Buenos

"I can't go today"  groaned Adi from the bathroom.  After spending most of the night on the toilet seat, she was both in pain, and exhausted.  It was just an hour before the guided tour, and I timidly explained the situation to Gisela, the very attractive manager of our hostel in Juayua.
"Don't worry", said Gisela without a trace of frustration.
Within minutes, she called the guide, postponed the reservations in our next destination, and directed me to a good pharmacy.

Juliana, a New York girl who intended to go with us, could not hide her disappointment.  She stayed an extra night in order to join the (minimum-two) tour. After hearing her sad story on the phone, the blue-eyed, rasta-braided guide showed up.  He was cheerful and enthusiastic.  He conducted the tour even though Juliana was the only participant.

These are just two examples to the friendly, helpful behavior we have encountered in El Salvador.  So far, I have yet to meet a grumpy El Salvadoran.  Even the town drunks, and every small town has a staggering, bare chested derelict asking for handouts, are not too pushy.  During our trip to Lao, I was impressed with its friendly and gentle people.  In El Salvador, people are just as friendly and gentle, and here I can speak the language.  Lao just got pushed into second place.

It is puzzling that Guanacos (as El Salvadoran are called here) are so friendly.  It would be perfectly understandable if they were hostile towards foreigners.  Only twenty years ago, El Salvador concluded a long and violent civil war, which was prolonged and made more deadly through US funds.  In Cinquera, a village situated in what used to be guerrilla territory, we met a woman who, with all the other inhabitants, fled the village due to the Army's "Scorched earth" tactics.  After the war, she came back and  rebuilt  her flattened home.  Now she stands proudly in her pretty courtyard garden.  "We are happy people"  she says.

It would also be perfectly understandable if they were suspicious and cold.  The homicide rate in El Salvador is one of the highest in the world.  Yet despite the shotgun-wielding guards in every store, and the barbed-wire fortifications surrounding every house, Guanacos, even in the capital, make eye contact, smile, and greet you with Buenos, or Buenas (Good morning, or Good evening).

El Salvadorans defied their circumstances, and are the opposite of cold, suspicious, and hostile.  Furthermore, they are smart and efficient.  And if that's not enough of an endorsement, let me add that  the women are stunningly gorgeous.

P.S
For those concerned about Adi's health.
I do learn from my mistakes.  Trekking in Nepal, I talked Doron into ascending a 5500 meter mountain pass  while suffering from a raging diarrhea.  I thought he should let his body do the cleanup.  He almost died in the process, and got well a few hours after taking a pill, which he had in his backpack all along.  This time, a few pills of Loperamide, administered promptly, quickly improved Adi's condition.  The next morning, we took the coffee tour.

Yuca Latkes

A little late for Hanukkah, but just in time for Navidad.  Yuca latkes in Alegria, El Salvador.  Served with honey instead of sour cream.

Adrenaline, adios?

I let an opportunity to enjoy an adrenalin rush pass me by, and I didn't feel frustrated.

It happened in Tacuba, a tiny town in the heart of el Salvador's coffee-country.  The rustic living room of Mama y Papa hostel is lined with glass cases displaying gorgeous mounted butterflies and pre-colombian artifacts.  Sitting on the other crumbling sofa, Manolo, a famous guide, and the implicit subject of the hostel's name, explained that his most popular tour involves rambling down a river to a series of waterfalls, which, at my discretion, can be rappelled or jumped.  I nodded enthusiastically.  However, he continued, the other two clients signed up for the more sedate scenic hike.  Perhaps someone will show up later, and he could start the waterfall tour too.  After some thought, I decided, that regardless of potential arrivals, I would prefer the scenic tour.  The full impact of this groundbreaking decision hit me only later that night.  I chose views, wildlife, and Adi's company, over heart-pumping jumps.  I also realized how often in the past I did enjoy the thrill of adrenaline-producing adventure.  "I may be getting old"  I sighed into my pillow, "or maybe three reasons are better than one."

Next morning, all four timid travelers set out for the adjacent National "Parque El Impossible", which was so named for the many men that died hauling coffee across a rickety bridge that spans a deep canyon.  Our starting elevation was 1300 meters, the altitude that produces the best quality coffee.. As we descended through the plantations surrounding the park, I was surprised to find that the ripe coffee berries are edible and sweet.  (Kobi would have enjoyed the snack.)  The views from the peak were OK (just), but the trail ran continuously downhill, and after crossing the bridge, which is now solid concrete, we entered the park.  In the forest we lost the views.  First reason: Gone.  The dry forest itself is less than impressive, and our guide predicted that due to the strong wind, we will not see any wildlife.  He was right; except for one pair of mating butterflies.  Second reason:  Gone.  Adi and I did have fun rolling our eyes in mock frustration as we sweated our way back uphill.  One out of three?

Maybe next time, despite my newly discovered maturity, I will choose the adrenaline option.