El Salvador

El Salvador is the most dangerous and violent country in Central America, one of the most dangerous in the world. There are on average ten murders each day. This can be solely attributed to the gangs, the Mara, who are mainly based in the cities. A strong police presence is felt everywhere and the smaller towns have no gang activity whatsoever.

The gangs stem from the large number of El Salvadoreans who migrated (both legally and illegally) to the United States during the war. In Los Angeles many were persecuted by the Mexican gangs and formed their own in retaliation. To halt some of the violence in LA, immigration deported any illegals back to El Salvador where the gangs flourished.

There are two competing gangs here and the number of members is over 100,000. Over the years they have become more sophisticated and ventured into racketeering, prostitution and drugs. Most of the violence and murder is between the gangs however they occasionally target civilians when they wish to make a point to the government.

Aside from that darkness which I am pleased to say I haven’t witnessed at all, El Salvador is one of the friendliest, warmest and most hospitable countries I have been to.

Tourism here is in its infancy and of the twenty or so buses I have now caught around the country, on only one has there been another tourist. Tonight I have an entire hostel to myself – that is not extraordinary here. I can understand why so many are put off by the reputation but I am so glad that I decided to come here.

In the places you stay people genuinely treat you like family and can’t do enough to make you feel welcome and at home. Even the lady in the tourist office in Suchitoto, when I returned the next day to wait for Nelson to collect me, greeted me with a big kiss and hug as if I were a long lost friend.

Today I was getting a bus from Santa Ana to San Tecla where I need to change to get a bus to La Libertad. I asked the guy behind me if he was going to San Salvador and where I needed to go and if he could let me know when I need to get off. He, fortunately was getting off in San Tecla also. When the time came, he got me ready to get off the bus, grabbed my backpack and we started off down the street. What I didn’t realise at first is that he didn’t know exactly where I would catch the next bus but I was now his responsibility. He asked a couple of locals exactly where I needed to be and set me off in the right direction. Before we parted he put down the large crate he was carrying on his shoulder, opened the cloth that was covering it and handed me a breadstick which he was obviously coming to town to sell. He didn’t ask for anything in return and nor did I get a chance to give him any money before he disappeared across the street.

There are probably more stories I could tell like this after being here for only a week.