Chancleta

With the promise of waves in the future we bailed our Bigfoot hostel life in Leon and drove NW to a area where we were told there would be waves and a place to stay. After driving 2hrs and getting lost or turned around and asking for directions numerous times we found exactly what we were looking for. Hotel Chancleta, a place that suits the needs of all travellers. There are rooms here for those with the fat wallet and dorms for those with a flabby piece of leather that use to serve as a wallet. As we pulled into the wide open green pasture that sits on a hill overlooking the surf we knew we had found something special. The surf was looking so fun and instead of getting accustomed with our new surroundings on land we figured that doing the same in the ocean was just as significant. The waves were clean, offshore, 3-4 ft and peeling quick down the line. It was the perfect Thanksgiving day celebration. To add to it we were invited by the owner and his family to join them and other guests to a dinner that would resemble a Nicaraguan day of giving thanks. It was phenomenal. Two great big turkeys, mashed potatos, mac n´cheese, peas(!), stuffing, bread and a icecream dessert. We occupied a long narrow table that sat around 25 of us. After dinner it was all about the Nica rum and wine that hovered around the table. We made new friends and added a new memory to our holiday traditions. I am glad to say that my gringo skin still manages to get burned. Even though we have been surviving and adapting well to the Central America sun, there is still a lot of California boy alive in me. After luch today we will head back for Leon just for the night. We will be bringing along with us two new bed jumping buddies from Florida. These guys are pretty funny, they take pictures of one another while they try to jump as high as possible on their bed and make a funny pose while in the air. After you get the shot you submit it to a website called bedjumping.com. We were laughing so hard when they first told us about it. Tomorrow when we wake up it is back on the road heading south. We might be pushing for Costa Rica in a few days or so. We will see. But for now I can say that we have found a highly revisitable spot for future surf trips.

-chile (thats what they call white people here)

This place rocks!

Greetings my fellow cyber mates. We are coming to you from the city of Leon, Nicaragua. It was not the longest drive here from our little surf village of El Tunco in El Salvador, but surely it provided a very entertaining ride. Crossing into Honduras was fairly easy with your common paperwork and fees and mumbo jumbo. The Manburban got spotted by the police [which it tends to do] about half a mile into the new country and we did our best to cope with the corrupt nature of every single law enforcement official in Central America. It appears that it is a law down here to have a fire estinguisher, road triangles, and reflector stickers on your car at all times. Ehh.....That is just unecessary and poor financial management. So after all the chit chat and blank stares this guy pulls Jimmy out of the car and looks at him and says, "20 dolares." Well if that's all ya wanted in the first place then speak up hombre! Anyways this was the theme all throughout Honduras. We got signaled to the side of the road probably around six times. We decided to stop attempting to speak with them in spanish and act completely dumbfounded by the language. We would only reply in english and provide the impresion that we had no money and were just driving through the country. It actually worked, and it was comedy! We would pull away after being signaled over just totally laughing and commenting on how well each one of us acted like we don't have a clue about what's going on. Spent a night in Chuloteca, Honduras. The only good thing about that was I got my clothes washed for the third time on the trip, we ordered Pizza Hut [heaven], Georgie died her hair, and we watched A Few Good Men. Next day, booked it to the Nicaraguan border, fooled a few more police, the Manburban started making a funny noise, and then got to a beach town called Las Penitas where we stayed in a hostel for the night. With no swell we decided to head into Leon and see if we could get the Man some work done on him and we would just cruise around Leon. Well it turns out we needed new brake pads so that is happening. We are stoked about Leon! This place is very rad. It is a colonial style city with big village squares and weathered churches. We are staying at a hostel called The Bigfoot Hostel. Check it out, it is sick! So there is plenty to do here and lots of people to mingle with. Last night we got together with everyone in the hostel and we stormed some bar down the street. There seems to be good domestic beer everywhere we go and usually it's always just a buck for a tall frosty brew. Today we get the Man back from the mechanics, might do some sight seeing, and then tomorrow we might slide down a volcano on a sled. They keep a chart at the hostel of who has the highest speed record going down the volcano. Right now it is 82km /hr. but Jimmy and I feel we can conquer a new volcano sliding record. We might have to shave first though, you know, the whole aerodynamic thing. Nevermind! Not shaving. Well folks, that's all for now. Our future hopefully contains more swell, Popoyo, winning the lottery, and a very merry thanksgiving.

-San Miquelito

The Buzz

Apparently Honduras has noticed a slight decline in its profit margin of exporting goods to neighboring countries. To fix that they all sat down and said, "Maybe we should clean up that little mess down at the border." There has been nothing new in the news about the situation so we are convinced that our passage to the south has once again been given the thumbs up and tomorrow we take to course. 6am wake-up call, coffee at Dale Dale, bank, fuel, snacks, and we are off with intentions of reaching Leon, Nicaragua in one day.

-May the force be with us.....and to you as well

the latest

Now we are hearing the latest from San Salvador, the capital of El Salvador. It seems that the dairy industry workers of Honduras are protesting on the Honduras side of the border, not allowing any trucks containing perishable items to enter the country. I guess there is a problem with the trade or market price of items being transferred between the two countries. I am doing my best here to actually try to understand the situation but it is kind of like trying to solve a puzzle. With the hostility at the border (mainly geared towards incoming produce) it is still a unstable environment for any vehicle to pass. But our host Oscar just bought a gun and he showed it off to me, so I feel good.

Cup-o-Noodles time!

Hitch a ride and show us the way! We have candy too..

The almighty Aussie, Georgie.

The four-wheeler on the twenty mile stretch of sand that give Puerto Arista its charm.

El Salvador here we "stay"...?

After leaving El Tunco a few days ago we set our sights for Las Flores, El Cuco. Jimmy and I were conjurring up ideas of how to make our dollar stretch even further than its current stretchiness. So, we picked up this Australian babe who goes by the name of Georgie. She has been traveling alone for the past few weeks and we both knew that she would be an excellent addition to the way too masculine Manburban. We arrived in Las Flores to find some decent waves doing their best to wrap around this beautiful palm grove point. That night we all chipped in for a little cabana and played charades with our nieghbors from northern California. I personally thought we kicked some serious ass, plus we had to overcome our diverse geographical places of origin within the group. Lets just say that aussies use different terms for various things that Jimmy and I were not quite familiar with. The next morning we snagged some fun waves for breakfast. I got a little lucky sitting off the point and snagged the waves that swung wide. It resulted in finding three nice little barrel rides. We packed up and left Las Flores in route for the El Salvador/Honduras border which was only an hour or so away. As we approached the frontera (border) there were lines of big trucks for what seemed to be a mile. As we got closer, of course, once again we were bombarded with people trying to help us cross and we waved them off and kept a steady pace. Then a police officer pulled us to the side of the road and informed us that the border was indeed closed. "What! ¿Por que?" I replied. he went on to provide me with an explaination but I lost him about three words in. We know that Honduras is having huge political problems regarding their presidency and rebel groups that are currently protesting and gathering in attempt to gain political support and takeover. Thanks to my brother Scott, I had a little insight into this ordeal well in advance, but you cannot predict when the border will be open or closed. You just have to show up and see what happens. So the three of us sat less than a mile from the border and each had a slightly melted snickers bar to soothe our frustration. Stupid governments! What really bummed us out was that we want nothing to do with Honduras, just get in and get out to Nicaragua. That is about two hours tops driving through. We decided not to sit at the border and attempt to wait it out. Got back in the car and instead of returning to Las Flores, drove about 2.5 hrs vback to El Tunco where we at least have internet and can use our credit cards. Right now the three of us are thinking about giving it another try tomorrow morning and possibly bringing food and plenty of water just in case it is closed and we decide to wait it out. I appreciated all of the kind birthday emails and facebook comments. There was about eight of us or so that got together that night and shared stories, drank Pilsener, took a few shots, and watched highlights from the Charger game. Sorry Jimmy, Eagles fan. My fingers are crossed that the next blog finds you from somewhere in Nicaragua with political instability somewhere in the past.

"dont measure you life by the amount of breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away"
-not sure?

quick notes

Our friend Matt who is traveling from Montreal to Argentina and back has a blog with some amazing pictures. He mentions Jimmy and I a few times in some of his more recent entries. Check it out!
Just google; Motorcycle porn and the warrior steed
We are shacked up right now in El Tunco. Some touristy surf town in El Salvador. Kind of lame because the waves are a little crowded and I'm sure it is better elsewhere. We are waiting for another one of our travel mates from down under to arrive today and then tomorrow it is back on the road. They use the US dollar here, but we can't get any good ole green backs because the big storm last week which took many lives and washed tons of debris into the ocean killed communication links and the banks won't recognize our cards. Thankfully credit cards are not too much of a problem, though you need to stay at the nicer places because they are the only one's that have scanners for your card. In the midst of some less desirable situations we have crossed paths with a Salv-American surf pioneer by the name of Bob (Roberto) Rotherham. He shacked us up for the evening a few nights back and shared some knowledge and a few tales aswell. We were looking forward to surfing with him but the next morning the swell had slightly dropped, even though Jimmy and I still managed to find some really fun waves all alone until our new buddy Jay from Maryland joined us. At times you are by yourself out in the great big ocean and then other times you find yourself in the center of a circle, where the locals are paddling around you like some native dance before you are consumed by the villagers. Nah, it's not that bad. It is the reality hitting you in the face, reminding you that this is not your home and all you can do is be there in the moment and accept things the way they are. Tomorrow we are El Cuco bound in hope for swell and less of a scene. My tent is whispering in my ear, "I'm free to sleep in, use me!" Hope all is well back home.

-Miguelito

Hasta luego Mexico, Pase Guatamala, Bienvenidos El Salvador

Michael, Jimmy, Matt (new friend). A night of Mezcal in Puerto Arista
Water spout off the coast of Zihuatanejo
Tim, Don Julio 1942, Michael, and Jimmy at Casa Fiesta.

Just like that you look out your window into the rearview mirror and the place that you've just spent the last 5 weeks in is gone. By far the largest country of trip is now in the books. Our last spot in Mexico was spent in a little surf town called Puerto Arista. The only thing was that there were no surfers there, no bars of wax for sale, not even a sticker or a poster reflecting the presence of surfing. But there were waves. Perfect evening glass off with 3-4 ft beachbreak. I remember paddling over a shoulder to look back and see Jimmy lined up perfectly on a peak that was predestined to be a great wave. He slipped into the barrel and I could hear him hollering all the way. The border into Guatamala was a living nightmare. People banging on your window wanting to help you with your paperwork and passage through. Lock the doors and roll up the windows. Fortunately we had already met someone a few miles before the border to help us out. Unorganized, chaotic, mayhem, call it what you will, but two hours later we where finally across. The next day we drove through the entire country of Guatamala and arrived in La Libertad, El Salvador lastnight. The Manburban is running well, except for the loss of 4wheel drive. We keep blowing the fuse and there seems to be a short somewhere. Panama is still our destination and we have become more and more confident with each and every step along the way.

-las olas son perfecto, adios

The line up at Rio Nexpa. A good day I would say.

Our beloved home in Rio Nexpa. A good location I would say.

Barra de la Cruz'n

Day 5 on waiting period for Barra de la Cruz to break for us. Unfortunately, we have grown the slightest bit impatient prolonging our stay here, just biting our nails why we wait. Our days of loitering underneath the palapá, reading and snacking on tortas are soon to be replaced with the unknown of what lies down the road. While we were here we were graced with the presence of a strong, tight-knit commnity. Waking every morning to Pepe (owner of Pepes Cabanas) making the rounds of his property, greeting everyone with coffee, surely made the morning brighter. Then it was off to the point to check the surf and pick off little knee to waist high peelers that would speed through or mush and crumble. But the view, ahhhh, the view. While you are waiting for your next ride you are pressed against large boulders that have lodged themselves next to the sea and the lush plantation that grows around it. A few cactus pop up here and there to give you the impression that Baja must be nearby, but surely isn´t. Then to the south a long stretch of sandy beach with not a single soul on it. Mantarays wisk by in the surf as the fisherman try to pluck their catch from the surf as they perch themselves on the boulders overlooking the waves. It is a beautiful place, just lacking one huge element which this trip has primarily revolved around.....great surf. Maybe some other time Barra. I must comment on dinner at Carlos´s pizzeria. Great pizza and such a cooled out, mellow vibe. No big lights in the evening, just candles and a bit of raggae, the company of Carlos and you´re definitely satisfied. On dia de los muertes (Nov.2) a large group of children came in to the restaurant and we were all completely taken by there approach. These kids didn´t want candy, they wanted to dance! We were all about it. Jimmy and I were quickly pulled out of our chairs and directly into the middle of the dance floor. Carlos threw on some upbeat spanish dance number and we showed the kids everything we had. Five minutes later we were spent and Carlos handed us a beer gratis, but the kids kept going. Tonight we will say goodbye to Carlos and thank him for everything. I can´t help but smile and laugh right now because the internet cafe is directly behind the local school and it is band practice night for the 9-12 yr. olds. I swear that everyone is trying to play whatever it is thats playing in their own head at once. Well, I am going to attempt to leave you with a few photos here, now I say attempt because I´m using a computer that I think we had back in the third grade. Remember Oregan trail, that was sweet. Ok, hope it works.

-Tortas de pechuga de pollo, tasty