Help Support The Blog by Clicking Through to Amazon.com

Sunday, July 29, 2018

7.27.18 Back to La Bocana, El Salvador and The Exodus from Nica to El Salvador

My surf mojo was going through a crisis of consciousness.  I'd previously enjoyed lightly fettered access to a reliable and sometimes magical beachbreak.  All I'd had to do was grab my board and go.

Now I was thirty kilometers away, in a borrowed car (which I'd be parking out in the open).

Several factors had stymied my attempts to paddle out sooner.  Massive swell coupled with a brutally low tide was the first.  The swell models predicted a slow marching-down in size and I made plans to surf.

The gods had other plans for me.  That Saturday evening, I ordered a pizza and in my haste to meet the pizza guy I ran barefoot on these wet too-smooth stepping stones.  My index toe curled under the pad of my foot and was crushed into the sharp edge of the awaiting next stepping stone.  I thought for sure I'd broken it and cautiously canceled the next day's session.

On two occasions, massive thunderstorms and their accompanying rain derailed my plans.

And finally, on a very dark Friday morning, the stars aligned so I could presumably bring you this blog entry!

As previously alluded to, I was in a borrowed car.  I didn't know if the key had a chip so I couldn't risk getting it wet by taking it into the water with me.  This meant Punta Roca was out.  I realized if Chuleta was at the hotel I could surf La Bocana and it just so happened he'd spent the night there!

I was really surprised at just how many rocks I'd have to dance on to paddle out.  There was also a suspicious smell in the air as my toes hit the remarkably warm water.

I caught five waves.  I had a massive lull before I caught my last one, by far my best.   Since I hadn't caught anything in so long, I went on a questionable one as I was really late.  I got a massive amount of speed and hooted myself as I made eye contact with a local while adjusting my course so as not to hit him. I connected on the inside but I had no speed when  I tried to bonk off the oncoming section.

I took a lot of beatings out there as it was really shifty.  Unfortunately, though the waves were still big, they were mostly all drop.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The Journey from Nica to El Salvador~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I got my wife and daughters out of there on June 18th.  They took a puddle jumper from right outside our development to Liberia, Costa Rica.  I tasked myself with getting our belongings (which had come down with us in Opie), Chucho and yours truly, out of Nicaragua.  My goal was mid-July.

I was reaching out to people, friends of friends, for ways to make it out.  I even dreamt up the possibility of going by boat.  That would have been M U C H preferable to the journey I undertook.

I reached out to Yasmil, who is the preferred shuttler of people in and around Hacienda Iguana through Facebook.  I had a big ask, I needed to charter a microbus (Toyota Hiace, pictured below) and have a driver take me across two international borders, and they had to drive back.  He said he didn't do that, but he knew of someone who did.

Enter Ariel, he said he would do this (I came to find out he had never done this, not a big deal) but he couldn't do it because of the tranques (roadblocks).  I understood his reluctance.  The dudes at the roadblocks were concerned with guns coming through because, though guns aren't illegal in Nica, they are HEAVILY restricted.  So if guns came in the population of that town could be sitting ducks.  How long would it take to unpack and search a FULL Hiace?  Hours.  This could be repeated as we weaved through towns.

He quoted me $550, which was very reasonable.  This included all permits and gas.  But the main issue was I had no idea as to when, or if, he would drive me because of the nebulous situation with the tranques.

I looked into chartering a small plane to take off from the little airport nearby and land at Ilopango, El Salvador's main airport up until Comalapa was put into service right around the time I was born.  There were two main issues with the plane route:

  1. They would only allow 850lbs, including Chucho and me.  No surfboards either, so I'd have to sell those in Nica.  The weight limit was a problem because it meant I'd have to store the remainder of our stuff.
  2. They wanted $3500!
I was slowly resigning myself to having to drop the dough on the plane.

But oh so interestingly, fate intervened....

I asked my neighbor Barry, from whom I'd been borrowing the bike, how he ended up renting the bike.  He told me his driver Agustín had rented it to him.  The name rang a bell.  It was the name of the driver we'd had during our very first trip to Nica in 2014.  I asked Barry some questions and confirmed it was the same guy.

He and I had gotten along really well in 2014.  I celebrated him daily upon our return back to Oceanside as his ringtone was set to the chorus of this classic.  I would sing the chorus and do the handclaps:



I got his contact info and reached out to him.  He claimed to remember me and said he would do the trip for $1100.  Bastard was trying to gouge me!  But the good news was I'd have someone who could conceivably take me to El Salvador, so at least I'd save more than $2K.

Then, the unthinkable happened: God smiled upon me!  Ariel wrote me on Facebook all pissed off that I'd been talking to other drivers.  I said, dude, you passed! He said, "Yeah, back then I did!".

Apparently Agustín had been bragging about the half-Gringo/half-Salvadorean he was ripping off and his hubris cost him and saved me!

I didn't give Ariel a hard time because I wanted to possibly salvage our deal, since he seemed to have renewed interest.  I said, "I'm willing to honor our deal if you can take me by July 15th".  He said "ok, I just need to have the bank sign off and my leaving the country with the Hiace (he still owed on it)".

We made tentative plans and then solidified them.  We would be departing around two am on July 10th.

In the interim, I got to surf somewhat.  I was able to squeeze seventeen sessions into twenty-one days.  Most of these were abridged due to Chucho being a pussy and yelping for me.  I also officially was cooking for myself for the first time in my life.  I enjoyed cooking so much that I lost almost twenty pounds in twenty days.  I would do one meal a day with a snack in the morning.  I weighed in at 147 lbs and some might say SMOKING HOT, if you're into the praying mantis look.

HNNNNNNNNNG 😋
 I had already been packing and repacking our stuff as some of the Colorado boxes were falling apart.  I moved everything to the main living room area so as to better organize everything.  I took some trips into Rivas (when I knew there'd be no roadblocks) to hit the vet with Chucho so he could be certified as being importation-worthy.


I had a really tough decision to make with the car.  I'd purchased it in January, it was a too-nice Toyota Prado, which was similar to the Lexus SUV.  I decided to buy that car because the alternatives were the Toyota Fortuner (about which I'd heard various bad things), and the Toyota Hilux (a pick-up with a rough ride that would have made Solani upchuck within ten minutes).

I tried to sell it for over a month.  I ended up getting lowballed by the husband of a female former pro surfer (her name rhymes with Bolly Heck).  He told me he "may be interested for $9K".  I wasn't going to sell it to him because the guy was a morph but Nica being what it was I got one other bite, total.  I'd resigned myself to the idea that I was either going to take a lowball offer or have to store it and pay out the ass in monthly storage fees.  This approach would also necessitate a trip back to Nica, in possibly an even worse situation, and staying for an undetermined amount of time until I sold it, not to mention the further expense of the trip back.

Then I got an idea.  I bought the car from a car lot in Managua.  I reached out to the guy and he said he could hold it in consignment and pay me when he sold it.  This was quite a fun decision to make.  Was I really about to trust a used car salesman, in a third-world country that was in the middle of a massive political destabilization?

The answer, when compared to the former option was a resounding yes.  But there were warning signs.  He was supposed to come down with a buddy to take it the week before I left.  He flaked both times.  Then he promised he would be there on Monday (I was scheduled to leave Tuesday, the tenth).  He never showed and this was adding massive stress to one of the most stressful situation I'd ever been through.  His solution? Have me meet him in Managua on or way up north.

I was pissed.  I didn't want to drive a nice car through Third World nastiness at two in the morning, but it was still the best option money- and hassle-wise.

So the night of the ninth, Ariel is supposed to show up before nine.  Nine comes and goes and I am steaming.  I'm calling him, WhatsApp'ing him and nothing. Finally at 940 he tells me he is in the complex.  He asks for a live location pin and I send it to him.

He arrives.  The plan was for him and his buddy to sleep here until two and leave in the morning, once we'd packed. He ended up showing up with two dudes. He asked upon our having met if we could just go now.  I'd told him of the arrangement with the car dealer and I had to shift that back, which I was able to do.  I still had little doubt he'd flake on me again, leaving me in the middle of Managua, on my way to El Salvador with a car that was not in my name (people in Nica who aren't residents keep the car in the seller's name and prove ownership with a bill of sale).  If he was going to flake again, I wouldn't be able to import the car into El Salvador as it was more than eight years old (I'd looked into what it would have taken to "alleviate" that situation in El Salvador and apparently it's damn near impossible to do unless you are connected).

The car dealer swore he would be there and we loaded things into the Hiace from three flights up starting at ten at night.  I told Ariel that I didn't think all the things would fit (he'd neglected to remove most of the seats, as per my request) inside but he thought they still would.  About a half-hour later, he realized his mistake and we had to reposition things.  There was a cramped seat-and-a-quarter for the dog and me to suffer.  We stuffed ourselves in, the two guys up front, and thankfully, one guy driving the Prado behind us, and headed off into the night just before midnight.  My last view of Hacienda Iguana was enshrouded in darkness.

Ariel's cousin was driving, the third guy was invited because he'd made the trip before and knew the proper route.  We weren't on the road an hour before we hit our first snag.  We got pulled over.  I was really tired and apathetic about it; I just hoped they didn't ask to search the car.  My blood boiled in anger when it was found out the guy who was driving the Hiace DIDN'T HAVE HIS LICENSE!  After the guy was apologizing to Ariel he reasoned he'd left it in his car.  He ended up paying a bribe of less than $4 for us to be let go.
 
 
The monument to Hugo Chavez, arguably the godfather of the destruction of Venezuela (Pic from Twitter)


We hit Managua, my first time seeing it in the dark.  Near the disgustingly gaudy monument to Hugo Chavez, who at the time of its construction was giving so much money to Nicaragua, we saw what the boys identified as a transexual prostitute.

The conversation went like this:
"That's the kind you pick up, bang, and then "she" says, 'My turn!'".
I added, "And then "she" still charges you full price!".

They loved that comment.

We pulled into a gas station in the middle of Managua at two in the morning and shockingly the car dealer showed up in his own Prado not two minutes later.  I filled out some paperwork, eerily giving him power of attorney.  He forgot one thing and had to go back.  The guys who were driving me were quietly freaking out, looking at every passing car as they came through every minute or so.  A week earlier, there had been a government-sponsored shooting at a different Puma gas station a few kilometers away.  I would have been gnarled out if I hadn't been so tired.  I was physically drained but also mentally so; after weeks of worrying as to how I was going to pull this off.

I felt better after the Prado had gone with Perreira (the car dealer) even though I had no clue as to my legal recourse if he reneged and screwed me over.  He offered to have us have breakfast at his resort within a couple of miles of the border.  It was a place for middle class families to stay and I wasn't really sure if there was a market for it, being so far north.

I tried to sleep, but I didn't.  It was a rough ride and I was squished in.  The guys up front were gnarled out.  There was a small commotion in the cabin when they said they saw a guy with his face covered with an AK-47 resting on his shoulder, aimed at the sky.  I didn't see him and I was not really caring, just wanting to get out of Nica ASAP.

We stopped at this gas station in the middle of nowhere to fill up at about 4AM. I got out to stretch my legs and snapped this picture.  A street dog and a senior citizen security guard armed with only a machete looked on.
 
Nicaragua, frustratingly, operates exclusively on metes and bounds as a way of giving directions (turn left at the ceiba tree, right at the purple church, etc).  We weren't sure if we were at the right place and considered shining it completely in favor of getting a start on the border to Honduras.  We eventually found it and we had breakfast and coffee.

This handsome guy kept yelling at us that this was the correct gate


Perreira Resort: The trees lining the perimeter are from India.  They're relatively new to Central America and are supposed to keep mosquitoes away (probs bullshit because I got lit up by them while there).
 
We got back on the road and began the nightmare that was the border crossing.  I got my passport stamped as having left Nicaragua and then asked about the dog.  I was told to take him to the Animal Export branch.  Chucho and I walked there.  The guy in there was gruff and said I had to take him to the main office so they could fill out his exportation paperwork.  He motioned to his right and I said, "How far a walk is it?".  He said it was a few kilometers and I could take a taxi.  I was bumming.

The dog and I got into a cab and I was charged double for him, which pissed me off but I was too tired to fight the extra sub-dollar difference.  I was dropped off at this seemingly abandoned parking area with a bunch of truck trailers chilling.  I asked multiple people, all but one giving me bad directions and got into the office just as it opened.

I told the woman there what I needed and she said OK.  She then went on her phone for forty minutes.  This is not hyperbole.  I prodded a couple of times and she said she was getting to it.  I wanted to go off on her but I figured that would likely do more harm than good.  If she refused to deal with me I could conceivably be stuck there, unable to get Chucho out of the country (legally).  Eventually her hot texting convo cooled down and she asked me for the bank receipt.

What bank receipt?

She said I had to pay $1.80 or so to the bank.  I said, "where's the bank?" and she replied, "At the border".

My exhaustion didn't mask my lividity.  I asked, as calmly as possible, if there was ANYTHING else I needed from the border area before I came back.  The lady looked at me and shook her head no.  I walked out without making a scene.  Nicaraguans, during my time in their country, are without question the most apathetic people I've ever met.  Nicaraguan government workers would have aced AP Apathy.

I went back to the road with Chucho and waited for a cab.  It was at this point that he decided he'd had enough and laid in the dirt.  I coaxed him back onto the road but he wasn't having it.  I couldn't tell if it was the hot asphalt despite it still being relatively early in the morning or maybe he'd stepped in some broken glass.

It took a miserable twenty-five or so minutes for a cab to take a chance on Chucho and me.   The cab stopped and I had to lift my him into the cab.  He dropped me off a solid quarter-mile from where I needed to be so he would be higher up in the rotation to pick people up.  I straight up carried this awkward nearly-sixty-pound black fur coated load the whole way, taking a couple of rests during which I removed my backpack to further "take a load off".

I found the Hiace; they'd completed the vehicle importation paperwork and were ready to roll.  I left Chucho with them in the shade as I waited in the bank line for about a half-hour.  The good news there was that it was air-conditioned, something I was sorely in need of due to our death march.

I went and got the dog, then carried him back to the taxi area.  Along the way, I heard Nicas snickering about the Gringo carrying his dog everywhere.  I was getting sadder and sadder about Chucho's health.  I'd seen him give up on walks before but his hips were all screwy when I plopped him down.  He was kind of doing the stance bitches do when they urinate.  Dog bitches.

We got back in a cab and made it to the main office.  There I waited another forty minutes, but this time the supervisor was there.  He helped Ms. Incompetent fill out the form.  I watched helplessly as they pecked individually at the keys.

Waiting at the Animal Export Office after an all-nighter with a lame dog: One of the most miserable experiences of my life.  Shout-out to Missed-It-Mike for the Hale'Iwa T-shirt


Eventually they bid us adieu.  Another twenty minutes passed until a cab took us.  This guy parked a little closer but wouldn't go further, claiming he wasn't allowed any closer in his cab.  I carried Chucho all the way to the gruff guy at the Animal Export shack, he stamped my paperwork and more than five hours later, we were granted access into Honduras.
 
Nicaragua, the land of vibrant colors but muted personalities... Immigration Building


I was relieved to be back in the car but really sad about Chucho.  I was wondering if I was just going to have to put him down the day after we made it to El Salvador.  Five-plus hours later we left the border area and officially entered Honduras.  I apologized to the guys for having made them wait for so long as we waited in line on foot to be granted legal access into the city.

Chucho refused my attempts at giving him water.  This was unfathomable to me given how hot he'd been at the border and for so long.  My fearing of the worst solidified.

We only lasted about two hours total in the entirety of Honduras.  We were pulled over once by a soldier in a beret.  He was really nice, asked us a few questions, and had a great sense of humor.  We passed the hotel at which Chucho and I stayed on the way down.  Honduras in general seems like such a bummer, or at least during that section of road.

We arrived at the border to El Salvador and I geared up for more bullshit.  Not sure what the guys did or said but this time they just x-rayed the Hiace with Chucho inside and we were done within an hour.  Yes, we exited Honduras and entered El Salvador in that span of time!  It didn't cross my mind that we'd crossed Chucho into El Salvador illegally until weeks later...

I got pulled into questioning and the guy was doing a full-court press on me.  He kept asking why I had so many Salvadorean stamps in my passport.  The first time he asked, I said, "I am a Salvadorean citizen with a DUI (Salvadorean Universal Document of Identification, needed for just about everything including voting).  He kept pestering me, he uttered various versions of  "What are you doing entering and leaving El Salvador so many times?".  Since I'd already told him I was a citizen and that didn't do squat, I told him I had family there and visited them/came down for a wedding/came down to surf.  After an umpteenth iteration of the above question, I'd had it.

Site of the interrogation

I raised my voice and said, "I am a citizen of El Salvador and I have a DUI.  What is the problem?!?  Is there a legal limit on how many times I can visit a country of which I am a citizen?".

Apparently he hadn't heard me initially when I'd mentioned my dual citizenship.  He softened up and let me go.  He said next time to just tell him I was a citizen right away.  I said ok, obviously not worth mentioning I had.

Waiting for the Hiace to be cleared by Customs.  We sat down here and I bought the boys some bubbly (Cokes) to celebrate our final passage. 
 
We mounted up when the Hiace was cleared.  The dog was still refusing water, though he did partake in maybe five capfuls total when I insisted.  I sat back in my seat, dog at my feet, and admired the San Miguel sunset as tears streamed down my face behind my sunglasses.

Working our way to Tecla
 
I asked Chucho to please make it to my birthday.  I could tell his hips were bothering him even as he laid down on the floor of the Hiace.  We went through a couple of towns I'd never visited.  Night fell and we stopped for gas again.  Ariel asked me to front him partial payment as he didn't have the cash for gas.  I obliged and we got back on the road.

I asked Ariel to let me tether my phone to his, just so I could connect and let my wife know I'd made it.  It took him over an hour to grant my request, but eventually I was able to message her.

Eventually, we made our way to our destination, Santa Tecla.  I'd made a reservation at a self-storage facility and we emptied the vast majority of the Hiace at the facility, as we'd discussed.  I guided them to my uncle's (formerly my mother's) house, paid them the remainder of $640 (the extra was a tip) and sent them on their way.

I carried Chucho in and plopped him on the bed.  I'd been awake for over forty-two hours, but it still took me a while to pass out.

I was eventually paid a little under $13K for the Prado in two wire transfers. Chucho has made it nearly three-and-a-half months past my birthday, with only two shot regimens for his arthritic hips

2 comments:

  1. 08/15/2018/ - I knew a guy named Eddie Pfeifer once. He was a R/E Agent and lived in Encinitas, CA. He was one of the coolest people I ever met; one of the "good guys" you could say. I thought of him as a kindred spirit and often wondered what happened to him... Now I know and can fill in the gaps... I hope you enjoy the waves and have found a happy life in your travels, buddy. Look me up if you ever in San Diego again (shouldn't be too hard to do). *Fist Bump* - Brian Dawidowicz

    ReplyDelete