A couple of weekends ago, the volunteers decided to take a trip together. As we are now in the “dry season” in El Salvador (dry, dusty, intense heat without respite), we decided to go to the beach. After our Saturday morning classes, we had a quick snack and headed out on the first leg of the trip. We hopped on the bus to San Salvador, got on a city bus to get on to the bus to La Libertad, and then jumped on the bus to la playa San Diego. So, three hours and four buses later, we finally arrived at our destination.
Of course, no despedida in El Salvador can go completely smoothly. We began to look along the shore for a hostel, finding that they were not so readily available as we had first believed. We turned into a rancho that had direct access to the beach. “Hey, do you have rooms to let?” The older man looked us up and down, and slowly nodded. “Si… for two dollars each.” We looked at each other happily. Two dollars? We could do that, even on the slightly non-existent budget available to volunteers. However, the news got slightly worse by increments as we shuffled up the stairs. Shuffle shuffle, “Oh, by the way, there are no lights.” Shuffle shuffle. “And no beds. If you want a hammock, that is extra.” Shuffle. “And the doors don’t really lock.” Shuffle shuffle. By this time we had reached the room we were going to stay in, and saw that also all the windows were cracked or falling out. However, although this room was missing electricity, beds, locks, and any form of security whatsoever, there was the not so welcome addition of signs of rodents.
Leaving the newly dubbed “Margarita’s Crack House,” we continued in our search for a place to stay. We decided to stop and ask some locals where we should go. This was, in terms of expediency, not our wisest plan. Not only were we given a round about answer (along with complicated and, for non locals, incomprehensible directions), but then neighbors had to be asked, and friends of neighbors, and all opinions had to be given before they decided that, yes, probably the first place was the best because only gringos went there.
Failing to find this so called “gringo hostel,” we continued our quest. Finally, we came upon a place called El Aguila. Exhausted, hot, sweaty, we stepped into a place that seemed almost like paradise – there was shade provided by abundant trees, a covered plaza area, and a pool. As soon as we were done staring, slack jawed, we flagged down an employee to talk about the possibility of us staying there for the night. The room was clean, and not only had a number of beds, but also had a shower and a bathroom! Unfortunately, the price was out of our range. As we met in a “group huddle,” we decided to ask if it was possible to get a “volunteer” discount.
Korla and I approached the nice employee we had met at the beginning; after a few minutes of discussion (and after talking to management higher up), we managed to secure a rate that was slightly diminished, putting this pleasanter, and certainly cleaner, into our price range. Settling into our AIR CONDITIONED room, we were ready to stay for the night.
Of course, later that night there was a wind storm, which killed all the electricity in the area, coming back on at 4:30 in the morning (at which time we were awoken by lights and by the surprisingly jet-like boom of the air conditioner), and our toilet ended up having problems and not being able to flush. But we were able to thoroughly enjoy our time at the beach, and hey – would it have been as memorable an adventure without the setbacks? No lo creo.
And how was the pool??
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