Late 2025
Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica — seven countries in, riding through volcanoes, lakes, and jungle roads.
What is most striking about Central America is that an invisible line separating two countries can make all the difference. Crossing from Guatemala to El Salvador felt like moving between two different continents. The strong indigenous culture of Guatemala suddenly disappeared, replaced by a completely different look. The same can be said of the El Salvador–Honduras border: a fully digitized El Salvador giving way to the absolute mess of Honduras — a mess that matched the little I saw of the country: tough roads, and an economy surviving off remittances while locals are priced out.
Nicaragua was the poorest country I had visited; I hadn't seen poverty like this since Laos and Cambodia in Southeast Asia. The country seemed stuck in the 1960s. Buildings were decrepit, and there wasn't much life. The only things that had been updated were the roads, which were brand new and carried a 40 km/h speed limit for motorcycles. WTF. What I found were people who — whether out of pessimism about their future or their past — seemed completely indifferent to me as a tourist. It was refreshing: no difference in treatment. Nicaraguans are incredibly proud of their country, and I hope their future is bright.
Costa Rica is anyone's tourist dream — extremely comfortable and crawling with gringos in every corner. When you did manage to escape them, pura vida truly showed. Locals were sweet and hadn't lived as hard a life as those just over the northern border. People were happy; their only complaint seemed to be, "Why do my neighbors get more attention from tourists than me?" People were proud, and the country felt well run, so I understood it.
Panama was a third of the price of Costa Rica the moment I crossed the border. Meals were again under $5, and the north was just as beautiful as the south of Costa Rica — an arbitrage opportunity in the cloud forests of northern Panama.
I ventured to the Caribbean, which was a dream. My family's Puerto Rico has lost what Caribbean Panama still has today. In industrializing and moving toward white-collar work, Puerto Rico has lost the rawness that I'm sure my grandfather once saw. It feels as though these parts of Panama are stuck in the 1950s, when baseball games were played on dirt fields, people drank in the street with nowhere to be, and everyone rode around on bikes.
And just like that, I was done with Central America. After four months, I was ready for my next adventure: South America.