Road Bingo: El Salvador Edition

 Every country, just like every person, has its quirks and certain ways of doing things which upon first observation, elicit responses in me that range from amazement, to being instantly charmed, to somewhat annoyed, to aghast. This collection of novelties, as it were, like the language, food and climate of a place combine to create the flavor of the country that differentiate it from its neighbors and let us know in no uncertain terms that we're somewhere else. Adaptation, either to stay alive or just to navigate daily life, activates the senses in figuring out how to appropriately react and act in any new situation. No doubt many of these idiosyncracies are not exclusive to one place, but appear in other countries as well with their own indigenous twists. As you get to know a place, recognizing the local oddities requires attention to detail and a sense of humor to ensure your experience moves from exasperating to successful and maybe even fun. Example: "Oh, here they exit the roundabouts from the INSIDE lane?"

After living in El Salvador for 2.5 years, I've collected fifteen localisms that I can count on experiencing in a given day. I don't mean a work day when I'm stuck inside, but a day when we're out and about on the road. I'll tempt fate by saying I can guarantee you'll witness half of these in just a 15 minute drive, but really - you will.  Go for two hours on a weekend and the chance of seeing the entire list rises to about 80 percent.  You'll see these have nothing to do with language or food, instead they're all observable from the road.  Which is why I'm calling this Salvadoran Road Bingo.   

I'll give the list with descriptions, in no particular order, and then present a body of evidence for you to have your own little windshield tour of the country.  The quality of these photographs is often poor as capturing them involves me grabbing and trying to focus my camera quickly from the moving car, because after all, that's the whole point.  Here we go:

1. At least three still-running, mid-1980s Toyota Tercels. 

In particular, the 1985. How am I able to be so specific? I'm not a car nut, but this was the first car I ever bought and I still recognize its boxy self. And recognize it I do -  EVERYWHERE.  America, let me tell you, you just didn't squeeze enough juice out of this car before thoughtlessly sending it out of the country where it has enjoyed an extremely fruitful second life on the streets and highways of Central America. Mexico may be mad for the VW Beetle, but El Sal loves the Tercel. Hatch-back, SR5 wagon, two or four door - they're all here and going strong. 

2. Someone peeing alongside the road.

Certainly not endemic to only El Salvador, but this classic is such a reliable sight that it had to make the list.  And the fact that public urination is a punishable offense in many countries gives its inclusion on this list of quirks credence.  Notice I didn't say a MAN peeing alongside the road.  This was not an oversight. 

3. Someone driving 15-40 mph under the speed limit.

Certainly this habit has to do with people driving 37-year-old underpowered cars, but not always.  In fact, it seems to be drivers in later model cars that are the more often guilty of driving 16 mph on well-paved roads under good conditions, for no apparent reason.  My hunch is that it's simply a lack of confidence in driving abilities, because it seems to be neither gender nor age-specific.  I just wish they'd use the right lane when they do it. 

4.  A wandering minstrel.

Exactly as it sounds.  A guy with a guitar, and sometimes the whole band, either on foot or on a bicycle - heading off to warm the hearts of a couple on their first date at some restaurant.  Do I even need to mention the hat requirement?

5. An astounding tree.

I mean the kind of tree that makes you stop and take pictures.  Either because of it's impressive height, girth, or the color of its blossoms. But what gets me is the reach and tangle of branches, stretching across the road to touch the opposite edge and providing rain and sun shelter for the inevitable gathering of life beneath. 

6. Someone helping a buddy with a breakdown.

See again the first and third entries above for background. When you drive cars that rolled off the assembly line before there were assembly lines - the chance of a roadside breakdown is pretty high.  But where this becomes a localism, and an illustratation of the closeness of Salvadoran family and friendships, is that everyone seems to know a guy who can come help. Available at the drop of a hat, they'll slide under the disabled car, legs protruding into the road, or crawl up under the hood with a pen flashlight in their teeth to see what's up.  And just like driving too slowly, this is not relegated only to old cars, but to any model, any year, which I fear says more about lack of understanding of basic car maintenance or tire selection than economics.

7. Something that makes you smile.

The first of our open-to-interpretation items on the Bingo board. No matter my mood, there will always be something that makes me smile.  Usually it's another person smiling at me, or at someone else, that is sweetly contagious.  Salvadorans are very affectionate, open and kind people by nature which places this habit in juxtaposition with many other places where a frown is the default setting.

8. Taking a siesta ANYWHERE.

I thought it was only soldiers who learned how to sleep flat on their faces in the dirt. I was wrong; Salvadorans can catch a few winks in any setting, on any surface - moving or stable. Please don't take this as a veiled attempt at labeling them lazy, because it is not. Quite the opposite, they are exceedingly hard-working folks, which is why just after lunch - there's a need for a cat nap.  And if that happens to be in a wheelbarrow - so be it. 

9. A man with a machete.

Don't be afraid, but a lot of men carry machetes a lot of places. Okay, there are certain times and places when you should be very afraid of seeing a guy with a machete, but in broad daylight, walking down the road is not one of them. This is a tropical country where no seed falls on infertile soil.  This means that frequently nature has to be whacked into submission so that we still have passable roads and paths, and gardens and crops not strangled by weeds.  Hence, the machete. Usually it's slung over a shoulder in a fringed leather sheath with EL SALVADOR carved along the length. 

10. Something incredibly beautiful. 

Another in the eye-of-the-beholder category.  Whether it's coming around the corner and being surprised by the view over a craggy cliff to the crashing waves, a volcano filling the horizon, or simply a brightly colored mural lining the main street of a dusty town. Something will brighten your view for just a moment and give you reason to be amazed. 

11. Someone selling something unrecognizeable.

This could be a crop of something in season, some type of fruit or vegetable stacked on crates, something hanging to dry that later will be stewed or ground-up or... I don't know, something floating in a small plastic bag and waved at your car window, and something unnaturally colored to catch your attention.  I'd tell you what all these things are, but I still haven't figured them out. 

12. Something that makes you say, "Huh?"

Similar to number 11 above, but instead of a foodstuff you can't recognize, this will likely be an activity, or maybe an architectual feature that you can't make sense of.  Not necessarily dangerous, but it will make you question what they were thinking. 

13. Someone working harder than necessary. 

This category speaks both positively of the Salvadoran work ethic and negatively of the infrastructure of the country that requires people to work ten times harder than necessary to accomplish something or solve a problem that has long ago been remedied elsewhere. As in many places around the world, Salvadoran women in the towns are still compressing their vertebral discs by carrying 5 gallon (40 pound) cántaros of water on their heads from a young age.  Another example: we watched two construction workers diligently trying to keep the dust down on a newly-graded dirt parking lot by using their safety helmets to splash water from 50 gallon drums in the back of a truck, as their buddy drove in a spiral to reach every bit of the lot. Extra points for ingenuity to the folks just trying to get something done with the tools they were given. 

14. The bread boy and his enormous basket.

This is somewhat self-explanatory, but it's also very Salvadoran.  One of the first three horns or bells you'll need to learn in the neighborhood is the clown horn call of the dinner roll boy outside your door. (The other two are the cow bell from the garbage truck and the doorbell of the water vendors.) Sometimes on a motorcycle, but more often a bike, they cruise by in the morning and evening selling exclusively white bread rolls - square or hot-dog shaped - from their oversized baskets or hanging from bags off their handlebars. Keep in mind this is a mountainous country with only the coastal stretches of land making for easy, flat biking terrain.  These guys also fall under the previous category, and I like the cross-over with number seven, too. 

15. A really bad idea. 

The last of our open-to-interpretation categories. I attribute these activities to the theory of alternate physics.  That is to say, it may be dangerous to ride on top of an unsecured stack of pipes in the back of a pick-up in the U.S. - so it's illegal there.  But in El Salvador, where there are alternate physics, this is perfectly safe and therefore a common habit.  Don't think too much about it, just enjoy the ride.

Scroll through the pictures below for your own Salvadoran Bingo experience.  While many images will be self-evident, I'm certain that something I penciled into the "really bad idea" category will be someone else's "something that makes you smile" - that's what makes it fun.  There are more than 15 photos to give you multiple examples of some categories.

 

P.S. After writing, but before posting this, my husband and I went on an afternoon drive to a town about 30 minutes from our house.  We covered all but two of the Bingo squares (no peeing person and no wandering minstrel).

A Day in the Life of Three Salvadoran Towns: Suchitoto After Dark

 Dusk is short, it's dark by dinnertime and we have just a single votive and a small lamp on a post nearby to light the table.  Whether January or July, the consistently pleasant weather here allows us to eat outside with the only consideration being the mosquito population. Tonight it's not too bad, despite being the middle of the rainy season.  Tilting the menu to be best lit by the dim light, my husband and I make our selections and give our dinner orders to the young waiter at the hotel's restaurant, and then sit back to take in our surroundings. The dining areas are spread across two courtyards (one poolside and the other surrounding a central fountain), a more formal inside room, and the wooden rooftop balcony we've chosen overlooking it all and over the northern edge of the town.  It's the 4th of July in Suchitoto, El Salvador.  This year the American holiday falls on a Sunday, which means the Embassy is closed tomorrow and we'll have the day off.  Whenever we have an American holiday on a Monday, and the rest of the country will carry on like usual, we head out for a Sunday overnight and generally find we have whichever town, hotel and restaurant to ourselves.  Tonight would be no exception. 

The view north past Lake Suchitlan. 

Hotel Los Almendros de San Lorenzo. 

Beautifully restored interior courtyard.

Staying on a Sunday also means the hotel staff are less busy and more free to chat, and striking up conversations with strangers sits somewhere between an obsession and physical compulsion for me. This habit can make any introvert with me cringe, but I find it always leads to hearing interesting stories and gaining insight into the daily lives, political opinions and weather predictions from the regular folks living where we're visiting.  Again - tonight would be no exception.  Our waiter tells us he's studying to be a teacher, physical education if I recall correctly, and wakes up in the wee morning hours (like 3:00 am) to take a multiple-hour bus trip to the main university in San Salvador from Suchitoto.  Or I should say, he takes buses plural as the trip requires multiple transfers.  But he says the commute is worth it as he can live at home and keep this good job at this hotel, the lovely Los Almendros de San Lorenzo. He'll finish his degree soon and start looking for teaching jobs, but he isn't optimistic that there will be enough to go around for himself and his classmates.  And anything in a school near his home would be even less likely. He'll have to think hard about whether or not he'd take a job out of commuting distance from home and doesn't really have another plan for this eventuality other than to hope that he finds a good placement.  We try to end the conversation on a hopeful note for his career prospects, but sadly expect to find him still waiting tables on our next visit. 

Hotel reception. 

After dinner, we leave the hotel's interior courtyard through tall, carved wooden doors set into two-foot thick adobe walls and exit onto a cobbled lane not far from the town plaza.  Suchitoto feels as if it's perched on a plateau given its purview over the expansive Lake Suchitlan below, but the town actually sits at half the altitude of San Salvador where we live. A strategic stronghold in all sorts of wars over the centuries, the town's historic significance has been the motivation to preserve its original architecture, church, cobbled streets and rows of pastel adobe houses. Quaint, yes, but not in a Disney way.  It has preserved and emphasized its cultural heritage well and the community supports multiple museums, arts centers and an historic theater. But beyond that, Suchitoto is a real town that doesn't depend only on tourism to survive. It is populated by all income and education levels, and with enough grit to feel authentic, yet not too much to feel unsafe walking around after dark. And so we did.

Suchitoto streets are lined with classic adobe houses with arched doorways and shuttered windows. 

Row houses from tradtional to formal. 

View over Lake Suchitlan. 

What fascinates me about walking after dark in a warm climate is that I can witness so much life in the house doorways and front living rooms where windows and doors are left wide open to keep the breeze coming in.  I learned this on a trip to Merida, Mexico where looking into every front room while strolling by on the sidewalk started as a curiosity and turned into a compulsion. My husband and I have discussed, to no final conclusion, whether or not there are unspoken rules about this. On the one hand, this rubber-necking could be an intrusion into the privacy of the people minding their own business in their underwear in the own homes.  On the other hand, they did leave the doors and windows wide open - what did they expect? I waver between the two opinions, and in the end find myself unable to stop the quick glances.  It goes back to my conversation urge - I just learn so much about how folks live by seeing them in their natural habitats, as it were. 

A weeknight in a tourist town, or during the off-season when few visitors are about, lets residents regain possession over their streets. Neighbors hang out on front stoops chambreando, watching the kids and dogs play outside and generally letting their hair down after the work day. Women sit on stools and snap peas, a cat or older dog at their feet, and keep an eye on who and what is passing by. There's usually a TV on in the front room, its watcher swinging silently in a hammock strung up corner to corner by heavy hooks sunk into the plaster walls.  Family photos hang above the camelback sofas, themselves covered by crocheted throws. A few framed pictures proclaiming a favorite team, celebrating a recent graduation or stating a religious conviction decorate other walls. Three boys kick a soccer ball under a weak street light and the smell of dinner drifts out onto the street.  

We step off the curb and into the street to pass a cluster of people in front of a small restaurant. The owners keep the doors open after closing time because in all likliehood they live just above or in the back, so it's no problem to hang out a bit longer. A waitress wearing a short, frilly apron over her jeans leans against the doorway and the kitchen staff have joined a group for a few drinks and lively conversation after their shifts. Two teenagers are entwined into each others' arms on a bench in the shadows just out of sight of parents or aunties. The heat of the day has passed; it's time to relax and just sit outside, catch up with neighbors and get ready to do it all again tomorrow. 

We continue to walk without a particular destination, just following the sidewalk, when we're startled by a burst of fireworks above the roofline coming from the plaza in front of the church.  My husband and I stop in the street - there are no cars driving about to watch out for - and enjoy the show, wondering who knew it was the 4th of July? We find some likely culprits among a gathering of men at a sidewalk cafe near the church. I imagine some are Salvadorans come back home to visit from Houston or Silver Springs, treating their friends to a fireworks display for the American holiday. The cardboard debris from the fireworks still sits in the plaza where they were lit, left for the street sweeper woman to deal with tomorrow. She won't mind; she knows it's just how things are done. 

Seeing small towns like Suchitoto when they're not "on display" for visitors lets me experience the authentic place. Walking after dark or early in the morning can feel a bit like peeking through the curtains and seeing the town in its undershirt, before it has smartened up for company. It's the best way to get to know the routines and repeating rhythms of how daily life passes and appreciate places and people more honestly.  So I think I'll keep doing it.