I got up early to try to hit the border before it got too hot but it was already hot at 6:30AM. I started loading the bike and Javier, the owner of La Combi, walked over and offered for me to join him for coffee. How could I refuse? The campground’s common area was an open 300 sq ft enclosure with iron trusses holding up a rusted corrugated roof. It was so full of holes I can’t imagine it keeps any rain off but it does offer some shade from the intense sun. It has a sitting area made up of a decrepit collection of minivan seats surrounding a low table and a small plastic dining table. It is as delightfully relaxing as it is rustic. Javier poured a cup for each of us and explained that was green coffee with cardamom. I’m not exactly sure what green coffee is but it was tasty and packed a punch of caffeine. He offered freshly baked banana muffins and we sat and chatted in a mix of Spanish and English. Javier and his wife are from Mexico City and have retired to the more tranquil countryside in Guatamala. They are the nicest people you would ever want to meet. Javier said “This is your house. You are welcome here anytime.” as he handed me a couple packaged snacks to put in my tank bag for later. I’ve really enjoyed Guatamala. It was some of the most beautiful and challenging riding coupled with some great personal connections. I would certainly like to come back here. The ride to the border was only about 45 minutes. Unlike the rural road in which I entered Guatamala, this was a busy road with lots of truck traffic. I knew I wasn’t going to get the friends and family treatment here. I passed a very long line of semi trucks splitting between the lanes and riding on the shoulder. It was a chaotic scene when I arrived at the Guatemalan border-crossing checkpoint but I just waited until I could make eye contact with someone and they motioned me to the immigration building. Immigration was easy. I handed over my passport. Stamp stamp. Done. I asked where I could find the “Aduana” (customs) and was directed to another building. When I arrived there the guard told me that I needed copies of several documents and directed me across the street to a shop. Easy enough. It would be nice if I could just make these copies in advance but they wanted copies of the passport stamps that I had just received. I went back to the Aduana and this time the guard let me in and told me to have a seat. Fortunately this building was air conditioned (sort of). While I was waiting the man sitting next to me asked about my BMW. I corrected him that it was in fact a Triumph. He was delighted. He switched to English to tell me about his BMW F650GS which he had ridden throughout Mexico and Central America. He is a lawyer from Mexico City and he and his girlfriend were making their annual trip to Panama. He was driving an enormous Ford F350 that looked as though it was overloaded. Every year he transports a load of toys and other supplies to an orphanage he supports in Panama. The Aduana officer called my name and we walked together back to my bike for him to inspect the VIN number. Then back to the office where he stamped my documents and sent me on my way. By now it was unbelievably hot as I pulled my jacket and helmet on and fired up the bike. I rolled around a tangle of semis and soon arrived at a bridge. I was stopped by an officer mid-span and asked for my documents. I dismounted and produced my documents. This officer rechecked my VIN number and put an additional few stamps on my paperwork. Okay. Officially out of Guatamala. I rolled about another mile and then crossed a second bridge where I was directed to park my bike. A friendly officer explained what I needed to do and pointed me to the immigration office where I paid $12 in US dollars (El Salvador uses US currency) and got my passport stamped. From there, off to the Aduana. I entered the office and looked around for some clue as to what I was supposed to do next. There was no signage and a lot of people waiting. I was sweating profusely in the 100º degree heat. A young man asked me if he could help. I said “Si, pro favor”. He took me to a window and grabbed a form and explained how to fill it out. Which I did. When I finished, another man told me that I needed to go and get copies and pointed me in the general direction. It was about a three block walk into town to get copies but easy enough. I went back to the Aduana. Yet another man called for an officer to take my copies. None of these people were officials, they were just other people waiting to cross the border. About 20 minutes later an officer called me to go inspect the bike. Reading the VIN number yet again before giving me my import permit and sending on my way. Five minutes down the road I encountered the last check point where all of my documents were inspected and the VIN number checked against my import permit. All complete in about 2 and half hours. I rode away with a feeling of exhilaration. Crossing an international border with a vehicle in a foreign language seemed like such an accomplishment. I was so very grateful for all of those helpful people along the way and I will remember to pay that forward. I only rode about 70 miles into El Salvador making my way back up into the mountains for a more tolerable 78º. I’m camped in the Cerro Verde National Park and I’m looking to climb Volcan de Santa Ana tomorrow.