Can you ever return?

It was a month of parking brakes pulled tight on the Iveco and minds tangled more in obstacles than the beauty of the journey. But we didn’t back down. We press onward to South America, carrying unforgettable images in our luggage.

by Akis Temperidis
photography: Akis Temperidis & Vula Netou

Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama. Central America: a strip of land shaped like a serpent slithering between Mexico and South America. Unless you’ve been here, it’s easy to confuse the dots on the map—six nations, roughly the size of modern Spain, once dominated by the Spanish crown from the 16th to the 19th century.

At first glance, their blue-and-white flags blur together, as do their histories, marked by American meddling and political strife throughout the 20th century. Five of the six countries know the blood price of civil war. Only one—Costa Rica—escaped that fate, hitching itself early to the American wagon, trading its soul, some might say, for prosperity and peace.

Call it “Costa Gringa” if you will, but the Nicaraguans still dream of migrating south to this eco-friendly Eden, escaping their stagnant homeland, where the once-revolutionary Sandinistas have grown old and oppressive. Meanwhile, we’re still rolling, from volcanic peaks to jungle lowlands, now paused in Panama City, navigating a bureaucratic maze to ship our Iveco truck across the Darien Gap.

The Darien Gap
A jungle so impenetrable it halts the Pan-American Highway—a path that otherwise stretches unbroken from Alaska to Tierra del Fuego. This is not a place of scenic detours. FARC guerrillas, drug cartel operatives, and desperate migrants risk life and limb here. So, no road connects Panama to Colombia, and no ferry bridges the gap. Want to cross with a vehicle? Your options are limited: a container ship or a roll-on/roll-off cargo vessel, each with a price tag that stings harder in this post-pandemic era.

Back in 2010, it cost €700 to ship our Land Rover in a shared container. Today, we paid over €5,000 to load the larger Iveco onto a flat rack. Inflation, logistics, and the weight of dreams—it all adds up.

And then there’s the truck itself, the Karibuni Safari. In Costa Rica, the brakes failed for the third time in 10 months. Leaking calipers, shattered pads—it was a miracle we reached San José. A grim déjà vu. In Mexico, it took weeks to machine a new brake disc. In California, we drove 500 km without hydraulic assistance. Each breakdown chips away at trust, not just in the vehicle, but in the journey itself.

For a moment, we considered abandoning the plan. Shipping the Iveco back to Europe would mean admitting defeat. Selling it in South America? Bureaucratic hell. Or should we risk it, inching forward, clinging to the faint hope that we wouldn’t face catastrophe deep in the Amazon?

When your house on wheels becomes a liability, it’s hard to stay motivated. But then, after some rest and reflection, you press on. Six days later, with help from Iveco Europe and their Greek partner Kontellis, we had the parts Costa Rica couldn’t provide in three weeks. And thanks to our supporters—some offering financial aid unsolicited—we found the strength to continue.

Here, amid the rivers and volcanoes of Central America, you find the inspiration to keep moving. Below are snapshots of a region where beauty and struggle intertwine.