cordillera and the 1600 metre high volcano Cabo Cacao, with its head sticking into the clouds, greeting me from the northeast all day long. Coming close to the border, there were two police checks on the road. At one I had to show my passport, at the other there was just a little chat as to 'from where' and 'to where'.
I arrived here quite early. Two kilometers before the village my gear shift cable broke, and I had to walk up the last hill, not being able to shift into lower gear. Luckily there was a store here with bicycle parts. The cable I bought was just about 10 cm too short, but I made do, by cutting off the excess leader tubes, and shifting the lever along the handlebar, so that the cable could reach to the derailleur at the rear wheel.
Then I took a ride down the steep hill the four kilometers to the beach, where I had a swim and rested listening to the BBC news. The beach was almost deserted, only about 10-20 fishermen living there in their huts. The man running a little store told me, it was only one kilometer from the Nicaraguan border; but looking over in that direction, there was no sign of any life. It was a long and hard climb back up, but I was rewarded with a beautiful sunset.