Below: our first good vista in Central America, on the rooftop terrace of Hostal Casa Verde in Santa Ana, the morning after we arrived.
Also, some people forget that America isn't a country, but two continental land masses only recently linked by a narrow isthmus between three to five million years ago, and that the US isn't the only United States in America. There is a United States of Mexico, and once upon a time a short-lived United Provinces of Central America - today Costa Rica, El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras and Nicaragua, sovereign states which fall firmly within the Latin American politico-cultural orbit. But what is Latin America? Where does it begin? And why is the pre-modifier 'Latin' applied to an entire swathe of land which holds more than 60% of the Americas, almost as if it were a minority? Shouldn't there be an Anglo-America instead? Yet even the nature of Anglo-America, were it to exist nominally, is changing. And to focus on these pre-modifiers ignores its history before 1492. We've come to see those other Americas.
Below, a sample of Latin America: A portrait of Latin America, according to the Uruguayan journalist Eduardo Galeano in his "Open Veins of Latin America" (1973), a place which has known only exploitation and suffering since Columbus; a breakfast of bread, bacon, plantains, re-fried beans and the daily headlines - gang-related violence in the nearby city of Sonsonate and futbol.
The journey from Boston was blissfully uneventful. We sat next to Luis, a graphic designer, aspiring graphic novelist, and massive anime and manga enthusiast. Luis grew up in Texas and lives now in San Salvador, the Salvadorean capital. He also shared with us the series he has been working on. The storyline in Slice of life revolves around this pair of Latino-American sisters, their white American friend and a Japanese fox spirit who the sisters accidentally free from captivity. None of this has been published yet, for Luis isn't sure about whether to self-publish and build up a gradual following or wait around for a publisher who might be willing to take a punt on this project. I commended its tri-cultural nature - American, Spanish and Japanese, based clearly on his background and interest - and asked if he wanted to consider marketing it as a language learning resource. The one thing I wasn't sure of was whether my suggestion inadvertently relegated the dignity of his masterpiece.
We shared a taxi with Luis to the Terminal de Occidente in San Salvador, where Mary and I boarded Bus 201 for Santa Ana, El Salvador's second city. It was the especial service, which meant theoretically that it doesn't stop to pick up passengers along the way. As you might have guessed, la linea especial became la linea especially crowded as the bus seemed to stop every two minutes to pick up passengers. We hadn't space to stow our backpacks, which ended up on our laps and leaving us literally mere millimetres of breathing space.
Santa Ana, when it first appeared to us, was a brash cacophony which we could almost hear sneering like it or not. The street signs were tiny, every movement kicked up dust which we felt, smelt and tasted, we shared the narrow sidewalks with electricity poles, street lamps, uncovered drains, unpaved stretches and unpicked litter, and nearly everybody stared at us. It was going to be a challenge looking for Hostal Casa Verde (an oasis in the midst of it all) where we would be staying for two nights. But everybody we approached was always ready to help and always with a smile, which really made the difference for us.
Below: smiling on the same rooftop terrace. Hostal Casa Verde was in a quiet neighbourhood within the city centre, away from the endless traffic of the main arteries at the city centre's edge.
The three-century-long Spanish colonial presence bequeathed to many Latin American cities and towns their grid layouts. Municipal life centred on a plaza central or a zocalo (a bigger version of a plaza central), where the city or town cathedral would also be built. Some streets are named, most are numbered. Those that ran north to south are called avenidas and those that ran east-west calles. Santa Ana was no different. Our exploration of the city was brief, restricted to the main plaza and the streets surrounding our hostel - basically wherever our feet could carry us.
Below (from top to bottom): 6 Avenida (read "avenida sexto"), festooned with power lines as most other streets seemed to be; a typical courtyard found in many colonial houses in Santa Ana, this one belonging to Cafe Expresiones.
The other notable landmarks on Santa Ana's main plaza, apart from the Neo-Gothic Cathedral, are the Teatro de Santa Ana and the Alcaldia Municipal (the City Hall). Both the cathedral and theatre were built during the boom years of the early twentieth century on the riches brought in by coffee, El Salvador's el grano de oro (The Grain of Gold). Even at half past nine on a weekday morning, the plaza manages an unexpected bustle. But it was a different story when we walked into the cathedral. People enter to find their moment of silence, in prayer, in reverence or simply in solitude. It was a welcome respite from the mindless to-ing and fro-ing of daily transactions, which being on holiday sometimes does not exempt us from (the vacation version involves packing as we move from one place to another, finding out when transport comes and goes, and figuring out where we can get our daily supplies, and food).
Above (from top to bottom): posing in front of the cathedral; the long march to the altar; and a local boy who preaches to pigeons.
Below (top to bottom): El Teatro, and the Santa Ana City Hall.
We have had a soft landing in Central America, la linea especial aside. But we didn't really come for the cities and the towns. We came for the volcanoes and the landscape, and we would have plenty of that in the coming days.
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