Hell Hole Honduras

Gladly into Nicaragua and tucked away in the cool town of Leon, Nicararagua's arts and education center.  We are recouperating in a great downtown hotel in a Bohemian part of the city...well deserved I might ad.  The two border crossings into and out of Honduras were tests beyond my ability to endure, putting me in such a fowl mood, I wonder how my teammate, Jim could stand me.  First, I will say we deserved everything that came  our way, because we had the nerve to drive through Central America without any real Spanish skills.  Yes, we can order a beer, say thank you and please, but to really communicate with these people is beyond our ability.  Then, when you ad the disorganization, the lack of desire to communicate from the bureaucracy,  and the pervasive and blatant corruptionof the system...you have a recipe for disaster.

As a Libra, I have a basic desire to have fairness in all dealings, and as an American, am used to working under a system that identifies a product or service, establishes a fair price for the product or service, and then upon payment, full payment according to the deal...everyone wins, right?  Well not so in border crossings in Central America.  The ingress crossing was totally chaotic, starting with a dozen guys waiving their arms and yelling as we approached the border checkpoints, as though we just entered the wrong way up a one way street (which we have consistenty accomplished :-).  Yes, these are the Coyotes previously mentioned, who are proclaimed experts at guiding you through the labarynth of  of the bureaucracy.  There are no signs or directions to indicate where to go, there are no outlines of the proceedures and fees, there is abssolutely nothing posted in either english or spanish that will guide a mototist through the system.  It's no wonder the Coyotes can thrive in this process.  

You never really hire anyone, they just latch on to you and never let go...competing with a dozen others.  We take the one who speaks the best english and is the most convincing.  Our guy sold us on his ability to get us across the border in 60 minutes...no problem.  They explain to you how much the officials need, and you give it to them.  Then the problems come...we can avoid you having to endure multiple inspections for more money for payoffs...there are unanticipate troubles that require more...you need to avoid unbearable lines we need more...I had to give my away to pay the officer...on and on, and on.  After forking out $170 and 3 hours later, we were relieved to be on our way, me seething in anger, not just for being ripped off, but for making ourselves vulnerable through our own lack of language skills.

The next day, we hoped for a smoother experience leaving Honduras into Nicauagua...but noooooo...there, things started to play out in the same fashon, with hordes of Coyotes and money changers decending upon the Little Red Truck.  We hoped to go it alone in a do-it-yourself mode, but the biggest, brightest, and smartest of the pack stuck to us and would not let go (we'll call him Eduardo) What happened next, we (I) didn't deserve.  Somehow, as we exchanged our Limperas for Cordobas, Eduardo, or someone associated with him pickerd my pocket and took my wallet containing my credit card and driver's license.  The process went forward on the Honduran side until Eduardo led us to an unmanned police kiosk near the Nicaraguan border.  As we waited a minute or two, a policeman rode up, placedn himself in the kiosk, and asked for my (not Jim's) drivers license.  In a panic at not able to produce my lisence, the cop calmly stated that it was a violation and we were not permitted to proceed.  He had no idea who the driver of our truck was...Jim produced his license, and I prduced my alternative International drivers lisence, alas, we still could not proceed.  As Mana was delivered from Heaven, Eduardo offered to ride his motorcycle the .25 miles back to the town and find the culpret who stole my walllet.  He, of course said it would require 50 bucks in payoffs to get it back...which I had no choice but to pay.  The policeman stood there stoically silent.  A few minutes later, Eduardo comes screaming back with a tale of how he found the wallet, but the bastards want another 50 bucks to relinquish it...gosh, those greedy pirates, he says.  I give him every last Coardoba in my pocket with a helpless resignation, about 30 bucks worth...I'll do what I can, he says, and off he rode to my rescue.  Five minutes later, he came rushing back with a broad grin on his face...success!  My wallet was in my hand with DL and credit card in tact...thank heaven.  Eduardo explained that he had to front me an extra 20 bucks beyond what I had given him to satisfy the pirates...what a good guy!  I borrowed the money from Jim, and were reminded that we must pay Eduardo his fee for services, which we did with the stoic and silent policeman standing guard. The Honduran transaction complete, Eduardo gone, we readied to proceed to the Nicaraguan side of the process. The stoic and silent policeman approached the drivers side to wish us well.  How about a little cash for me, he said...no, I replied, we already paid Eduardo for your share, and I sped off to the border.

When I return home, I must see a Clinical Psychologist, and a Proctologist to

assess for any permenant damage.