vamanos de jalón

After 2 weeks of working 6 days, a FULL 2 day weekend was much anticipated. Let's get out of dusty, drab San Marcos. Finally.

Destination: El Zonte, el sol y la playa en El Salvador. Bueno.

Step One: Teach your kids kickball along with Miss Kari Anna's class. The last 2 periods of the day are fisica and she'll be the umpire so we can get outta town a little earlier.

Step Two: Start walking down the road that leads out of town to the desvío. Post up by one of the massive speedbumps and throw out your thumb. A cherry SUV stops and we cram into the back seat, Amanda and I on the seats with Hailey and our packs on top.

Step Three: Jump out at the highway crossroad as your red ride turns east. Luckily coming west right now is a bus. Ask and it's going to Nueva Ocotepeque. Board the world's slowest bus, which chugs up and over Güisayote and then crawls down the other side into town. Catch a taxi to El Poy, the border.

Step Four: Cross the border, exchange money to dollars. USD. Yes, El Salvador technically uses a bimonetary system of United States Dollars and the Salvadorian Colon. Translation: the Salvadorian Colon no longer exists. It's only $$$.

Step Five: Find next ride. Bus to San Salvador doesn't leave for another 40 minutes, maybe. Put that thumb back out. This time a white pick-up truck. Climb in the bed alongside a wheelchair. The wind blowing through my hair and the sun on my arms and legs feels so much better than a bumpy, stuffy, smoggy bus. Time flies as we pass through San Ignancio and La Palma making a pitstop for fresh fruit. Carlos, Rosa, and their little boy treat us to watermelon, mandarinas, and a massive papaya. Fresh cut and eaten from white plastic bags. Back on the road the orange nectar runs down our faces and hands as we demolish the sweet fruit. As we're getting close to San Salvador, I tell them we need to La Libertad next. Carlos is from there and that's exactly where they're heading too. Another guy joins us in the truck bed. We can't believe our suerte and our amazing jalón from Carlos. He finds out we want to be in El Zonte and insists on taking us the whole way there. The sun sets as we cruise towards the coast.

Step Six: Jump outta the truck, thank Carlos profusely and we get his number. Lago de Coatepeque is in the area and he'd love to show us that next time. Walk towards the sound of crashing waves. Check into our amazing hostel, 12 bucks a night. Hammocks sprout from palm trees that line perfectly manicured grass. Thatched roofs shade outdoor bars and lounging areas where more hammocks are as plentiful as the sand. Up an iron spiral staircase where patches of rust show through the chipped green paint we find our beds that look out onto to el mar. Order some food, mar y tierra, before their kitchens closes and sit on tiled area below our room. Casually sip Pilsners and talk lazily until...

Step Seven: Andrés and Carlos, friends from San Salvador, arrive. Andrés picked me up from the airport when I flew in and drove us all over town so we owe him a few drinks. But they've already brought plenty of their own. Talk life, politics, music. Then begin the drinking games. Culturas chupisticas. Translation: Culture suckers. It's identical to categories. Choose a theme and name everything you can under that topic. Brands of shoes: Nike, Adidas, Puma, on and on. Beer runs out, everyone at the hostel is asleep, everything in El Zonte is closed.

Step Eight: You know you don't need more beer when you have to drive 20 km to get it. But apparently that's never how it seems in the moment. Back to the beach and onto the sand with our 6 packs. Stare at the stars shining in the sky above the dark ocean. Black palms and rocks meet the horizon as the tide ceaselessly pushes and pulls at the beach. Play a bit in the waves and crawl into a hammock around 5 A.M.

Step Nine: Wake up early. I slept in a hammock on the balcony outside our room instead of my bed because I wanted to be up early, thus maximizing my time on the beach. It worked. The hot morning sun on my hungover body gets me right outta bed and walking on the sand eating an orange. The sun is blistering at 9 A.M. and I walk until rocky cliffs impede my path. Read, watch the macaws around the pool (which of course we didn't use), wake the girls, eat breakfast at the hostel, lose your sunglasses in the oceans (oh well, they had a good run), and head over to another beach.

Step Ten: Rent a tabla. Surf lessons begin now. Break for ceviche de camarón. Nap in a hammock. Watch some baby turtles get released into the ocean.

Back on the board. Back into the hamaca. Get some impromptu lessons from Ernesto who happens to be staying in our room. The orange orb hangs for a moment before melting into a creamy pink sky and dissolving into the water as I clumsily ride a few more undulations in the ocean. Surfing is awesome by the end of the day but I'm exhausted and my chest is raw and red from rubbing on the board.

Step Eleven: Back to the hostel, clean up, eat another ceviche at the hostel next door. Go down the road with Ernesto and some other guys from El Zonte to a concert where a cover band is playing Bob Marley, Manu Chau, and Sublime. Pilsners for a $1.50 abound. A makeshift stage is backed by the sand and waves while a cord runs across an empty pool to the sound tech. Chat politics with Caminante who is a guerrillero and passionate about what's happening in El Salvador. Presidential elections are in March and everybody I met is backing FMLN, ala izquierda. When the power goes out, the drums begin. Drums ranging in size from snare to several cylindrical monstrosities bellow thumps into the dark night above the outlines of inky palms and into the sparkling stars as we dance maniacally below.

Step Twelve: Realize that you really don't want to go back to San Marcos. Who would? La playa is majestic, la gente are spectacular, and the surf culture is relaxing. Wake up to see the sunrise from my bed but cannot bring myself any farther. But propped up in bed on one elbow is not a bad way to watch the sun cresting the horizon. After a bit more sleep I put my feet in the water one last time before breakfast. As we're settling the bill (having your entire stay, food, and alcohol on a tab system for 3 days can be dangerous), Teco's friend is preparing to drive back to San Salvador. Wanna hitch a ride? Yes sir.

Step Thirteen: Mario is a lawyer in San Salvador who surfs every morning before heading back into the city for work. We talk more politics. Salvadoreños are exciting about their young democracy and the opportunities for growth amongst their entire population, rich and poor. Many I met have a very optimistic, idealistic view about bettering the world and the people around them. Mario drives us through downtown San Salvador and by the massive, fortified grounds of the U.S. embassy. He goes far out of his way to drop us at Oriente, our bus terminal on the east side of the city.

Step Fourteen: Chicken bus* to El Poy, walk across border, taxi to Neuva Ocotepeque, bus to the desvío outside San Marcos. Jalón again. White pick-up trucks are lucky on this trip. Jump in the bed but the guy insists there's room in the truck. No, we're okay back here. No, he's really not leaving until we get inside. Okay. As we climb in, who do we see in the passenger seat? Padre Jon. An 81-year-old Catholic priest from Neuva York who speaks perfect Spanish minus his horrendous accent. I can't say much about my norteamericano acento but at least I try. We met him a week ago at Donya Olga's weekly Saturday lunch and he was excited to chat with us although based on some of our most recent conversation, we not sure if he really remembered us. It was thoroughly entertaining regardless.

Step Fifteen: Buy some avocados, quesillo, tortillas on the walk home. Try not to think about 6 A.M. and school tomorrow. And tonight you'll go to bed without your Superbowl.

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*Costs $1.80 for the 3 to 4 hour ride to the border in a supped up school bus covered in gaudy paint and Jesus-slogans where vendors of fruit, nuts, candy, enchiladas, vegetables, pupusas, and everything else imaginable jockey for your attention and money while staring at the gringos... especially the 2 blonde girls.