In which Roz and Layla climb a hill, look at remnants of the civil war, and learn about iguanas

by Roz

After Layla had finished blogging, I’d finished my beer(s) and we had soaked up enough of the ambience of the lovely main square, we went off in search of dinner. We contemplated a number of options, all of which looked good – but exceptionally quiet. Having been informed by the guidebooks that Salvadorians eat early, we couldn’t quite work out whether this was due to Christmas holidays or a faux pas in terms of our timing. We therefore decided to mooch back through the lovely cobbled streets to our very fancy hotel for even fancier cocktails and food. And once we’d consumed our first two mohitos in a little courtyard with lots of fairy lights and a couple of water features, we were clear we’d made the right call. We were, however, less certain when a group of musicians appeared; Layla and I are not what one would describe as musical at the best of times. But, in fact, the musicians were very good and all in all it was very jolly. The food was good too – even if not especially Salvadorian.

Alas even the combination of food, cocktails and music couldn’t keep us up late – jet lag called us to bed at an unfashionably early hour. But as we went to bed, we consoled ourselves we were making the right decision, since we would need our strength for hiking the next day. And the next day, even after a very good night’s sleep, the fear of what was to come was certainly the reason why we consumed a number of delicious fluffy pancakes for breakfast…

We then rolled out onto the street to be collected by our guide (the American ex pat we met yesterday) – and his Salvadorean wife - in a pick-up truck. We were off for a hike in Cinquera Park, an aspiring national park which is currently run by a collective of enthusiasts lobbying for national park status. The 40-minute journey passed very pleasantly with me asking nerdy questions about the Government, the justice system, taxes and so forth. We also established during the ride that our hike could take one of two routes – and that which route we took would depend on our levels of fitness and enthusiasm. Since one involved getting to a look-out point at the top of the park (and, being uphill, was harder), I naturally resolved that this would be the option we would follow and, when we got there, set off at a determined pace. Amusingly the hike turned out to be really quite undaunting, and we kept up easily with the local guide from the park. Our ex-pat guide and his wife had a little more trouble and Layla and I had to work hard not to look back at them smugly as we strode forth. The route turned out to be very pretty and the view from the top was very pleasing – great vistas over volcanoes and the lake. The park itself was interesting both from the perspective of nature and history – since it had been used as a base during the civil war in the 1980s. (We were told a long tale about the naming of a base there, which was mainly pleasing / funny because the American ex-pat guide tried (not very successfully) to lesbianise the anecdote for our benefit.) Our route down had the really rather wonderful added benefit of a waterfall and pool, which we bathed in.

By the time we got to the bottom, lunch was all I could think of. The plan to drive to the nearby hostel / restaurant seemed to be foiled by an inconveniently parked car blocking our truck’s exit. Layla and I settled ourselves on a wall and watched whilst the local guides / ex-pat guide / random others debated how to solve the issue. With impressive resolve and enthusiasm, a solution was identified: to lift the parked car and move it out of the way. Ingenious. And, unlikely though it seemed at the time, successful. This accomplished, we drove off to the restaurant where we consumed a pleasing meal of eggs, rice and beans, washed down with beers and an explanation of how the civil war began (more nerdiness on my part).

Lunch over, we pottered around the town, and saw numerous bits of war memorabilia. I have to say that I’m not quite sure how I’d feel about my town having the remnants of a helicopter on a plinth outside the local church (the latter sporting a mural about their murdered archbishop)… but it was certainly interesting. Our guide then said that he’d heard that a butterfly farm had just opened in the town. It was clear that this was something exciting and so Layla and I therefore made excited and enthusiastic faces. We headed towards the farm, only to see the people in charge of the farm clearly on their way home for the day. Our guide persuaded them to open up for us, and Layla and I prepared ourselves to look impressed / interested at appropriate moments. In fact, it did turn out to be an interesting – and very sweet - place. They also kept iguanas, which I found fascinating (not least because I had, to Layla’s great amusement, always assumed that iguanas were furry mammals). The butterflies were good too, and Layla bobbed round trying to take photos, whilst my focus was rather more prosaic – avoiding the faux pas of stepping on a butterfly. That rather jolly tour at an end, we started off home.

Our journey home was not without excitement mind you. We stopped off at a dry waterfall – apparently made out of hexagonal pieces of basalt from a volcanic eruption, which is exciting because there are only five in the world, or some such. We climbed down a reasonably mild cliff and admired the really rather remarkable natural phenomenon. From there we climbed back on to flat land…to find that if we looked one way we could see the dry waterfall, and if we looked the other, there was a superb view of the large and beautiful lake which we saw a tiny bit of yesterday. Pleasing.

Very happy with our day’s activities we drove back to Suchitito. And I entirely deny any stiffness or tiredness now, as I sit in the hotel bar with a beer and type. To acknowledge stiffness would suggest that we were challenged by the hike. And of course that’s not admissible…