Chinandega to San Juan del Sur

October 4th Chinandega to San Juan del Sur
I awoke at 6.30 after another excellent nights sleep, I hadn't written my blog from yesterday (tired, but also no wifi password) and as you saw from yesterday's blog the place was beautiful. The maid/housekeper Flor did not arrive till after 7 so I began writing up my blog ready to upload when she arrived. I spent a couple of hours there eating breakfast and finishing the blog and speaking to the staff. I was really putting off getting on the bike but it had to be done. As I left at 10 am the workmen, who were laying electricity cable were having their 'Crib'. See good old Cornish builder habits have floated all the way across the ocean!
Started the ride in the normal way, turning right instead of left, but quickly corrected. The good news was the hotel was on the right side of the city for my journey south. I was soon flying along, yet in no hurry, as my distance today was about 160 miles. I was enjoying the landscape, though there were a few spits and spots of rain, which was refreshing. After around 50 miles I stopped for my crib at a garage, got some more money and sat outside in the sun. I decided to check my chain and discovered the Scottoiler reservoir was empty, so with my makeshift kit I spent the next half an hour filling it up and then cleaning my hands. All was well with the world until 10 miles down the road I entered a small settlement and the car in front slowed down to walking pace which  I shadowed (he was turning left). I decided to go on the inside of him and as i did so the car behind me tried to cut on the inside of me. We were never in any danger and it was all done at around 5mph. As I pulled away a Policeman stepped out and waved at me to stop, which I did. He asked for my driving licence and began to write a ticket, I was furious. I lost all my inhibitions and for the first time Spanish words popped into my head and I began arguing with him vociferously. I think he was taken aback and he threatened to put cufflinks on me. I responded by saying, 'Not before I'd phoned the British Embassy.' I grabbed my licence from him and took out my phone. He stopped writing the ticket and shook my hand and with what authority he had left, waived me on. I don't think the crowd who were watching would have been taken in by his show of strength. I know it was probably high risk to behave in that way, but I was so cross after yesterday when everyone is trying to virtually steal money from you that I responded emotionally. I was also not in the wrong - if anyone was in the wrong it was the guy who cut inside of me, though really it was nothing.
Nicaragua is more ordered, more cared for and more pleasant a place to be in. The roads are littered with police every 10 miles or so, so you do have to drive carefully. Another difference is there are no people along the roads trying to sell you stuff - not even a parrot or two. It feels very safe. However, not to be undone by its close neighbours, it did what they have done to me with regularity - it dumped a load of heavy rain all over me. Though this time I was prepared, i'd stopped and put on my jacket. I didn't bother with the trousers, though I wished I had, as all the water seemed to gather around my crotch region. 
After 20 minutes I was through it all and a further 20 minutes I was dry, but not around the nether parts!
Because of the various metaphorical diversions I didn't arrive in San Juan until 3pm, though that was fine, I was in no rush. At first, I slowly drove around the small seaside town expecting to come across my hotel around every corner. I didn't. I then even asked and was directed to the other end of the town. At the other end of town I was directed back to the opposite end. This game of ping pong went on for some time, me driving one way then the other. The hotel instructions said 150 metres from the Suspension Bridge, which I couldn't find at all. I gave up for the moment and decided to find fuel as I was running low and garage attendants (all attended service in this part of the world) I have found are usually good at giving directions. While getting fuel, I was approached by another grey haired individual of the same vintage - I think he was American. He wanted to talk about the bike and I asked him if this was 'Surf Mecca', as in my perambulations around the town I was struck by how many northern European/North American surf dudes. Eventually I asked if he knew my hotel, which he didn't, but he told me the 'Suspension Bridge' mentioned in the hotel directions had been washed away 5 years ago. So he said it must be close to where I'd been looking for some time. He also invited me to dinner with him and his wife, which sounded appealing, he gave me directions and we departed expecting to see one another later.
I drove back to the place where I'd been numerous times and under close inspection there was the beginning of a new suspension bridge, at least the metal uprights. So I was in the right area. But again, I could find absolutely nothing. In desperation I went into the only hotel close to the part completed bridge and asked. I half expected them to say,  'That is us, we changed our name 5 years ago when the bridge came down.' They didn't but they told me something just as bizarre, the manager took me to the window overlooking the river where there once was a bridge and said, 'That is your Hotel over the river.' He told me  that to get to it, I had to cross the river. I looked and though only about a foot deep and 10 metres across, it was all soft sand and looked quite deep in places. I had never done a river crossing with such a big bike and was initially intimidated. But I was hungry, thirsty and genuinely pi**ed off that I had wasted 2 hours trying to find the place. I jumped on my bike and just went for it.
Well not quite. As suspected there was some very soft and deep sand that I got a little bogged down in and came to a stop. I gave it more gas, but gently, and the bike started to move. Unfortunately toward a quite steep lip- drop off of about 2 foot. My inclination was to stop again, but in frustration and determination i ACCELERATED and the bike popped out and dropped off onto firmer sand and headed towards the water. It flew across the water, which reached up to my boots. I was elated to reach the other side, but almost immediately worried, as this would have to be repeated again tomorrow morning. With all the luggage and stuff any manoeuvres are tricky at the best of times, but the sand felt like trying to steer through wobbly blancmange. Not that I've ever steered through blancmange, but I'm sure you know what I mean.

We must get round to finishing this bridge 

 The way to the east and China

The way to my hotel!!

Literally the other side of the river was my hotel, right on the beach overlooking the sea. It was a great location, would have been even better if it had a bridge!! The receptionist walked outside to meet me and seemed relieved to see me. I now knew why the hotel was so much cheaper than others I'd stayed in and why in the blurb there was no mention of the lack of a bridge. However once inside the receptionist who spoke good English, explained that there is another way in by road and she should have sent me the directions - thanks a bunch!!! I was pleased though to have done my first river crossing, so it was worth it for that alone. The dangers I discovered, had not subsided, while waiting for my paperwork to be done (they love their paperwork -  and photo copiers) I read on the hotel notice board the procedure in case of a tsunami. Apparently a siren will give a 20 minute warning of its arrival and to head for the hills.  Eh ho, I wonder if I'll sleep well tonight.

*footnote

I forgot to mention yesterday I saw some Honduran discipling of  a ten year old boy by the side of the road. His mother (i assume) was beating him with a stick while two soldiers looked on. As I turned the corner, I looked backwards to see how the poor lad was doing and saw one of the soldiers give him a kick up the bottom (a gentle one). My perverse imagination pictured her saying, 'How many times have I told you, STOP, TRYING, to sell, the family PARROT by the side of the road,' Whilst the soldier was saying 'And this one is for not cutting us in on the deal.'

If I were to ask you, ' What is the most common colour of dog in Britain?' I suspect you would say black or even brown. Of the hundreds of dogs I've seen in Central America, only a handful have been black or brown.  Here the abandoned muts are ginger. So many stray dogs and everyone a Ginga!  Maybe the black ones are safely tucked up at home eating their pedigree chum and doggie treats!! My advice to my Buddhist friends, If you come back in this world, for Buddha's sake don't come back as a ginger dog in Central America, you'll sure to be abandoned.