Quickly, I click with the manager, Ever. I'm on him like glue.
He gives us a tour of the plantation from above of the high altitude, shade grown coffee farm, but I want to see the operation up close. The property roughly measures 2000' x 2000', but so much is packed into this sliver of land.
He finally agrees to take me where my scooter cannot go. I use a stick and hop my way down the mountain, grabbing anything and anyone I can to balance myself, resorting to crawling on my knees when it's too steep. Worth it?
I'm smiling from ear to ear, even when I realize those 5 terraces we descended must be ascended!
From talking to Ever, I learn that the main house, the cabana, the restaurant, everything here was built by his hands. And he runs all the farm operations, the tiny restaurant and cares for the occasional guests in the cabana.
He shoves all sorts of unknown tropical fruit at me and I scarf them down. I even eat the fruit of coffee plants. My life is complete now.
We get the rock star treatment. Doted on by Ever and the cook, Daysi.
Everything is open air, including the kitchen.
I sit on a mountain terrace, sipping coffee hand picked by Ever the week before. Pinch me.
The plantation owner is Brazilian and so themed is the little restaurant. Daysi serves us the most delicious meals.
Fried plantains, fresh cheeses, mole, frijoles, and a host of mystery foods. Shove it in front of me-- I'll eat it. All delicious and nothing is spicy in El Salvador. I'm in heaven, Flynn is suffering Tabasco withdrawals!!!
Recuperated from the harried first day of travel, we gingerly begin to stray further from the safety of our 10x10 cabana and take in the meticulous gardens around us.
Flowers abound.
Little nooks of gardens everywhere.
A dinner table under a canopy of orchids.
Looks like a Bird of Paradise but is it?
Repurposed soda jugs hang everywhere, filled with little plants. How long does it take to water all these? I ascertain that a lawn mower doesn't exist on the property, all grass cutting is done with hand shears. Oh dear God, the work to keep this place looking so manicured!
Every morning around 7, we can hear Ever raking and sweeping.
I try to find a single weed to pull out of his flower beds, to say that I helped...I fail, none to be found.
The restaurant's his and her bathrooms. We've already gotten the notion that building permits around here don't exist. Build what you want, where you want, with whatever bits of material you can scrounge.
Mystery flower #56.
The resident budgies under a canopy of Bougainvillea.
The view from the door of the cabana.
The narrow two tile wide strip I negotiate back and forth from the cabana to the kitchen.
Maria Luiza and Jose, the plantation owners return midday with her daughter and boyfriend. Such warm and kind people. I interrogate them for ways to explore the famous volcano and waterfalls. They shoot me down. No way I can navigate my scooter on the mountain trails. Horses, I say. Where can I rent a horse? Negative, Ghost Rider. I try to ship Flynn off with a guide, but he refuses to leave me. Funny how he knows me so well-- I would've found my own way up to the volcano...I was already eyeballing Ever's wheelbarrow and wondering how many Salvadoreans it would take to haul me up the mountain.
Instead, we opt to tag along with Ever as he went grocery shopping in the town of Juayua.
There is a festival marking the founding of the town... in true Latin fashion, the party will last 20 days.
And they told me I wouldn't find any horses!!!
Who knew there was a terminal flower at the end of a banana stalk!
We explore the Iglesia Santa Lucia dating back to 16th century. Featured is the black Christ statue, or Christo Negro.
In El Salvador, I notice that all the pharmacies are named after saints, no Walgreens here!
This was the only one named for the big guy himself! On a later occasion, Flynn went to a pharmacy by himself, armed with my handwritten Spanish note, asking for tablets for a head ache. He came back with industrial strength migraine medicine, only available in the US with a scrip! I quietly pondered what would've happened if I'd written "I have a boil on my buttocks" or "my breasts are tender".
The variety of fresh produce is astounding. on street corners, women sell hot food made with a small fire and a frying pan.
We return to, as Flynn calls it, our compound for the evening.
Daysi serves us a traditional yucca and pork dish. Flynn is beside himself, unable to even find a pepper shaker to spice up his dish!
We watch the sun slip over the side of the volcano.
25 yard scooter ride back to our abode.
I'm excited to have figured out how to get hot water in our outdoor facilities.
Life: the ultimate adventure.
