Ben Welsher | Writings

In no particular order other than chronologically. McSorley's Irish Bar ...36 beers stagger us but not as much as the $90 bill... Our first night on our first day in our first country of many to come found us in this Irish bar whose history dates back well over a hundred years. Presidents, poets and paupers drank here and now so had we two peripatetic Englishmen. Conversation was struck up with locals on the timeless and ever novel subject of differing nationalities and backgrounds, a scene to be repeated again and again on this trip. We staggered home happy, drunk and with empty wallets, a scene to be repeated again and again on this trip. Snorkeling in Belize ...I felt as if part of the ocean. I must confess to an apprehension of the water borne of watching a particular film as a child, I believe the medical condition is known as 'Spielbergian scarring'. I didn't realise though that Mike's watery inhibitions put mine to shame. But he did it and he loved it ...

Day 46 - Isla Omotepe The island is formed by two volcanoes (one still active). Surrounded by a lake whose limits spill over the horizon in all directions. A worthy lair for a scheming Bond villain bent on world domination. The highlight of the first evening was a somewhat basic discotequa you could drive your motorcycle into, whose menu consisted of beer, whose gent's consisted of a wall. All good fun, all rather tame. In the spirit of the trip thus far the next day was spent quad biking around the island. The danger came from the roads whose condition could only only have been worsened by the addition of landmines. Like the gents we are Tania was lumbered with the fully manual beast while myself and Michael scooted along with clutchless ease. Well, until Michael decided to detour into a nearby set of bushes, terrible driver. Surfaces improved markedly near towns and oh how the locals must have loved us bombing up and down with scant regard for the speed limit, bloody gringos. ...

Day 37 - Managua The sun was barely up but there is never a better time to leave the Honduran capital of Tegucigalpa than that very instant. Short on sights, long on vice and violence, myself, Michael and, Tony had become Tania (ah, travel's unpredictability!) barely strayed from our hotel the previous night. The bus deposited us at the border from where the crossing had to be made by bicycle rickshaw, a strange and amusing experience. Queerer still Nicaraguan immigration refused to accept its own currency in payment of the entry fee. I suspect there is an ongoing competition between the border control agencies of Central Americans countries to devise the most convoluted and quirky entry procedure they can. Nicaragua is leading on points by my scorecard. We stayed a night in the Managuan metropolis and sampled the city's delights such as people smashing each other over the head with motorcycle helmets outside karaoke bars. I tried in vain to induce my fellows into a discotequ...