Trans Americas 2009 - The Blog

I really should have learnt by now that alcohol and anti-biotics are a bad combination, but like the dumb teenager I once was, I haven't, and so woke feeling pretty crap, the early start (7.15am departure) compounding my mistake... But it was only a short ride from the hotel to the border, once again in convoy, and therefore not too unbearable. With Kevin's warnings that this border is the worst on the trip, I at least expected some time just hanging around during which I could recover...

And so it was, the first stage of the process being to find a “gopher” on the Nicaraguan side to help with the unusually complex process of getting us and our bikes out of Nicaragua and into the compound ready to start the formalities of getting into Costa Rica. This involved handing in the temporary importation forms and then sitting around for a while before moving the bikes round the Nicaraguan customs buildings, then sitting around some more while our driving licences disappeared. Then we went in 2 groups to queue up at the immigration salida (exit) window where we handed over our passports, and a completed tourist card, together with $2 and got stamped out of Nicaragua. Then more waiting before we were given back our driving licences, the bikes also now recorded as having left Nicaragua. All this time I was wearing the Prat-Hat, another of the rules being the hat must be worn across borders, and I was getting a few very odd looks...

Next step, getting into Costa Rica. First, ride the bikes round to the Costa Rican customs area and have them fumigated, before parking up again, then take our passports into the immigration office to get us stamped in.





That was very straightforward, and didn't take long at all, then into the insurance office to buy the mandatory vehicle insurance and pay the $10. Here we had to hand-in our passports, V5 (vehicle title) and driving licence, then get copies of the little slip we were given together with our passport page, attach that copy to copies of our V5, driving licence and passport (again) before heading across the road to queue at another window to be given a blank form, which we then filled in with details such as our passport number, vehicle VIN, destination, etc before queueing again at the window to get the form stamped and be given another little slip of paper, which we need to hang on to in order to get out of the compound. Once that was done we had our insurance, and now needed to get the permit to temporarily import the bike.

Things were going smoothly despite the obvious bureaucracy, and Kevin, Ozzy Andy and I were ready first, so we followed our Costa Rican gopher round and through a lorry park to the temporary office where we could get our permits, the original office having burnt down 2 months ago... this office was a bus, with 2 large air-con units underneath going like the clappers to keep the inside, which was full of computers and printers and a handful of staff, cool. Just as we joined the queue (which was just one other person) we heard a series of loud popping sounds, then a big crash and turned round to see the power and phone cables, which were strung between 2 poles running across the lorry park come crashing down... we dived for cover, before realising what had happened – one of the larger trucks had caught the cables on its roof and pulled the lot down, snapping the cables in the process.... and all the computers in the bus went dead, and the 2 air-con units stopped spinning... and I laughed out loud and said to Kevin that we might as well sit on the wall, as we're not going to be going anywhere soon...

Which turned out to be quite right... Ozzy Andy and I stayed in line by the bus whilst Kevin went to tell the others not to rush, and we waited patiently whilst local officials gathered and scratched their heads and talked urgently into mobile phones and waved their arms about. After about an hour, they brought round a generator, which they then realised had a standard 2-pin output and the bus had what looked like a 3-phase input connector... more head-scratching and gabbled Spanish, and a further period of time elapsed before someone arrived with a big cable with a 2-pin connector on one end and a 3-phase connector on the other... Ozzy Andy and I both said that wouldn't work, before they started the generator (but only after Andy had pointed to the on/off switch to stop the guy having a heart-attack pulling the starter cable in vain), and then looked puzzled when the bus still didn't have any power... a further session of head scratching and peering inside the bus' underbelly where the power distribution units were, then they connected the generator to another 3-phase plug, still no joy. Another generator appeared, then more scratching of heads and finally something must have been reset in the bus because the computers started working. Hurrah! Only the printers weren't, so more head scratching was required... As all this was going on, Andy and I waited patiently in the heat and humidity, sweating profusely but finding the whole episode highly amusing. Kevin re-appeared with a stack of documents from the others just as things started to look promising, and I was asked to pass my documents into the bus...

While my details were keyed in to endless difference screens on the computer (they really could benefit from a usability study!), the rest of the group brought their bikes round, ready in case they could get their permits. When the guy inside the bus (who by now looked very hot indeed, there being no air-con inside) had finally keyed my details in (a process that took around 15 minutes), I could see my permit on the screen, but they still hadn't got the printer working... then another printer was brought into the bus and cabled up, and after a further 20 minutes or so my permit was ready and handed out of the bus for me to check and sign... all correct, I left the madness and noise of the generator as Andy started getting his documents processed and Kevin and Julia joined him at the head of a growing queue ready to start processing the other bikes and the van... with each one taking around 10 minutes, it was going to be a long and very hot job...





But it turned out to be longer and hotter than we expected, as one in three of the permits had some form of mistake on them, either VIN numbers wrong, registration numbers wrong or people's names wrong... and they have to be correct or we'll have trouble later...

When about half a dozen bikes were cleared, we headed off into Costa Rica, leaving the main group to follow on, the heat and humidity intense. The ride was only short, around 60 miles or so, but we'd been warned about the Costa Rican police, who are really hot on traffic offences (like speeding or overtaking on solid lines, both things that are routine over here where the lines are arbitrary and the traffic flows quickly). Leading the group at a very steady pace keeping a watchful eye our for police, we trundled along through more tropical forests, passing through a couple of police checkpoints with a smile and a wave, with only one short stop so the policeman could tell me my bike was “muy bien” (very good). We soon reached the crossroads which the route notes mentioned was by a Burger King and as Ozzy Andy and I hadn't eaten (all the others had been scoffing chicken and chips whilst we stood outside the bus), we stopped and ate inside, our first meal in Costa Rica being a double cheeseburger and chips with a large orange pop... hmmm...

Meanwhile, back at the border things were going from bad to worse. The main group finally got cleared and all the bikes granted permits, when Jeff's details were entered and a warning flag appeared saying that he'd not cleared his bike out of Costa Rica the last time he was here. He had, of course, done all the necessary paperwork, but the details must not have been keyed into the computer, and so they were not going to let him in for fear he was a motorcycle smuggler (and with Danielle's bike in the van, a plausible accusation, if incorrect!). A lot of arguing, a lawer's letter (cost - $24) and a discussion with the customs chief (cost - $50), and he was finally allowed in, marking the end of a very long, very hot, very humid and very tense session at the border, the by now large queue of people trying to get their own permits happy to see Kevin move away from the bus...

Back at the hotel, which is right on the beach in Playa Hermosa (Spanish for beautiful beach and it is), the rest of us were sat with a cool beer, or enjoying a swim in the ocean. When Kevin finally arrived he looked knackered, a couple of cool beers and some frozen margaritas restoring his usual perky self, and getting him completely plastered... I had a quick swim in the ocean before dinner, which was some excellent calamari followed by a local fish served in a very rich sauce, washed down with a bottle or two of very nice white wine (between 5 of us). Kevin was by now rather tipsy, but all the bar staff had gone and the bar was closed, so the evening ended with him giving us a song or two, before Julia managed to convince him it was time for bed... it had been a long hard day for him, of that there could be no doubt...