214: A Perfect Visit Where You Least Expect It

My wish for all parents is that they can share five days with their son or daughter with the same bliss, pride, and sheer fun as I recently had with Elsita in El Salvador*. (My only sorrow is that Bernd couldn’t be with us.)

That said, I also learned a lot: Before coming to this country (following a short trip in the USA for work and pleasure), my consciousness about El Salvador began and ended with their civil war (1980 – 1992). Thus, I was aware of the terrible deforestation, declining crop-cycles, grinding rural poverty, and devastating economic practices that are ruining what few natural resources this country has. But this was my chance to get beyond that – and so I did, beginning with Elsita’s wonderful NGO co-workers and seeing her interact gracefully with poor women-farmers in the field. [I also saw the first-draft of two practical manuals Elsita has written in Spanish on native corn-seed-regeneration and on composting, which she will soon test with the farmers -- each of which forms a vital part of her organization’s dedication to sustainable agriculture. Oh, what motherly joy!]



Because Elsita’s office is based in San Salvador, the capital, this is where she lives – and where I also started my visit. San Salvador turns out to have many pleasant streets and the best public bus service I have ever encountered. (Buses come frequently and cost 25 cents or less.) San Salvador also houses a small Jewish community that is four times the size of Windhoek’s and holds an egalitarian Sabbath service that truly feels welcoming. Elsita and I also visited the national museums of art and anthropology (that are excellent), and sampled the local cuisine in various restaurants with Elista’s housemates and colleagues. (This was in addition to Elsita’s own cooking where I can now testify that she does make great tortillas and other typical dishes.)

The trip’s highlight, however, occurred over the weekend: Elsita and I left early on Saturday morning for Santa Ana, the country's second largest city about a ninety-minute bus ride away. Some weeks ago Elsita had booked us a night at an indigenous back-packer's lodge that came straight out of the 19th century (except that it had electricity and a few other accoutrements). From the outside it looks like a boarded-up warehouse but the moment you open the door you step into a paradise of comfortable colonial furniture, artsy oil paintings, a beautiful garden, and a large selection of old photography books on local culture and crafts. Our host greeted us with fresh coffee in the cozy guest-kitchen, and then showed us to our room, with twin beds and a private bath. Best of all, however, the shower offered hot water –something that Elsita hadn’t experienced for the previous four months and called positively “orgasmic.” But if you feared we broke the bank for all this luxury, don't worry: the room cost us US$9 apiece, everything included. Dinner that night added only another US$4, per person.

Santa Ana's downtown area was about 30 minutes away on foot. I was struck that virtually all the residential buildings were just one story high and stood buttressed against one another as a protection against possible earthquake damage. Only the town’s main square boasted larger structures -- framed on four sides by the cathedral, municipal government building, city museum, and an old theater (now a school for the performing arts). Just to one side of the Cathedral an old man sold bags of pigeon-feed, and we watched a little girl dole out the grains one-by-one, as if the world’s future depended on her making sure that every pigeon got its fare share. (Too bad that Trafalgar Square now prohibits this custom – I think it truly constitutes one of the world’s great childhood pleasures.)

Soon we hopped another bus to El Salvador’s answer to Crater Lake – in this case a smaller but equally beautiful body of clear blue water known as Coatepeque that is surrounded by high volcanic mountains. The bus took an hour and a half and cost 48 cents apiece. Because there is only very limited public access at the lake we approached a hostel that allowed for day accommodation -- here we had the place to ourselves and lounged in hammocks, bought lunch, swam, played with some local kids, and paid a total of US$5 apiece of us for the privilege.

That evening, we met some interesting graduate students from Harvard University who were in the country to study micro-financing enterprises among local women-cooperatives. This forced us to once again confront some of El Salvador’s harsher facts of life. Sadly, much of the students’ project has been hampered by the presence of gangs that extract bribes from the women, ostensibly in exchange for protection - but that basically means protection from the very same gangs who offer their alleged "assistance." Our conversation reminded me of insights that Elsita's supervisor had offered while we were out in the field a few days before -- for example, that the government deliberately underestimates El Salvador's population in order to make the per-capita income seem higher than it is (thus, encouraging outside investment), while at the same time keeping the labor-pool large and very cheap. Currently, the country’s main source of income comes from remittances by Salvadorans living abroad (even now, about 500 Salvadorans leave the country daily). These remittances are free-money, as it were, because no one inside the country works for it. This leads to high consumer demand for cheap products and it keeps most people from protesting against the government. But it is a pernicious, arbitrary system where one neighbor benefits and another -- equally needy or even more so -- barely survives. To illustrate this viscous situation, the Harvard students explained that in El Salvador's poorest areas a household that receives remittances often averages US$6 per adult per day, whereas a family in the same area without this external income has to survive, on average, on just one dollar per adult per day. (Keep in mind that El Salvador continues to have one of the highest birthrates in the world, so that dollar gets spread very thin.)

By Sunday morning, however, Elsita and I left these politics behind and caught yet another bus for the Cerro Verde National Park. These public-bus journeys continued to amaze me: almost all are brightly colored American school buses that live out their retirement by working harder than they ever had to before. On some of the buses you get piped-in music or third-rate American films, but on the local-yokels all the entertainment comes from constant stream of bargain-sellers who alight at one stop and step off at the next, and meanwhile try to sell you sweets, fruits, drinks, french-fried potatoes, biscuits, herbal potions, home-made medicines, creams, condiments, and a wide variety of cheap plastic toys. Sometimes you also get a singer or two, or some evangelist, or else a blind clown, deaf-child, or some other unfortunate who aims to collect your extra change.

On this particular ride, however, we were left blissfully at-peace during the last twenty minutes or so, as the diesel engine choked its way up a one-lane road through a dense rainforest. Finally we reached the National Park entrance, paid our one-dollar entrance fee, and walked uphill for a couple hundred meters until the first viewpoint. "Omigod!," I could scarcely contain my awe. Before us stood a recently erupted giant volcano with its brown-black lava like chocolate-nut icing on a huge bitten-off cone. We were about eye-height to the top -- standing, as we were on an even larger volcano (but one that has been dormant for several hundred years). The view extended even more broadly, however -- to our right was a row of mountains and straight ahead a steep escarpment that ended some fifty miles away at the Pacific Ocean. The view was gorgeous, simply breathtaking, and in itself, worth the entire trip.

We gaped for about ten minutes or so, and then walked aimlessly until we met a young woman who offered to take us on a guided walk (guides are required in the Park’s cloud forest). This was also wonderful. Although we heard several owls we didn't see them; yet we took in some splendid views with shimmering butterflies and large iridescent blue-black birds. For a while we watched the clouds roll in and out of the mountains. Most of all, however, I feasted on the intense shades of green all around me, knowing that in a few days I would be returning to the Namibian desert and this would have to sustain me for a long time.

We hitched a lucky-ride back to the main road and took a series of buses back to Elsita’s house, and all the while I kept thinking: who would believe me that El Salvador could be such a beautiful and pleasant country to visit? Of course, I'm biased from having the most conversant and wonderful tour-leader imaginable. Truly, I couldn’t have asked for anything more.



P.S. Sergio writes that he is doing very well, and expects to graduate Boot Camp on July 18. Thanks for your support!

*Elsita is in El Salvador for ten months as part of a year-long fellowship with the American Jewish World Service. See Elsita’s web page More Motion and our Namibian Diary #213 for more information.