The day started early. We’d set the alarm for 5:30am, but were awake long before that. May is the start of the wet season, and as if on queue, the heaven’s opened the night of May 1st. Thunder and lightening that set car alarms going. Rain so heavy it formed a waterfall between us and the garden, and a river flowed along the box drains filling them a foot deep in water.
“I’m not going out in that!”
It was the sort of rain that leaves you drenched to the bone within 10m of leaving the house, and we don’t have rain covers on our bags. The fabric is sufficient for light rain, but would be no match for this. Our decision made we curled back into bed, with the sole aim of the day to buy garbage bags to protect our belongings from future downpours.
But gradually the rain started to ease. It was possible to talk, without yelling. I could hear the whir of the fan over the sound of falling rain. We talked it back and forth, then at 6:25am decided to just go for it. We weren’t entirely sure of the bus times, at the station it said 7:15am. whereas the hotel owner had told us it left on the hour. We decided to aim for 7am, just to be safe. We quickly found as many plastic bags as possible and covered our electronics, and anything else we deemed of value (eg. passports).
We were out the door by 6:35 and on our way to the bus terminal. We arrived with plenty of time to spare, except that the 7 or 7:15am bus was already pulling out of the terminal as we arrived at 6:50am. It turned out our hour delay in leaving was a good thing, as another couple on the bus had braved the thunderstorm and got there at 5:30am expecting the bus to leave at 6am.
I was expecting the day to be a travel horror story. 12 hours on 7 buses, with two border crossings thrown in for good measure - how could that not end up the day from hell?! Yet, strangely, it was a good day. We made it through our first border crossing and after nearly an hour wait were on a minibus heading into Honduras. It stopped when we spotted two buses heading to Choluteca, one a chicken bus, the other a minibus. Touts swarmed the van and multiple hands reached for our luggage. This bus, this bus, muy rapido, directo. Generally my experience has been smaller buses are quicker and as I wanted to make it to El Cuco before dark it seemed the better choice. This was reinforced as we left the chicken bus in our dust. That’s when I started smiling, enjoying the chaos, the unknown, the randomness of pubic transportation.
I’ll admit the bus from Choluteca to Amatillo wasn’t quite so fun, but that was mostly due to the metal bar causing us to have very painful rear ends. We helped ourselves to chicken tacos, and debated mangos and roskillas that tempted us on their way pass.
Our second border crossing of the day was much easier than the first. On leaving Honduras the line had got a little long and a few of us were waved inside the building where we enjoyed the aircon and a very efficient official had the five of us on our way before the normal line had processed one person. It was the border official on our entry to El Salvador who made my day though. He was the happiest border official I’ve ever met. He was so excited to discover our destination, telling us how much we would love it. He even suggested a hotel, as he is bringing his family here on Thursday, and he seemed quite taken by the idea we could meet up.
The next two buses were closer to coaches, a degree of comfort we aren’t used to. We were even entertained by two guys playing guitars who we assumed were buskers, until they finished singing and got off the bus without asking for money. The only downside was that we had run out of water half way through Honduras and when we tried to buy some from a bus seller in El Salvador she didn’t have enough change. We only had $1, and the water was 15 cents. In hindsight we should have offered to buy everything she had, as no other water sellers appeared in the next 4 hours.
We were evicted from the bus in the middle of a busy street beside a taxi convention. We were told to wait there for our next bus. By this point it was just after 3:30pm, and the last bus to El Cuco is 4pm. We crossed our fingers and watched bus after bus go by, none of them heading to El Cuco. We struck up a conversation with a local who was meeting his brother and son off a bus. He also assured us we were in the right place, and did his best to convince us why his home town is worth a visit.
Eventually the last bus came, and wound it’s slow, ponderous way towards the beach. If it hadn’t been for the sun setting behind misty covered mountains, it might have been frustrating and upsetting. Lastly came the taxi from El Cuco to our hotel, which thankfully had a room, free water, free mangos and a beautiful seemingly endless beach.
It took 12 hours, 1 thunderstorm, 2 border crossings, 3 countries, 3 chicken buses, 2 coaches, 2 minibuses, 1 taxi and $21, but we finally made it from Somoto, Nicaragua to El Cuco, El Salvador.
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