When Jeff and I studied the map of the country to determine a probable route, we agreed we would ride the country's highest roads, entering at Las Chimanas in the west, pedalling over the Sierra Apaneca Ilatepeque, and passing Lago Coatepeque and Cerro Verde park, before descending to the capital, San Salvador, and then climbing back above 1000 meters through the Cordillera Metapan Alotepeque and leaving the country at El Poy, north of the capital.
Despite the highest point having been only 1486 meters elevation, the 400km route in El Salvador was the hardest of any country so far, with an average of 16 meters of climbing for each kilometer pedalled. But the reason for choosing this difficult, mountainous itinerary was simple: Central America was experiencing its annual rainy season, which causes high heat and humidity in areas below 1000 meters elevation, especially between 11am and 4pm, making cycling there very uncomfortable.
Ahuachapán was our first city in the country and the start of the Ruta de las Flores (Route of the Flowers), one of the prettier cycling routes in this small nation. The CA8 passes through coffee-growing country and colourful villages with cobbled streets and colonial-style houses. The dark green of the coffee plants mix with the lively colours of diverse flowers, forming a landscape that I found familiar; it seemed more like riding on Madeira Island than in Central America.
In contrast to Guatemala, where much of the aboriginal population still keeps its religious traditions and forms of dress, here the Spaniards had been more efficient in decimating the population and local culture, and the majority of people are at least partly of European descent, removing the appeal of exotic native culture present in the neighbouring countries.
At the intersection of highway CA8 with the CA12, which comes from Sonsonate and the Pacific coast, we rode north towards Los Naranjos, another coffee-growing area but with more industrial characteristics. The colourful villages gave way to tin-roofed labour camps camouflaged by the dense vegetation of trees and coffee plants, revealing another side of El Salvador. The impoverished population of these "agricultural ghettos" is the bitterness in the taste of coffee. The monopoly is controlled by a small minority of rich Saladorans and foreigners (among them the American giant Starbucks), but the hard work of maintaining the culture of this magic bean is performed by poor families living in tin shacks, many of them former combatants in the bloody civil war that shook the country in the 1980s and early 1990s.
During one of this mountainous route's many climbs, dark clouds met us, creating a fog that lowered our visibility to just a few meters. Thunder and lightning flashes were so near that we felt we were in the epicenter of a tropical storm. It also did not hesitate to rain torrentially. We took refuge in a building belonging to the La Mejada cooperative, which, to my delight, maintained a small coffee museum here.
Aficionados of this delicious drink could not have found a better place to escape from a tropical storm. Rain beat steadily and with incredible ferocity upon the tin roof, while we enjoyed a "Mojada coffee" and heard explanations of the cooperative's functions, which demonstrated to me that a small part of its production made its way to the Portuguese market. When the sky had released all its water, we continued north to Santa Ana, the country's second-biggest city.
San Salvador, the capital, only confirmed my theory that bicycle touring in Latin metropolises can bring a trip to a premature end. The center of the city is confused, chaotic and dangerous for cycling, a taste of which we had already had in Santa Ana.
The next day we left the city, promising ourselves not to ride through any more great urban centers in Central America. I was left with a "souvenir" of the city, my rearview mirror cracked by a passing bus that had compelled me to ride in the gutter of the tree-lined Avenida Juan Pablo II, and by pure luck my name was not added to the city's road statistics.
I had convinced Jeff to detour a little from the planned route to visit the city of Cojutepeque. Cojutepeque is just another Salvadoran city without any interest to the tourist, but only if the tourist is not Portuguese.
Near the city, on the Cerro de las Pavas (Hill of the Turkeys), lies the sanctuary of Nuestra Señora de Fatima de Cojutepeque, with a statue of the Virgin brought from Portugal in 1949 and placed on top of the hill in a colourful, green, open space.
"This statue was brought from Spain, and attracts many pilgrims every May 13th," said Carlos, a young man on his bicycle who offered to lead us to the top of the Cerro de las Pavas .
After correcting him, and proving it with a wooden engraving of Nuestra Señora de Fatima which had been given to me by my mother and which has travelled in my luggage for more than 18,000 km, Carlos further led us to points on the hillside overlooking the city and the San Vicente volcano, directing our gaze to various places on the landscape that stirred memories of the civil war.
Carlos' adolescence coincided with the most turbulent period of the country's history. The bloody armed conflict that killed more than 75,000 people over 12 years still resides in the memories of all Salvadorans, especially Carlos who, now at 30 years of age, easily recalls the difficulties it created. His ambition, and that of seemingly the entire population of the country, is to emigrate to the United States, the land of opportunity. Many had already made it there, and their remittances to their families here are currently the country's main source of income.
The next day we continued towards Suchitoto, probably the prettiest and best-preserved colonial city in the country. Along the way we passed through Ilobasco, a village of potters, where it seems every citizen took a pottery course in a polytechnical institute and opened an artisan shop in their living room or in a storefront with doors opening to the streets of the village.
Yesterday we arrived in La Palma, within 12 km of the Honduran border and the end of our travels in this small country. It will certainly not rank among my favourite countries of the trip, but, due to its being little-known and little-visited, it provided its own rewards. The Salvadorans I met were without a doubt the highlights, with their genuine affection and hospitality still unaffected by mass tourism.
Nuno Brilhante Pedrosa
In La Palma, El Salvador
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