Los Gringos Unhinged

The day after our gruelling volcano day trip, we left Santa Ana for Juayua (pronounced hua-yoo-ah, for Singaporeans, the incriminating why you ah isn't far off the mark), a town an hour's southwest on the Ruta de las Flores (the Flowers Route, which covers a handful of towns, named for the rich soil in the area which supports the cultivation of coffee and the growth of wildflowers). There being no tourist shuttle, we took another local bus, which proved to be more comfortable than la linea especial. For starters, the overhead stowage had room for our backpacks. And despite these recycled school buses not having any aircondition, the windows were open, quite unlike our previous oven on wheels.

Below (from top to bottom): Mary and our divine school bus; the decal at the front of the bus reads "Thanks to you, Lord".

There was another novelty to our ride. En route, I heard a familiar voice utter some familiar words through the huddling bodies along the aisle: Dios (God) ... Spanish I couldn't understand ... pecados (sins) ... more Spanish ... Dios ... cielo (heaven). Previously, I had listened to Rafael Cruz's reading of the Bible (New International Version, in Spanish) as I tried to obtain audio materials to improve my self-schooled Spanish listening skills. No, the driver wasn't playing the same MP3 files over the stereo. It was an itinerant preacher to whom God has granted amplification, balance and clarity. But that morning on the bus it sounded as if all Spanish-speaking pastors preached in one voice.

Our accommodation in Juayua was at Hostal Casa Mazeta, owned by Derek from Ipswich who made an effort to get to know all his guests. After being briefed about Juayua's whats and wheres by Amed (again, I'm not sure how his name should be spelt), one of Derek's employees, we set off for pretty much the only place within town worth seeing - La Iglesia Del Cristo Negro, the Church of the Black Christ right beside the town's main plaza.

Below: La Iglesia Del Cristo Negro; we climbed the right tower.

The cult (here I'm using the word to denote a religious system and not normatively) of the Black Christ is the product of the cultural encounters between the American indigenous people, Africans and Europeans during the early modern period (roughly, the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries). There are a number of such centres throughout Latin America.

There are various reasons why these have flourished where they did. Most such icons are associated with a particular miracle - either disaster averted or favourite granted. Some come with legends of their own. In Juayua's case, there once stood a tree where the altar now stands. Its trunk one day was split asunder by lightning, whereupon was found the image of the Black Christ, surrounded by flowers. Those of a more secular leaning have argued that these carven images were deviced from darker shades of wood, on the instruction of the Spanish, as the indigenous people sometimes did not trust a God whose complexion was the same as that of their oppressors from across the Atlantic.

The church was the same sanctuary for the townsfolk as the cathedral was for the people of Santa Ana. One could walk up behind the altar to have a closer look at the image. However, the church workers were putting up the Christmas decorations in the same area, and so we contented ourselves with appreciating Cristo Negro from afar. We went on our knees and gave thanks to God, as we did in Santa Ana, for his protection. And when we got to our feet, an idea crept into my head.

Let's get to top of the church tower, I suggested. But the only door providing access was locked. We approached the lady who looked like the matron (indeed I later found out from her that she has been serving in this particular church since she was a little girl) to ask if such access was indeed possible. She graciously obliged, and led us into a musty stairwell which functioned as the church store. A trapdoor at the end of some shaky metal steps from the second level provided access to some fantastic views of the town and its surroundings.

Below: the views which led us to the top, the three rightmost volcanoes were the very same volcanoes we saw the day before - Santa Ana (the one which has its summit mostly in cloud), Cerro Verde (from where the long stream of cloud seems to issue) and Izalco (rightmost).

There were also two wooden doors on the second level, to which I was inexplicably drawn to. The  doors were tied firmly shut to the railing behind, and they seem to howl and shake. Prising and prying achieved nothing for the knots were cleverly done. What unspoken terror did they conceal? The rope broke with a final desperate yank. The doors swung wide open, and we were knocked half a step back.

Wind 2 KR 0.

That scoreline would turn into a drubbing for us on that very sleepless night, as the doors and windows in our hostel creaked and thudded incessantly. So we learnt Juayua is regularly buffeted by strong wind. To go back to the matter of our swinging doors, we quickly went downstairs to inform the kind lady who let us in, and on whose face barely a flicker of emotion registered. We could see her younger colleagues trying to stifle giggles, though, as we dropped some extra coins in the offerings box.

We had dinner at a local taqueria (place that makes or sells tacos), where our Singaporean citizenship merited us extra attention from both the owner, Martin, and his waitress. Asians, much less Singaporeans, are a rare breed in these parts, and even before we placed our orders our faces appeared on the restaurant's Facebook page. (Incidentally the same thing happened with Cafe Expresiones in Santa Ana.) Martin's uncanny eye for publicity could be the reason why he has headed the committee overseeing the organisation of the town's feria gastronomica (food fair), which takes place every weekend, for the past fourteen years (pretty much the entire time the fairs have been organized). 

Below: fifteen seconds of fame at Taqueria Guadalupana, where we thoroughly enjoyed our pechuga de pollo (grilled chicken breast).

Juayua was very pleasant for us, even if our arrival did very nearly unhinge a tiny bit of the town. But we really came here for the waterfalls, and what would happen the following day was a real turning point for the trip.