Parque Nacional Imposible

We made our way from San Salvador to Parque Nacional El Imposible on a "chicken bus" (a psychedelically painted U.S. school bus) to the wonderfully named town of Cara Sucia (Dirty Face) near the coast and the Guatemalan border. There we got in the bed of a truck which took us up into the mountains.

Halfway, we picked up a disheveled borracho with wine stained lips who launched into a long, annoying, revolutionary soliloquy. I couldn't understand much of what he was saying and was, like many, trying to ignore him, but he repeated every few minutes like a bad beat poet, "Che Guevara, revolucionario, marxismo, comunismo," before continuing his rant.

After a while an extremely dignified family got on the truck and the paterfamilias listened for a few minutes before calmly wresting control of the conversation from the borracho and respectfully shutting him down. Again I couldn't completely understand him, but the gist was that guerrillas are violent and godless and will change nothing, only when men's hearts change will the world change. Something to that effect. When the borracho got out he said goodbye meekly and loped off.

Soon we reached the park gate, paid our dues, and found a nice camp spot in the woods off by ourselves. We chose to visit the park partly because of its name. Before a modern bridge was built, many people and their mules died trying to carry coffee through a gap in the ridge over the mountains.

Sadly SalvaNatura, the company that runs the park, is in charge of providing the impossbilities now. It is impossible to obtain a map or trail information and they claim it is impossible to hike without a guide. So, our first morning we reluctantly hired Orlando, a small, sweet, droopy-moustachioed local, to take us up to the summit of Cerro León with somewhat smoggy views out to the ocean. Without Orlando we might have missed the boa constrictor hanging out next to the trail and would have certainly missed the leaf-impersonating esperanza bug. The trail, however, was absolutely foolproof, and Orlando's main attempts to edify us included reading aloud the numerous trail signs, apparently without irony, and pointing to the horizon to identify the Pacific Ocean. Finally he lapsed into a welcome, if awkward, silence.

The next day we decided to sneak off by ourselves for a hike down to a beautiful river where we swam, had lunch, and met a horrifying spider leading a lurking clinic. We also saw some underwhelming petroglyphs, some coati and agouti, and no other people. On the way back to camp Hilary found me a exquisite insect wing that I wore in my hat until it was destroyed by the wind in the bed of a pickup.

That evening as the sun set though the trees, illuminating the yellow blossoms in one of them, we regretfully decided to leave El Salvador the following day and cross into Guatemala, one country closer to home.

La Palma & San Salvador

Our reception to El Salvador was wonderful: There are open borders among Nicaragua, Honduras, El Salvador and Guatemala so we had only to show our passports to one official who looked at our entry stamp to Nicaragua and said "¡Bienvenidos!" Transportation away from the frontier was by taxi only but the official found us places on the yellow schoolbus bringing back a Catholic missionary group from their retreat in Guatemala. They were delighted to have us on board and dropped us off in La Palma before continuing their journey to San Salvador.

La Palma is a beautiful little town where most of the whitewashed walls are decorated with primitivist murals inspired by Francisco Llort and the main square is full of mosaics. We stayed with Don Alfredo in Casa Hotel, decorated inside and out with the ubiquitous wall paintings and locally typical wrought iron designs. We had excellent pupusas (the Salvadoran answer to empanadas with fillings enclosed in corn tortillas), four for a dollar, and met Oscar, a sweet self-possessed 10-year-old having dinner with his aunt. In the course of our conversation we found out that he works in the vegetable market during school vacation and that he loves playing soccer but has no ball. We joked that rocks or melons don't work well on the field and before we left we tracked him down at his stand and handed over a soccer ball.















Inspired by Thomas whom we met in Celaque, Honduras, we walked up to El Pital, the highest point in El Salvador. Most of the way to the top is drivable road so it wasn't much of a trek, but we met many friendly people on the way, reinforcing our sense that El Salvador is one of the friendliest countries we have been to.





From La Palma we caught a bus to San Salvador and took a taxi from the terminal to Ximena's Guest House. The hostel is pretty dismal and we have finally learned to walk away when a place doesn't feel right. We found a gem in the Hotel Villa Florencia, a much nicer room for much cheaper, and stayed four nights. San Salvador is a big city and the hectic market scene with vendors grabbing at your clothes as you pass is overwhelming. We walked a lot, to the national parks office, the anthropology museum, the modern art museum, and the folkart museum.























The folk art museum has a lot of the traditional clay miniatures on display, some with hundreds of little figures, some the sorpresas where a figurative cover hides a miniature scene, everything from tortilla makers to Aerosmith.








In our meanderings through the city we stopped in at the cemetary, one of Mike's favorite places for photos. The cathedral facade is decorated with Francisco Llort mosaic.






















We had a fun night out at La Luna Casa, an art gallery and restaurant that hosts live music. (Annie & Michel, we definitely recommend this place for your Central American debut.) The night we went was their 18th anniversary, the music was eclectic-Latin ska. We said goodbye to Esmeralda, our favorite licuado lady and left San Salvador, headed for the dauntingly named Parque Nacional El Imposible. It turned out not to be, which is another story.