CAUTIOUS CARGO ↑ This way up ↑: From Panama to Nicaragua and Antigua, Guatemala. June 2014.

We boarded a motored fishing boat with one other person and were delivered over the border to Panama one afternoon. The first Panamanian town is Puerto Obaldia where we were to catch a 20-capacity light aircraft to Panama City from the simple airstrip the next day. When we arrived in town there was a football match in play with assault-rifle-clad players on the sidelines. In Puerto Obaldia we met the first of many men who were trying to cross illegally into the States. This guy was Cuban and had already been shot at. We later saw him at the Costa Rican border all smiles. Another we met had been very chatty with Matt, then later he found him crying at a bus depot after one of his 'accomplices' stole all his money.

Our very laidback and rich-looking pilot flew us over coral reefs and wave-battered islands, landing us in Panama City an hour or so later. From there we hotfooted it all the way through Costa Rica (staying overnight in San Jose) to Popoyo in Nicaragua, a very small town with one shop, on the coast, with a surfer for every resident. Perhaps more surfers in fact, though not in our hotel. We stayed in a run down hotel with a fantastic ocean breeze and bats at night. Here the mangrove swamp and ocean became one at high tide, and the bird-life was prolific, as it was elsewhere in Nicaragua too.

After several days of reading and surfing, we left for San Juan del Sur at 5am one morning to avoid the high tide, though our journey to the road did still take us up to our waists in muddy mangrove water with our belongings held aloft. We thought the bus might be empty at 5.30am but not so, I discovered, as I pressed my wet shorts up against all those squashed against me for the next hour or so.

San Juan del Sur is very popular with backpackers but also pale holidaymakers from the States and beyond. Here I found us a family-run hostel away from the madding crowd where we (almost) had a pool to ourselves. From here tacos and burritos became more prevalent and other than the bakery and veggies from the market, this is the way our meals headed. We relaxed for a few days in this lovely hostel, then vowed to return after another trip to the coast; off we went for a week to Playa Gigante, a remote surfing spot where we stayed in a little concrete abode on top of a very wave-battered cliff. I read a few books and Matt surfed. Big storm one day when the hill which passed the back of the cliff became a torrent of fast-moving mud, slowly seeping its way into the restaurant opposite.

With only a week or so to go before our flight to the States, it was another big journey next through a small chunk of Honduras (where I saw mules 'parked' outside houses like cars) and a night in grey and concrete San Salvador, El Salvador, en route to Antigua, Guatemala, another colonial town. We would have stayed longer if we could - after a night of drinks with another surfing Matt, we headed for Mexico.