In which Layla and Roz travel the Rotes de las Flores and have to forego dessert.

by Layla.

The day got off to an unpromising start with me vomiting and feeling very green indeed. By the time I summoned the energy to wobble down the hill to the cool artisan café from the day before, I felt able to manage a cup of mint tea, while trying studiously not to look at Roz’s pancakes, and keeping one eye on the café’s bathroom… Luckily, possibly with the help of some Dramamine medication from the local pharmacy, there were no further incidents. Roz and I settled down to read and then had a little stroll around the square, before returning to our hotel, grabbing our bags, and tottering down the hill again to the bus stop. Despite ailments, Ataco was a beautiful town and our favourite place in El Salvador so far. It was with some sorrow that we hopped on the 249 (or as easily as one can hop on an old American school bus with a turnstile, carrying two suitcases, two rucksacks and two handbags). Next destination: Juayua, another mountain town on the Ruta de las Flores.

Upon arrival half an hour later, on a very crowded bus, we did not have an initially good first impression. It was crowded, dirty, stressful, and confusing. We fought our way through a covered market and located our hotel, the Hostel Anhouac. Which in fact turned out not to be our hotel after all. Despite my booking ahead, and indeed them having my name written down, they had nevertheless given our room to someone else. Feeling sick and peeved, I got rather irate about this til a nice Canadian family told us the same had happened to them the previous night, and we were directed down the road a few blocks to a similar establishment, Casa Mazeta, which did have a room.

We walked down to the main square in search of a late lunch, only to find that Central America’s best food festival is no place for a quiet snack. The place was absolutely mobbed, with thumping music and crowds aplenty, sitting at innumerable outside stalls eating all sorts of food. Neither of our stomachs were quite up to the chaos. We retreated to a supermarket, acquired bread, cheese, yoghurt and fruit, and lunched in the garden of our new hostel. Well, Roz lunched; I ate most of a yoghurt before feeling ill. Roz sent me for a nap, and read her book in the sun (fortunately for her, she was completely absorbed by it).

Later we decided to brave Juayua again. It was still extremely busy but we located a very cool little café/bar, El Cadejo. The artwork was cool, the cocktails excellent, the food plain and familiar enough to tempt our complaining stomachs, and most pleasingly, it seemed to be a word game hub. We commandeered an ancient Scrabble board and launched into a game, with hummous and mohitos to fuel our efforts. Annoyingly someone moved our board and ruined it before we could finish the game. We started another game and ordered more food. As we ate our food (or attempted to; our stomachs both protested even at tomato soup and pasta and pesto), our second game was knocked over. We admitted defeat and retired to our room where the thumping music from the town centre’s food festival kept us (well, Roz) awake into the small hours. We were not convinced about Juayua.

We felt rather better about the town the next morning. We were up early and back to the Hotel Anhouac, as many tours in the area are run by them. We were planning to go on a 6 hour hike through waterfalls. The more we thought about it, the more foolish it sounded, particularly given recent ailments, failure to keep down food, and the need to walk in knee deep water without appropriate footwear. We deliberated confusedly over pancakes at Hotel Anhouac, til the same Canadian family came to the rescue: they’d arranged another trip, rather less hardcore, to a set of waterfalls called Los Chorros de Caleta. We accepted happily, and suddenly Juayua started to look up. As the trip didn’t leave til later, we went down to the market in quest of a set of earphones for Roz, who’d left hers at Tacuba, frustratingly as she is keen on listening to audiobooks (particularly on buses). A quick look around revealed only fruit and tourist tat. We asked a stallholder. Like a man whose sole dream is to be helpful, he left his stall and led us to a shop where another very nice man sold us some ideal earphones. Inspired, we returned to our hostel to find Roz’s watch, which needed a new battery. Another visit to the market and another cheery stallholder walked us to a watch shop, where a battery was duly fitted. We wandered back to Hotel Anhouac through the pretty town square, now much lovelier since the food festival crowds of yesterday had dissipated, and felt really very cheery.

The waterfall walk was also very cheery: through town, then down through coffee plantations to see a series of impressive and pretty waterfalls in a pretty, secluded setting. When we got to the last waterfall, the Canadians decided to swim and jumped in the waterfall pool. Roz and I stood, deterred by the hassle of changing into swimming gear, the prospect of icy water, and the large number of Salvadorean boys (who, to be fair, were more interested in the Canadian girls… though we didn’t appreciate their mother advising us of this, as though we were no longer alluring to a Salvadorean boy!). But eventually we couldn’t resist and I jumped in, in my clothes, followed closely by Roz. We had a lovely, fun time swimming in the waterfall pool, including going underneath the waterfall, and returned very cheerily (and soggily) to our hostel.

We’d meant to stay in Juayua two nights but as the tour had finished by lunchtime we decided to press on to the capital, San Salvador. After a quick pizza lunch, we caught a bus to Sonsonate, and then located the 205 bus terminal to San Salvador – a busy building with two options: normal bus, or posh executive one. We decided to splash out ($1.50 each!) and had a smooth, air conditioned ride to the big city, an hour and a half away.

First impressions were that San Salvador is busy and enamoured of motorway-like roads. We grabbed a taxi from the bus station to the hotel we’d reserved in one of the safest areas of town, the Zona Rosa. I was a little disappointed to find that Suitas Las Palmas turned out to be on one of these motorway-like roads, as it didn’t feel at all like a neighbourhood. In fact it was bustling with fast food joints and nightclubs.

We settled into our rather nice room, partook of our free drink at a deserted hotel bar, and then headed out into the night. In fact, just round the corner to a much acclaimed restaurant (by Frommers guidebook, whose judgement is not to be relied upon); the restaurant, Ala Nuestro, did turn out to be posh and lovely, though rather deserted – for most of the meal we were the only customers; we sat outside, overlooking the twinkling lights of the city. The mohitos were good, but while the gnocci and risotto both seemed lovely, our stomachs – which we’d thought had recovered – put up a new protest and we were forced to leave some on our plates and, horrors, not have dessert. After dinner we returned to the hotel for a Moth podcast before bed.