Travel, for me, embodies the challenge of trying to find home everywhere one goes, of trying to create home among supposed “others” and within the “foreign.” Driving by car feels like a totally different type of travel. I have my home with me right now. I am in a (relatively) safe, comfortable environment, with my things and books and maps and Flaco. It’s all about getting from point A to point B and navigating the roads and getting through borders. In a way, it’s as if the fewer people I talk to, the more successful the trip. Talking to people means that we’re lost or the cops stopped us or we’re stopped by traffic or there was an accident. We talk with people at night and at meals, at gas stations and borders, and many times we’re too exhausted after driving all day and searching for a place to stay, that getting to know locals seems daunting.
Traveling with more time, with no set destination, with less gear and perhaps more money, we’d be able to spend time getting to know a place. A few days here and there, with lots of driving in between, seems ideal. But still, I miss the feeling of being shoulder to shoulder with the locals on buses.

But this type of travel does have its perks, and I’m getting to see countries in a completely different way. I have such a sense of Place while traveling like this. I feel as if I know where I’m located in the world, especially since we’re always staring at maps and trying to figure out the safest, quickest, most scenic route. Mountains are beautiful, for instance, but the car doesn’t appreciate them as much as I do. Roads that run along the coast are my favorite, especially when Flaco is driving and I can crane my head out the window, trying to get the best view and best camera shot. I also do get a strong sense of the friendliness of the locals when stopping to ask directions. Along the way we’ve had very few problems talking to locals and getting them to help us. Sometimes even Flaco has trouble understanding the dialects, but we still seem to find our way.

I’m sitting in front of the Nicaraguan consulate in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, waiting for Flaco to get his visa to cross into Nicaragua. In two days, we’ve crossed from Antigua, Guatemala, through El Salvador, to the border of Nicaragua and Honduras. Sunday night we slept in Antigua, a city that lives up to its reputation as a preserved antique in the midst of more modern towns. Tourists and backpackers seemingly outnumbered Guatemalans, but it was easy to see why travelers would visit and stay. The city is cobblestone roads, ancient churches, and quaint storefronts, with local markets filled with Guatemalans selling hand-dyed blankets and beaded jewelry. I wish we had had more time to stay and explore, but we were eager to get moving.
Flaco and I decided to take our chances with driving through El Salvador instead of taking the longer route around El Salvador in Honduras. I’m glad we did, considering that El Salvador was an easy five hour drive border to border, and Honduras is the most difficult country to travel through so far. Police checkpoints in almost every city are a huge pain in the ass, especially when they try to fine us for not having a fire extinguisher or reflector triangles in the car. It seems like the cops wake up in the morning, look through the rulebook to find the most obscure law, and try to get money from every driver. I’ve had three cops tell me already that they were going to keep my license until I gave them money. Somehow, though, we only have had to pay one cop $5.  Flaco devised a flawless plan of chatting up the cop as soon as we’re stopped, asking directions and talking about our trip, until the cop gets so confused he forgets about the damn fire extinguisher and waves us away.
Flaco just returned with the visa, and we’re off to the border! More soon…

Oh, and for those who cast their bets, we’ve traveled 3,845 miles so far, with part of Honduras and Costa Rica and all of Nicaragua left!