Wednesday, January 31, 2007
PDA Report, El Salvador
Your patience please. In the interest of stanching the digital diarrhea of the times, I accost your inbox just this once, these random ramblings perchance finding their way eventually into blog-o-blivion, once known as the quaint and disarming home page.
El Salvador has been a delightful detour from my intended anchor-drop destination of San Pedro, Guatemala. I've been an inaugural guest at El Roble (The Oak) backpackers' hostel at Playa San Diego ten kilometers south of a small fishing port called La Libertad. A funky, fetid, variably foul smelling little hive of a town and fabulously free of touristic trappings. I got stared at a lot!
El Salvador lags behind the other Central American countries in tourism and La Libertad, while an increasingly popular resort destination for Salvadorians, has yet to link to the Gringo Trail. Mind, likely for much longer not, El Roble along with a smattering of air-conditioned strip mall edifices and luxury hotels is the beginning of its demise.
I arrived at El Roble via a privately chartered shuttle bus from Antigua, courtesy of Monica, owner of the by now notoriously and haplessly-named, but hugely popular Jungle Party Hostel. There were fourteen of us, Ausies, Canucks, Francophones and Guates. It was a four-hour beer-guzzling drive and the pandemonium never let up during our entire weekend tenancy.
It was Australia Day and the Ausies went, without exaggeration, berserk. They kept playing the eighties hit, "Down Under" by Men At Work, screaming "otra vez, otra vez..." I recall having set a dance floor ablaze at a party once in Kerrisdale, when the song first hit -- when these co-travelers were taking their first, um..baby steps. (generation gap observations seem inevitable when backpacking)The beach at San Diego is pleasant enough, but otherwise unremarkable. The abutting area comprises a flat grid of one to two acre lots (walled/fenced compounds) called Ranchos. Vacation homes for affluent Salvadorians. Many have swimming pools. After the great civil war exodus, most of these properties fell into disrepair. Se Vende (For Sale) signs proliferate. There's a new exodus now, south towards the more pristine beaches of La Union.
El Roble is a joint dream project of a newly formed couple, Darren and Seka, he an Brit-expat, she Salvadorian. Some of you may recall mention of Darren, whom I befriended during my Guatemalan sojourn last year. His penchant for subtle T-shirt slogans evidently still strong. Last year it was "Real Men Eat Pussy," now he sports " You Say Tomato, I Say Fuck Off." The latter's personal significance I was appraised of belatedly when I embarked on preparing a Greek salad to accompany our fresh fish dinner --- the man simply loathes the taste of tomatoes!
I'm in the capital San Salvador at the moment. Waiting for the Tica Bus to Nicaragua. I've been dreading contact with this city -- this being my third brush. The air is acrid, foul, my nasal passages sting -- the traffic congestion, well.. El Salvador is a country of razor sharp contrasts. Shanty town squalor right up against ultra-slick new shopping centers and fast food franchises complete with the requisite armed guards.
I had accompanied Seka to her mother's house yesterday. The entire street was sequestered with a gigantic iron gate. An armed guard let us through. Why? Both Seka and her mother on separate occasions in the last five years were victims of armed robbery.
Thankfully, I'm in the San Benito area, purportedly the best and "safest" neighborhood. The other Tica Bus station across town is the worst, a cesspool of human misery. The place I was stranded at last year, at four in the morning -- trudging a backpack trying to FIND the bus station.
San Benito's not so bad. The bus station has a newly built-in hotel with relatively tasteful décor - and most decent at $12 per night. Wi-Fi too! The Hilton and Sheraton are just a block away. I'm equidistant from the Museum of Anthropology and the Museum of Modern Art. Both rather uninspired rectilinear affairs, but never mind. There's a smattering of trendy cafe's and restaurants. A sushi joint that does motorcycle delivery. And a whopping air-conditioned Pizza Hut right next door. Salad bar and pizza - $10.
