El Salvador: Day 1

As the plane was preparing to land, I stared out the window at the hilly, brown & green land beneath me, trying to guess where the cities are. I felt sick, as I realized that I was about to land in a country that was so different from the familiar United States. What would the people be like? How would I know if someone is trying to pickpocket me? From all the stories I heard, I half-imagined that I’d have to beat off marauders with a stick to keep my money & person safe. I felt sick to my stomach (though that could have been due to the extreme turbulence prior to landing). What had I gotten myself into? What if the heat is too much for me? What if my Spanish isn’t enough for me? What if…? I tried to stop myself from further jittery thoughts. I imagined that everyone would speak only Spanish and I’d have to sink or swim, language-wise. Oh, how I wished I were back home! The plane hadn’t even landed and already I was regretting my decision to leave the familiar and, for the first time, experience a foreign country. The plane landed, and I was sitting several rows ahead of my group, meaning that I disembarked first. I grabbed my bag, clutching my luggage to me and trying to look as nonchalant as possible.

 When I stepped into the airport, the first thing I noticed was how small it was. The second thing I noticed was the heat, and the third thing I noticed was that the airport was nowhere near as crowded as I expected. I stepped to the side and waited for my group. After we all got off the plane, we found a restroom. The thing about bathrooms in El Salvador is that, due to country-wide poor plumbing problems, one must never, ever flush toilet paper down the toilet (assuming tp is provided, which, in the airport, it was). Instead, one must put everything into a garbage can next to the toilet. We then went to pay for our tourist visas, which was where I first had to actually use Spanish because the clerk wasn’t sure how to process my tourist information because the address I’d provided was incomplete. I tried to explain that I didn’t know where I’d be staying: I only knew “Izalco, Sonsonate,” because that was all our in-country coordinator had told us to write. She asked if I was staying in a church, or with a family, or in a hotel, or what, and I kept saying, “I don’t know. No one gave me an exact address.” finally, she gave up and processed me. I was surprised at the problem, because 11 of my 12 other companions had gotten through just fine with no questions asked from other clerks. It all worked out, though.

 Once we got through customs, we went outside of the tiny airport to meet our in-country contact for ESNA (El Salvador/Norte America), whose name is Alvaro. As we walked outside to meet him, I got to really experience the hot, humid weather for the first time. It wasn’t at all what I expected. I had expected a noisy, crowded city, but it seemed that the airport was in the middle of nowhere. Anyway, after a warm welcome from Alvaro, who speaks English and Spanish, he explained that for our safety, he thought it was best to hire a police escort for the week that the CCLP group will be in E.S. Apparently, the government of El Salvador recently started a program called “Politur,” or tourism police. He wanted us to be able to enjoy our visit instead of worrying quite so much about safety & security. After that, we loaded & boarded the bus.

Due to my motion-sickness, I asked the driver, Walter (who speaks almost no English), “¿Esta bien si siento allí?” (Is it okay if I sit there?) as I pointed to the front seat of the bus, right next to the driver. “Sí, pero necesita poner la cinturon,” is what I caught from his response. I was super proud of myself for staring at the English/Spanish signs on the plane (when I wasn’t asleep), because just a few hours before that moment was when I learned that “cinturon” means “seatbelt.” J I strapped myself in, smiled at him, and opened the window. As we drove from the aiport into San Salvador (I was confused, because I thought the airport was IN San Salvador), I took in the view. I wasn’t quite sure what I expected, but the highways were pretty similar to those in the U.S. except that lanes seem optional and pedestrians don’t really have the right of way. People were running across the roadway, this way and that. There were fruit stands along the side of the road, with huge piles of coconut. I also noticed a large amount of trash on the gutters of the roadway, as well as much graffiti on the cliffsides. Aside from that and the smog, the view was beautiful as we drove toward San Salvador: Hundreds of varieties of green trees, mountains and volcanoes in the distance, and some birds flying by.

The driving here is not quite as terrifying as the driving I’ve heard of in Mexico, but I still would never want to drive here. The quality of cars varies: we passed some new Mazda cars, Hondas, many hyundais and Toyotas, and many old vehicles that were on the side of the road with people working on the car or changing tires. There’s also a lot of exhaust from these older cars! Once we reached the city, we drove through the town, where I took note of many signs, billboards, and restaurants. There were even Wendy’s, McDonald’s, and Pizza Hut!

After many twists and turns, we arrived at our hostel. At first, I was a little disappointed to see that it was the same as every other building in San Salvador: run-down, with a gate in front and barbed wire on top of the gate & walls. Once we passed through the shabby-looking outside, though, we saw it was a beautiful interior! Our room even had air conditioning (absolute bliss at the end of a long, hot day. 70 degrees never felt so ice-cold!)! I bunked with two other girls, sharing a bed with one.

After unloading, we got back on the bus and Alvaro took us to the UCA (Central American Univeristy), where we had lunch and visited a bookstore. Then, we went to a park where there was a memorial wall, not unlike the Vietnam war memorial in Washington, D.C. This wall was to commemorate all those who were assassinated or whose bodies were never found after the Civil War in the 70s.

            Although the memorial itself was very moving, I couldn’t help but notice that nearly every park bench was full of very publicly-amorous couples (just hugging and kissing, though: “immoral acts” are specifically against the park rules.) That’s something that I’ve noticed is very common here in El Salvador: hugging, touching, kissing, etc., and not just among couples. The culture is very different from the impersonal culture of the U.S.

            After visiting the wall, we went to a grocery store, where I discovered how wonderfully cheap prices are here in comparison with those of the U.S. I bought two gallons of water, an aloe juice drink, ginger tea, halls cough drops (sold like candy here), 5 oranges, and two bags of banana chips: One with chile and one without. I had noticed while at the park that my ankles were turning into elephant feet, so I began drinking water to try to decrease the swelling. By the end of the night, my feet were too swollen to fit into shoes, and I  had drunk over two gallons of water that day.

            Dinner that night consisted of pupusas, a traditional Salvadoreñan food that consists of a thick, small corn tortilla (maybe 4-5” diameter) stuffed with any variety of things: beans and cheese, a native squash, jalapenos and cheese, etc. After dinner, much to our chagrin, Alvaro had arranged for us to watch a video about Monsenor Romero. While I was, of course, interested in learning more about Salvadorean culture, I hadn’t slept in more than 24 hours. I had no concept of time in El Salvador because I hadn’t brought a watch or clock, and all I knew was that my body was begging to sleep. I was drenched in my own sweat from a very, very hot day, and I was exhausted. I fell asleep within the first 10 minutes of the video, but we spent all of the next day learning about Monsenor Romero. All told, it was a very busy, but good, first day.

My overall impression of El Salvador was that it wasn’t much different from many cities in the United States.