Sleeping at the Border

One of the Mormons has a friend of a friend that works at a Guatemalan border. So today I drive north to where this hook up works. I was disappointed when I got there to see that he was just one of the “Border crossing experts” who hound tourists, and not actually a border official as I had been told. He took all my papers and went off to get me a permit. Which I knew was impossible from the last 3 days of trying.

By the time I had become completely fed up with everyone, those trying to help and those who didn’t give a damn. Everybody at 2 borders knows me now, the local people who live, and sell food and goods there felt bad for me, the border officials hated me for giving them so much trouble.

Had I driven up and given them my fake permit they probably would have let me right in. But I let somebody else help and now my cover is blown. Everybody is watching me now, but I am also a crazed lunatic and not thinking straight. So I drive up to the border guard and try the fake permit anyway. They see through it straight away and take the copy away from me, I have more but knowing I want to run they have the road blocked.

Before I get arrested in Guatemala I turn back for Salvador. But I have already cancelled my permit there, and they won’t let me pass. When I try to get a new one they tell me I can’t cancel 1 and get a new 1 in the same day. Which I know is a lie, because I had cancelled 1 and received a new 1 the same day at the first border I tried when all this trouble started. But I have stepped on enough toes for 1 day so I stay quiet.

I pull my motorcycle across a parking space to protect where I will set up my tent and sleep for the night. An older Salvadorian woman comes over to see what I’m doing; I explain the situation as best I can. As she wipes the mud from yesterday off my helmet with her fingers, she starts to cry while apologizing for all the problems I’m having with her country. She walks back to her shop and comes back with a large piece of black plastic and starts to spread it over my tent, to protect from the rain. I thank her and explain the tent doesn’t need it and she understands after awhile.

The night in the parking lot was uneventful. 18-wheeler trucks passing through all night with brakes hissing, and engines grumbling made sure I didn’t get much sleep. But nobody messed with me, and as promised I had my permit at 7:00am to go back to El Salvador.

--Ryan