You can’t find any Tabasco sauce in Tabasco, Mexico. Did you know that? In fact, tabasco sauce does not come from the Mexican state of Tabasco. It’s an US product made using Tabasco chillies – that’s where the name comes from. We learnt this when driving through the real Tabasco.

As it’s not our preferred chilli sauce, we weren’t too disappointed. It’s nowhere near any of our favourites, although it is the best known worldwide. We don’t keep Tabasco sauce in our fridge, but we definitely always have chilli sauce on stock.

The best ones we have tried are still homemade. You can usually find them in any restaurant across Latin America – just ask for salsa picante, chile or ají, depending on where you are. You won’t find the same flavour twice, even if it’s called the same, but at least it’s always spicy. Sometimes, when we really like it, we ask the restaurants if we can buy some of their sauce to take away. And they are usually so proud that tourists were buying their hot sauce that they gave it to us as a gift. Our favourite so far? Miss Liz’s habanero sauce from Belize.

A tour that wasn’t one

The ‘tour’ itself isn’t a proper tour of the factory; it’s more of a video. This was a bit disappointing, though the second part was well worth it: tasting 32 spicy products! Some were spicier than others, and by the end our mouths were numb.

We drank plenty of orange juice and ate lots of crackers with each spicy product during the tasting – and yes, you really need to love spicy food! In the end, the smoked hot sauce came out on top.

Thousand names for one thing: cayenne sauce, chile, ají, chipotle…

One of the first commercially produced hot sauces appeared in the US around 1807 in the form of a bottled cayenne sauce. Since then, it has grown in popularity all over the world.

Hot sauces as we know them today are therefore a relatively new product, although the tradition goes way back. It’s amazing to think that the rest of the world didn’t know about this type of spiciness until the Spaniards arrived in America.

Hot sauce emerged as a means of preserving and enhancing flavour. The Aztecs and Mayans also used it as a remedy or to punish people by burning chillies to produce a burning smoke.

Our tasting session at the production site in Belize was definitely not a punishment! It was amazing to experience all the different flavours, and there are many, many more to discover. At Marie Sharp’s they mainly work with habanero chillies.

In South America, aji sauce is more common. ‘Aji’ is another name for chilli, and as a sauce it is usually mixed with onions and some tomato; further south, it also contains a lot of coriander. But not necessarily. They use other types of chilli, such as rocoto or aji.

In Costa Rica, if you want hot sauce, you have to ask for chimichurri, which is similar to ají sauce in the south, but has nothing to do with Argentinian chimichurri. In Central America, you can basically ask for chilli, or more specifically, ‘salsa picante’. Then you’re sure to get homemade sauce.

In Mexico, most things with chipotle are spicy. They have so many spicy sauces that they’re rather specific at naming them. However, there’s always a spicy and a non-spicy option, so just ask. Don’t assume that if the salsa verde is not spicy in one place, it will be the same at the next.

We’re still working our way through the large jar of habanero chilli sauce that Ms Liz gave us in Belize. Over a month later, we still have some left. Although it’s very good, you can’t put too much of it on your food — it’s really spicy!

Next on the chilli list? Well, we’ll see what’s new to try in the next region.

183 days in figures – a review of the geographical central part on our journey

By the time we leave Central America, we have been on the road for 868 days. From Colombia, the car was transported by container ship to the Caribbean end of the Panama Canal, to the port of Colón. We were able to collect the Land Cruiser there on 8th August 2025. And on 3rd February 2026, we crossed the border from Belize into Mexico, thereby leaving Central America.

So it’s time for another look back.

We’ve driven a lot again, but as the region is quite small, it’s nowhere near as many kilometres as in South America. Just 7608 kilometres criss-crossing Central America.

How far?

In total, we covered 7608 kilometres in 183 days. From Colón in Panama to Orange Walk in Belize. That works out at an average of 107 kilometres per day on the road. Our longest single-day journey, covering 306 kilometres, was in Costa Rica from Cóbano to Liberia, where we went to meet Michael’s niece.

In Central America, too, fewer kilometres still mean many hours on the road, yet the roads are generally in better condition than in South America.

We spent the longest time in Costa Rica – mainly because we were visiting family. We covered a total of 2856 kilometres in Costa Rica alone, and as the country is rather small, we’ve now got to know many parts of it. In second place is Panama with 1218 kilometres, followed by Guatemala with 925 km. We also spent some time there at the mechanic’s, as the car had reached 200 000 kilometres and was due for a full service. During this time, we drove around Lake Atitlán in a rental car with Michael’s brother and his girlfriend.

We actually covered a few more kilometres in Guatemala, but as we always count the day we cross the border towards the destination country in our statistics, many kilometres are added to the total for Belize.

And what else?

We collected data throughout the entire trip. Every time we filled up with petrol, we had to convert the price into Swiss francs (and into euros for this post) and often from gallons to litres as well. Every evening, we reset the odometer to zero and noted down the starting point, destination and distance. The result is the data we present here.

The summary shows once again everything we experienced over the 183 days. We set off from the Waldorf Astoria in Panama (thanks to our shipping partner) and stayed in Belize a week longer than planned, as we were invited by locals to eat, drink and go boating.

In Belize, we trusted the locals so much that we got stuck in the mud and couldn’t get out on our own. Someone had to pull us out for the first time. In the process, they nearly ripped off our rear bumper. In Costa Rica, we were able to help another local out of a tight spot in return. Michael also caught a calf that had escaped from a trailer involved in an accident. Otherwise, not much happened.

There were hardly any checks and our border crossings always went smoothly. We were even allowed to take our food and alcohol (at the Guatemala–Belize border) into the new countries.

In Central America, it was the first time we had to pay a fee for every border crossing: usually it was less than 10 dollars. We also had to pay for the car’s import permit suddenly, on top of the third-party insurance. We hadn’t come across that before on our travels, the south all paperwork was free.

Of course, the Land Cruiser was also looked after and maintained: In Panama, the roof was resealed; in Costa Rica, an extra leaf spring was fitted; in Nicaragua, the exhaust pipe had to be resealed; and in Guatemala, a full service was due. Just before crossing the border from El Salvador into Guatemala, we had 200 000 kilometres on the clock.

There were hospital visits again too. In Nicaragua, we ended up in A&E; it took less than 10 minutes. Diagnosis? Too much gas in the gut. Treatment? Medication for a week. As things didn’t improve, Cora went to a clinic in Antigua, Guatemala, again to get checked out thouroughly. Conclusion: it’s nothing serious, the cause remains unknown.

Michael also had to go to A&E once. Due to a severe flu and low oxygen saturation, Cora insisted he see a doctor. We also had some routine dental appointments, one of those things that are just part of life.

People often ask about police checks and corruption. So far, we’ve got off lightly. In Central America, we didn’t have a single police check, except at the borders. That was quite unusual for us as in the South we had many.

We’ve visited all seven countries in Central America – at least the mainland part, for the Carribbean we’d need a boat. There are still more places to discover in every country. But we simply can’t do everything.

Now it’s time to discover North America. Endlessly long, straight roads await us there, and once again we’ll have to make lots of decisions about exactly what we want to see and what we can manage..

With only a bit of effort and thanks to his practice, he manages to drive a screw perfectly into the board by hand. Michael tries it as well: his screw goes in a bit wonky. But it goes in and out without any trouble – and all without an electrical drill.

We had already been near Mennonite communities in Bolivia and Paraguay, but somehow never made the detour. This time, it’s just one turning away, so we are very curious.

We’ve ended up with the Mennonites in Belize. There are many of them: some more traditional, some more modern; those with horse-drawn carriages and no electricity, and those with massive tractors and perfectly equipped DIY stores.

Welcome to Springfield!

The women wear blue dresses; the men wear black trousers with braces over white shirts. Most also wear a hat or a bonnet.

There are a few wind turbines and plenty of children everywhere, all of whom are busy. We stop at a sawmill. Is all of this really supposed to work without electricity? We can hardly believe it.

Ruben is repairing a saw when we approach him. He speaks Spanish, English, and Pennsylvania Dutch. His family came to Belize from Paraguay 30 years ago. At that time, Mennonites in Paraguay were being robbed constantly. Since there was already a community in Belize, they migrated there.

He shows us the saws. The drive system? Pure horsepower – the literal kind. They have horses walking in a carousel which powers the saws. But there is a backup solution in case no horses are available: water power. Water runs at high pressure through their PVC pipes and provides enough power to run even very modern woodworking machinery. Just like in Europe, only without electricity.

For their community, electricity is a threat to the cohesion; therefore, there is a tendency to reject anything electrical.

Ruben sends us on to his brother Martin, who is a carpenter. He is currently pulling a post out of the ground with his three boys. His wife and the other three children are standing nearby. They are just as interested in us as we are in them.

We speak German with them – they learn it in school because the Bible is read in German. At home they speak Pennsylvania Dutch, (it’s called Dutch probably from the similarity to the dialect word Deutsch for German. Alongside the old characteristics of the Palatine dialect, they use many loanwords from English in their German. So, Martin isn’t a Schreiner, he does Carpenterarwett (carpentry work) and they “farm” their land instead of bewirtschaften (cultivating) it.

It’s a bit hard to understand them when they speak their dialect to us, but it still works quite well. Even in the High German they learned for reading the Bible, you can sense the 18th or 19th-century origins. In any case, we can make ourselves understood; otherwise, they would also speak Spanish and English.

“Aha, caught you!” – or maybe not?

Further along in the village, a young lad is building huts – with a mains hook-up! “Aha, caught you,” we think. But the wooden huts are not for them; they are for sale. The work is well done, and the finished huts are loaded up and sold to outsiders.

They quiz us, and we are surprised by how much they know and how they use modern technology. They order parts from Amazon via third parties, be it doors or PVC pipes. They also have bank accounts and talk to their families in the USA on the phone, though not via their own mobile phones.

A two-year-old girl grimaces as her mother blows tobacco smoke directly into her face. Then they continue to dance around the fire. Meanwhile, the grandmother stands with her back to the fire in front of the main temple, smoking tobacco leaves and singing softly to herself.

Music plays and others circle the fire pit, performing alternating dance steps, sometimes with and sometimes without feathers. Suddenly, all falls silent, the shaman kneels down and recites a prayer.

We watched them for two hours in the main square of Tikal. It looked so authentic that we asked what was happening. Apparently, it was a real ceremony of this Mayan tribe. Rosalía, the 85-year-old grandmother, had requested it. Also Mayas need a permit to perform ceremonies like this, especially when involving fire.

One of these impressive cities was Tikal, where Rosalía was celebrating her fire ceremony with her family. The temples are impressive, the steps are steep, and the jungle is dense – also a perfect playground for spider monkeys.

At six o’clock in the morning, we walked alone through the ruins. The few other tourists had all climbed the 70-metre-high temple to watch the sunrise through the mist. We, on the other hand, let the impressive buildings, accompanied by the sounds of parrots chirping and howler monkeys roaring, work their magic on us.

It is estimated that up to 120 000 people once walked these same streets, at least during Tikal’s heyday. Remarkably, this was achieved in an area located in the middle of the tropical jungle with no natural water source. The people there lived exclusively on stored rainwater, which is another testament to the city’s advanced planning.

In general, Mayan culture was much more advanced than researchers had previously assumed. Tikal covers an area of up to 60 km², but most of it remains hidden beneath the tree canopy. It is difficult to see. This explains why it remained unknown for so long. 

People lived here for around 1 500 years until they suddenly left around 900 AD. Overpopulation and deforestation due to the use of firewood suddenly made the area uninhabitable, forcing them to leave. Although some regions collapsed, not all Maya regions did. Some even survived or grew larger after the classic ‘collapse’, such as Chichen Itzá, which lasted until 1500 AD.

The ruins of Tikal were probably not completely forgotten, but they were no longer in use. The first expeditions to the region did not take place until 1840, starting from Guatemala. Guatemalan Ernesto Méndez takes credit for rediscovering the archaeological treasure. Major excavations followed, with the help of US universities, especially from the 1950s onwards.

Slightly smaller, but more intimate

However, our first Mayan site was not Tikal, but Iximché, which is near Guatemala City. This was the 15th/16th-century capital of the Kaqchikel Maya. The Kaqchikel people still exist today. They now mainly live in the Guatemalan mountains, and there are up to 400 000 Kaqchikel speakers. Their language and culture are therefore still thriving.

And very impressively so. Iximché is a small site compared to Tikal, Palenque or Teotihuacán. We only went there because we had visitors and wanted them to experience some Mayan culture. For us, however, it was a stroke of luck, as we were able to experience the culture up close once again.

When the Spanish conquerors arrived in Guatemala, they settled in Iximché. They made it their capital. The Nahua people called the area ‘wooded land’ (Quauhtemallan). Since the Nahuatls were allies of the Spanish at the time, the Spanish adopted the name for the entire area: now known as Guatemala.

The border appears tidy and clean. The officials are organised, and only a few people are queuing to enter El Salvador from Honduras. The roads are in good condition, and we reach Suchitoto fast, a picturesque little village in the east of the country. Here, too, is a similar picture: not much going on, everything looks orderly. It is only when we arrive at our overnight spot by the lake that the perfect image breaks: the entire shore is littered with plastic.

This first day is symbolic of the situation in Central America’s smallest country. On the one hand, order and cleanliness; on the other, massive problems behind the scenes – or are they already starting to peek out?

One thing first: we never felt unsafe. Not for a single moment. Not even when we spent the night by the lake at the only reasonably clean spot.

A country in transition

Security is the priority, and the homicide rate has dropped drastically. But the question remains: at what price?

However, not everyone who ends up behind bars is a criminal. Human rights activists are sounding the alarm: many are arrested in arbitrary raids and languish in pre-trial detention for years. Even children are being imprisoned for alleged gang membership, often without proof.

Furthermore, corruption remains present, and people earn very little despite the relatively high prices – especially those working for the state. And yet, for many, satisfaction prevails. They enjoy being able to move around the country without the constant fear of violence. We heard few critical voices, and those we did hear were mostly regarding the economic situation. El Salvador has become expensive; inflation has arrived there, too.

The Salvadoreños are friendly. They greet you often, and we are repeatedly asked how we like El Salvador. People proudly point out that it is safe everywhere and that we could spend the night anywhere. For this region, that is indeed extraordinary.

The guardians of colour

Incas, Mayas or Quechuas – for most people, these names conjure up memories of history lessons or images of wonders of the world such as Machu Picchu and Chichen Itzá. But who has ever heard of the Lencas? As we wind our way through the misty highlands of Honduras, one thing becomes clear: we are on our way to meet a people who have almost been forgotten.

A turn into another world

Deep in the mountains, near the village of Intibuca, we pass simple stone houses and cows pasturing on green fields. It is foggy and cold – unexpected for Central America.

Children and men walk along the side of the road, on their way to school or work. At a sharp bend, we see a lorry unloading a calf. Right behind it is our destination: a small weaving mill.

The building is unassuming, and the sign is almost illegible. However, when we ask timidly, a woman waves us into the parlour in a friendly manner. Inside, there are seven wooden looms strung with brightly coloured threads. It is a stark contrast to the grey mist outside.

The work here follows its own rhythm. The women come and go, sitting down at the loom for ten minutes, letting the shuttle fly and then taking another break. The process is entirely manual: stretching the warp threads takes a whole day, and another day is needed to weave the pattern. The end products are magnificent scarves, tablecloths and throws in checked patterns.

Tradition versus ‘Made in China’

While we’re chatting, we notice the women’s accent. They speak Spanish, but their actual native Lenca language has been lost. Only a few phrases and individual words survive, and there are only a few speakers left. The origins of the language are unclear, and it is unfortunately clearly not far from becoming extinct.

And rummaging around, we discover a sticker on one of the balls of wool: ‘Made in China’ it says. Even here, in the most remote corner of the Honduran highlands, the global economy has left its mark.

Chronicle of a journey through Nicaragua

When crossing Nicaragua, something hits the traveller’s eye immediately. It’s not the volcanoes, the jungle, or the beaches, but enormous trees in garish colours sprouting in the middle of roundabouts. Officially named “Trees of Life”, though they possess none: they are inert metal structures.

It is almost absurd. In a country with enviable biodiversity and jungle, the monument chosen by the government to represent them is an iron skeleton without a drop of sap, yet painted in a riot of colours: red, yellow, green, blue, pink.

Today they are known as Chayopalos (Chayo’s sticks) or arbolatas (tin tress). There are 150 or more of these trees scattered across the country, each illuminated by more than two million light bulbs. Why they were erected is not known, there are theories of them being purely artistic or purely esoteric, reflecting the spiritual beliefs of a Vice President famous for her colourful outfits laden with amulets.

What is not theoretical in the slightest is the cost: each tree costs between 25 000 and 40 000 US dollars, not including the astronomical annual electricity bill. In a country with Nicaragua’s pressing needs, that money could clearly be invested in more urgent matters.

For those of us living in a vehicle with all our belongings, this is a logistical challenge. We had to prepare thoroughly: we hid everything we could to keep it out of sight, including the machete—an indispensable multi-tool for any Latin American, one would think. As for the drone, we preferred not to risk it: we left it at Michael’s family home in Costa Rica, and his brother brought it to us in Guatemala weeks later. Many travellers opt to send them directly via DHL to avoid confiscation at the border.

The war on Word

The fear of rebellion has silenced the country. Independent newspapers no longer exist; information is hijacked by the official channel, and journalists work under the constant threat of imprisonment—at least the few who still dare to remain in the country. The censorship has bordered on the surreal: the entry of bibles and any text that might pose a danger to the regime has been banned.

‘They check everything,’ other travellers told us, so we braced ourselves for a tough, lengthy border crossing. We continued our way north: from Costa Rica to Nicaragua.

But our experience was the exact opposite: it had been a long time since crossing a border had been so quick. It took a whole 15 minutes in Costa Rica and an hour in Nicaragua, and in the end, no one wanted to search the car. We were apparently really lucky with the official – or perhaps hunger drove her to take her lunch break on time.

We were all the more surprised when we left the bumpy roads of Costa Rica behind us and suddenly found ourselves on a perfectly paved motorway. A sign at the side indicated 80 km/h. That made us wonder: hadn’t the customs officer just explained that there was a strict 50 km/h speed limit throughout the country?

We dared to drive faster anyway, after all, there is a sign. At some point, on the beautiful, fast road, an oncoming car warns us by flashing its headlights. A typical sign that there is some kind of obstacle ahead.

The aim of the new regulations is to reduce the number of road deaths, which at first glance seems to be working, given the figures for 2025 – around 900 compared to over 1000 in 2023. However, as in the rest of Latin America, fatal road accidents continue to be an everyday occurrence. This is because the cause of many accidents is not necessarily speed, but failure to maintain a safe distance, dangerous overtaking manoeuvres, motorcyclists not wearing helmets, poorly maintained vehicles and therefore poor brakes, and, of course, ignorance – or lack of knowledge – of traffic rules. It’s actually a miracle that no one has rear-ended us yet. So drivers are not driving more slowly, but they are now warning each other.

The speed limit may be well-intentioned, but its implementation clearly shows how Nicaragua works: a system perfectly designed for corruption.

The fact that the country ranked 172nd on the Corruption Perception Index in 2024 is evident at every turn. Since Daniel Ortega returned to power in 2006, corruption has risen steadily, and the new rules give the police another tool at their disposal. Most of the people we spoke to opt for a direct ‘deal’ during checks to avoid bureaucratic hassle – or even going straight to prison.

The snake winds itself beautifully around the tree trunk. Another poses on a lush green leaf, with the Arenal Volcano in the background. Simply incredible, the perfect coincidence – or is it?

We have often wondered how it is that animals in photos always pose so beautifully – mind you, wild animals.

The answer? It’s sobering: the animals are placed exactly where people want them.

The methods behind the photo

With cold-blooded animals, there are particularly questionable methods: when they are chilled, they hardly move. There are even reports of limbs being suspended by threads. A famous photo of a frog riding a beetle was likely staged this way, as the two species are not active at the same time of day.

Bringing a jaguar into the right position in the wild is difficult – if not impossible. To give tourists a guaranteed sighting, providers resort to aids. Feeding stations are far more common than one might think.

We have also been offered a guaranteed sighting of a “wild” ocelot, or taken to a feeding site for tapirs; even the Orinoco crocodile is fed regularly so that it remains within the national reserve and isn’t killed outside its borders.

Feeding stations for birds are found almost everywhere: Bananas and sugar water are popular choices.

As long as tour operators can guarantee sightings, their income is secure. This leads to a dangerous set of expectations. Tourists want “wildlife photos”. In Costa Rica, the practice went so far that sloths, for example, were taken down from trees just for a “wildlife selfie”. The government launched an awareness campaign in 2019. Perhaps it helped. We didn’t experience anything of this sort ourselves, but we read about it.

With snakes, however, we witnessed a different side of the story.

The business of “perfect” nature

In Costa Rica, we came across a particularly negative practice: a photographer told us about providers who carry snakes around in boxes to position them in the perfect spot. We also came across a post on Facebook denouncing this exact practice.

And why? Simply to offer tourists the perfect picture. It would quite frankly be too exhausting to spend the night in the jungle without a guaranteed find – plus, you can’t see the volcano at night.

Unfortunately, this practice is quite widespread – even in countries like Costa Rica, where animal welfare is supposedly a high priority. What can then be expected from other countries that hardly care about it at all?