December 29, 1999 El Salvador

In my day-and-a-half here I’ve experienced Salvadorian Sushi, Pupusas(a regional delicacy) , the sprawling American Embassy (literally several acres!) and a minor fender-bender. Perhaps I should call it a minor accident but a major fender-bender. I think it was my fault. It was at a circular intersection and I was confused to say the least. I went directly to an autobody shop with my new friend/victim. With estimate in hand we went directly to the bank to consummate the relationship. Needless to say, I got screwed, but it was a bargain by American standards.

San Salvador is the capitol of El Salvador. I have a fabulous host here, a friend I met years ago in San Francisco while he was studying acupuncture. He is a very high profile doctor because he did a weekly TV show here for many years concerning alternative medicine. His seventeen year old son has been my guide, touring me around in his gun-metal-grey VW beetle. The walls of his room are adorned with posters of Jim Morrison, The Beatles, and Latin-American icon Che Guevera. Che’s notoriety began in Cuba, where I will be at this time tomorrow.

December 27, 2000

The big neon sign clearly said: Auto Hotel. “I just don’t get it! Is this just a place to park your auto? Where’s the freakin’ office?” I drove around the circular interior of the drab cement complex several times and all I could see were small garage spaces with a door inside and a rolling metal garage door outside. “Where’s the office?” I asked the security guard with a big shotgun and a nasty German Shepherd. My much improved Spanish was not enough to comprehend the situation. “Are there rooms here?”
“Yes. You have to use the telephone.”
“But I’m a traveler, I don’t have a telephone.” I drove out, still mystified, looking for an office somewhere outside the complex.

Nope. Nada. Nothing. I was running out of options. I had already been looking for a place to stay for forty-five minutes and it was way after dark. I had to try again with my heavily armed friend. He told me there was someone in the office who spoke English. “What office? Where is the office?” I said, not hiding my frustration. “On the telephone.” He repeated for the fifth time. He finally motioned for me to come with him into a garage and through a door into a small room. It was painted a fleshy pink color and there was a huge mirror on the wall next to the bed. “Omigawd! I’m in a whorehouse!!” I thought, as he handed me the phone.
The girl on the phone spoke English with some kind of European accent. She told me the room was $13 and that included two beverages and that checkout time was 7:00a.m.. 7:00a.m.?? Hmm. OKAY, I think I’m making progress. Then it got weirder. I was unpacking and I heard a knock on the door. But, there was no one at the door. There was no one at the garage door. Was I hearing things? No. I heard it again, this time with a girl’s muffled voice. “Omigawd!” I thought again, “Is there a naked girl somewhere in my room?” No. A box in the corner with a hand! Just like the Addams Family on TV! And it wanted my money!

After an explanation from Brigitte, the Austrian girl on the phone, it all made perfect sense. This was a place were Salvadoran couples came for discreet sex. You can’t bring your girlfriend home to Mom, nor your mistress home to the wife. So you come here. No one sees you, your partner, or your car! Completely anonymous. With a free porno channel! But alas, I’m here all by myself!

…could be that way for a reason. A narrow dirt road, on a steep mountain, waaay above the lake is not the best place for a dead end. I got some good pictures and I got to put Baby Blue into four-wheel drive, but it was a little hairy turning around. Yiiikes! Yesterday I took the highway around the lake and today I took a road much closer to the lake. Most tourists take a boat to one or two specific villages. Each boat is greeted by a flock of merchants and local guides hungry for the tourist Quetzales. I was able to visit the smaller villages that don’t get any tourist traffic. The brilliant colored outfits that Guatemala is famous for are different in every village. At the time of the Spanish conquest, each village was assigned different colors as a way of keeping tabs on the Natives. The colors are now a source of pride, like school colors, if you will. “We’re from the blue village, Rah, Rah, Rah! We grow onions, Sis, Boom, Bah!” OKAY, they’re not that excited, but the colors are awesome!