The El Salvador 1 Degree of Seperation Project

You've all heard of the six degrees of separation theory, but in an unusual natural quirk, in El Savaldor it is actually one degree of seperation. Yes, that means everybody knows each other here. It's like when someone says "Oh, you are from Ireland, you MUST know Paddy Murphy". And you do.
It started off in San Salvador - Rudi the owner of the Irish pub El Arpa Irlandes recommended the hostal Escencia Natural in El Zonte where he often goes at the weekend. Whilst in Suchitoto, Richard the owner of the El Gringo, said to stay in Casa Frolaz in Santa Ana with Javier. While climbing Izalco, one of the tourist police used to work in Suchitoto and knew Richard and Rene, the owner of Vistaconga tours there. And Javier in Santa Ana knew everyone in the entire country. Probably on a first name basis.

Alegria

Meaning happiness in Spanish, Alegria is El Salvador's highest town and a little gem. Situated on the side of a volcano (shocker), the fertile soils are perfect for growing flowers and the town is veritably in bloom. Also like most of El Salvador it is wonderfully lacking in gringos. In fact I went 2 days without seeing another tourist.
The highlight of the town is the crater lake, a leisurely walk uphill. It is a eerie green colour and as I made it there the clouds descended to create an even spookier mood. Nevertheless it is a stunning place and one of the highlights of fantastic El Salvador, which treated me to a little earthquake (well not so little when it hit 7.1 on the Richter in Honduras) on my last night, gently rocking my bed at 2am.

Time to move on to Nicaragua.

Photos of Alegria

Complete set of photos from El Salvador

Santa Ana

El Salvador's second city, Santa Ana is as quiet as a second city comes. It still has many dirt roads and the market is like something out of the Congo. But on a recommendation I settled into Casa Frolaz. It's a private house turned into 3 roomed hostel and the owner - Javier, is a famous Salvadorenan artist not to mention cook, historian, story teller and general all around nice guy.

In fact most evenings we just ended up in Javier's lovely back garden, drinking beer and discussing everything from Obama to the state of El Salvador's football team to the world economy to the price of property and gang warfare in San Salvador. The only thing to spoil the fun were Javier's mammoth (and I mean mammoth) Avocados that would fall intermittently from the tree above our heads.


Killer Avocado.

On the last day I took a bus up past the lovely Lake Coatepeque to Cerro Verde. At 11am they run a tour up either Volcano Santa Ana (the highest mountain in El Salvador), which is a leisurely 1 hour stroll or up Volcano Itzalco, a 4 hour clamber up one of the world's newest volcanoes. 250 years ago Itzalco did not even exist. Then it just shot up in the geological equivalent of teenage growing pains, grumbling, scaring people and spouting lava everywhere.

It was my lucky day and it was to be Itzalco. There had been some robberies on the volcanoes a couple of years back, so myself and an American couple had 2 policemen and a guide to accompany us. Struck me as odd though why bandidos would choose people hiking on a volcano to rob. Surely people don't carry the crown jewels and a 1000 dollars in cash whilst climbing? Whatever.

We started off, rather depressingly, descending 900 steps through a rainforest only to come out and stare up agog at this picture perfect gray volcano monster. We made the top slowly, where a mixture of clouds and fumeroles covered us in cold and hot steam. We surfed the way back down, followed all the time by 2 vultures who had their eyes on the rather chubby, looking like she was going to collapse American girl. Then it was the 900 steps back up again, where I lost the couple and hung on to the lead policeman who was as fit as a ferret at 37 years of age. We made it back up ridiculously quickly, and I found out the reason why. At 2pm on the dot the heaven's broke. But I was already tucked away in the comedor having some pupusas and drinking coffee. The couple arrived half an hour later, not looking too happy.

Photos

Suchitoto

More relaxed than a stoned sloth on valium, the "nothing to do with Japan" colonial village of Suchitoto is what travelling is all about. A beautiful town with extremely friendly natives, good cheap restaurants, enough things to keep you busy during the day (including the lake and the local Los Tercios waterfalls) and one single ex-rebel owned bar, replete with 54 photos of Che on the wall to meet everyone for a couple of Pilseners later on.

It has "future tourist mecca" written all over the place and I really hope for its sake it remains unfulfilled for as long as possible. The locals are happy & genuinely friendly and those tourists that make it here are rewarded with an unforgettable experience.

Photos here

San Salvador

El Salvador fills many with visions of war, gangs and general chaos. But from the very first encounter with the border guards (female, she said the Spanish equivalent of "Hello Luv") onwards, El Salvador has been without doubt the friendliest place in Central America. Also in its favour it has the least amount of tourists in the region. In fact I spent Saturday afternoon moseying around San Salvador's bustling city center and did not see a single gringo. Which made me a bit of a novelty as when I chose a tiny comedor in the main plaza for a hamburger and a Pilsener (more plus points for El Salvador, the beer is great and it costs a dollar a bottle), I attracted a small, but fascinated crowd as the Matron D´ clucked around me and kept providing fresh refreshments any time I looked thirsty. I left a couple of hours later, sated and inebriated and 5 dollars lighter for the pleasure.

San S. also has some lovely suburbs (where I stayed), well tended and clean, with an array of bars and restaurants. I headed to El Arfa Irlandes ("The Irish Harp" for those with translation diffuckilties) in the evening, yet again to be the only Gringo there. Well, except for the owner that was. I expected to have the red carpet rolled out, but it turns out the owner is actually German. So there I was in the suburbs of San Salvador in an Irish bar chatting in German as salsa played in the background.

As Vinney would say, the needle on the "Oddometer" was definitely in the red zone that night.

Atitlan

Large lake with emerald green waters up in Guatemalan Highlands? Check.
Surrounded by 3 massive volcanos? Check.
Indigenous villages dotted in between? Check.
Virgin forest intersperses with banana trees and coffee plantations? Check.
Famous person raving about its beauty? Check. (Aldous Huxley called Lake Atitlan "the most beautiful lake in the world")

Yes, it is hard not to fall in love with Atilan. Even in the rainy season (which seemed to break out overnight on the way from Utila to Copan) Atitlan is stunning. The volcanoes playing strip tease with clouds as clothes, only fully exposing their peaks for about 2 minutes a day.

Villages are named after the saints - San Pedro, San Pablo, San Marcus, San Juan - each having their own vibe. San Marcus is as chilled out as a polar bear's toenails. With more Yoga studios than you could shake an upward facing dog at. San Pedro being one of the larger towns has a nice mix of hammocks and bars, so of course was the place I chose to sling my rucksack, climb some hills, swim around and generally relax (not that I need any more relaxing, but you know).

The place is filled with Mayans all wearing their traditional dress and it is more common to hear the vaguely arabic, gutteral sounds of Tz'utujil Mayan than Spanish. The language is so tribal that a Mayan from San Pedro can only understand a tiny amount of Sipakapense Mayan spoken in San Marcus (8km away). They lead a very traditional life and you will still see the women of the village carrying bowls of corn on their head to the miller every morning. Queuing up waiting for their corn to be turned into paste, which will be used to make their tortillas.

Really a fantastic place and somewhere I´m sure I´ll return - probably to buy this place :)

Pictures of ridiculously photogenic Atitlan

Pacaya

2 hours from Antigua, Pacaya is one of Guatemala's three active volcanoes.
We started off in a beat-up Hiace van at 2pm and as soon as we neared the road up to Pacaya the heavens broke and a most unmerciful thunderstorm broke out (unsure at first if it was maybe the volcano errupting). The roads turned into rivers and I think the driver was using the force to navigate as there was nothing visible out the windscreen (windscreen wipers are optional in Guate).


Luckily by the time we reached the entrace to the national park the rain had subsided. Despite this the van was engulfed by 50 local kids all jostling to sell us rain macs for 5 Quetzales. I told them I was Irish so it was normal weather for me, but was met with unbelieving eyes and snotty noses. Once the mac kids were gone a second wave of kids homed in on us. These were the stick kids who tried to impress on me the importance of having a big stick whilst walking on a volcano. I declined, much to their indignation at neither having rain gear NOR a stick.

The hike up through the cloud forest was easy enough and after 90 minutes or so we came out of the forest and onto some scree. Traversing the side of a lower peak we rounded a corner and Pacaya stood before us, just like a child's drawing with a plume of smoke emitting from the crater at the summit. More impressive still was the lava river which was oozing from the side. Our jovial guide just hopped up onto the old lava rivers and marched across. Ever a believer in "the guide knows best" mantra I tagged along behind him and soon we were as close to the lava river as my eyebrows would allow without being singed off. The rest of the group followed very slowly behind us.

Some enterprising Aussies had actually brought along some sausages with them and ever a nation to "toss a shrimp on the barbie", they were soon attaching forks to the end of their walking sticks and fashioning extra long bbq equipment. Lava seems to be a fantastic replacement for charcol and within minutes we were all sharing some extremely tasty sausages.

Pictures of Pacaya here

Chichicastenango

Famed for it's Sunday markets, Chichicastenango or "Chichi" for short (thank God) is a quick ride up the Carretera Interamericana from Antigua. The Mayans from the local villages descend en-masse from the hills to pedal their wares. Much like San Cristobal, everything from Machettes to Mops and Chickens to Courgettes is for sale. Ever colourful, the Mayans wear their traditional dress and pop into the local church for a spot of benediction between matters more materialistic.

A few pics here

Antigua

Goodbye Honduras and back to Guatemala. Destination Antigua, ex-capital of Guatemala until in 1776 an earthquake flattened the place. It is a lovely spot, dominated by the Volcano Agua which is visible from every street and is extremely useful for navigating the city. The streets are cobbled and Antigua just exudes a dignified air. But of course all these features ensure that Antigua has a huge volume of tourists, so restaurants are geared towards gringos and every second shop is a travel agency. Not bad for a day or two.

Pictures here

Copan

Travelling is a mixed bag and for most of the time it is amazing. A constant sensory onslaught of sights, sounds and smells (or all 3 and more in India's case). But one thing that does set in after a while is travel blaise-ness (for want of a better term).
One can drink a 1997 Romane Conti, a 1982 Chateau Lafite or even a 1945 Mouton Rothschild and still get a kick out of a nice bottle of Pinot Noir in good company. One can have a Kobe Steak in NYC or Sushi in Nobu and still enjoy a sandwich by the side of the road. But after seeing Angkor Wat, Palenque, Chichen Itza and Tikal poor old Copan was in for a hard time.

Smaller than all the others, it boasts no massive f*ckoff pyramids nor an amazing rain forest location. In fact it is by the side of the road in western Honduras. Admittedly it has some fancy carving and some macaws flying around, but will not be winning any Pyramid of the year 646 competition.

Pictures here

The world beer review, Part #5

Belkin Beer: Belkin is owned by the Bowen family and have a beer monopoly in Belize. That said it's not bad.
Belkin Stout: They use the same bottles for Belkin lager and stout. In fact the only way you can distinguish them is the colour of the bottle cap. That said I had a couple of Belkin Stout one night and thought I was drinking the lager. Not going to challenge Guinness any time soon.
Belkin Lighthouse: Belkin goes Corona. Piss.
Salva Vida: Honduras's national beer. Any beer that means "Life Saver" (and has a picture of a life saving ring on the label) can only be fantastic in my books... and it is! Delicious.
Port Royal: Honduras's "posh" beer. More expensive than Salva and also delicious but it doesn't have the ring and doesn't save lives, so only a second choice. Brewed by Helmut Lutz, Brewmaster (retired)!
Barena: Honduras's Corona, only better. Well done Honduras. Quality.

Photos

Some photos of Flores, Tikal and Utila

Armed to the hilt

After witnessing 4 Soliders carrying assault rifles patrol the beach in Mexico you kind of become immune to the whole gun carrying thing. That is until you hit Guatemala and Honduras where civilians are allowed carry guns too. Whilst in a taxi in San Pedro Sula a moped pulled up alongside us. The driver had a rifle on his lap and his pillion passenger was embracing a shotgun. I smiled meekly at them and they waved back. I'm sure they were just off to a duck hunt. 10 minutes later a pickup truck whizzed by with 4 men in balaclavas all holding assault rifles. They were probably just the back up in case the ducks turned nasty...

How to learn English in Central America

Snapped on my TV in Copan...

Utila, Honduras

It was on from Livingston via San Pedro Sula to Utila, one of the Honduran bay islands. Utila is famous for one thing and that is diving, so with that in mind I set myself up in the pretty mango inn and signed up for the PADI Rescue Diver course. PADI (the world's largest diving organisation) is a bit like karate and has a hierarchy that would make your head spin. Starting off from snorkeling you progress to be an Open Water Diver, from there on to be an Advanced Open Water diver (which means you can go deeper and explore wrecks), to a Rescue Diver (saving people, finding bodies) which is the final amateur stage before becoming a Divemaster and progressing to being a Scuba Deity. Of course PADI charges for each course, so by the time you've made it to the top you've probably paid PADI well over $10,000.

The Rescue Diver course is useful as it teaches you first aid, using emergency oxygen, how to react to stressed and tired divers. hauling unconcious divers back to the boat to finaly searching for missing divers and recovering divers from underwater. To say the course was stressful is mildy understating it, as from the evening of day one, when we came out of the class room to find one divemaster lying on the dock under blocks of wood groaning whilst his Divemaster Trainee (DMT) buddy started to freak out and scream at me "Is he going to die??", "Do something, do something". As soon as I had settled that scene down there was another DMT at the end of the dock with ketchup all over his shoulder. Bandaging done, he suddenly fainted and it was on to CPR to keep him alive.

For the next 3 days these three DMTs and our instructor (Fernando a cool, tatooed up to the eyebrows, 5ft nothing Spanish bloke) made our lives hell. Every time myself and the 2 other participants turned around, one of the DMTs was in the water (or more likely, all of them were in the water) in various states of drowning, either with diving kit on or not. I must have jumped in the water at least 20 times. They would rip off your mask, push you underwater, in fact whatever - acting as panicked divers do. As soon as one was saved Fernando would tell us that there was a diver missing so we would don our gear, dive down and search for the missing body. Upon finding it, you wrap your legs around their tank and inflate their BCD, bringing the body to the surface. Once on the surface you would swim back to shore, whilst taking their gear off. All the time you are doing this you are giving them rescue breaths every 5 seconds. On arrival at shore you have to drag them onto the boat (tricky as one of our DMs was 100kg), give them emergency oxygen and CPR.

Well anyway, I passed and proceeded to find, rescue and empty copious amounts of rum and coke.