Firework Ridden Bulls

We crossed the border of Guatemala into the lands of El Salvador with open minds and ready backpacks. El Salvador is an often avoided backpacker destination, with travellers opting to shoot through it on a nice cosy bus, flying out the other side into Nicaragua unscathed and hassle free. The very nature of this though is what bought us to this intriguing country; we were looking forward to getting off the Gringo trail, experiencing towns and cities where tourists were infrequent and where our lingual dexterity would be put to the test. Our adventure though didn’t start well. After clearing customs and wondering why no stamp was needed in the passport, we alighted at San Salvador bus terminal to be greeted by obnoxious money driven taxi drivers who knew they were our only option of finding our hostel of choice. After some fierce negotiations and joining up with another foreigner we settled on a price and headed on our way. It left a slightly bitter taste in our mouth; that the first contact with El Salvadorians was mixed with greed and stubbornness, but nevertheless we arrived at our hostel around 10:30pm and crashed out with thoughts on moving on quickly the next day, heading West to the town of Juayua. The backpackers privilege of freedom and drastic life altering decisions being made on the fly, however, was bought into play the next morning as we chatted to our host and made internet checks on transport options throughout the country. Although roads exist like a spider web of connectivity throughout the land, in a twist on the ancient Roman proverb, all roads lead to San Salvador, which means that any links from one stop to another would involve a change in El Salvador’s capital. We altered our plans that morning and decided instead to head to Suchitoto a few hours North, allowing us to hit the beach town of Los Cobanos before finally settling at Juayua the next weekend – giving us plenty of time to experience the food festival that the town is famous for. I hastily emailed the hostel I had booked in Juayua to change to the next weekend, and booked Han and I into, for our 5 year anniversary, what Lonely Planet described as … ‘Without a doubt this is one of the best places to stay in El Salvador. A posh boutique hotel set in a restored 200-year old home, high-end Salvadoran art, antique and modern furnishings, custom-made doors and several gurgling fountains set the scene for six immaculate rooms.’ I put my credit card details in, was amazed as again they were accepted by my grudgingly obliging bank, and we set off, the hotel a surprise. The rural farming population, 6 elderly smiling ranchos with their machetes slung across their backs, the colorful, the weird, the wonderful, and one other gringo, piled onto the market good laden bus and trundled North through the country. Stopping seemingly randomly for anyone who stuck out their hand, and some who didn’t, we slowly but perceptibly got more and more cramped until the ‘maximum 49 passenger’ stickered bus was holding around 90 people, before my vision got impaired by a man wielding a large broomstick that was a holder for another 25. Edging my backpack, my day sack, Han’s backpack, my juggling ‘fun bag’ and our food bag into tighter and tighter corners, trying to not be the stereotypical ‘annoying gringo who carries too much’, I got as comfy as possible and held on. Please specify a Flickr ID for this gallery Three hours later on the two-hour journey, with the bus slowly emptying as passengers jumped off at random grass strewn village lanes, we trundled into an amazing colonial town, piled the baggage onto our unwitting bodies and strolled down to the amazing hotel. We checked in, somewhat embarrassingly with our backpacks, smelly clothes and obvious biscuit...