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.
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