Arriving in El Salvador

The first sign that the country we were headed to was going to be different than the European cities we have been visiting was the nearly complete absence of tourists or business people. Much of the flight was comprised of three teams of athletes, mostly young semi-giants of African heritage, on their way to a Central American and Caribbean track and field competition. There was a group who appeared to be of European descent and less athletic. They turned out to be chiropractic students there to assist the athletes. The rest of the flight were families who, to one degree or another, resembled the characters from pre-Columbian art.

Coming off the dry cold plane, the hot wet air of central El Salvador seemed even more extreme than Miami. And this is what they consider their winter! The airport was small, and a bit run-down but was well run, and the staff was incredibly friendly. After the hustle and bustle of Miami, where everyone, and everything seemed to be trying to appear as young, new, fancy and expensive as possible, the girls and I enjoyed the informality and lack of pretension.

As we stepped out of security with our massive quantity of luggage, we saw a mass of eager faces holding signs, Bienvenida!, Feliz Cumpleaños!, Te Queremos!, and towards the end of the line a man holding a small sign: Margoth Kimball. Pretty sure that would be me. He was friendly, but with very different Spanish accents we found it hard to communicate.

Waiting for the van at the airport in El Salvador

His companion, Lupe, drove up with a 10 seater van. It had the flimsy, under-sized look that cars had before they started adding safety devices, and could it be that we were actually a lot smaller? Air-conditioning was out of the question as were seat belts. All windows remained open. The van had accumulated enough years and experience that it had acquired a personality, with creaking joints but  easy-going and eager to go.

On the way to Suchitoto

The two men who had been sent to pick us up kept up a steady conversation in the front while listening to CD´s. One asked me politely if we minded the music. I smiled and shook my head. As if we would have been able to hear it over the noise and rattle of the van, and the wind rushing in, as we sped down the highway. Most of the cars and trucks are these old beaten up affairs. Now and again I see a shiny new model car. It looks as if it had been pumped up with air, or steroids.

So much green! Anywhere that there is a bit of ground, a crack in a rock or pavement, green has sprung up. Very little of it orderly, Just masses of leaves, bushes, trees and vines hither thither up against the highway and covering the low steep valleys to either side. We can make out neighborhoods of concrete bungalows with tin roofs, but all hidden in the mass of green.

The highway is narrow and with so much life to either side. Near the airport there are little stands, simple lean tos of sticks and fronds, with high stacks of coconuts in front. Sometimes you catch a glimpse of a woman with a baby in a hammock, or a toddler running off with his mother chasing him. Especially around the outskirts of San Salvador the density of life taking place just by the side of the highway, as the cars and trucks sped past, seems impossible. Now and again I see someone, an old man, a woman holding a baby, two men carrying tires, dart across in a chink in the steady flow of traffic.

Chickens must be a lot smarter than I had thought, because I saw many, but none dead. Also, cows, goats and horses, tied up on the little strip of lush grass by the side of the road to graze. And long rows of stone and concrete dwellings with people going about their lives, spitting in the dirt, and carrying bundles on their heads, playing cards and fixing cars. And then the traffic slows and there are crowds of people milling about dozens and hundreds of ramshackle stalls selling food and clothes and chickens in crates. Beyond them are buildings with real stores, many guarded by men cradling machine guns.

The old van chugged up the hills with an effort, but the driver made up for it by letting her tear along on the down hill. The speed had me a bit nervous and I wondered what the limit was. No signs. Lots of billboards, and the occasional sign to tell you where you were going, but nothing to instruct or warn or threaten concerning the rules of the road. I glanced around the driver at the speedometer. The needle was stuck at 0.

Suchitoto

Once past San Salvador, the most common signs were ones with words of encouragement to “touristicos” going to Suchitoto, the town that we were headed to. As we got further from the city there was less going on by the side of the road, more fields, trees. The town of Suchitoto, seemed relatively prosperous. There were well built houses with doors that hide courtyards. Lots of people sitting and chatting on stoops and low walls by the street, and not because they had no where else to go, but because it was pleasant in the shade with their friends.

The van let us off at a door on a tree-lined sidewalk. We thought we would be staying at El Centro, so we were surprised. There was a very nice woman to meet us. We did our best to communicate in Spanish. It seemed that her name was Dolores, we would be living in her complex, and the Center was not far. 

Ours are the first two rooms in a long building of 6 guestrooms that leads to the garden. I could never have guessed what lay behind the door facing the street:






a long guest house and a big house of the host family that has its own inner courtyard. Behind the buildings is a wonderful tropical garden with a path winding through a great variety of plants and trees, cocoa, banana, mango, and many with nuts and fruits that I had never heard of. She encouraged us to use the hammocks hanging in a portico.

The rooms have no closets or bureaus. Nothing but beds. But, by local standards, they are quite nice, because they each have a bathroom with shower. We soon discovered that there was no hot water. Not worth mentioning, I guess, when in a tropical climate. And, certainly for teenagers, closets and bureaus have little bearing on happiness. The girls took to El Salvador right away, to the relaxed and friendly attitude of the people, to the lush greeness, and the many chickens and mangy, but gentle dogs wandering about.

I asked Dolores if there was a kitchen that we could use. She hesitated but showed me to a little stove on a porch behind her house. Spiders had built nests on it, and a family of geckos fled from us, racing across the wall to hide behind a shelf with a hodge podge of pots and pans. I asked if we could use them. She picked one up doubtfully and something, an insect, dropped out and scurried off. I told her I thought that really there are plenty of places to find food in town. She smiled with relief.

And, in fact, there are many inviting places to eat, and, at the cost of a scoop of Hagaan Daz ice cream in Madrid, you can have a full dinner.

But more on that later…..