In which Layla and Roz travel on four buses, seduce their way into some Mayan ruins, and celebrate the new year

by Layla

So we found the Hotel Torremolinos. Which was entirely deserted. Nevertheless we ordered cocktails, which were horrible, and spaghetti, which tasted as though it came out of a tin. As tumbleweed blew past, we polished off our meal and headed for our room. It was 7:30. We couldn’t possibly go to sleep. And yet there seemed little else to do but read, and Roz had already polished off two books that day (and was becoming concerned she would run out of reading material). We looked at each other, flummoxed. Until Roz came up with the excellent idea of listening to The Moth podcasts, recorded in the USA (we go to hear it live when in New York). We listened to a selection of interesting and amusing true stories, told without notes, and by the time it really was bedtime, we felt we’d had rather a good evening.

Alas for Roz, the night was interrupted by a dodgy stomach (punished for suggesting the need for a private bathroom, perhaps), and she felt a tad grotty this morning. But we wandered down to the lake and gazed out over the water, mercifully now free of disco music (though the adjacent drilling persisted). And we had some orange juice, before deciding we’d completed our lake experience and it was time to depart. So we paid, stepped outside, and waited for the first of four buses that we were to take today.

The first, from Lake Coatepeque to Santa Ana (El Salvador’s second city) was quite pleasant – breezy and fairly comfy in an old American school bus. It was really rather lovely to pass through, at a reasonable pace, local towns and cities and see a tiny bit of daily life. Once in Santa Ana we walked down scorching streets (devoid of cafes that we could find, alas), to the bus stop in quest of our second bus, which rather conveniently was waiting for us. Indeed, having spotted us staggering along the street laden with luggage, they continued to wait as we dragged our suitcases across the street and very kindly heaved them on board for us. A much busier bus this time, to the Tazumal ruins. We got off at the neighbouring town, Chalchuapa, 45 minutes later in the hope that it would have a lovely café as promised by our out-of-date Lonely Planet book; we ended up eating chips at the local version of Kentucky Fried Chicken which was at least plain and fairly familiar for Roz’s still dodgy stomach… and guiltily rather pleasant!

After lunch we tried to catch a bus to the ruins, but after ten minutes in scorching sunlight there was no sign of one so we decided to walk. Fortunately, as it turned out, as we soon realised it was only five minutes away! We walked down the road, complete with luggage, and came upon the gates of Tazumal, site of ancient Mayan ruin. Where things didn’t look quite right… Further exploration revealed that it had closed an hour ago, due to it being new year’s eve. After all that effort! We almost wept. And then I put on my sweetest face and best broken Spanish and explained to the guard that it was our lifelong dream to see Tazumal and this was the only opportunity in our whole life to do so. The man was eventually persuaded. He unlocked the gates and told us we had fifteen minutes. We zoomed in with glee and admired the little pyramid complex with all the more relish, given how nearly we’d missed seeing it… Roz was particularly excited, these being her first Mayan ruins.

After the pyramid, we stopped for ice cream at a nearby shop, then caught the bus to a town called Ahuachapan, which took another 30 minutes. Upon getting off we sought the bus to Tacuba, our final destination. There was indeed a bus but it was crammed full. With our large suitcases we stood waiting for the next one. In the meantime a man almost persuaded us to pay for him to take us in his pickup truck before Roz had a vision of us being abducted and we felt rather foolish for thinking this plan a good idea. So we hopped out again, in time to catch the next Tacuba bus. We had to sit separately and Roz started listening to a book on her iPhone. Which meant she was entirely oblivious to the little drama playing out behind her. A fellow passenger clearly enjoyed the site of my slightly burnt red skin and started chatting me up in Spanish. I chose to not understand: ‘no entiendo’. He kept on. I repeated ‘no entiendo’. He sidled closer. I inched away. He put his hand on my shoulder. I slapped it. He started talking again. I said ‘silencio’! He then stood next to me pretending to be asleep and falling against my face. I gave him some well placed elbows. Eventually another man on the bus gave me his seat. My suitor continued to pester me, until the poor man in the middle had to spend his whole journey guarding me against him in uber-chivalrous fashion, which he did pleasantly and without any altercation. It was amusing and my guardian very impressive and sweet.

Finally, after 45 minutes, the bus rolled into Tacuba and we walked up the hill in search of the Mama y Papa hostel. We passed a group of folk dancers dressed in big papier mache masks (apparently a new year’s eve celebration); they stopped their performance to ask where we were headed, and a devil pointed us down a street, incongruously in the correct direction.

The Mama y Papa Hostel is basic but pleasant. Mama was horrified that we were vegetarian and tried to send us to a variety of restaurants, all of which happened to be closed as it was New Year’s Eve. So we have just celebrated New Year’s Eve (UK time) in hammocks with beer, made lots of plans for the next year, eaten a big plate of rice, and shall be going to bed to the sound of fireworks and Papa’s guitar… and the promise of an 8 hour hike tomorrow!