The shuttle from San Marcos took me to Antigua, and arrived at noon. I found another shuttle onward to Guatemala City at 3pm, and killed a few hours in a café. I arrived in in Guatemala City or Guate (as the locals call it) at 4:15pm and was dropped near my Hostel in Zona 1, the historical center. The shuttle driver seemed in a hurry to drop me off and get out of Dodge.
After the shuttle drove off, I took in my surroundings. The historical districts of other capital cities I’ve visited have been upscale neighborhoods. In contrast, barren streets covered in graffiti greeted me in this neighborhood of Guate. On the way to my hostel, La Poeta, I received several strange looks from the locals I passed. “They don’t see backpackers much here,” I surmised.
At La Poeta, I checked in and noticed it was mostly Guatemalans staying for the weekend. There was not much of an atmosphere at the hostel to match the surrounding neighborhood. I had one girl from Finland in my dorm, but she wasn’t keen to hang out. The accommodations were nice though. After speaking to my friend Rocio from GC, I realized I should’ve stayed in Zona 4, which is the trendy neighborhood in Guate.
After a short siesta, I wandered out at 5:30pm to explore. I walked three blocks to the city center. The way there was slightly concerning. Most shops and stores were closed and locked up tight. The ones that were open all had armed guards in front.
The main plaza was nice. There was a Festival Navidadeno (Chrismas festival) underway. There were all types of attractions and rides set up including an ice rink and snow machine. It was funny to watch Guatemaltecos, who’ve mostly never seen real snow, have snowball fights and attempt to ice skate. The ice skaters were almost all hugging the wall of the ice rink. I mimed how to properly ice skate to several wall-huggers, demonstrating pushing my legs out to the sides and not to the rear like walking or running. One teenage kid actually tried what I demonstrated, and learned rather quickly. He started showing his friends with great delight. I gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “My work is done here,” I thought as I walked away proudly.
I found some street food vendors and had an ‘enchilada’ and beef tostada. The enchilada was not like the Mexican food by the same name. It was a fried tortilla bowl filled with pickled cabbage and radishes, beef, cheese, and cilantro with a couple of jalapeno slices. I sat at a table of Guatemalans and they seemed surprised a guero (blonde gringo) showed up.
Later, I walked around found a busy street (Avenida 6a) with nice shops and restaurants. I landed at a café and ate more food, before heading back to the hostel. I read for a bit, and then watched Citizen Four.
The next day was Sunday. I woke up and did Reiki on myself, followed by yoga and meditation right in the middle of the courtyard of the hostel, probably weirding people out.
I went out for a walk around town to get some groceries. On the way home from a street market where I bought some vegetables, I walked past a group of people sleeping on the sidewalk. A few people pleaded for money. I stopped to see if I had some money to give, but only had my credit cards and change. One guy got in front of me, and said “You, money,” in English and poked my chest. I think he was trying to intimidate me, but he was about 5’2”. “Tranquilo, corto” (Chill, short one), I responded which seemed to relax him, while I looked in my coin purse. I actually had about $15 in one dollar coins, and some other change which I was about to give to him. Out of nowhere another short, sedated looking guy grabbed my coin purse and tried to rip it out of my hand. He was weak and I easily held onto it, but spilled some vegetables on the sidewalk in the commotion. I stood tall, “Que mierda?” (what the fuck?), I said calmly as I motioned to my spilled veggies, and his expression changed from one of bad intentions to a softened face. I emptied my coin purse, and gave most of it to Corto, “Comparta con los otros” (share with the others), I said while motioning to the others on the sidewalk. I gave the remaining few bucks to Sedado (Sedated) while looking him in the eye, then picked up my vegetables. Weirdly, as Sedado was walking away, he pleadingly said sorry three times, then at the end of the block shouted “LO SIENTO!” as I turned the corner.
This was my closest encounter with violence or a mugging thus far, and I never really felt in danger. I had my knife on me, which was a nice piece of mind, but as is typical in Latin America, I am bigger and stronger than most people, so I didn’t feel intimidated. My heart beat elevated, so I must’ve had a bit of a fight or flight response, but I didn’t lose my cool (I was in a good state after my morning ritual). I took a few deep breaths to center myself on the way home, and forgave Sedado.
Back at the hostel, I called my parents and told them about all the crazy shit I’d done in San Marcos, before settling in for a poker session. I had a big day, winning a ‘high roller’ tournament for a five-figure sum (I’ve decided not to continue posting my poker results). It was an especially pleasing victory considering it was the toughest tournament of the day and the final table was almost all pros. Boom baby!
The next morning I woke late and had another yoga and meditation session in the courtyard of the hostel. I headed out and wandered around downtown.
I found myself in the Centro Historico and was taking a photo of the Presidential Palace when a group of ladies passed by with their daughters. They smiled and waved and I smiled and returned the gesture. They stopped and giggled among themselves. All I heard was “chele,” which is basically the same term as guero. One of the ladies approached me and asked where I was from, then excitedly asked if she could take a photo with me. Then I proceeded to take a photo one by one with each of the four women and six of their teenage daughters, then a group photo. They were all rather attractive. It was quite odd, but I was flattered and felt like Don Juan.
I passed the rest of the afternoon uneventfully: looking around the city, and stopping in a few cafes.
I was supposed to meet up with Rocio that night, but she had to work late and couldn’t make dinner. Instead, I went out for a sandwich and beer. Aside from the Christmas Festival, the surrounding area was quiet and the streets empty.
I returned to the hostel and played in a few poker tournaments. I final tabled two of them. I was down to six players remaining in one tournament and five players in the other. It was about 1:30am and raining lightly. I was sitting under the awning in the courtyard playing the two final tables and listening to the rain when there was an explosion in front of the hostel. It looked like Doc and Marty had just returned from the future. Then everything went dark and quiet. A transformer had exploded. I had mentally noted the patchwork electrical infrastructure, similar to what I had seen in Iquitos, Peru, while walking around earlier. Now this. 3rd world problems. I laughed and consoled myself with a piece of chocolate cake I had bought earlier in the day from a fancy bakery, and considered myself lucky it hadn’t happened the night before. Unfortunately, the power never came back on. I wound up finishing in 5th place in both tournaments and still made a nice profit.
The next morning, I again awoke late, and did my courtyard ritual. While having breakfast at the lovely Café Imeria, I decided two days was plenty in Guatemala City. I returned to the hostel and packed up. I got a cab to the TicaBus station, and bought a ticket to San Salvador, El Salvador. The bus was supposed to leave at 2:30pm, but didn’t depart until 4:30pm.
It took about three hours to arrive at the small border town of San Cristobal la Frontera. This border crossing was the easiest yet. On the Guatemalan side, the bus driver collected all our passports and returned 20 minutes later with our exit stamps. On the Salvadoran side, we waited for about 30 minutes, during which I got off the bus and had a couple papusas from a nice lady at a makeshift street food stand. Then two border agents boarded the bus and wrote down our passport info on sheets of paper. We didn’t even have to get our passports stamped.
I arrived in San Salvador about three hours later at 11:30pm. Luckily my hostel was right across from the bus station. I checked in and went to bed.
The next morning, I awoke and hit the streets. I heard San Salvador was another tough city, similar to Guatemala City, and to be careful. I was in Colonia San Benito, a nice part of the city and felt safe the entire time. I had breakfast at a trendy health food eatery, 053 Café.
Afterwards, while wandering the city, I found a store with quality kitchenware. I had had it with the shitty knives at hostels, which make food prep too arduous, and had been kicking around the idea of getting a chefs’ knife to travel with. I cook a lot while on the road, and by my guestimations, cooking is 80% food prep, and food prep is 80% cutting vegetables, so a knife is used for 64% of cooking. A good knife is a necessity. I like to buy something nice as a reward after a big poker score, plus the store was having a Christmas sale, so I decided to treat myself. I picked up a nice set of Wüsthof knives and honing tool.
Later in the day I went to the Museo de Arte de San Salvador. I spent a few hours seeing the art of El Salvador.
There was a cool exhibit where the government had commissioned Salvadoran artists to create works of art during 2016 on the walls of a gallery in the museum.
I noted that a lot of the contemporary and modern art was dark and heavy, perhaps a reflection of the troubles facing the country in recent decades.
After the art museum, I discovered a pod of food carts nearby. It reminded me of Portland, Oregon. I surveyed the scene. It was tough to decide what to eat. Everything looked like gourmet tastiness. Eventually, I got a chicken and veggie sandwich with a homemade spicy sauce for $3. Remind me why food carts are not allowed in Chicago?
I took a siesta in the afternoon, and in the evening I headed to Cadejo Brewery for dinner. It was the first microbrewery in El Salvador, and had a burger and smooth, drinkable red ale.
Back at the hostel I met my two new bunkmates, Tommy from France and Peter from Denmark, two dudes I’d run into a bunch in the next couple weeks. That evening I spent some time researching El Salvador, and decided to move to the Pacific coast the following day.
The next morning, even though I wanted to hang around for lunch at the food carts again, I decided to split a cab with Tommy to El Tunco, a popular beach about an hour south of San Salvador.
When I arrived in El Tunco, I walked a couple of blocks and found Papaya Lodge, a popular hostel in the center of town. I immediately met a beautiful bikini clad girl, Cynthia from Switzerland, handing out at the pool while I was waiting to check in. Beach towns.
After dropping my bags, I went for a look around town. El Tunco is basically a two-street beach hideaway. It is renowned for its surfing, featuring a powerful point break that creates long waves and attracts surfers from around the world. Aside from the surfing, there’s little to do besides sit beachside enjoying cocktails and party in the evening. Nonetheless, it is the most well-known tourist destination in El Salvador. Even five years ago, the beach was mostly patronized by Salvadorans, but these days sun-seeking travelers overrun the town.
At the beach, I watched surfers shredding 6-8ft waves even though it was low tide. The waves were a bit large for my skill level, but I decided I would need to get a board and hit the waves ASAP.
I picked up some groceries, made a big lunch, and then rented a surfboard for a week. I paddled out, and after struggling to make it through the surf, made it to the lineup. I watched some waves, and eventually a big wave came in. I paddled for it and tried to drop in, but popped up too late and pearled hard. I launched forward into the flat and then the breaking wave crashed down upon me, sending me underwater swirling like a leaf in the wind. I tumbled around, submerged, like I was in a washing machine, unable to escape the grip of the wave. I got to the surface, took a desperate gasp of air, and tried to retrieve my board when another wave crashed down on me sending me into the washing machine again.
Eventually, a break in the waves came. I retrieved my board and paddled back out to the lineup where I finally caught my breath and rested for 15 minutes while trying to come to grips with the fact I almost just drowned. Humbling. I realized I hadn’t surfed since Ecuador, which was now almost FOUR months ago. Damn, time flies.
Even though the waves that handed me my ass were big, I had experienced similar waves in Chicama and Montanita. I almost drowned because I forgot the most important surfing lesson I learned previously: surrender to the ocean and don’t panic. When you wipe out, you have more air in your lungs than you think. However, if you panic and fight to get to the surface when the wave has you, you expend all your oxygen extremely quickly. On the other hand, if you surrender to the situation and relax into the underwater tumbling sensation, you’ll have plenty of air. When you fight the ocean, you lose. Just cover your head and enjoy the ride. Heck, even dive deeper.
Though I had a rough ride, it reminded me of one of the main reasons I like surfing. You’re dealing with a force of nature. And no surfer is immune to it. Next to the power of nature, you’re a speck of shit. It’s humbling and a good ego-buster. Then, in the face of all that, you must walk the line between respect and fear, and find the courage to drop in again.
I had a bunch more wipeouts. I think I caught one wave, and just rode straight down the face. I had to relearn to surf. On the way home, I booked an advanced surf lesson for the next morning.
In the evening, I met a bunch of people staying at the hostel. There was Britt from North Carolina, Jordan and Jon from Toronto, Lucy and Jess from the UK, Cynthia from Switzerland, Troy from Finland, Fabian from Norway, Marco from Netherlands, etc etc. Most were staying through Christmas, and I was planning to do the same, so we discussed what to do for Christmas while playing Asshole and other drinking games. I ducked out before the crew headed out to the bars, in favor of surfing in the morning.
My surf lesson started bad, but ended on a strong note. I had a good instructor, Negro, who was only 17, but already surfing in competitions. However, I had a tough time early on and pearled several waves. Negro told me I was hesitating and popping up too late. He told me I just had to go for it the moment I felt the wave lift the tail of the board. I caught a couple of waves successfully to end the lesson.
Back at the hostel, Cynthia and others told me there was a trip to a waterfall in the afternoon. I decided to join in at the last second. The shuttle drove a group of 12 of us to Tamanique where we hiked for 40 minutes to a series of waterfalls and pools. You could jump off the top of the waterfalls into the pools below. The first waterfall was about 20ft high, the next 25ft, and the third was 50ft high. I jumped off the first two several times, but passed on the third. So, did everyone else. However, a local showed us how to do the 50ft jump and we watched him make the terrifying plunge.
Later, we hiked to the base another 100ft waterfall, and swam in the picturesque pool beneath the streaming water. After, we had beers in the streets of Tamanique while waiting for the shuttle to take us back to El Tunco.
I went out with a group of people for sushi, and we played Catchphrase while waiting for our food. Afterwards, we played drinking games back at the hostel.
At about 11pm, a group of about 10 of us headed to the bars. We were all quite tipsy, and a big dance circle ensued. Hot off my Ecstatic Dance experiences in San Marcos, I really let loose, dancing like it was my last moment on earth. Out of nowhere appeared a Salvadoran girl, obviously attracted by my unabashed dancing (LOL), and started dancing close to me. Soon we were grinding. I took her to the bar to get some drinks and met Evette from San Salvador. I called her Evette the Corvette all night and she loved it. We danced the rest of the night before leaving together at close.
The next day, I got up around 2pm and went surfing. The Pacific Ocean quickly cleansed my hangover. Surfing was a mixed bag again, with a couple painful wipeouts and a couple glorious rides. Since it was Christmas Eve, there were only a few surfers (rare in El Tunco), so I stayed out until I couldn’t paddle anymore.
I returned to the hostel at 5:30pm to find the girls cooking a big Christmas feast in the kitchen. I offered to help but they were in the zone and declined.
I showered and then joined the crew for drinking games. At 7pm, dinner was served. All told, we had 14 people from 9 different countries at the Christmas dinner. It was a lot of fun. Toward the end of dinner, I offered a toast, thanking our beautiful chefs who slaved in the kitchen while I was surfing and drinking.
After dinner, the drinking games resumed until everyone was good and hammered. Then we all went to the beach with a bottle of rum and started a big bonfire that lasted well into the morning.
I walked home with a Brittish girl Jess, and we passed a bar that was still bumping. She wanted to check it out, so I obliged. We went in and she wanted to dance, but was disappointed the dancefloor was empty. I told her we don’t need anyone else, and strode to the dancefloor and started dancing. I unleashed my Ecstatic Dance madness, and got her to dance shamelessly as well. The DJ loved us. Ten minutes later, there were 30 people on the dancefloor. That’s how I do it.
Christmas day was rough. I woke up at noon and didn’t do much except consume many smoothies. In the evening, I video called home and my family was just serving dinner. They showed me the spread, and I was a little sad I was missing that deliciousness. After taking care of the call home, I joined a group of people going out for dinner. We had a few beers and some people wanted to go out again, but I was content to retire early.
The next day I got back to the surfing grind. I went surfing in the morning, then spent a few hours resting, and went surfing again at about 3:30pm. In the afternoon, the conditions were not great, cloudy with a strong breeze blowing inland from the west. The wind created bigger waves with nasty pitches. It even started raining for a spell. After getting blasted by a few waves, and not enjoying paddling out into the chop and wind, I called it a day.
I joined the crew for another sushi dinner. Most people had left town that day, so the crew had withered. I decided I should be getting a move on too. I stopped in a travel agency on the way home from dinner, and booked a shuttle to take me to León, Nicaragua the next morning.
I made it to my 7:30am shuttle a few minutes late. There was a scene happening on the street between a passenger and the driver. I asked what was up, and a girl told me the shuttle was overbooked. Long story short, it came down to me and another girl for who wouldn’t be going. I offered rock, paper, scissors (best 2 out of 3, of course), but she gave me a sob story about how she had to get to Granada for a job, yada yada, so I let her have the seat. It was the folding seat next to the sliding door anyways (which would make for an uncomfortable, long ride). All yours, babe.
I got a refund and another shuttle ticket for the next day, and went surfing. Afterwards, I returned to Papaya Lodge to find the place deserted compared to Christmas eve three days prior. I decided to move to Tunco Lodge around the corner and made friends with a new crew of people. I went out for lunch, a few beers, and the beach with Mike from Buffalo and Ollie from Germany.
The next morning, I successfully caught my shuttle. What a long, shitty ride. I’ve took a few similar length rides before, but those were on overnight buses with reclining seats. This was an 11-hour ride in a van, shoulder to shoulder with smelly, hungover people. On the good side, my buddy Peter from Denmark who I had met in San Salvador was in the shuttle, so we passed some of the time shooting the shit. On the way to Nicaragua, we passed through Honduras for about 40 minutes, so there were two border crossings, but they were both easy, basically rubber-stamp processes, again.
The shuttle finally arrived at 7pm, and dropped me in the town center of León, Nicaragua. I was happy to be through El Salvador, a country which didn’t particularly pique my interest, and onto another new country.