And yes, we did hear shots, but we hear them randomly around these Redneck parts too.
These are the kind of guys I approached for directions the first night. Genuinely benevolent, even had one guy program his cell number into my phone should we had any trouble during our vacation. Don't judge a book by its cover.
We had spent the previous evening talking to the owner's daughter and the boyfriend, Julio. Both now live in Panama. Julio was extolling the virtues of his Panama, while adding toe curling stories of his near misses in Honduras. Apparently, that's the place you don't want to go. In Tegucigalpa, the person beside him was shot. At the airport, he witnessed someone getting kidnapped in front of him. In Guatemala, he was working a convention, when his colleague turned back up after being absent for a couple of hours. Everyone had thought he was ducking out of work. Turns out he had been express kidnapped. Popular now, we were told. It's where they drive you around town, threatening to kill you, until they've maxed out all your cards and emptied your bank account. Julio was a trip, so animated when talking that you're glad to be across the table from him, safe from his outstretched waving arms and occasion spittle spewed in excitement.
The country is one big oxymoron. There's a palpable tension around sunset, extra police and military vehicles circulate, every business shutters, people scramble to get back behind the safety of their fences and locked gates. Yet when asked, they say their lifestyle is healthier than anywhere else. The farm manager, Ever, spoke of the clean mountain air and how no one eats anything processed, it's always fresh food, everyone exercises because most walk or bike everywhere.
They are a hiking bunch, we witnessed children walking from Lord knows where with large water urns, women with baskets on their heads walking up along the steep roads in between villages. Put a Fitbit on these people and they would shame us all.
The other thing I noticed is that Sherwin-Williams is the only paint store around. It's not cheap paint. A country clawing to get out of third world status would be expected to have generic paint, right? They take such pride in themselves and their homes or lean-to shanties. Even the headstones in the cemeteries are painted tropical colors.
We weren't approached by any beggars. Only saw 2 town drunks. No one seemed homeless (probably a quick way to become dead), everyone has an abode. Even if it's a 6x6 tin shack plunked down in a sea of little huts on the shoulder of the road. I won't call them slums because in spite of all the repurposed rusty tin and old tires used in ingenious ways, these communities have order and pride. They keep everything within their tiny fences clean, but here's the irony: all trash is either burned (trash fires burn everywhere) or they throw it all in the ditches awaiting the monsoon season to wash it down to the sea. The roadside grass is almost obscured by the blanket of plastic trash.
And then there's the callejeros, street dogs.
Everywhere. Making their way through life sorting through trash and waiting for hand outs from street vendors (and devious tourists who let them sneak into a restaurant). Here's what's strange, no one takes care of them, yet I never saw anyone yelling at them or kicking them, buses even go around them when they're busy licking a smidge of something off the pavement in the middle of the road.
On the 3rd day, we went to explore Ataco, a historic town in the middle of coffee growing region.
I dazzle the natives with my scooter maneuvering skills.
One woman comedy show from one Salvadorean town to the next.
Making tracks for the labyrinth I see advertised atop the hill.
Getting there was half the fun!
We'd be living off twigs and earthworms right now if it weren't for the children on a platform above directing us out!
"Are we having fun yet?" ---Flynn
He can be such a party pooper. He wouldn't let me ride my scooter across the rope bridge.
Everything here is 'at your own risk'. I love the fact there are few guard rails, danger signs, it's true Darwinism.
Would you spend the night in this rental?
The supports don't look very sturdy, but I wanted to hop up the stairs for a view. Mr. Safety thought otherwise.
Everyone, and I mean everyone, has been friendly and helpful. Even if you don't need help, you feel an arm around you and you're getting helped. Dammit!
I love these people!
To soothe my hubby's nerves, I find a cafe in an artisan camp.
Traditional cakes with local coffees.
Is that a smile??? Say it isn't so!
The cafe holds a garden courtyard. Serenity from the bustle of the streets.
Getting around is technical. Remember, no building codes or ramps. Bring it on!
We admire the artisans making traditional fabrics.
Incredible.
Check out his spinning wheel, it's a bicycle rim.
No idea how they keep up with the patterns!
The inability to climb volcanoes or go spelunking in caves has been frustrating.
But,having a cultural adventure can be just as nice. The key is to find adventure in whatever you do.
