and she said.. "how you interpret the dream is probably more important than the dream itself"

More news from friends south of the border:

I apologize in advance if this makes no sense. I am drunk with heat.

So, the travels have officially begun. After a cleaning up at Santa Rosa and brief separation from my friends, I crossed the Nicaraguan border. Now, for any of you who have crossed the Costa Rica-Nica border, you´ll understand how disturbing an experience it is. First of all, it´s always at least 48 degrees hotter than it is anywhere else in either country. Secondly, the two countries are connected by a funny no man´s land that´s at least a kilometer long, which wouldn´t be so bad, despite the heat, were it not for the fact that it is packed with very aggressive money changers and taxi drivers and gum children and taco ladies. A daunting place, indeed. Made even more daunting by the strange fence you have to get through in order to actually cross into Nicaragua.

While the fence itself is harmless, the 70 or so men that stand on the side you need to get to waving their arms through the chainlink and screaming at you can be a little scary. While it was my third crossing of this border, it was my first time going it alone. I summoned all of my inner Oz character and made it without incident. As I passed, Ï heard one of the hissing men say ¨She´s a pretty one, but she looks really mean!¨

After a whole lot of screaming and pulling and shouting and bargaining, I made it to Leon in Northern Nicaragua where I met back up with my friends. We´ve since crossed the border into Honduras in order to catch a boat to Belize for a drunken beach festival that we heard about there. And for any who have not yet attempted it, don´t ever try to cross three borders and two entire countries by school bus in two days.

We left Leon yesterday before dawn on a slow bus to the Honduran border. We had to transfer a few times, all transfers naturally involving very dedicated rickshaw drivers, gum children, and taco ladies. Having finally reached the border, we were actually encircled by a large group of rickshaw drivers who wouldn´t physically let us pass until we got into their buggies to traverse the scorching no-man´s land between Nica and Honduras. We caught the last bus to the town we needed to get to just in time, and then proceeded to wait 3 hours as the battery fell out upon starting it.

Several sweltering hours later we transferred to another bus, whose tire promptly exploded as we were careening along a mountain pass. Luckily, there are 9000 used tire places along this stretch of road, and within two hours we were on our way again. All was well, with only four hours left when a large group of singing children entered the bus. Four... hours... to... go.

About an hour into their boisterous song, the bus caught on fire. Luckily, I was shielded from some of the smoke by the very large, flatulent woman that was sitting on my lap. She didn´t seem to panic- or move, for that matter- which, while it should have calmed me somewhat, didn´t, since all 408 other passengers on the school bus were screaming ¨run, run for your lives¨ and attempting to jump out of the school children sized windows.

Luckily, a few minutes into the bus fire a flash flood began, putting out the fire, which seemed to satisfy the driver who decided it was okay to just keep driving. Unfortunately, due to the flash flood, the bus ride took 8, and not 4, hours, and caused all to close their windows, leaving all 408 of us trapped in a smokey yellow room with no air in the TROPICS.

Getting on a boat tomorrow to Belize with what look like pirates. What could possibly go wrong?