Sunday Dec. 7th

Internet. San Juan Del Sur, Nicaragua. We made it. But not without incident of course. Let me begin....

The lovely family we stayed with in Honduras started our morning with a hot cup of coffee and biscuits. I had a quick look over the engine, it was running better than the day before but definitely still not well. We made the executive decision to soldier on, which in hindsight probably wasn’t the best idea. You’ll soon learn why.

After a lovely full breakfast served by our impromptu host family (Eggs, Rice, Beans and Tortillas) we said our goodbyes and hit the road. An uneasy feeling in our collective stomachs as Dora struggled in first and second gear. Something definitely wasn’t right and I was having flashbacks of the mechanics office in Saskatoon before we left.

“There is one part that I can’t guarantee the work for, and that’s the valves. A mechanic in the past had used an after market part and it was leaking a bit. I can’t do anything about it in the time you have, but it could be fatal in the long run”.
Yikes.

Dora was fine when we were cruising along in high gear, but struggling with hills and 1st and 2nd gear. We were scared. About 1 hour into the drive and 2 police checkpoints later we approached the border of Nicaragua. We were stopped to check with the Honduras police and I shut off the van. After a quick conversation and swapping of papers I turned the van on again. She didn’t sound well and when we pulled away she backfired numerous times, sounding like the streets of Xela on game night. We pulled to the side of the road and turned her off. I got out of the van and checked the oil. I couldn’t even touch the dipstick it was so hot. I’m surprised the license plate didn’t melt.

I walked back to the police checkpoint and uttered the words I was hoping not to say on this trip. Especially not at a border, places notorious for the wheelings and dealings we had experienced thus far.

“Necisito un mechanico por favor”

Before I even uttered the words a man was there with a motorcycle offering his assistance. This man had already tried to help us once with our crossing, we declined knowing that the brother of our friend was awaiting our arrival. Without us even really having agreed to it he was off on his bike. 30 minutes to the next town he said where he knows a mechanic that he’ll bring back. So we waited.

While we waited a crowd began to gather round the van. Word got around that there were a couple gringos stuck at the border I guess. I hope it was just curiosity, but I couldn’t help but feel that these poor kids were waiting to see if there was going to be a dead van to scavenge. They really didn’t look like they had much at all, we gave them lollipops and a few cookies but they still stuck around. A few faces lit up at the possibility of shining my shoes when the shoe box was removed from the back of the van.

The mechanic returned, riding behind our original wheeler dealer on his motorbike. He did have an honest face, but I had my guard up. I didn’t trust anyone in this moment. He started to look at the van, testing the spark plugs, cleaning them with sandpaper, looking at the distributor as I watched over his shoulder like a hawk. He asked me to start the van many times, the last of which the van wasn’t starting at all. What had he done!?

This was about 2 hours into the whole ordeal. I convinced myself that he had done all of this on purpose and was going to rip us off. He was saying he needed a different tool and his brother was going to bring it to him. All I was thinking was he’s seeing dollar signs. HIs friend who brought him was trying his best to speak english which was even more annoying; you could tell he had a vocabulary solely for ripping off americans at the border. In fact while we were pulled over one of the guys saw an american car and shouted to the police,

“American! American Car!”

Everyone went running to their posts, I felt like a blind man playing poker.

The mechanic tried to explain to me that it was the electrics that were the problem, from what I understood the distributor wasn’t getting enough power or something. Being the stubborn, know it all that I am I brought out my voltage tester. Tested the distributor. It had juice. I showed him and he tried to explain something else I didn’t understand. I went to a spanish school, but they don’t teach mechanical language there. I was certain he was ripping us off.

I talked to Shona, really what were we supposed to do. It was baking hot, we were at the border, stuck. We tried phoning the family we stayed with but everyone was at work and no one could help us. So I started packing up the van, basically giving in to the next step, whatever that was going to be. A truck pulled up, it was the older brother of our mechanic. He came up to the engine with what looked like a screwdriver with two wires attached to it. There was a crowd of 5 people looking at the engine while he worked. They got me to try and start the van about 5 times, no go.

“One more time” they said.

I clicked the key and the engine started. It was probably the most beautiful sound I’d heard. Not only did it start, but it was sounding brand new. I turned red. The mechanic gave me a smirk and I truly felt stupid. Now came the money part...

Of course, Mr. Motorcycle was the first to talk. He said $100. I said $50. He said $70. I said no, we needed that money to cross the border. He said we would need more than that to cross the border. At the end of it all I gave them $50 and 220 Cordobas which ended up being around $70 dollars. We left and crossed the border, with a guiding hand from the brother of our hosts from the previous night. In this process we met a Canadian guy named Paul and the girl, Vanessa he was travelling with, she was from Oregon. I offered them a ride to Leon, Nicaragua and they accepted. It was really nice, because they had a great time keeping the girls amused in the back while we drove on the beautiful Nicaraguan road. As we crossed the usual border bridge (every border has a bridge) we were ready for the usual police/security/military checks. But this time it was different - very different. First of all we were required by law to purchase insurance for the van. As Mr Insurance Broker guy with his pad of documents started filling out the forms we had our hands once again in our wallets - how much are they going to skin us for this time? We were somewhat taken aback when he asked us for a whacking $12 for one month! And these guys were nice, in fact super nice. The 2 guards sitting in the shade of a tree popped their heads into the van and handed lollipops and cans of pop to the girls. Honesty and gifts from the border patrols? I like this place. Some friendly banter ensued the gist of which was about how many kids everyone had - or wanted. When I suggested i wanted more but that Shona perhaps had a different idea i got the prompt and jovial reply something along the lines of.....well who says the kids have to be hers too?.......We all had a good chuckle and when i asked if they’d like some water i was told that they only drink liquor. In the gifting spirit i asked Paul (our new canadian friend) to reach into the fridge. He produced the bottle of Mescal I had bought when we were in Mexico and we passed it through the open window. Muchos gracias. We continued on our way smiling. I liked it here, so did Shona. There really was something different about Nicaragua, I can’t say what really, but it felt comfortable and nice. It was green and happy.

I still wasn’t sure if the mechanic had made a problem then fixed it until we pulled in for Gas; about an hour outside of Leon. I turned off the car and went to go and buy a cold drink. While doing this, I accidently hit the alarm button which normally wouldn’t be a problem; the alarm stopped working in Mexico. But now it was blaring throughout the gas station and I had to take a moment before realizing that it was our alarm. I shut it off and smiled. The last time the alarm was working we didn’t have any problems with the van. Since it stopped, we’d had difficulties. The electrics. It was the electrics. To think I was upset about a mechanical job where I had 5 skilled people looking at my car on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, in 35 degree heat, all for $70. In Canada it would have cost me $600, at least. Lesson learned. And if you ever read this, thank you for your help, I’m sorry that I judged. I’ll let Shona tell the rest later...