Salvadoran skiing

The challenge

Magma.

How cliché.

I climbed a volcano today

That is Saturday, because by the time I get to an internet café it will be Sunday, and I don’t want to steer you wrong on my schedule. What a shame that would be.

The weird thing is, that will probably be the first and only time I climb a volcano, at least that volcano (Izalco). The last time it erupted was 1966 (or 76…because sesenta y seis and setenta y seis sound VERY similar). It will also be the first and only time I meet some Jehovah’s witnesses near a volcano. Yes, pay attention.

So every month Casa and the Romero program (the becari@s’ program) do an activity together. So all of us who wanted to go (about 30) went to Mr. Izalco – as I will call him because he was still steaming). It’s a national park, one that you will probably find in all of your guide books… which is probably why we saw more gringos there outside of our little family. The guides there volunteer one day a week – VOLUNTEER – and take people down the mountain, up the volcano, down the volcano, and up the mountain again. The rest of the days they study. All of the guides are probably in high school. It’s a four hour hike in total and the route goes like I just said. The national park is situated in the middle of this beautiful lush green mountain. You have to go down these rustic “steps” (meaning logs situated at the end of a dirt plateau) to get to the basin of the volcano, which is a ring of old lava rocks. Then you climb up the STEEP volcano. I don’t know how I can say it better, but the pictures explain a lot. With every step you take you may fall, and the steps of those ahead of you are the once you look out for, because those steps could send small rocks of medium sized boulders down your route.

Pretty much the most chivo thing I’ve done. Ever. (Chivo = sweet/cool/awesome)

The whole way down the mountain, Sarita (Julio’s nice) and I held hands. I have to admit, as much as I love the girl and as much as I feel like I want to grasp on to every friendship I am given with the Salvadorans, I am not graced with jumping down a mountain holding a 10 year old’s hand. Plus, after an hour…your hands can get pretty sweaty. But who am I to complain? I climbed a volcano today and she wants me to be her friend. I’ll hold her hand forever. Also, I think that the greatest feeling I have comes from when any Salvadoran uses the “vos” form with me. It’s like the tu form of the verbs, very informal. It signifies a confianza and a friendship. Also signifies my heart beating a little faster.

So we finally get up to the top of the still-steaming Mr. Izalco, and there is no possible way to describe the view so I won’t even try. Someone noted that we were higher than the birds. And there were clouds brushing up against us. How lucky. How incredibly blessed am I and are we to even have this view on this earth.

The way down was something else. Salvadoran skiing was the name it was given. We slid down on the rocks most of the way down. Many of the areas had smaller rocks and even coarse sand and pebbles to dig your feet in, sit your butt back and just glide all day long baby. Yes, of course I was nervous at first – I am my mother’s daughter – but you just gotta let go sometimes! Yes I fell – I fell all over the place… going up, walking around the edge of Mr Izalco… but I did not fall on the way down. Actually, I lied. I fell on my arse. But that wasn’t when I was skiing down the rocks.

So when we finally got back (after having to go back up that beautiful, gracious, easy, not steep mountain….I’m lieing), we were greeted by a picnic lunch and more fun times and views in the park. Also we were encountered by some good ole witnesses of Jehovah. A couple from the US and a couple from Spain. Nice people, and I didn’t pass judgment on them until after they walked away – so I guess that I’m a better person for that? No, not really. They told us about this weekly magazine they put out in over 350 languages! It addresses the pressing issues and questions we face in our world in a global sense. For example – the problem of teens and the internet. Our teens are so lonely, that they are spending hours upon hours online! What are we missing in the home? They told Colin, Patricio and I about how they asked a global audience how they feel about this issue, got a ton of responses, and were able to consolidate these answers for your reading pleasure into only four pages! How gracious of them. Sorry I’m being so sarcastic, but….crazy. I don’t even know what to say. This woman, Cindy, told us, “We’re all humans. Humans are the same, we’re all the same. We all face the same problems in our lives!” Do we, Cindy?

She gave us a copy of this book they wrote. They polled the WORLD! The whole world, and asked them the top 19 questions they had (why 19 and about what I had no idea until she gave me the book – What the Bible Really Says.) and took all these questions and wrote this book. Colin asked, “If everyone has the same questions, how do you find the answers?” I’m just going to stop there. I’m not going to find the answers to the problems and questions I have to these people, just as they are not going to find the answers they are looking for in El Salvador with their fancy attire.

That’s another thing that’s been bothering me lately. I can dress like those people, I can travel back and forth, I can choose what I want to eat, where I want to sleep, what cycle to set my washing machine on at home, what dog food I will buy. How can I feel like I’m closer to the Salvadorans than I am to most of the US population?

That’s a question that will go unanswered for the time being.

Last night, a bunch of us gringos took our chances and went to the El Salvador v. Costa Rica fútbol game. My first game. We had our directions from Julio where to sit. Not in the $3 section. So we sat in the $6 one. Two words: Culero, urine. Everywhere. So the cheap seats are obviously the home to the crazy fans – the ones who rip shirts off people if you are not wearing blue or white. One guy was wearing orange. Bad idea. With the amount of guards and shields there you would think you were in a civil rights riot. And you almost were. We all separated on the buses on the way there and another group decided to venture into the $3 section. When they entered, the whole section (one quarter of the stadium) started chanting “CULERO!” (ass-grabber…without going too far into the total context) and other words and threw bags – once filled with water, now with urine – at them. And beer, and food. The whole nine yards as we say for American football. Costa Rica was not liked as well, and their anthem was greeted with backs turned and “the finger” up. There were probably 30 gringos in the whole stadium of over 100,000 and 15 of them were Casa students. Also, there were probably 30 women too. I tried to venture to the baño, not the best idea. The woman working at one of the grills told me that I had to use the men’s, because the women’s was further into the general section, and very dangerous. So we waited for all the men to leave and she and Zac stood guard at the entrances to this cubby with a hole in the ground. On the way back, taunting. “Ay! Gringa!” “Do you want to come home with me?” “Toquela!” (touch it/her) So my posterior was grabbed once – only because I couldn’t smack him/his hands away faster. I dared not smack the man or turn around. I am furious and enraged with the situation and the machismo culture, but I’m still a part of it. It is getting more trying and emotionally draining to be a woman here. But I have my supports. I have my respect. And I have really long blogs.

Beth, myself, and Roe playing a game of "Make a face when I tell you the situation to react to. Loooong bus ride.