traveltales: Be Your Own Judge: Visit El Salvador and Stay for a While

They say that you shouldn’t visit El Salvador. That El Salvador is dangerous.

I imagine right now they are not saying that about Paris or Brussels, even though there were recent terrorist attacks. They didn’t say that about NYC after the twin towers fell. As a matter a fact, they said the opposite. That what we needed to do was continue to travel to these places to show the terrorists that we were not afraid. That of course we needed to take precautions like registering with the American embassy, avoiding crowded places and reading the updates for US residents traveling abroad. But they never said not to go.

But they definitely advised against El Salvador. That there is rampant violence in the country. That the gangs were out of control. That for a woman alone, it was insane to go there. But that travel to Costa Rica right next door was fine. Somehow on the “gringo” trail in Central America, it was El Salvador – and maybe Honduras – that had gotten a bad rap.

After having spent a small amount of time there, certainly not enough to be any sort of expert, but enough to be able to share a personal experience, my question is how do “they” know? And exactly “who” are they? How do “they” decide what countries are to be on the no fly list and for what reason? And I am not talking about epidemics like the Zika virus. That I can understand and certainly when traveling anywhere in Central, South America or Asia, at this point, one has to go either with the knowledge that contracting Zika is a possibility or go with a ton of 100% deet repellant and hope that doesn’t kill you or cause brain damage in your unborn fetus too.

But I digress. .. I am not talking about Zika or dengue or yellow ever or even malaria.

I am talking about general feelings of safety when walking around the town square, the city streets, the nature trails, the long stretches of rocky and sandy beaches . . The country of El Salvador.

I am talking about the stands on the side of the road that will serve you coconut water inside the coconut or if you want it to go, in a baggie with a straw.

I am talking about eating a delicious lunch for less than 50 cents.

I am talking about an inexpensive public transit system, typically in the back of a pick up (Picaro) or busses that travelers refer to as Chicken Buses. Chicken Busses are little more than retired American school busses where you can travel the country for less than a dollar a ride, often closer to twenty five cents.

Chicken Buses or El bus are often an expression of creativity on the part of the driver – painting the bus all types of colors on the outside and decorating the inside with stickers and stuffed animals hanging from the roof.

Sure, American School busses were possibly not designed to go quite as fast as they do on the curvy El Salvadorian roads and maybe with not so many adults (and at times animals) inside, but apart from that – there is not thing particularly scary about them. And yet they are part of that mystique – of why it’s scary to travel in Central America and in El Salvador in general.

The next thing you will hear about El Salvador is that gang violence is rampant. That M13 is everywhere. That may or may not be true. And just because I didn’t see evidence of gangs or gang violence doesn’t prove that it doesn’t exist. But what it does indicate is that the gang presence and violence is confined to certain places and certain neighborhoods and tends to happen more among local young Salvadorian men than to random tourists walking down the street. The gangs are there to make a profit and survive. Assaulting tourists would likely bring a level of pressure and consequences to them they are trying to avoid.

Petty crime is another fear of American tourists traveling to El Salvador. There I would have to say – use your head. Just like in every country where you are traveling that happens to have a large percentage of its population living in poverty. Don’t flash your iPhone around or your iMac. Don’t wear expensive jewelry or carry a ton of money or stuff you don’t need while on the beach or hiking on trails. And when you go hiking – get a guide. They usually are based on tips only and/or cost $1-2. They are worth the $2 that you will spend to avoid feeling like you are going to be lost on the unmarked trail or assaulted in a deserted area. In general – just travel like an intelligent, respectful tourist and hope for the best.

And if something does happen – which at times it does, try not to make it about the whole country. As long as you walk away relatively unharmed, chalk it up to Mala suerte. It happens. It sucks. I agree. It’s not your fault, I agree. And it shouldn’t happen – I agree. But that doesn’t make the country not worth visiting. Which if you read trip advisor or the travel advisories from the state department, you might infer.

In the last month, I heard that a friend of my family in her 60s was assaulted and robbed in a Safeway parking lot. Does that mean that the suburbs of Delaware are now not safe? No, no one inferred that. A friend of mine was killed in the street in San Francisco. Does that mean people shouldn’t go out of have a drink in SF at 8 pm? Nope. No one said that. But hear one story about a tourist being mugged on a hiking trail in El Salvador and the whole country is corrupt. It’s a strange phenomenon.

What did I find in El Salvador. . . I found kindness – people who went out of there way to direct me to the right bus, right street, right direction when I was lost.

I found empty archeological sites –not to the level of Tikal or Chichen Itza, but there nevertheless with museums explaining they history and the site all to ourselves.

I found that tourists were far and few between. And when I did meet other travelers, they moved slowly and intentionally, trying to get to know each place rather than check it off of a list of places to have seen.

I found locals interested in getting to know me.

They offered me their houses, their food.

They brought me presents and invited me into their homes without knowing who I was and then insisted I eat with them, share their food, drinks and stories.

I saw mountains and waterfalls and stretches of uninterrupted sand for miles and miles.

I scaled down the side of a waterfall with a rope and lived to tell.

I walked with new found friends to and sometimes through seven waterfalls just outside of town.

I walked through cobblestoned streets and drank locally grown coffee on the “Ruta de los Flores.”

I jogged from Juayua to Salcoatitan and waved back at the children that greeted me from the buses as they drove by.

I returned “Adios” to the women walking hand in hand along the highway from one town to the next and saw lakes that went on for miles.

I saw churches and cobblestones and ate pupusas for thirty cents on the street.

I saw processions outside of the church for Semana Santa and fruits like mini apples eaten with salt or cooked in honey. I ate street food until I couldn’t eat any more.