January 2007

Okay, so now it’s January and (well, I know, it’s February) But, in my journal its just become January 2007. And you know how each month I ask where the year goes? Well, now I find myself asking ‘where do the years go?!’

I clearly remember 1987 – That’s TWENTY years ago!

But, I wont dwell on that just now, no, I’ll move swiftly onto January 2007, now that my water bottle is full to the top.

January

So, New Year’s day…I don’t think the fireworks stopped all night – I really feel like I now know how it must be to live in a warzone! And there were some casualties next day too…people with bandages or limps and all sorts – not to mention the remnants of the many dummies that were lying about the streets!

We moved on, out of our dingy, dull and oh, so expensive hotel and down to the ferry to take us to Isla de Ometepetl (oamitepy – I think!).

This was quite a journey. Like last year in Guatemala, New Year’s day is a holiday for everyone and so the beaches were mobbed. The slightly incongruous thing here – and in all of Nicaragua & El Salvador - was that there were no people in Mayan dress. Plenty of Mayan looking people, but no costumes – strange in this part of the world!

I found out that in the thirties there was a mass genocide of Mayan people. A dictator didn’t like them and decided to wipe them out!!

Can you imagine it?

‘Sorry darling, I’m going to be home from work late tonight, I have an ancient civilisation to wipe out’

I don’t get it? Who allows these things to happen? Why, when Hitler was being stopped, didn’t we stop all of this?

Well, I guess it was stopped eventually, because there are many indigenous people there. But apparently a throw back to this time was that, almost overnight, people stopped wearing traditional Mayan dress for fear of their lives!

Anyway, I digress, we were off on the ferry to La Isla and it looked totally amazing!

When we got there, guess what? It was totally amazing!

We took about four-million photographs of course, but I can’t quite get it over to you I don’t think; it was like stepping back in time (I imagine).

There were folk with no shoes, kids with only a t-shirt, pigs and chickens and HORSES, just roaming the streets, wee kids on horseback selling wood to people…I can’t think of a word for it, but my jaw dropped…astounding is maybe the word.

The people were so beautiful, so happy and oh, so poor! They had nothing; they lived in shacks or tents. Yeah, some of it was not so poor, but lots of it was. But, as ever, it is totally relative. Like I said, these folk were just so happy and warm and welcoming.

Then we got to hotel – well, hotelita they called it – a wee hotel. There was a lovely courtyard with beautiful flowers and hammocks. And then, there was our room. It looked okay with the door open and the sun shining in, but at night? Well, I would say its one of the worst places I have every stayed in! Clean-ish beds (thank god for my sleep-sheet) But the toilet had a wee family of many-legged friends, all of which were about the length of my middle finger and all of which make me shiver today! So, I’m not going to dwell on them…I’m only glad that beer has been invented.

Why did we stay there, I hear you ask? Well, cos there was literally nowhere else – that was the poshest place on that part of the island! We could have gone to another part, but we’ll come to that later!

Anyway, moving on…we decided to eat in our wee courtyard – well, the Lonely Planet (LP) said it was ‘darned good’…! As with many times on this trip, the LP, our bible!, got it wrong.

There wasn’t too much I could eat and please believe me when I say, I am not a fussy eater. However, a la Cuba, Amanda was treated to the freshly deep fried fish – so fresh, I doubt it was dead before it met the boiling hot fat! I opted for a quesadilla type thing – safety first!

However, the quesadilla was lovely and deep, deep, deep, deep fried and covered in carrot and cabbage. Then, with a sadistic, or was it artistic, twist it was covered in tomato sauce and mayonnaise – all in a lovely grid pattern! I try not to eat salad incase the water its cleaned with isn’t too good for my tummy, so I managed to leave MOST of the carrot and cabbage to the side – along with the rest of that culinary delight! Thankfully, I had ordered chips with it!

Anyway, then we went to wander downtown…well to the garage really, past the church and the tiny square.

That is to say, that the centre of the town was the Texaco garage. The petrol pumps sat in the middle with a bar & some tables just off to the right – it was the strangest thing.

Music was pumping out of this bar/petrol station with a load of guys drinking – AND SMOKING and some horses wandering by…am I getting the surreal nature of this across?

Anyway, we were sitting at one of the tables – the one we shared with another massive Cucaracha! – when some salsa music came on. Well, always ones to show off our new moves, Amanda and I danced at our wee bit. Well, no-one was looking and the guys at the bar were just finishing up.

Next thing you know, the beautiful bar maid came and sat and watched us dance with the biggest broadest smile on her face…now she could have been laughing at our style, but I don’t think so. There was such a genuine sincerity about these folks!

Remembering we are still on New Year’s night! The girl told us that there was a ‘disco’ on tonight along the road and that we should go.

Of course we went and I could cry now when I think of it. These dancers, but not dancers, just folk up dancing, were absolutely spellbinding. And, I don’t imagine they go to lessons every Tuesday night!

Mand and I danced a bit, but the highlight was when someone danced with us – which of course, was all the time! People were so curious, so interested in talking to us. You know I don’t enjoy dancing, but here I felt like Ginger Rogers in the arms of someone who was just such a perfect mover and new exactly how to guide me – ahhhh, it was special!

And then there were the two guys who were so openly gay! A la Emilia - I don’t imagine they were allowed to live that life on Ometepetl and were probably known as the village idiots rather than their sexuality being given a name – I could be wrong, but I really don’t imagine there is a big gay scene on this island! So, as well as the amazing dancing, there were also some pretty good people watching opportunities!

And it was over too soon. It seemed that everything was winding down, the slow dancers were up mooching and we left…only to walk the 4 minutes to our room and hear the whole thing kick off again…apparently it went on till 4 or 5 in the morning!

However, we had an early start, so took the sensible walk home to our hotelita – which was all shut up and we couldn’t get in!

We chapped and banged and asked the neighbours (who had opened their home to make it a café type thing). The just told us to keep banking. Eventually, our grumpy wee host ushered us in, moaning in Spanish!

Then began one of the longest nights of my LIFE! I know, it sounds melodramatic, and it so is!

When we got into our wee room, Amanda ordered me ‘not to look’. Roughly translated, this means, ‘there is a cockroach in our room, and I don’t want you to see it or else you will be up all night!’

So, I saw it and was up all night!

I went to the toilet through the night and met a few of the cockroaches family and friends – lovely!

So, come the morning, I was ready to get up and get out to those bloody waterfalls!

San Ramon Waterfalls

And, up I got. Not feeling great, but then what would you expect after such a sleepless night. I realised however, that it was not only the sleepless night that made me poorly, the dodgy meal the night before found me in the bathroom discovering the real meaning of projectile! And, let’s just leave that there…

Not to be deterred though, I decided I was going to see those waterfalls if it killed me.

Well, it almost did!

We set off on the six-mile bus journey – that was only once we’d found the bus. Someone told us it left from there and others told us it left from somewhere else!

We met a lovely Russian girl called Julia who joined us on the trip.

Unfortunately it wasn’t an organised trip, we just took the local bus which, wait for it, took 4.5 hours to go the six mile journey! No, not because it was a slow bus, but because the ‘road’ was like a dry river bed with boulders and holes and four foot crests and dips…it was amazing.

Had I been feeling a little better, I would have enjoyed the life scenes we passed much more. However, I still enjoyed seeing the kids running alongside us (and in some cases, beating us) and waving and stuff. I enjoyed the people on the bus staring openly, watching the gringas’ every move. More than anything though, I enjoyed the breeze coming from the window because the heat was tremendous!

We stopped off at another wee town and how glad am I that we didn’t take the ‘bus’ and try to get another hotel here. It was the same everywhere…if you went a place, you had to stay because there was no way for you to move around. Everything was so inaccessible, people didn’t want to drive ‘taxis’ on that road for fear of their cars breaking down!

Anyway, at this wee town, I thought it a good idea for me to go to the toilet – just incase! And it was lovely! So nice infact, that you could have gone with your pal!

No kidding, the toilet was a plank of wood over a cesspit with two, not one, but two holes side by side! How quaint.

Finally, we got to the beginning of the falls. We asked how long it would take to climb and the guy said about 1½ hours which was cutting it a bit fine because the bus came back at that time, but we decided to go for it anyway. Well, it was only 3ks up and 3ks back down!

3ks up and 3ks back down

3ks up and 3ks back down

In blistering hot sunshine with no shade

And a not-so-healthy companion whose face was so red it was the colour of a post box! (yeah, that would be me).

However, not to be defeated, I climbed 2k and rejoiced in the fact that we were almost there. Then we met two couples who had taken their car up the first 2ks, god knows how they did that! And, they told us that the last 1k would take at least an hour and that it was really hard climbing a scrambling and that, although the water was close, the heat was almost unbearable and I had almost started to cry!

I decided not to do it! I felt like a wee child and just wanted my mum so that I could cry and feel sorry for myself.

Amanda and Julia were going to go on, but the very kind Italian & Nicaraguan couples had offered to give me a lift back down to the bottom where I could wait for my pals with water and shade. It was very kind of them and even nicer when the two wives (sisters) told me that their grandfather was from Kirkaldy in Scotland – too weird!

So, off they went, and off I went.

Ometepetl is an island made up of two volcanoes and the land that the falls were on was also an ecological reserve where biologists go to study spider monkeys…they were all over – apparently!

In this reserve was a quiet restaurant where I sat and sulked and felt sorry for myself.

I met a very eloquent and beautiful woman there. She spoke to me in perfect English and to the Costa Rican woman with us in perfect Spanish. Her husband Carlos was sleeping in the hammock as she and I spoke. Well, she spoke really and I just grunted I think.

I wish I had been more on the ball though, because it became clear to me that this woman was obviously not Mexican – tall, blonde – go figure! But I didn’t even ask her where she was from. Then when she started to talk about the evils of communism and how that and the socialists had ravaged Nicaragua (amongst others), the well Carol would have loved that conversation, would have argued and discussed and been in political heaven. But no, the sick Carol just sat there – quietly melting in the heat!

We did have some lovely, light conversations though. I told her I was a singer, she told me that her husband, Carlos was 92 years old…this beautiful, regal Mexican sleeping in the hammock, who had tried to climb the water falls was 92 years old!!! She was an event organiser, but it became clear that she was so much more than that. I found out later that she moved to Mexico in 1968 to organise the Mexican Olympics…not just the stadiums or the Olympians or the guests, but the whole of the Mexican Olympics! I was dealing with elite here! Underpinned later on when she said coyly,

‘I have a friend who is a singer…Placido Domingo’!!!!! Nice.

I also noticed later that she was sporting a t-shirt bearing the words ‘freedom fighter’ underneath a picture of RONALD-BLOODY-REAGAN! That would explain the anti-communist/socialist thing – well that, and the fact that she was from Germany!

And so, eventually my face became the browner shade of brown it is and I started to breath properly and my tummy decided that it would give me a break and my friends returned from their hike – about 3-hours later. Oh no, what were we going to do to get back home…the bus had gone, there were no such thing as passing taxis or cars, it was too long to walk and it would be dark soon!

Thankfully, my new German friend – Elke – stepped in and helped us out. They could get a boat and then a taxi, but that was no good because we didn’t have enough cash on us, then the restaurant owner was on the phone finding out if there was anyone around and we were starting to think that we’d be sleeping with the monkeys, and then, Carlos, the taxi driver from Moyogalpa, just happened to be half a mile away and would come and get us for $40US. Phew!

The taxi arrived. I got to sit in the front because I wasn’t too well. Amanda y Julia got the back – the back of the pick up truck with a plank for a seat and a roll bar to hold onto – incredible!

I was trying to speak to Carlos during the brutal journey – I have no idea how they did it in the back! Anyway, Carlos was asking how old I was and I said ‘43’. He then looked at me and said some stuff which finished with ‘33’. No, I told him, I’m 43, not 33…and it took me something like 15 minutes to work out that the poor guy was paying me the compliment of my only looking 33!!! My god, talk about laboured!

Again though, this was an incredible journey, especially when we heard a big bang. Carlos pulled up, checked under the car and told us that we’d be here for about 20 minutes as the something had snapped and why don’t we go to the beach for a swim while he fixed it! Oh, and not to worry, this happens all the time!!!

So, there we were, beach, bison, horses, cows on the beach, boys playing football, a coming of age party in one of the shacks off the road behind the beach, barefoot children asking us to take their picture and then show them it and a boy with a Beckham shirt on! Football and music, two things which can really bridge any divide! This whole place was continually breathtaking – with or without the cucarachas.

When we got home, cockroaches or not, I slept for 7 hours solid!

(I realise that it’s only 3rd January and I’ve gone on for ages…! I will try to break it up a bit so that you can easily find where you left off if you have to leave and, you know, get a life or something!)

Leon

We left the island on a beautiful morning and decided to go to Leon, one of the hottest places in Nicaragua – surrounded by 11 volcanoes.

In order to get here we had to go via Managua – remember the place with all the baddies? Well, we met one of two of them this time.

We got to the bus station and a wee guy came up and put us in a taxi for the other bus station. He wanted 20Cordobas for his trouble – ie, waving his arm for 0.5 seconds till a taxi stopped! I gave him 10C and was a little ashamed of myself…for about 5 minutes. Or, until we got to the other bus station and the taxi driver who quoted me 50C for the taxi ride then charged me a further 30C for putting our bags in the boot…and he had another couple in the car whom he ripped off!

I was raging – ‘dejame’ I said to him. He was so upset by this that he gave me the money right back!

Yeah, right! He jumped in his cab and sped off – b*stard!

Once we got on the bus for Leon, I raged quietly inside my head for about an hour – well, at least as long as it took me to realise that 90C works out at about $5 which works out at about £2.50, so I really had to get it into perspective – or have a heart attack!

Whilst I quietly raged, I felt the temperature rise rapidly – the windows were open and the wind was hot! And, by the time we got to Leon, I was street wise…when the taxi driver quoted us 20C to get into town, I made sure that that included all the bags and us and our shoes and stuff…the driver looked at me, agog at my wisdom and said something like, we’re not like those thieves in Managua…20C is 20C – mental note to give him a tip!

We got to a wee hotel…it was luxurious – clean sheets, hot shower (!) cold air conditioning, breakfast, a tiny wee pool (that we never used cos it was too hot). The place was luxury!

Leon too was lovely. It is a city ensconced in the history of political struggle and religion – needless to say, I was in heaven. Although, my god, was it hot?

We saw amazing museums filled with awful facts about the history of this troubled country. So many innocent people killed. We saw other museums run by mothers who lost their children during the wars; pictures of the victims adorning the walls and many of whom were as young as 12 years old. We saw grotesque life-sized dummies, depicting the history of Nicaragua. We saw life-sized nativity scenes and amazing murals all over the city. It is clearly proud of its history, however, I am constantly struck by the amount of violence, loss and poverty people have lived through. And, all through it, there is the church, this small, hot city is filled with churches – big fancy ones, big ugly ones – they’re all over, religion is everywhere.

Next day, not content with the second hottest place in the country, we went to the hottest place in the country - Chinendega. It was more of the same here – churches of Guadalupe that Amanda loved. Rich and poor folk, lots of security (hey, I just realised, we saw only one security guard in Ometepetl, outside the bank).

We were looking for some lunch in Chinendega and found a place which the LP said was world famous…not sure what for though, so we eventually went next door to Frank’s grill.

It was heaven…air conditioned, very posh and Vinnie Jones, with a Spanish accent – to serve us!

What a laugh, we were sitting there all alone in this massive restaurant – well, no one could afford to eat there except for rich Nicaraguans and tourists. You could tell it was posh because the meal was lovely AND, you could pay in dollars!

We did find out though, that on New Year’s day – you know about 14 pages ago – lots of people died on the beach because of the tides and beer and stuff…pretty tragic, but Vinnie reckoned it was to be expected!

After another nice cold shower, we were off out to hear the bands playing in the local square. It was great and seemed like the whole town came along to listen. The band were playing stuff like Four-non-Blondes, but it was great to witness the whole community out – and after dark as well! It seems like the whole of Nicaragua stops after 10pm!

We went to a bar later that night where the beer cost something like 30p a bottle! However, we didn’t overdo it because we had to be up at 4.15 for a bus to Esteli – our last stop in Nicaragua.

And up we got! Well, it meant that we could spend six nights in El Salvador if was got up to Esteli. So we could manage an early start – right?

Well, no, wrong actually! We got up, packed went down stairs and couldn’t get out of the bloody hotel. The girl we’d arranged our departure with was nowhere to be seen. There was no bell that we could see – mind you, it was pitch black!

Amanda went off in search of someone and woke up some other guests! She was getting irate and said to him in Spanish ‘okay, let’s go, we’re off to Esteli’. The poor guy, still half asleep, thought he was being ordered out of the hotel!!

And so…we admitted defeat and went back to bed – El Salvador would only be for 5 nights!

Next morning at breakfast, the owner of the hotel, a beautiful, 50 something woman who spoke perfect English asked us if we were enjoying our stay. When we told her of our attempted escape this morning, she asked the girl on reception about it. The girl told her that we hadn’t even got up because we were out drinking late the night before – huh! Didn’t she know we were from Scotland and that four hours sleep was more than enough for us lassies!

Anyway, she was sprung because we had the poor guest that we had woken as evidence.

We didn’t need him though, the girl stood guilty as charged! And, to be honest, I was glad of the long lie and the fact that we didn’t have to rush to another town quick smart – we’d been on the go for two weeks!

So, after our enforced chill, we went to the bus station, a little earlier than planned – we got our ticket there and then though and went for a wee mooch about the local market for some music.

How lucky that we’d bought our tickets, otherwise we’d’ve been in Leon for another night!

The Esteli express was full to bursting and someone was on our seats. No bother, there were two free seats behind. So we sat on them, then out of nowhere came a mad-man, yelling at us to get out of his seat, move it, move it, move it. It was all harassing and I asked the people in our seats to let us sit on them and they refused and the guy was still shouting at Amanda for us to move. Then the world stopped…

Amanda put on her ‘don’t mess with me fact’ looked at the guy and said in perfectly loud Spanish – ‘keep yer knickers on and just wait there a minute!’

Well, Mr Irate shut his trap and let us get out of our seats which by now were free, the occupants having scurried off after Amanda’s wonderful onslaught! Oh, how we laughed…

Esteli

Thankfully, you could feel the air cooling as we climbed the mountains in our school bus to Esteli. This was another stronghold during the war of the 80s and 90s. And you could see it. Flags went from being the familiar blue and white of Nicaragua to the red and white of the FSLN – The Sandanista Liberation Army. The houses went from being brick to being clay and wood and corrugated iron…much of the housing in the trees was shanty and the town cenre wasn’t much more glamorous. Of course, there was a massive, rich, beautifully maintained church, coupled with derelict buildings and people sleeping rough.

We walked through Parque Central, which is closed off at night, and a wee boy who must’ve seen us from miles away ran up and stretched out his hand

‘regalo me un peso…’ the now familiar phrase.

This wee boy was worth every penny. I said ‘no’ because, having a cart to his name, he looked pretty affluent (knowing that I would eventually capitulate). As soon as I said no, he put on the most fabulous show, pretend-crying his eyes out, begging us for money. I joked with him, asking him for money and his crocodile tears turned to laughter. Then, without warning, he started howling again,

‘regalo me, para me mama…ahhhahhh…’

It was hilarious. Mand and I exchanged a glance and I caught him out of the corner of my eye wetting his fingers and rubbing his eyes so that he looked as though he had real tears. Again, I joked with him and he laughed…briefly, before the pretend-sobbing started again. He followed us to our next stop and he was so entertaining, he deserved many pesos…as soon as we gave him the money, he smiled the biggest smile ever, thanked us and skipped off, happy as Larry!

We went to a local bar which was covered in war memorabilia. Of course, very interesting and compelling stuff. While there, there was some live music on, so we sat down for our daily beer and tequila. Tonight though, this was not good!

Our waiter brought us our tequila AND COKE in a glass with a slice of lemon stuck to the side! Oh yes, and a bowl of salt…Eh, naw, we said…

The manager (I think) came over and said that he would only sell us it with the coke – BECAUSE TEQUILA WAS TOO STRONG FOR US!!! Ugh!!!

Needless to say we didn’t stay! No, we just went back the next night and only ordered beer!

We had a lovely experience in Esteli also, some musicians were sitting in the street playing and I asked if they would play a tune for us – and they did. It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever heard. Three of them singing a song about the trials and triumphs of the war in beautiful harmony – I was gone!

Next day we went to look for the tourist-type place to see if we could book a guerrilla tour. However, one person said we’d find it there and another said we’d find it here. Just like so much of this whole trip, it was difficult and confusing and charming all at once. Difficult because it wasn’t easy to get around, confusing because, when you got there you were given conflicting information and charming because there is no tourist infrastructure and therefore, not overrun by tourists…maybe one day it will find a balance, but for now, we were going in circles!

Here, we visited The Museo de los Martyrs. Like the one in Leon, it was, basically, a shrine to those who have lost their lives in the struggle. It had enduring images like the mother with the rifle on her back, clutching her feeding baby to her breast. Or the one where the guy with the gun is throwing a petrol bomb towards the army.

Apparently both of these pictures were splashed all over the papers during the war – it was in the 80s, but I don’t remember these images. However, the story of the guy with petrol bomb was told.

He struggled for years to get justice for his people. You can agree or disagree with guerrillas, but the Nicaraguan government was so corrupt that world aid, meant for earthquake relief found its way into the pockets of the government and its families. Reagan & Bush backed government, by the way!

After the war, the guy was left with eight children and no means to support them. He lost his home and now he is a factory worker.

It is too sad…to have fought so hard in such a bloody war for so little. Shame on the world for allowing it to happen; shame on the incumbent government for allowing it to happen. Now Daniel Ortega, one of the pivotal revolutionaries of the 80s has been voted into power on Jan 10th this year. Rich people are nervous in case he does what happened in the early nineties, that their land is appropriated and given to all. Poor people aren’t one bit bothered, they know now that he lives in a palace and is more right wing than he cares to admit and they know that nothing will change. I hope that both sides are wrong and that a new government can allow these people some modicum if dignity, something that recognises that they are human beings and that they deserve to live in decent conditions.

I don’t go for that whole ethos of ‘well, if you educate the peasants, what do you expect? Of course they’ll want more’

Surely human dignity is not about educating them or us? We are educated, we should know better…

Anyway, sorry about that, but I find it so dispiriting, let’s have a wee break for more water and coffee…

January 2007 (part 2)

El Salvador

And we’re off…another day another country!

We were to be collected by this big international bus – King Quality (which Amanda said perfectly in her Glasgow ned-type accent!) – just at the last petrol station on the Pan American highway. We were to be there between 7 and 8 am and not to worry, the bus would be there! Vague or what?

So, we got there in plenty time, just as the sun was coming up and waited. The horses were all hanging about in the petrol station and we waited. We went to use the loo and waited.

Eventually, about 8.30 the bus turned up and it was quality indeed!

There was a lovely wee lass with her uniform all pressed and nylon who served us breakfast and drinks and lunch and stuff…it was an eight or nine hour bus journey. It took us through the most fantastic countryside and through all the border crossings.

First we had to go into Honduras, then into El Salvador. It was great and I felt like a real huckler, because we’d worked it out that we should get about $40 for the cordobas we had left ($US was the currency used in El Salvador). At the border crossings however, is was impossible to get good rates, so we decided that, if the rates we got were rubbish, we would send the cordobas from home to one of the mothers’ museums (we couldn’t change cordobas anywhere but the Nicaraguan border anyway). So, as you’d expect, we got off the bus, (but never got a passport stamp – boo hoo) and were surrounded by people selling us things or trying to clean our shoes – hmmm, opened toed Merrill sandals, that wasn’t going to work.

Anyway, some guy told us he’d buy our cordobas for $30. Eh naw, says I, having a figure in my head. We told him thanks but no thanks and walked off. A couple of minutes later, he came to us with a calculator and said that he’d give us $43…I was well chuffed with my cunning negotiating skills! And we were off to El Salvador, $3 richer than we’d expected!

We had a stunning drive through the southern tip of Honduras and on into El Salvador. No glaring changes to Nicaragua, still some shanty and some fancy, but the countryside was very lush…we were driving through jungle after all. Also, the customs people were quite dissimilar to those we met in NYC. That is to say, that these folk couldn’t stop smiling at us, especially when they saw the nationality on your passport.

It was very clear to us when we found San Salvador…huge, sprawling, dirty, alive, full of people and cars…that this was one of the main culprits when it came to global warming!!!

We found a nice wee casa to stay in and secretly, I wanted to stay there for the full five nights…I was fed up moving on every two nights. The room was nice and cosy and, crucially, didn’t seem to have any additional lodgers(!).

Now, this was an amazing city in that, given the surroundings, you’d swear your were in LA or something…the roads were big, broad boulevards, lined with shopping malls and big adverts. The only difference was that in addition to all the cars, there were many people on foot and there were lots and lots of local buses – all full to the gunnels!

And so began another confusing few days of trying to follow the Lonely Planet guide which, rather amazingly, go so many things wrong. We went to find a few places – tourist guide places that meant we could get on a guerrilla tour – and they weren’t there. We went in search of restaurants that weren’t there. We went to places that said you should go, but you shouldn’t draw attention to yourself for fear of being mugged. Now, like Mexico, compared to the locals, I was tall and pale – Amanda? Well, a very white skinned, red head – it wasn’t going to take a camera to draw attention to us – we did that all by ourselves! Also like Mexico, the worst thing that happened was that people started at us; only to break out into the broadest smile when we smiled at them…it was a fantastic experience - friendly and warm. Also, I felt that society, in the city at least, was a little more tiered than in Nicaragua. That is to say, that there were rich and poor, but a little more in between.

We went to some museums and, like Nicaragua, the years on struggle were laid open for all to see and oh, how I wished I hadn’t.

One place, Palabre y la Imagen, told of a horrible Mayan massacre in a village in the 30’s – again a government let massacre which they denied. However, a world renowned anthropologist who had worked with the people in the village had evidence to indict the government. He also had ugly, horrific photographic and physical evidence of this massacre, ie, the clothes in which the people were killed, hanging up in a macabre display. It was heart breaking. Again, like Nicaragua, highlighting the struggles of the civil war was an industry in itself. People weren’t quiet about it, they were happy to sing for their heroes who were killed. Also, El Salvador seems to have managed better than Nicaragua insofar as dealing with the aftermath of war, the left wing fighting party, seems to have been able to unite function alongside the government rather than against it. This had an obviously positive impact on society. It seems that there is better housing, for example.

There were other incredible sights; the centre where you weren’t supposed to draw attention to yourself because of the imminent danger…of being cuddled or posed for by people who wanted to see what they looked like in photographs. The people were very friendly yet, very reserved and calm.

We went to the centre of Monsignor Romero. He was a priest who believed 100% in the working of the government. Eventually, however, throughout the 70s, he witnessed increasing atrocities towards the peasants. Land was being appropriated and peasants were being removed – a bit like the Highland Clearances! Unrest was rife and government troops were battling with guerrilla resistance. History also recounts many instances of senseless killings and rapes and violence against the peasants, you can read about it anywhere.

So Romero became increasingly outspoken against the government. Of course he became a bit of a folk here and of course in 1979, he was shot and killed during mass.

Apparently, this is what kick-started full-scale civil war in El Salvador. It was exacerbated when Ronald Reagan sent troops in to back the Salvadorian army. It is said that Reagan was so incensed – and dare I say threatened – by the peasants uprising, that he committed billions of dollars to this war (sound familiar?). 75,000 people were killed or disappeared during that war…75,000 people over 12 or 13 years. I wonder what would have happened, how many lives would have been saved, had he spent all that money on diplomacy and peace-keeping? And, by-the-way, during this time in El Salvador, there were ‘death-squads’ roaming the street, killing all and sundry for no apparent reason – no one was really safe. The fear that was felt then is still apparent today. And, by some twist of fate, or government intervention, a lot of the people responsible for these ‘death-squads’ are still around, walking free, some even still in government!

Anyway, there is a university building named for Romero and in 1989 – not even 20 years ago – it was the scene of yet another horrific murder.

We were forewarned by LP - who totally got it right this time - that there were some horrific photographs of an incident where six Jesuit priests, their American housekeeper and her young daughter were murdered – death squads.

The centre itself was in the hub of the university which was alive and buzzing. The building too was all hustle and bustle. We wandered around, found the garden where the bodies were discovered, saw some old photos and thought, ‘well, those weren’t bad at all’. Then we wandered into a classroom adorned with eloquent quotes and photographs of Monsignor Romero…and noted some photo albums sitting at the back of the room.

I can’t even begin to tell you the horrific content of these photo albums, the devastation of this building we were sitting in, the woman and her daughter, lying in the halls, so obviously having been raped with the most haunting expression on her face – dead, but with her eyes still open. The priests with only half of their faces intact, their limbs blown off…this was the most grotesque thing I have ever seen in my life…it was real, it was compelling and it was right there for all to see – the gloves were off – this is the reality of war! It took all I had not to throw-up, but the tears just kept coming and still do – how can we do this to each other?

I dread to think what is happening in Iraq today.

We went for food, but needless to say, neither of us could eat! It was home for a shower – El Salvador is really dirty, so much pollution - and off for an early bed.

Next morning I woke up and felt as though I had a hair stuck in the back of my throat…this continued until we left – bloody pollution!

We tried to lift our gloomy mood and so, went to the beach – La Libertad – to check it out, even though the LP said that it was gloomy and dirty and ugly.

So, we got there and it was gloomy and dirty and ugly! Amanda went swimming amongst the condoms and fish heads (!) I lay in a hammock reading and drinking beer! It was also incredibly hot!!

We had a good laugh though, a nice lunch and met lots of lovely people. Again, we were told not to take any more money than absolutely necessary – I guess it was incase these people cuddled it out of you! Everyone wanted to talk to you…about anything really – even the war. I had a joke with a guy about Tony Blair and GW being friends in bed! Well, he was shocked and thought that I was serious – oh for fluent Spanish!

We took a bus back to San Salvador – big mistake!

The bus had a TV on it and it was playing Rambo at top volume. Then the bus started to move. The roads in El Salvador were paved, but very windy and our bus driver thought he was Rambo…he was having a race with another bus driver and we were taking the bends at about 60 miles per hour…some people were laughing, some people were looking a little sick and some people – Amanda and I – had the most shocked looks on our faces! It was really scary and never was I more happy to get onto ‘dry-land’.

We stepped off the bus and walked to the monument depicting all the names of the 75,000 people who had died or disappeared during the war. Bad move, more tears…

So, Amanda decided to lighten the mood by going shopping!

We wanted to go to the MetroCentre so we asked for a taxi price - $7! But it was only over there…we could practically see it! So we decided to try to find a bus, which we did, right across the road. To the MetroCentre it cost 25cents – good move! Even better was that when we got there, we found the most fantastic shrine shop!

We also found a bar called the Highland bar which had a picture of a kilted clansman, a Saltire and, wait for it…a massive photograph of the Mighty Celtic! Now, that was mental!

Next day, we hired a driver guy – our hostesses nephew who had a car! He took us on La Ruta de Flores…the route of flowers, which was really like going to some garden centres in El Salvador.

Oliver took us to some amazing coffee fincas and showed us some amazing sights, like the wonderful view of Juayua (wy-yoo-ha). There was a massive brown mountain just outside it and, on asking, we found that it was a mountain of coffee beans – wow! Like the wee town we stopped at – Ahuachapan – that was like something out of the High Chaparral. We bought some DVDs, much of which depicted the war – horrific again, real moving pictures of headless bodies lying in the streets! And a wonderful, tragic movie called Innocent Voices…its subtitled, but you can get it here – if you get the chance, rent it.

Oliver also took us to a place where we could try some real Salvadorian food – pupusas. Thick corn or rice tortillas with a filling of your choice – very nice!

We took a bus again later that night, to go for more shrine shopping. This was interesting. The bus was stuffed full and, as we got to a roundabout, the bus conked out..kaput…dead! Not deterred however, the driver and the conductor, and a couple of passengers, got out and gave it a push round the corner and down the hill, trying to jump-start it. No one on the bus was even remotely concerned!

When it became clear that it wouldn’t start, another full bus pulled up beside us and we all started climbing on that – again, no one batted an eyelid – fantastic!

We took a bus ride through the dodgy east side of town to go to Suchitoto. Apparently this is the part of El Salvador which is full of gangs and is really dangerous…we took everyone’s word for it and didn’t get off the bus. However, apparently this is a part of town run totally by gangland warfare and the reason there has been a right-wing government for so long is that they are clamping down on gangs…I don’t know if its working, but it seems a little calmer than Guatemala City for example.

But Suchitoto. This was a lovely wee place. But more than this place, it was the bus journey up there that took my breath away. You’ve heard it all before, but we went through amazing wee markets and saw real life. People selling stuff, people chewing the fat, kids staring at us. A wee boy and his dad came onto the bus to sell tomatoes. I asked if we could take his photo which we did, he liked what he saw. And no wonder! So, we gave him 25c (the price of the tomatoes). His dad told him to give us the tomatoes but we said no, the 25c was for his photo…well, the wee boy, you could just see him grow about 5 inches. He beamed up at his dad, who beamed back at him…it was so simple and so lovely.

The bus got stuck in the market – you know a big old yellow school bus, stuck on streets that have stalls spilling onto them. However, undeterred, our driver spent about 30 minutes reversing out of the market, making people move their stalls, so that he could get out onto a road that he could negotiate. It was mental! Can you imagine that in Glasgow? ‘Eh, no sir, you should really be following the one way sign.’ Of ‘busses are not allowed in this area sir’…no such thing in El Salvador…whatever, so long as it doesn’t hurt anyone!!

In Suchitoto, it was hot, we were looking for a tour that would take us up into the hills to a guerrilla camp and to some waterfalls, however the tourist place was shut! But, on our approach, a tall, pale-skinned, un-Salvadorian girl turned to us and in an American accent asked if she could help us?

I asked her if she could take her glassed off – because I recognised her! Now, how is this for fate. Last year in Guatemala, we took a bus from Antigua to Panajachel and met three American women who were happy to discuss the Clintons with me…and here now, a year later, in a whole other country, we met one of these women again – Sarah! Is it just me? Or is that mental?

She sent us to the lake where we took a boat ride and had a swim in the local swimming pool. We never got the guerrilla tour!

It was about 1k out of town so we took a bus. On the way back though, we hitched a lift on the back of a pick-up truck, it was magic fun. I gave the guy a dollar for his ninos, well, you’d think I’d given him a million!

Now it was Thursday night, our last night in Central America and, to be honest, I was ready for moving on. The heat, the dirt, the hair in the back of my throat! But I was sad too…

I would have liked more time in El Salvador, I would have liked to see more of the highlands, but alas, it will have to be next time! I am sure by then that both of these countries will have found their feet. That they will have learned to trade on their assets – ie, slightly better tourist infrastructures. And I hope that they find peace. That they lose the fear that many people live in. I guess the war is too fresh, too many people were actually there living through it, and of course, too many people were there, dying through it!

And then, next day we were off to New york City, via the duty free where I got a fancy-nancy camera – at the END of my trip!!!

There were a couple of guys at the airport in San Salvador – where security was…interesting! These two guys looked like a pair of dodgy car salesmen, all dressed up in too-big suits and in floods of tears saying goodbye to their wives and children – about 1 in 5 Salvadorians work in the US and send money home to their families.

When we got to Houston, the guys got split up. We saw it happening. It was no biggie, all the guy had to do was wait on his friend who would come in the wee airport shuttle in three minutes, obviously though, he didn’t know this. He was asking the flight attendant on the shuttle what he should do. Neither spoke each other’s language and, as is the case in these situations…the flight attendant shouted at him as though volume would help him to understand… ‘WAIT HERE, YOUR FRIEND WILL BE HERE IN THREE MINUTES’, she said, holding up three fingers as if it would make a difference. The used car salesman was dazed and confused!

Amanda approached him and told him (in Spanish) to wait here and that his friend would come off the next train in about three minutes time, not to worry, it would be fine. Like the wee boy on the bus, he was so grateful and beamed at us.

Later on as we were sitting waiting for the flight, they too were on the same flight and came and sat with us at the bar…it was dead cute…we were their pals! We discussed important issues of friendship, like how the beer in the airport was $5 whereas in El Salvador it was about 50c…you know, world issues!

Here in Houston, we were greeted by a greetin’ faced customs guy who waved his fingers toward a door and stamped our customs card – X-RAY. Clearly, our history as drugs traffickers had caught up on us! Although, we’d never have known because the sour puss, didn’t actually use words, only hand signals.

Anyway, we were to follow the greenline to the x-ray machine, where we and our luggage were to be searched! When we got there, a little fed up of rude Americans, we met a lovely American who took one look at our passports and said ‘bye-bye’. That was it…eh?

In this flight, I was sandwiched between two guys, one a Welsh-American of some 50 years. And another a guy from Shreveport, Louisiana. This was just amazing because Shreveport is a tiny wee place away from everything and where I went to write Precious Little Victories! Weird eh?

New York

New York was as ever, buzzing and alive. Although, I feel it has lost a wee bit of its warmth that I felt when I first started going all those years ago.

However, nothing could take away the sheer joy and pleasure of seeing my lovely friends Rita and Pam.

We stayed at Rita’s. It was so great to sleep in a big clean bed and in a wee clean flat. She is the most wonderful host and took us all over…ground zero, which was a difficult sight. Times Square. Guitar shopping – yes, I bought a guitar for $339 – here it is about £400, so, I’m thinking I got a bit of a bargain there eh? Amanda got a lovely foot massage and was accosted by the owner of the parlour who wouldn’t let her leave with out ‘tip, tip’.

Later we went out for dinner to Frank’s. He’s Rita’s landlord in her flat which is in the heart of what’s left of Little Italy. Of course Frank is so Sicilian that even the dog is in the mafia apparently!

We saw Pam too, but sadly not Caitlin her daughter…actually, I’m beginning to doubt her existence! Pam, as ever, was the comedienne. She had as laughing and never stopped the whole time we were with her, even when we were discussing some real heavy life issues she’s been dealing with – she’s quite a lady.

It was a flying visit, but lovely. Lots of political chat with the girls and lots and lots of laughs.

And I’m going to leave it there for this month. There are another couple of things that happened in January, but I’ll wait and tell you all about the homecoming at the of February.

But there were so many things I didn’t tell you about – just like all my trips – the local boys coming onto the ferry and jumping off into the lake; the insistent heat; the ever present security with guns; the wee kids who followed us till we photographed them and showed them the snap; all the hustle and bustle at the bus stops and the selling on the bus; the Nicaraguan guy with red hair on the bus, allowing me the luxury of saying to Amanda ‘hey, there’s your brother’ – something that only she can do to me on these type of trips! Or, how great the unemployment problem was; Too much…

Anyway, if you managed to read all 10,000 or so words, I thank for sticking with it. If you just dropped in and out then thanx too. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed living it.

See you at the end of February.

Love and Peace

Carol