Léon – Day 1: Border Scares & Nostalgia
LEÓN
Day 1: Border Scares & Nostalgia
January 02, 2023
Somehow, impossibly, the day to leave Underwater Vision, Utila, and Honduras finally came. It all felt unreal. I can only imagine how much worse it would’ve been if I’d left on my own. Luckily, Amelia would be tagging along – for the next couple of weeks, at least. It felt weird being on the road with someone after getting so used to my own solitary company. But it was a good kinda weird.
After taking the ferry back to La Ceiba, we hurriedly grabbed our bags and scrambled to find our shuttle, already half an hour late – forgetting all about Utila and what we had left behind in the meantime. Usually, I’d be in full-on panic mode when I’m late for something. But this time? I was as chill as a sloth. Maybe it was having Amelia by my side, or maybe it was the fact that Utila had changed me.
Once we found our driver, we got on board and started the twelve-hour ride to León – a journey I had been kinda looking forward to. I had missed being on a moving vehicle while listening to music or reading a good book with the occasional glance out the window.
One thing loomed over me though – the border control. I knew I shouldn’t have been relaxed, given I’d overstayed my visa and the extension hadn’t been approved yet. I checked WhatsApp to see whether Rodrigo would come through on his promise to help me, but after a couple of messages left on seen, it seemed he had given up too. What else was left to do? A big fat nothing. And so, much like a prisoner on death row walking to the execution chamber, I was resigned. Okay, okay… maybe that’s a tad too hyperbolic.
Border Control Criminal
At nightfall, we finally reached the border. I pretended as if everything were fine and as if everything would be fine. We joined the long, long line of people waiting for passport checks and made small talk.
Everything would be fine, right? In my head, there was only one solution to all Central American border evils – a bribe. It had worked for me back in Mexico when I crashed my Jeep, and for countless others I’d met on the road. I didn’t want to be that person, but if push came to shove, I’d rather pay some extra money and get through without any trouble – especially legal trouble.
When it was my turn, I handed my passport to the officer. “Everything’s gonna be fine,” I repeated to myself. His head shaking didn’t inspire confidence. “Hmm, no, you’ve overstayed your visa. You have to pay fine, my friend!” goes he. “I’ve already paid it and the extension is already paid and in progress”, went I as I flashed the papers I had handy. For a moment, he seemed appeased. He then excused himself to a five-minute wait during which he seemed to be furiously texting some higher up for guidance. A couple of phone calls later and I finally had my passport back in my hands.
Sleeping in León, Dreaming of Utila
And just like that, Amelia and I were in a new country – my sixth since setting out on this journey. I can’t say I felt mystified as usual, it being the middle of the night with a few hours to León ahead.
To speed up the process, the driver took all passengers’ passports and handled the immigration himself – a process that seemed to take an eternity. Luckily, an occasional whiff of poppers helped time go by. We found it especially hilarious that we were getting high right at the border – exactly where I was scared I’d be put to jail for the rest of my life. With the immigration process now over, we could finally go ahead with the rest of our trip to Nicaragua’s capital. By the time we reached the city, it was already midnight – a time unheard of for an old soul like me.
Roger, one of the nicest hosts I’ve ever met, gave us a ridiculously long tour of the hostel, accompanied by his German Shepherd, Canelo. An eternity later, we found ourselves in our four-bedded dorm – alone. Just like we had been back at Underwater Vision. Except this wasn’t Underwater Vision. That’s when it hit us – in that bare room, alone, in silence – that we were not in Utila any longer. That the life we had built over there, for better or worse, was over. Life at Underwater Vision would go on, just as it did for us.
That night, our minds kept wandering back to Underwater Vision. Was this how it was gonna be for the rest of our trip – comparing everything to our time in Utila? Thinking of Mama Rosa every time we went out for dinner? Imagining ourselves on the Miss Tamara each time we boarded a boat? Finding ourselves back on Bando Beach every time we got high? Cause how the hell could we ever top what we had in Utila?
As much as we wanted to push ahead with our travels, it felt impossible to move on. In fact, it felt like we had made a terrible mistake. Why the hell did we leave? What the hell did we do?