All men who have achieved great things have been great dreamers. – Orison Swett Marden
Wednesday, May 30, 2012 (DAY 87)
Despite the promise of a free breakfast at my hotel that was supposed to begin at 7am, the time is almost 7:30am and I have a bus to catch in twenty minutes for the five hour ride to El Salvador, and, I would really like to begin this drive with something in my stomach, luckily I’m being picked up in front of the devilish golden arches of Ronald’s house. Walking a few short blocks to the most luxurious and elaborate McDonald’s I have ever seen, complete with a courtyard and fountains, I’m certain most wedding receptions, birthdays, proms, and even recovering heart-attack parties in Antigua happen at this five star establishment. Surprisingly, the bus is on time and swoops me a few minutes before 8am. After picking up the remaining three passengers from around Antigua, two girls from Florida and a young guy from Sweden, the spacious ride is a welcome experience that is few and far between. Within a few minutes of the familiar bumps of the road and everyone in the backseats is soundly asleep.
Despite the promise of a free breakfast at my hotel that was supposed to begin at 7am, the time is almost 7:30am and I have a bus to catch in twenty minutes for the five hour ride to El Salvador, and, I would really like to begin this drive with something in my stomach, luckily I’m being picked up in front of the devilish golden arches of Ronald’s house. Walking a few short blocks to the most luxurious and elaborate McDonald’s I have ever seen, complete with a courtyard and fountains, I’m certain most wedding receptions, birthdays, proms, and even recovering heart-attack parties in Antigua happen at this five star establishment. Surprisingly, the bus is on time and swoops me a few minutes before 8am. After picking up the remaining three passengers from around Antigua, two girls from Florida and a young guy from Sweden, the spacious ride is a welcome experience that is few and far between. Within a few minutes of the familiar bumps of the road and everyone in the backseats is soundly asleep.
Two and a half hours later and we reach the Guatemala/El Salvador border of La Hachadura. Climbing out of the bus and in to the hot mid morning sun I am a bit nervous as we arrive at customs and immigrations on the Centroamerica Highway (CA-2) route because of various horror stories I have heard from recent backpackers crossing in to El Salvador and bribes upward of $130 per person that have been demanded for entry. With the decision already made up in my mind that if I am unable to enter with a reasonable entry fee I will be returning back to Antigua to make arrangements to bypass a country that seems to be avoided by many travelers due to both the geographic location and testimonials that cause nightmares of annoyance and frustration. Stepping up to the small opening in the window first, I hand over my passport and wait with high anticipation. Several minutes pass and as I look behind me a line is beginning to form in the absence of other open windows. Entering and exiting Guatemala for Honduras and returning is causing a series of questions surrounding the date I first entered one of the C4 Agreement countries. Thankfully the girls from Florida both speak Spanish, and coming to my aid is Vanessa. In spite of her assistance, the agent disappears from her behind the glass window with my passport and tells me to wait. Since no one else in our group has been in Central America for close to 90 days, there are no issues with questionable dates of entry and they are processed speedily. Thirty-five minutes later and I’ve been summoned for my presence to enter through the side of the building to the interior offices. Walking through the glass door I quickly gain the attention of the four agents now staring at me and, I am directed to have a seat at the desk to my right. Requesting an agent that speaks English, within three minutes and the situation is understood and I am about to enter country number four of this great journey!
Just after 1:30pm and we arrive in Las Playas de El Salvador in the very chill surf town of El Tunco. Truthfully, I’m just excited to see a cloudless sky and no poo streams to cross. As I wait for Lindsay and Michelle to return to the Casa Ma Koi Hostal, I have a chance to take in my new surroundings. The pea green and white painted walls with burnt orange tiles that spread across the entire floor, while in one corner there is a large black sectional couch with a television, and the adjacent corner is the kitchen, both two and three story balconies keep the rooms spread through the vertical structure, and I believe I have found my piece of surfer’s paradise.
Reuniting with the girls from Victoria that I met in San Pedro almost a month ago, Lindsay and Michelle walk in with huge smiles and we hug it out like it’s 1999. After long, uncomfortable hugs are exchanged, the heat is beginning to be unbearable and I’m sweating in areas that I didn’t realize could produce sweat. An eruption of conversation and laughter now fills the hostal as we share all of the stories that have occurred since our departure from one another. I tell them of how I was walking home from reading to blind horses after delivering a batch of labradoodle puppies and I saw a house on fire, en fuego no es bueno! Disregarding my safety, I run into the burning building and carry out ten children and a grand piano alone! It was, a really nice piano. Since the heat continues to rise with my stories, we decide that it’s beach time.
Walking the short two minutes to the beach, my smile grows as the panoramic scene of endless water stretching out over the horizon comes in to full frame. The sand is what I was expecting, black volcanic soil, but the grains are very small and fine, making it comfortable to walk on barefoot. While despite Internet rumors and TMZ, I am not a seasoned pro surfer, but a newbie at the seas, kind of like the Titanic. Too soon? When in Rome, I tell myself and am caught spending the afternoon surfing.
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