Zaca

Towards the end of my stay in Guatemala, I was feeling optimistic about my Spanish speaking. I could capably ask for and interpret directions, I could carry on rudimentary conversations, I could even vividly express my frustrations with ignorant motorists! Enter El Salvador. In two days, my egospañol has been decapitated and now lies in ruins somewhere near the Guatemalan border. I can't understand a thing and only one person in five seems to understand what I'm trying to say. Alas, soon enough I'll be back in English speaking North America.

Lago Atitlan, as I had previously mentioned, was absolutely stunning. Surrounded by volcanoes, the crystal clear lake would morph through a myriad of colours throughout the day as the sun arched over top of it. While incomparable to the sunset from atop Volcan Santa Maria, there was nonetheless quite a sight to behold as the sun bid farewell for the evening.

I stayed in the small town of San Pedro on the south shore of the lake. Interestingly, a significant portion of the town was accessible solely to pedestrians via a nightmarish network of foot trails. I spent my day off, jumping from the 15m cliffs on the opposite side of the lake, accessed by boat

A six man posse of M16-clutching police officers escorted me along the thief-ridden backroad to Panajachel, from where I rode solo on to Antigua. A bit of a tourist mecca, Antigua boasted a selection of high end restaurants & hotels, most of which were well out of financial reach. I sat down for two hours at a performance of Cuban music in a hotel bar and after one drink, I managed to triple my costs for the day

I made a hasty, early morning departure to the Capital, spending an afternoon wandering the chaotic streets and a night in a hostel where once stayed Che Guevara. Not in the mood for a full day of urbanity, I took to the road again. I detoured to ride a lap of Lake Amatitlan (not Atitlan,) climbed another 500m, then barrelled downhill for 50km to the town of Barberena. After I asked for directions, my contestant, Thomas, promptly offered me a spot on his lawn and some complementary Dominoes pizza - family owned

I left early the next day, El Salvador bound. The ride to the border was comfortably downhill and beyond the frontier, a predictable inverse. I climbed to the town of Santa Ana where I spent a calm night in my hotel's lush courtyard. I left only hours ago, riding to and through San Salvador - the capital to end all capitals. I proceeded to throw away all of that accumulated potential energy by riding straight for the coast. With each meter descended, I could feel the temperature rising. As I write from Zaca, only 10km from the Pacific, I sweat. A lot.

I'm off to a riverside campground for the evening. Until Nicaragua, stay cool.