Ghettoblaster: My Weekend in El Salvador

In the Spanish language the letter I is pronounced EE so Wi-Fi when read by a Spanish speaker should be pronounced Wee-Fee. Not long after arriving in our temporary abode I coined the term, mostly for my own amusement which quickly became the catch phase "I'm gonna go Wee-Fee" because it only worked at the restaurant. When traveling through the mountainous region of a Central American country with a group of Millennial city dwellers thoroughly dependent on their Iphones and tablets to communicate with the world, life seems to revolve around the constant search for Wee-Fee.

When I learned that my brother would remarry this year, I was a bit apprehensive. It wasn't because of who. I had the pleasure of meeting his new bride, and felt at ease with her and her motives. The main reason for my apprehension was that my brother not only got married in 2013 he also finalized his divorce this year. The years leading to this culmination were turbulent and traumatic to all parties involved to say the least. So when he invited me and my family (more than likely at the insistence of our mother) to join them in El Salvador for a November wedding, I was less then enthralled with the idea of travelling to a third world country to be witness to what I'm sure many believed was a rushed and redundant display of true love and devotion. Redundant because they had celebrated their civil union back in July.

Out of a need to show camaraderie to my brother I agreed to make the journey. As with everything I plan on doing I silently add, "if I have the money" to, "I would be honored to join you on your special day" The first certainty of world travel is you have to have a valid passport. One month out my wife and I add had no passport. Luckily our daughter did from having visited Nicaragua last Christmas. Three month's out when my mother asked me if I was going, I told her that I needed to get my passport. When she asked me if I was going to get my passport, I told her of course (if I have the money) The plan was to get my passport than get the tickets. The reality was that since I would probably never have the money, I would wait until a few weeks out before I would tell my mother what I'd known for six months, which was that I couldn't afford the trip and wouldn't be able to go.

the problem is that I was never going to win this fight. After 34 years my mother has gotten to know me very well. She knew that I wouldn't go. She knew that I would give every excuse in the world. She knew that I would look for sympathy in order not to look like I was just simply weaseling out of going to show my support brother's newly formed union. She decided to hedge her bets. With two months to go she gets in contact with my other brother in California. She talks him into putting all the tickets on his card. Hers, my brothers kid's, my niece and her daughter's, and ours. She knew she had me against the ropes when she informed me that the tickets were bought. I went into a rant about, how am I going to pay for those tickets if I didn't even have passports? I made it known at that point that if I didn't get the passports in time I would have to forfeits the tickets. I even suggested he cancel the tickets. Since he is on her side and wants to see me squirm, he tells her that he can't cancel them now and I would have to pay for them even if I didn't go.

After that exchange for the next month she asked my wife and myself everyday if we got our passports. That was my ace in the hole. I was going to wait until the very end. I kept cleverly citing bills and other obligations as to why I hadn't applied for our passports. What does she do next? She is a sick disturbed evil woman. She gives us the money for the passports. Damn it!! The jig was up. I had no choice than to iron my linen short sleeve and khakis and update my Facebook status. Our passports came 3 weeks ago.

Everything was set, sort of. A week ago we still didn't know how we were getting the and from the airport. There were 10 of us going from Hyattsville to Dulles. The only person that was available to drive us was my 75 year, night blind father. A shuttle would cost us about 300 bucks. To park it would have cost us 250 bucks. The night before, my brother arranged for his co-worker and oldest friend to drive us with his church's transport van.

It looks like everything is a go. Friday morning our ride arrives. My brother arrives at our house with his 3 kids. His eldest daughter arrives with her baby. We are ready and my mother is taking a victory lap. No matter what happens after that moment, she would go down as the winner, because she was able to get us all onto the plane.

Let's see, 10 people flying internationally, of which 5 are children. Where can this plan go wrong? This was my first time flying out of Dulles airport directly to Central America. I was impressed with their security checkpoint. Not because of it efficiency or little to no wait time, but because they featured complimentary zip lock bag available by the bunch. You need to save the rest of those Doritos. you say. That pocket full of change becoming a nuisance? One of them became our passport keeper throughout he trip. We showed our passport to at least a dozen people throughout the outgoing and returning trip.

After getting approval to go through the metal detector, I took my shoes off and walked into the body scanner. I made it in one try. There was one poor girl off to the right that apparently had a thin layer of explosives encompassing the surface of her body. In the 15 minutes I waited for our party to come though security and get their shoes back on, I saw this young lady get searched twice by two different agents, and still wasn't done. They ran their hands through her hair. Then over her shoulders, under her arms, between and under her breasts, from her waist over her buttocks, all the way down to her feet. She did not seem bothered by the TSA's interest in her feminine form and how it threatened National Security that day.

I love the international flight concourse of any airport. Mainly because of the duty free shops. Nothing like tax free booze and smell goods. I hit up the Starbucks on the way to the gate. My nephew made it a point to follow me to the counter.

Him: Can I get something to eat?
Me: Yeah, ask your father.
Him: What are you getting?
Me: A Mocha Latte.
Him: I'll have the same thing your having.
Me: Not today.

I then walked over to a news stand and bought some magazines for the wife and I. I also bought my new favorite piece of Coca Cola merchandise. It's a bottle cozy made to look like a hoodie complete with drawstrings and pockets. As I pay, my dear nephew reemerges, I'm hungry he tells me. I again remind him that his father is just over there at our gate. Before I made it to the gate, I spilled my coffee on the white polo shirt I was wearing. I spent the rest of the time perusing the duty free and looking through the gift shops for a shirt that fit and didn't have Washington D.C. printed on it. The only baggy black shirt I found, had President Obama silk screened on the front. Needless to say I flew to El Salvador in a coffee stained polo shirt. The rest of the time, my nephew managed to remind me a few more times that he was hungry in addition to slipping it into conversation with the rest of the group.

So we finally make it into the friendly skies heading South West towards Comalapa, El Salvador. After a bit of a rough patch, we level out and eventually the seat-belt signs go off. Now I can breath and relax. I reach into the snack bag. Earlier that morning I bought a bag of white cheddar popcorn for the misses a bag of Cheetos for the kid, and bag of Doritos for myself. As I was hand out the bags to their purported recipient, I felt a flash of good will and recalled just how hungry my nephew was. I relinquished my Doritos to him, in a thwart of impromptu philanthropy. For that moment I felt like this unselfish act would bridge the gap between me and my starving travel companion. He was sitting directly in front of me, so I tapped him on his shoulder as I handed him the bag. He sad nothing, he took the bag and before it donned on me, he had passed on to his sister who in turn opened it and gave it to her daughter. I was pissed. I gave up my snack in a moment of pity. Instead of saying thank you or no thank you, he immediately gives my snack away. The other one doesn't question from where it came and gives it to her kid. I hadn't noticed what she did because it happened so fast. When I realized he handed it off I stick me hand out and ask them to give it back, she replies, and make the baby cry? I'm trying to figure out who told her to give my shit away. The slight went further as we were exiting the aircraft and I notice she had an unopened can of Pringles in her purse. Nothing irks me more that nonchalance. No matter what my point of view may be, when I complain, I look like I wanted to take the food out of a child's mouth. I don't care who ate the damn chips, I was more disturbed by the fact that no one made it a point to tell my nephew to employ proper manners in this interaction by saying no thank you if he wasn't partial to Doritos.

The flight took 4 hours and 6 minutes. We arrived just after 1:30 pm local time. Right after exiting the gate, I walked into a souvenir stand. I bought nothing, but returned to the very one on my return 3 days later. I noticed a clothing store just across the hall. I asked to try on a linen button down short sleeved shirt. Before I buttoned it, the young lady was showing me a pair of jeans. After I was sure the shirt fit, I asked for how much it was. I know that at Target or Walmart I would have paid 15 bucks tops for this shirt, so when she informed me that it was only 73 dollars, my prompt exit was warranted. I then made a dash down the hall until I noticed that one of the duty free shops had a Flor de Cana 4 bottle box. For those that don't know, they produce his premier rum in Nicaragua for export throughout Central and North America. I could not pass up the 30 dollar price tag. I liked it so much I bought another case a few days later when I walked past the same duty free shop.

The moment I stepped out of the airport I was shocked. I walked directly into an open air food court. There were uniformed taxi drivers sitting around and some police officers. Our driver was holding a sign with my brother's name. It was not what I expected to see. I've never walked out of the airport in Managua without being mobbed by impoverished children looking for pocket change. I have no problem helping someone in need, I was just surprised not to see anyone panhandling. As a matter a fact, I was there for 3 days and no one ever asked me for money. I had people to try to sell me everything from baskets to honey, but never asked for a handout.

As the van made it's way through the streets of Comalapa and later through San Salvador, I notice how clean and organized the streets were. Even the coconuts at the water stands seemed to be perfectly stacked. As we drove on I notice some graffiti on the walls flanking the main thoroughfare. Other than the street art, I noticed how well kept the roads were. The signs are modeled after the highway signs here, in green with while reflective letters. They had the standard safety equipment including jersey walls and arrow signs at curves in the road. The only people we saw on the road were at bus stops. They at times spilled into the roadway, especially where merchant stands were located. There were 3 major gas station companies. Texaco, Puma, and Uno. The Puma company based in El Salvador purchased all the Esso (Exxon) gas stations in the country. Another National company Uno, purchased what were once Shell stations. I did notice that National brands take center stage. You can only find Cristal bottled water. I didn't see Deer Park, Evian, Nestle or even Aquafina.

It was interesting to see the security measures that business' take. Depending on who you ask, it either makes you nervous or feel safe. For instance, at the Texaco station they had an armed guard near the pumps. I'm not sure if it's for keeping people from steeling gas, robbing the attendant, or steeling from the patrons. It was a bit alarming to think that they need that level of security at a service station. On the other hand when we arrived at our resort, the presence of armed guards made me feel at ease. I felt better about being in the middle of nowhere up on a mountain.

Even though it was after dark (not late at night, because we arrived around 6 pm) we could make out the layout of the property. We asked one of many attendants that were near the reception/restaurant for assistance. He just asked who's name it was under, asked us to wait while he retrieved the keys, then led us on foot to the cabins. Even at night, we could see the paths that led through lush foliage. There was a pergola wrapped in ivy that marked the path to our cabin. It had a log facade, with a log patio awning with terracotta roof tiles. On the patio there was a table with four chairs and from the rafters a nylon hammock. The cabin came with 3 beds, a TV, a safe, extra blankets, and full bathroom complete with water heater for the shower. Even though the water never got hot, it was warm but better than ice cold. It was nice because we shared 3 cabins and they were adjacent, so it was like we were neighbors.

After settling in we made our way to their restaurant. I've eaten at many different restaurants in my lifetime. Judging by the strength of individual categories including food, service, quality of ingredients, and even decor this place was the best I'd ever been to. The restaurant and resort are named El Jardin de Celeste. It is located En La Routa de las Flores in Ataco, Ahuachapan, El Salvador. The restaurant is busy from morning to night. I'm not sure what their hours are, because no matter how early or late we showed up, they served us. The first night, the cooks worked up until quitting time, making our meal, and went straight to the bus stop at 8 to catch the last bus of the day. They could have easily refused to make our meal, but instead maintained their vow of excellent service, made a superb dinner for 15, and still made it to the bus on time.

Everything on the menu was carefully prepared with fresh local ingredients. I order their bruchetta. I've had "authentic" bruchetta at many restaurants. The complexity of the flavors in their tapenade was unlike anything I ever had. They would start with a basket of bread and toppings according to the time of day. That night it came with a relish made with fresh cilantro, green onion, jalapenos and herbs. It was amazing. After the meal is served they replaced the bread with with a basket full of freshly patted and cooked corn tortillas.

The star of the show was the breakfast menu. With the basket of rolls came 3 terracotta bowls The first one had white raisins, the second a tomato sauce and the third 3 pats of orange butter. Sounds like a strange combination, but individually or mixed, they were the perfect flavor to accompany the Plato Tipico. A hearty fresh made country breakfast of 2 eggs, fried ripe plantain, quajada fresca, re-fried black beans, and crema. It was amazing, especially with the fresh fruit plate on the side. Every breakfast come with fresh squeezed orange juice and a hot cup of coffee made from beans grown on the property. On Sunday they serve the tamale breakfast. It comes with 2 fresh made substantially sized chicken tamales, cheese and beans.

My wife being an interior designer and I being an antiques junky were impressed by the decor. There were small collections of like items. A pile of vintage suitcases near the front desk. A handful of antique SAD irons, a row of antique Singer style sewing machines and the piece the resistance, 4 antique brass pest control canisters.

The only thing that overshadowed the food was the people. Every person that walked to the door, whether they were staff or restaurant guests would say good morning or Buen Provecho. The staff would do anything to accommodate our requests, whether it was how you wanted your meal prepared or if you wanted it served on the patio at your cabin. There was no request to big or small. I needed batteries, the man at the front desk reached in his desk drawer and gave me 2 double A batteries and would not charge me for them. I asked for 4 shot glasses, limes and ice. They handed me a drinking glass full of lime wedges, a whole bag of ice and when I got back to the room, there were 4 shot glasses, for glasses, and 6 bottles of Coca Cola on our table. Even the men restlessly patrolling the grounds with a shot gun strapped on their shoulder were always friendly and accessible.

Saturday was the day we had all been waiting for. We got up early for breakfast and still had about 3 hours before we needed to get ready for the wedding. Over there time seemed to go by slower. Around 9 am we were transported to the city of Juayua. The colonial era church is located in the city center across from the park. The park had a beautiful fountain. The park was surrounded by an array of eateries, a bakery, a pharmacy, and even a couple of souvenir stands. As we waited for the wedding to begin I walked over to a nearby lunch counter where I ordered a Coke and a Fanta. She asked me if I was to drink it there or did I need them to go. I wanted to take the Fanta to my wife at the church so she poured the sodas into a plastic sandwich bag and stuck a straw in it. This is the exact way I remember drinking soda as a kid in the park in Nicaragua, so I didn't question her methods.

The church was suddenly packed, mostly by the bride's colleagues and family. On the grooms side there were about 15 of us, including my sister and niece who traveled from Miami and my aunt and cousin who rode the bus in from Managua to be there for my brother's special day. He genuinely looked happy. The best part was that his 4 kids were there with him. The bride was beautiful in her white dress. It felt like a scene from another era. Afterward (even though here the practice has been deemed inhumane) we were given taffeta pouches of rice to throw at the newlyweds for good luck. Even though it was a sunny day and the weather service called for 80 degree weather, the cool mountain breezes made the day bearable.

After the ceremony, we were whisked off to the reception, which luckily for us was at the resort where we were staying. The hall was decorated and had seating for about a hundred guests. I knew the food would be good, unfortunately I only had the mashed potatoes because there was no vegetarian substitute. I split my chicken breast and steak between my wife and niece's plate. The best words in the English language were employed that night, open bar. Except there were a dozen waiters to take your unlimited drink orders. The band consisted of a lead singer, two backup singers and song tracks. Their repertoire included Salsa, Cumbia, Merengue and even Bachata. In between sets, the lead singer DJayed from his laptop. There some surprises as well. A local acoustic band with a gitarron and fiddles played for La Danza de Los Morros y Christianos. A folkloric dance created by the natives in protest of Iberian and Portuguese imperialists. They line danced in unison. Afterward a group of men a women danced folkloric hand dances of which the newly weds joined in. After the dinner service they featured a small plate sampling of typical Salvadorean dishes including pupusas, pineapple turnovers, and atol de elote. The last surprise was when they handed out glittered hats, masks and tinsel wigs, it almost had a Mardi Gras feel. We drank, we ate, we danced. It was the best way to culminate months of planning and preparation.

Even though I may have not wanted to go at first, I was glad that I did. I spent time with the people that matter the most. I was able to see a piece of paradise I never though could exist. I ate like a king and was lucky enough to discover an amazing country who's beauty is only bested by it's people and their hospitality. Thanks to my brother and his lady for inviting us and making us feel welcome and appreciated. Thanks to my mom for pushing me to participate. Thanks to the staff of El Jardin de Celeste and the wonderful people of El Salvador.