Uprooted: Culture Shock in One's Own Country

 It didn't take much time working in our garden for me to declare that no seed falls on infertile soil in El Salvador. New sprouts popped through the dirt before I'd even hung up the rake, potting soil came with stowaways confidently sprouting by the time I cut open the bag, and a thin layer of dust on the patio was encouragement enough for something to take root and unfurl a few leaves before we unceremoniously plucked it out. 

This shouldn't have been a surprise; it's a tropical, agreeable climate with an ample supply of both water and sunshine. Seeing a sapling pushing undeterred through a crack in the pavement or a retaining wall never ceased to make me smile. Beyond the environmental factors, however, Salvadorans themselves are naturally open and welcoming, their easy smiles and relaxed manners inviting you to not hurry on, but sit and enjoy a moment. The warmth of the climate and people simply encourages everything to grow roots, to persevere despite difficulty, to live and to thrive. So we did. We let our own roots grow, establishing a home, friendships, favorite places, and learning not just the roads, but also the way. 

Therefore it felt all the more brusque when our tour ended and it was our turn to be yanked from the soil. This was our ninth move in 12 years, yet it was by far the most difficult. It seems we'd become rootbound.

Initially, I was really looking forward to returning to the United States. I longed for the comfort of the familiar, for cultural fluency, familial proximity, for not being the foreigner, for being able to express myself with clarity, nuance, even humor, instead of blunt basics. Plus, we'd have changing seasons, plants we'd know the names of, and driving habits that wouldn't make us shout. But with just two weeks back on U.S. soil, I'm finding the transition to be less of an easy slide into comfortable slippers and more like I got off at the wrong bus stop and am standing on the corner wondering where in the hell am I?

While in the past four years we had a few family visits and a one-month home leave to the U.S., in retrospect I see that was enough to merely notice the cultural shifts without having to adapt to them. The pandemic exponentially accelerated what might have been normal, evolutionary changes, leaving me and my husband running to catch up. Whereas the pandemic's lasting effects on El Salvador seemed only to be that restaurants plastic-wrapped meals before carrying them from the kitchen to the table, it feels like American culture is still bent on reducing human interaction and keeping people in the "comfort of their own home." What were initially pandemic-era necessities have stuck around as the new normal way of life. Businesses tout being contact-less, door-to-door delivery, no-cash, easy peasey. Malls and office buildings are nearly empty as everyone shops online; grocery stores are mostly self-checkout; and medical appointments are increasingly virtual. All this requires more technology and less humanity. "There's an app for that" does not warm our hearts but instead makes us grind our teeth as we create yet another account, user name and password, only to be rewarded with promises that all the data sharing will make our lives so much easier. 

The other night we were having Vietnamese Pho for dinner at a nearby restaurant and because I simply can't resist, I started a conversation with the Vietnamese waitress. The place wasn't too busy and she was quite chatty, and so within about 10 minutes we'd learned quite a lot about her and her immigration journey, which was really interesting. While she was recounting her story, I saw a handful of individual customers come into the restaurant, pick up their to-go orders, pay the cashier, and leave without so much as a glance around the restaurant.

Convenient? I suppose, but is that the only value we have these days? By staying isolated in self-controlled environments we are missing out on the happenstance interactions with people, animals, and even the weather that give our daily lives color, interest, depth, and a better understanding of the other beings around us. Is this really the most fertile environment for life? 

Waiting for the bus the other day, no doubt grousing about this unfamiliar world we'd found ourselves in, my husband wisely concluded, "We just have to consider this a transition to a new culture, as we've done before. We have to figure out from scratch how to adapt." He's right, because so far it feels like an inhospitable climate that doesn't want us to grow roots, but instead just wants to extract our resources and leave us wilted and yellow. 

To weather these changes, I need to soak up the parts of this American life that still fuel me, to fertilize my own roots, if you will. I can do this by having analog interactions with others to remind me of their humanity and not just their other-ness. I can do this by getting away from the sterile, paved-over environment and into the trees, along the water's edge, and out to broad horizons. There is nothing more soul-affirming than sitting on a precipice overlooking a valley and being face-to-face with what is tangible, grand, and inspiring. Something that has - and will - outlast the things of man.

Now that's the type of soil I can grow in.

El Salvador - Que Le Vaya Bien

 I can't remember not knowing El Salvador. I no longer have the images in my head of what it would be like before coming here. I know I wasn't scared or trepedatious, but while I am always curious about new places, I just hadn't been drawn to Central America previously. It was lumped into a box labeled hot and humid, bananas and sugarcane, troubled politics, and insecurity. Other than our Salvadoran housekeeper Jeanette who told me in the 1980s about crossing the border on foot while pregnant to escape the civil war, I didn't have other sources of information about the country to update these impressions. 

It was sometime in 2018 when I ran into a friend in D.C. while eating lunch alone on a terrace at work one day. He had just arrived from overseas for a Washington assignment and over sack lunches we caught up on the intervening years since we'd last talked. He's someone whose kind and easygoing nature I've always appreciated, and as evidenced in his writing and photography, I felt we saw the details of life through a similar lens. Anyway, I mentioned I was bidding on my next assignment and was looking overseas, hopefully somewhere English or Spanish speaking.  

What about San Salvador? He asked.

Hmmm, I hadn't really given it much thought, I replied, thinking about a friend who'd been in neighboring Honduras and told me she thought she needed therapy to recover from all the cockroaches she'd had to kill in her house.  

I'm not so sure. 

No really, it's great! You'd love it. Put it this way - for as much as I loved it there - my wife and four kids loved it even more.  In fact, if the timing were better - I would consider going back.  

Really? Hmmm...

That was the kind of endorsement I understood. 

Clearly I did consider it, because now I can't even remember what it was like not to know this country: the faces, the landscape, the towns, the colors, the smells, the sounds, the weather, the birds, the history, the silliness, the work ethic, the local names, and overall - the warmth of the people.  And now I can't imagine what it will be like to not live here anymore.  

My husband and I dug into the country, observing daily life and talking to people in each of the 14 departamentos (states). While I have thousands of photographs of the country's gorgeous landscapes, these aren't its best assets. It's the people who make this country more beautiful than the sum of its beaches, waterfalls, volcanoes, mountains, and lakes. Therefore, it is their stories that should be told to bring to life to what happens alongside the lush scenery. 

With acknowledged great generalization, I can lump El Salvador into three economic strata, each clearly divided from the next, and yet inseperably entwined, with the common thread among each being the tightly woven fabric of family. 

The literal tightly woven fabric of family at a small San Sebastian family business.

Let's start with the regular folks.

The other day my husband and I were driving home from the beach along the La Libertad highway. It's a four-lane highway connecting the capital San Salvador to the central coast beaches promoted collectively as "Surf City." We don't surf, but we do visit the beaches, so we were taking advantage of the well-paved road, complete with new bypass, to zip from shore to home in about 35 minutes. Here, as in other parts of the country, life is on display on the roadside. Given the steep topography of the country, with most places covered in dense or jungly vegetation, plus the fact that so many people don't own cars, walking along the road is often the only way to get anywhere. A good percentage of this country walk, wait for buses, sell things, cook food, sell food, eat food, hang their washing, dry their corn, or simply just visit with neighbors on the roadsides. All it takes is looking out the window to see what life for the majority of the population is like.

The most perfumy-delicious "panades" mangos: 3 for a buck

As we headed home that day, I noticed three pre-teen girls walking in a tight cluster. Their heads turned in together, they were chatting and laughing about something. The three were thin and leggy as colts in their t-shirts and knee-length skirts, and each carried a sturdy plastic cántaro, a 3 gallon water jug. Each girl had a different colored cántaro: red, green, or blue. I saw they were empty as the girls carried them easily, tucked under an arm or swung by a few fingers in the handle. They were walking from their houses along the highway to the nearest water source, a walk they likely took a few times a day. Had I seen them on the reverse trip, they'd have balanced their cántaros on their heads, on top of a rodete (a circular fabric bun) to keep the 25+ pound jugs of sloshing water more stable. But in that moment, they were just young friends, laughing and going through their daily routines together. I smiled at seeing them, remembering my own early teen years walking languidly home with friends after school, taking our time to avoid the waiting house chores, homework, or general family oversight.  

Carrying a tub of corn masa home, little brother "helping."

A few minutes later we passed a family hurrying down the road. The father led the way about 20 feet ahead of his wife, a stern look on his face and his torso inclined forward in that gait that is still a walk but is about to be a jog. He looked very intent on getting somewhere and I wondered where that could be? His wife, rushing to keep up as best she could in flip-flops and a tight skirt, was carrying her toddler son draped across her body, supported into the crook of her right arm. With her left arm, she simultaneously held the boy's head to her left breast and also kept the left shoulder of her blouse from falling down as she nursed her son on the run. His legs and right arm swung limply with her quick steps, his dead-weight resting completely on his mother. My husband narrated the scene in the father's voice: "... and we're not stopping!" 

Finally, another few minutes up the road we passed an elderly woman walking alone, carrying two full plastic bags. Her strides were short and labored, and her posture so stooped that her neck had to crane upwards to see where she was going, not unlike a turtle. I assumed she was on her way home after buying some food, but there were no markets nearby, so likely her bags were full of produce bought from neighbors. I hoped she didn't have far to go at that pace and also wondered if there would be anyone home to help her when she got there. But if there were, why did they let her make this trip herself? 

An old man and some good friends in Juayua.

In just 10 minutes, I saw the life span of a Salvadoran woman born into seriously low economics. I'm trying to avoid saying "poor" here, but there's no way around it. With the minimum wage somewhere around $300 per month, this majority of the population teeter on the economic brink. Barring extraordinary circumstances, the three girls will soon be the young mother breast feeding on the go, and eventually the stooped elderly woman, likely a widow, fending for herself. If they're lucky, enough family will have remained nearby to care for them or at least help out. The girls will probably stop school at 6th grade and thereafter go from caring for their parents and siblings to their own families. The cycle of life on display in one short car trip; it's no wonder Salvadorans consider making the trek north for what's generally considered "better opportunities." 

Life in the Middle

Meanwhile, firmly in the middle class, we have three sets of Salvadoran friends currently considering leaving El Salvador to migrate to the United States. Not illegally, but because they are or soon will be beneficiaries of immigrant visas. While the country is the smallest in Central America at approximately the size of New Jersey, according to a recent study of the largest foreign-born populations in the United States, Salvadorans are fourth behind the population giants of Mexico, China, and India. With the Salvadoran diaspora in the United States at well over two million, and a total country population at just 6.3 million, there's an excellent chance that everybody has somebody in the United States. That means for many, legal migration through family is an ace held up the sleeve just in case. 

Beach resort Mizata hosting international tourists and surfers who can afford it.  

Of our three friends, one family with two teen daughters has been excited about the prospect of moving to Georgia as the mother will soon be the recipient of a Special Immigrant Visa as reward for her years of service to the U.S. Embassy. While tempted by the possibility of expanding the educational and career opportunities for their girls, the parents are also concerned about starting afresh as mid-career professionals. They live comfortable, suburban lives now; they are not escaping poverty or insecurity. Instead, they are evealuating their current lives and concerns about the political and economic stability of their country against the reality of starting from scratch in a very expensive country without the family network that puts grandparents and cousins within easy reach. Plus, one family member is recovering from a serious illness that would be considered a pre-existing condition in future insurance coverage. 

The next example is a dual-citizen friend, born in North Carolina to Salvadoran parents. He returned to live in El Salvador after college where he met his now wife. She just received her immigrant visa and they are poised to head north with their two very young children. But as he looks at the slim job prospects substantial enough to support a family of four and compares that to his current comfortable lifestyle - golfing on the weekend, friends with beach houses - they too question if it's worth it. Plus, the skyrocketing number of school shootings has them seriously concerned about brining up their children with that type of fear. 

Finally, a third colleague will soon receive his immigrant visa and is tortured by the same "Is it really better there?" questions. His visa class requires him to be unmarried at the time of issuance, yet he's in a serious relationship. Should he immigrate, they would need to marry after he entered the United States and then be separated for a few years while she waited for him to petition for her own visa. They have a dog who is like their child, a home they're improving, and two solid jobs. While they speak perfect English, they also question job prospects, the cost of living, and starting afresh in a new culture and climate. 

For the middle class where immigrating is not a decision based on necessity - it's questionable if the American Dream is the one for them (or if it even exists).  

The Wealthy

To be more precise, the super wealthy, members of a small cadre of elite families engrained in the country for generations but not native to the land. Their last names are recognizable as being captains of industry, creators and concentrators of great wealth from coffee, construction, retail, banking, or real estate. Most seed money came from generations ago as the great-grandparents and great-great-grandparents moved to Central America from Europe or the Middle East and owned giant swaths of what is now El Salvador, making fortunes in coffee or indigo. Today the family names are replaced by the business conglomerates they operate.

With no claims that this little tyke is from a uber wealthy family, I'm still fairly confident she won't be carrying the family's water on her head.

Although we live in a secure, middle to upper-middle class neighborhood with home prices similar to that of major U.S. cities, we don't rub shoulders with this level of wealth. But we have met a few, here and there, at the barn where I ride every week or through my husband's work in the Embassy's American Citizen Services section. There he took their passport renewal applications as many are dual citizens, and met their polite, perfectly mannered, bilingual children. After leaving his ACS job, my husband crossed paths with them again when looking to volunteer at foundations bearing their family names. In our limited experience, this upper crust has been very kind and welcoming and have not turned their noses up at us. We see their Ferraris on the streets and hear their helicopters overhead, rising above the din of the city's traffic. I've gone to the horse shows and seen the polo fields where they compete on beautiful, imported horses. Yet down at the stable where the two ends of the social strata form a circle, the grooms who care for these lovely horses do their best using makeshift or broken equipment to keep the horses healthy and the barns together. 

"We improvise" was the response I got from the head groom when I asked about what tools they had to do their jobs. I think of the horse owners who can afford to helicopter from the barn to their beach house to avoid traffic and yet don't arrange appropriate machinery to clear tons of mud from the barnyard after a landslide, or to bury a horse who died of colic on the property overnight. It seems no backhoe was offered then to help the head groom dispose of the horse's body, so once again he improvised - with a machete and a shovel.

It is this disparity that bothers me the most about life here, but this a sensitive, complicated and therefore often untouched topic, so I'll leave it there. 

Lasting Impressions

We've come to really love this country and the Salvadorans we've been fortunate to meet. It's a complex society - as most are - with each level depending on the other for its existence. While I've certainly experienced my share of frustrations and have shouted "If only they would...!" more than once, there are MANY aspects where El Salvador excels. First on that list are the tight-knit families who spend weekends together en masse, or the rural communities who raise their children collectively with large support structures. I compare that to the recognized rise in "more developed" countries of youth depression and suicide and question who's doing it better? 

Spontaneous smiles for a stranger from a family.

I regularly marvel at the Salvadoran ability not to take oneselves too seriously and let themselves have old fashioned FUN together. I relish their unequivical warmth towards visitors and immediate instinct to help someone out who needs it. Every goodbye is not an "Adios" but a "Que le vaya bien!" (take care!) delivered with a smile. Anyone with food near them will be wished "Buen provecho!" by another walking by. I see their back-breaking physical work to achieve what could be done so much easier with the right equipment - all without complaint. And among the majority, there is zero sense of entitlement, perhaps to a fault. What they receive is humbly accepted with thanks given. 

Leaving here after four years, I know I will keep these people, their stories, their faces, their questions, their struggles, and their joys alive with me. I will leave you here with a snippet of a regular Sunday at the beach that to me exemplifies the spirit of El Salvador: a little dangerous, a bit chaotic, full of energy and love, and with the innate ability to let go and just enjoy. 

These videos are best viewed full-screen to see the people's faces:

 

El Salvador - I leave you with a final "Quelevayabien!" 

Antiguo Cuscatlan: Our "home town"

 It was just days after our arrival to El Salvador that my husband and I started to explore our surroundings.  Our car wouldn't arrive for a while, so our ventures were limited to what we could do via what my Dad would've referred to as "ankle express" or what could be seen through the windows of friends' cars on trips to the grocery store.  We became instantly intrigued by the small-town-within-the-big-city that is Antiguo Cuscatlan, and have since come to consider it our home town. It's an easy five minute drive from our neighborhood, or back then, a not-so-easy 35 minute walk including a substantial hill.  It was still worth it. 

While doubtless most of our embassy colleagues know Antiguo Cuscatlan, I wonder how many have actually parked the car and combed the grid of streets to see just how much we have so close by.  I'd like to show you what you can find in the hopes that you'll do a bit of a wandering yourself to get to know the town and the people running the huge variety of small businesses.  

For ease of description, I'm going to refer to the two main one-way streets as the lower road (the one heading from east to west with the volcano on your right), and the upper road (from west to east, volcano on your left), and everything else will be referred to as a side street.  The place isn't that big; I have faith you can follow along. 

Let's start with something to eat.

What are you in the mood for? Feel like going traditional? Then you have to start with pupusas or tamales.  You can't possibly miss the dozen pupuserias on the lower road or the few dotting the side streets.  At any of these spots you can fill yer' belly for less than $5 with the usual selection of pupusas de queso, de frijoles, de chicharron, revueltos etc.  There's one spot towards the end of the lower road on the right that also sells empanadas and my absolute favorite is the empanada de platano con leche.  Not the crusty, flaky Argentine type of empanada stuffed with meat or cheese, these are made of platano and filled with a how-do-they-do-that milky custard.  Perfect for dessert or even breakfast.  

We may have over-ordered on pupusas. Rookie mistake.

Want Korean? Yes, really!  Go just a bit towards the western outskirts of town on Calle Las Rosas and you'll find Seoul Garden owned by a Korean family offering a variety of Korean standards to wash down with a little bottle of soju. Not cheap, but well worth it for the authenticity. 

We may have over-ordered here, too. Veteran non-mistake.

Mexican? Got it, lower road on the corner of a side street is a bopping Mexican spot that always has both musica and the grill going, and you'll find lots of smaller spots offering tacos. 

Turkey sandwiches?  (That's pretty specific, eh?)  I recommend Panes Coyo that specializes in panes de pavo aka turkey sandwiches on big, puffy rolls with hot au jus and veggie fixins' on top.  They also have turkey salads and other combos, and when I stopped in today for my share, it was the spot to be for The Real Abuelas of Antiguo Cuscatlan - The Ladies Who Lunch edition.  

The Ladies That Lunch crowd at Panes Coyo. 

I hadn't yet added the sauce.

Just a few doors down and in the same strip of businesses on the upper road as Panes Coyo, you'll find Papalandia and can dig into a variety of stuffed baked potatoes or burgers.  Or, if you're with a group who would like a variety of options, try Plaza Tonatiuh, a cute outdoor-seating food court with Peruvian, seafood, burgers aptly named "comida gorda" and others. 

Looking to pick up dessert or bringing something to a special occasion? The classic bakery Teclena has an incredible assortment of Salvadoran pastries and gorgeous cakes.  Or, give a smaller business some love and try the darling Shakes shop on the corner of the lower road for fruit smoothies, licuados and healthier-options of cookies and cakes (per their "Un toque saludable" claim on the door - a healthy touch).  The woman who owns the shop is very friendly and I like the color and variety of little things in her store. 

Warning: Do NOT enter while hungry. 

Shakes is more than, well, shakes. 

It's also homemade cookies and small gifts.

But Antiguo Cuscatlan is more than eating out, and this is where simply hitting the streets will prove fruitful.  In just a ten minute walk today, I passed three shoe and luggage repair locales, two florists, about a dozen pharmacies, a party and school supply store, fruit and veg stands, butchers, a large car mechanic shop, a basket-and-spices shop and a closet full of clothing and shoe stores.  Take a look:

I've bought two pairs of sandals in Antiguo Cuscatlan (so far...).

THE best mask selection and my go-to for the past two years. 

Pinata anyone?

Cute gifts and artisan shop, but doesn't open until late afternoons. 

Get yer' anime t-shirts!

Self-explanatory, and thank you for the translation. 

Iglesia de Los Santos Ninos Inocentes

Antique store offerings

After all, "Antiguo" is their first name. 

Buy a basket and...

...fill it with spices or local wine.  I bought a jar of cardamom which isn't easily available elsewhere.

Next to the cemetery on the lower road you'll find a good florist. 

Take advantage of repairing or reupholstering furniture here where the price will be a fraction of that in the US - and support a local business. 

Mens haircuts for under $5

Fun new spot for fruit smoothies and licuados.  I had green apple, mango and basil. 

As for timing, try visiting at different times of day or evening and you'll find what feel like completely different towns.  Visiting mid-day, you'll see many businesses shuttered and wonder why, but come in the late afternoon or evening and the town springs to life with busy streets and restaurants hitting their peak hours. Surrounding the town square park are table-top vendors for all sorts of tchotchkes, caldrons of ponche for sale by the cup (a hot concoction of spices and alchohol - or not - of your choice), and ice cream and churro shops for after dinner.  You're in the real El Salvador - grab a sorbet and a spot on a park bench and enjoy the people watching.  

Don't ask what exactly is in the caldron - just try it. 

A beautiful smile for a stranger and some meat on the grill - that's El Salvador!

Churros!  (They just look like someone's lower intestine.)

Pick out a few crafts from the street salesmen. We got a deer and a bowl. 

Squirrel!

Beyond the town changing from day to evening, there are also certain times of the year not to miss.  The central park and plaza are transformed each Christmas into a holiday light show featuring a four story tree towering over a nativity scene.  Just days after Christmas are the fiestas patronales (patron saints' day) for the Catholic parish Los Santos Ninos Inocentes featuring the procession from the church and winding through the hilly streets of town. 

Christmas 2021 

Our purview from the top balcony of a tipicos restaurant.  This view and a pupusa dinner for about $5 each.  What a monetary oddity - anything for 5 bucks!

Procession of the devout at the patron saint festival of Los Santos Ninos Inocentes. 

Finally, instead of beating the well-trodden path to the shinier Super Selectos for your groceries, try La Despensa de Don Juan at the Atlacatl roundabout on the western edge of town. They've recently given the produce section a facelift and while you're not going to find Udon noodles, tahini or a bottle of wine you might actually enjoy drinking - there is certain charm to this supermarket that keeps me coming back. With wider aisles, faster check-outs, a large lower parking lot and my favorite feature - you don't have to weigh your produce first! - I really prefer shopping here.  The produce is just as good as the fancier chain stores and I still find leeks, Portobello mushrooms and boxes of blueberries.  What more do you need?

If you're part of the embassy community, come see what our town has to offer.  For those of you just armchair traveling - l hope this gives you a glimpse into typical Salvadoran life, vibrant with color, warmed by kind, smiling faces and just a touch of grittiness to keep things real.  C'mon down!