I’ve been cycling from the top of Alaska to the bottom of Argentina for the past year plus. While racing across boheme surf meccas on the El Salvadorian coastline I’d gotten in touch with Mario, a Guanaco sailor who runs speedboats across the Gulf of Fonseca. We jammed my bike into the bow and I tried to sleep sitting up until we could throw anchor on a beach seemingly in the middle of nowhere.
The nearby town of Potosí had a ramshackle immigration outpost looking more like the abandoned laboratories from a Jurassic Park movie. The jungle had been reclaiming its territory. Their lone small office was cracked and sweltering. A storage barn was oxidized and caving in. The pier, completely destroyed. Everyone’s information was unclear and conflicting. I waited nearly two hours without word.
Nicaragua is a beautiful nation of lush greens and lovely people, but its government has been steadily descending into a new kind of dictatorship. Journalists will be intercepted and interrogated at the border. Drone cameras will be confiscated. There was a palpable air of distrust and aversion baked into the stifling humidity. Some agents required extra fees while others did not, no matter if I’d submitted all necessary documents [with confirmation], and they accepted those payments only in US dollars. There were beaches and mangoes and much climbing to come.
For those interested I’ve been sharing more in-depth stories with photos on the usual pages like FB, IG, etc. (at) donivanberube if you’d like to see/read more. Nos vemos en las calles!
by donivanberube