A Standard Day at the Office

We try not to write too much about the specifics of our days as this would make for pretty repetitive blogging. However, we thought it might be interesting to capture the essence of a typical day - the following is from a pretty standard day, riding about 75km from Nicaragua into Costa Rica a few days ago:

Today started somewhat prematurely when raindrops landing on Lizzie’s and my faces alerted us to two facts:

a) It was raining

b) We had not put the flysheet on our tent

This isn’t as stupid as it sounds as we regularly leave the fly sheet (the solid rain-proof outer shell of our tent) off to allow what trifling breeze exists to blow pleasingly through the mesh of the tent and keep us cool. Or at least not really hot. We had left the flysheet attached at one end, so with military precision, impressive speed and in complete silence (we are that good a team) we pulled it over the tent and went back to bed. Five minutes later it stopped raining and the whole exercise felt somewhat pointless, like a fire drill at work.

Our real alarm went off at 3.45am this morning - this is our usual time to wake up when it gets light at 5am, allowing us to take maximum advantage of the cool part of the day without it being so dark as to be dangerous. In reality, I was already awake as the tree next to our pitch seemed to be the community centre for a particularly choral flock of local birds, who met there at the start and end of each day and gave the owner of our campsite a lot of mopping to do.

I cooked the porridge whilst Lizzie took down the campbeds and the tent - this seems to have emerged as the division of labour for no better reason than I carry the stove and enjoy the loud whoosh it makes when I light it, as well as the significant danger the initial flare causes to my eyebrows. This was perhaps the best porridge yet as we had the treat of cracking open a new milk powder which didn’t taste as much like curdled cheese as the last offering, although the dish did miss our usual flourish of adding a banana. Having become quite bored with unpleasant porridge at four in the morning, the prospect of banana + new milk powder has actually made me excited. Wow. It really is the little things.

Today we were leaving Isla de Ometepe, a beautiful island consisting of two volcanoes in the middle of Lake Nicaragua. As our bikes are not like that Lotus from James Bond and do not turn into pedalos, this meant getting a boat. Yesterday, we had smugly noted that we didn’t need to go to the main port 12km away, as the small port 500m away had one of its three daily ferries at 5.40am which was early enough for us. We set off, along with Sam & Laura (two other cycle tourers from England we have spent the last week or so with), and rolled to the port only to be told by a guy sat next to a curiously inactive ferry that the boat “was sick” but if we were quick we could get to the main port to catch the 6am departure. The prospect of a good challenge got me very excited and my adrenaline pumping; we had to push along at 24km/h and that would give us 5 minutes to buy tickets. Go! We didn’t slow for dopey chickens crossing the road, seemingly deaf dogs wandering into our path or even the point where the road just cuts straight across the island’s runway. Only the inordinately large number of speed bumps could slow our runaway freight train. Sam and I took turns on the front and, sweaty and exhilarated, we arrived at the port with the requisite five minutes to spare. Unfortunately, our poor Spanish meant it took about 10 minutes to buy tickets and get our bikes onto the boat unharmed (the deckhands don’t seem to give a s*** that our bikes might be delicate or our most precious possessions in the world). So the boat left late and everybody gave us evils.

The ferry took about an hour and then we rode to Rivas, stopping at a supermarket - we have heard that Costa Rica is much more expensive so we wanted to stock up on provisions before we left. Sadly, due to our daft early start, we got there 20 minutes before it opened and so hung around before buying our dried pasta, tomato sauces and our most exciting purchase to date - a tupperware box! This will unlock all sorts of opportunity to, oh, I don’t know, store some salad, make some rice pudding the night before, keep leftovers. It’s going to revolutionise our DIY dinners. It’s second on my list of exciting things behind the banana + new milk powder combo.

Here we said our farewells to Sam and Laura as they were heading to the Nicaraguan beach to do some surfing and we were going straight to Costa Rica to increase our daily expenditure. 

Nearing an end to Nicaragua

Lizzie and I then put our head downs to cycle the 35-odd kilometres to the border. The road ran alongside Lake Nicaragua, which is well known for two things, both of which fill cyclists with dread: kite-surfing (which means reliable, strong onshore wind) and wind turbines (which means reliable, strong onshore winds). The upshot was a strong cross-wind for the 35km - luckily, we had more than enough to make up for it. The road alongside the lake was flat(ish) and beautiful - with huge, lush green fields on one side, brimming with cows and making us feel all biophilic, and on the other side was Lake Nicaragua. The wind turbines were incredibly impressive - we must have passed the best part of 100 - there were also a few blades lying by the side of the road which makes you realise just how enormous a wind turbine is. Incredible.

About as obvious a crosswind as it is
possible to capture in a photo

After a couple of hours, we reached the border. Compared with our entry to Nicaragua, this was pretty quiet and the officials were quick to process us. Although, as per usual, we were bombarded with random small charges. I had to pay $1 to get a ticket which allowed me into the emmigration hall and then another $2 to get our exit stamp. After this, we had a friendly attempt to barter with one of the money changers to get the most for our Nicaraguan cordobas. One of the things I’ve noticed at most borders here is the honesty of the money changers - they seem to be far more official than at the borders in Africa and haven’t tried to pull any funny business, which has been nice as it’s definitely one of the times when I’m on guard at the borders.

Lizzie looking all casual going through immigration

Afterwards I pointed out her face was
covered in dirt as she went through immigration -
the dirt is typical and normally fine as she doesn't
have to talk to officials giving her quizzical looks

No caption needed

We rolled into Costa Rica without really realising it, had our passports stamped (with no additional charges for breathing their air, disturbing their siestas or generally putting them out - amazing!). It has become our tradition to eat some food at the border on this trip - to see how different it is to the previous country and also because after all the hassle of the border crossing we’re usually famished. Sadly, there didn’t seem to be much - we tried to wheel our bikes into one cafe only to be animatedly told by the owner to go away (or at least take our bikes out, I’m not sure). “We’ll show him”, I thought, “by not eating at his dive and not giving him any money”. So we carried on, my stomach the only victim of my moral pyrrhic victory. We soon found a small cafe by a petrol station and ordered desayuno (which means breakfast, but is also shorthand for the standard local breakfast, which normally contains most or all of eggs, cheese, cream, tortillas, some form of black beans - either as a paste or with rice - and fried plantain banana). This cafe did dish up a good version and as we went to pay, we performed our other new tradition in a new country - guessing how much it would cost? Aware that Costa Rica is a bit pricier, I adventurously multiplied the Nicaraguan price of breakfast by 1.5 and suggested it would be $3. Lizzie went big guns and went for $4. Imagine our shock when we were told it would be $9. We did our normal aggrieved foreigner routine: “But that’s what we’d have to pay at...at...at home!” With our pockets lightened by $9 and our stomachs weighed down by eggs, beans and tortillas, we carried on our merry way...up a big hill for 20km. Sadly, unlike with swimming, I was never warned as a youngster to leave at least an hour after eating before cycling up a big hill. Needless to say, the taste of eggs and beans stayed with me for quite a while.

My plate two minutes after it was put in front of me

I had been looking forward to the roads of Costa Rica - as one of the wealthier countries in the area, I had presumed that some of that bunce would be invested in the roads. The evidence so far is to the contrary, with no hard shoulder and a worse surface than Nicaragua. Let’s hope it improves as riding with no hard shoulder down the main arterial road through Central America and all the freight lorries whizzing past can be a bit terrifying.

After a bit of a grind uphill, we reached La Cruz - the first town on the road in Costa Rica and our pre-agreed rest stop for the night. We headed to a hotel that some friends ahead of us on the road had used but sadly it was full. The next hotel we visited had nothing for less than $50, which is way above our typical budget. So we headed towards a ‘Bomberos’ (Fire Station) that we had passed on the way into town. These are legendary among cycle tourers as they usually let you camp there for free, perhaps even with showers, use of their kitchen and sometimes (so we’ve heard but this could be a mean urban myth) WiFi. Just before we got there, I noticed a bar that was called “Sports Bar’. This Ronseal-esque name reminded me that the football was on, and England had already started their no doubt futile attempt to beat Slovakia. Lizzie seemed game (pun intended) so we went in, ordered some cold soft drinks and asked them if they would awfully mind turning off the wrestling and putting on the much more theatrical footballers and they dutifully obliged. One guy at the bar started chatting to me in fairly incomprehensible Spanish - I had put this down to the fact he really rolled his R’s, but it may be because he had drunk a considerable amount of beer and continued to do so throughout the game. About the only words he said that I understood were: Margaret Thatcher, Range Rover, Camel Pak and Lennox Lewis. Pick a common thread through that bunch as it currently escapes me…

Making the mistake of watching
England play football

After watching the bore draw, we headed next door to the Bomberos and asked if we could put our tent up. For some reason that we still haven’t fathomed they said no. I felt quite deflated. Having been unsuccessful in our attempt earlier to find a room, and then deciding to go for the free, albeit less comfortable and probably shower-less option, to then be turned down felt like a bit of a punch in the midrift. We stood forlornly outside for a while hoping they might change their minds but to no avail so we cycled back into the centre of town and eventually found a twin room with shared bathroom for $22 which we took.

I felt a bit down at this point with Costa Rica - it’s the first country since Mexico that I know lots of people have visited and spoken so highly of. My daydreams on the bike had led me to unfairly expect great roads, lovely people and beautiful scenery and expectations 1 and 2 had been dashed. Our experience with the first restaurant owner shooing us out, the “No Room at the Inn” from the hotel owners and the outright refusal from the Bomberos (having read on another blog how friendly and accommodating this particular bunch had been) had dismayed me. Luckily, a shower, food and time began to dismiss this feeling. It has been further laid to the rest by the huge friendliness of the hotel owner where we have ended up - I feel I have been too quick to judge and things will improve. This has been even further evidenced by some research showing that the border crossing we have just been through is the largest drug-running route in Central America and no doubt increases crime in the adjacent areas. We have had a feeling that the locals are a bit on guard, behind their big gates and fences. No doubt as we leave the main drug route behind this will lessen and people will be more friendly and welcoming. Even if the price of crack increases four fold...oh well. Can’t have it all.