12th - 13th Sept
It was time for a change of scene, I had been living the beach life for weeks and weeks and needed to get into the mountains for some fresh air, lush scenery and to let the growing list of cuts and sea ulcers dry out and heal.
I had been recommended by Aussie Pablo a scenic ride about an hour West of San Salvador called the Ruta De Las Flores (route of the flowers). I said my goodbyes to Veronika and the kids at El Balsamo and rode West along the beautiful, windy coast road to Sonsonate where I took the road North and up into the mountains to a town called Jauyúa, pronounced 'Way-ooh-ah'! I had picked out a hostel called the Hotel Anáhuac and after stumbling around the town aimlessly I eventually found a local chica who pointed me in the right direction.
There is a great vibe about Jauyúa, as is often the way with mountain towns the people are friendly, more welcoming and laid back, must be something to do with the cooler climate. Hotel Anahuac was empty apart from one very friendly staff member who took me in and set me up with a bed in a dorm to my self. The hostel was really nicely decorated with organically shaped wooden furniture, a peaceful garden with hammocks and artifacts from the local coffee industry.
A french guy whose name I cannot remember arrived in the early evening and we went out and grabbed a pizza in a local restaurant, we spoke almost entirely in Spanish for the evening until my brain started to fade and communication was no longer possible. Very graciously (for a Frenchman) we continued on in English! Back at the hotel the Frenchie pulled out a bottle of Casa Del Diavolo, clearly classicly raised in accordance with French law this dude travelled with good red wine the likes of which I had not tasted since my dad had left me in Costa Rica and I rolled us a joint from the Californian stash of weed. I had avoided smoking the heavy stuff until now and thought I'd give it a try... within twenty minutes the mix of beer, wine and a knockout refer had sent my head spinning, I couldn't open my eyes let alone talk and rather embarrassingly excused myself and retreated to the safety of my bed. I have not spun that hard for years...
In the morning I got chatting to the guy on the desk (who was an actual legend) and enquired about getting up to the crater of Volcan Santa Ana, which at 2,365m is the tallest peak in the area and has an amazing looking crater. I was advised against this and that a day trip around to some hot springs and two nearby villages to see their food markets would be more manageable in a day... 'Ha' I said, I would rather do the Volcano which he thought was possible to ride up and gave me some rough directions... Again with the idiocy, when will I learn?!
My GPS proclaimed to have found a destination in the general area of the volcano with the correct name which was promising and the route started well, nice windy montain roads weaved through lush floral villages of palm thatched huts. After about half an hour I was instructed to take a left turn seemingly into a bush, I drove past ignoring the direction as I was expecting to see an official sign and car park / visitor centre. After a few miles or so I had seen no such sign and the GPS was still telling me to turn around. In the absence of any other options I did as I was told and headed back to the bush. A bus up ahead was making the 270° turn back on itself and into the bush / lane, somewhat encouraged by this I followed and bounced my way down the rocky, muddy track.
This muddy track turned into another classic bit of misadventure... the villages got progressively smaller, the dogs wilder and the look on the local peoples faces suggeated I was definitely not a common site in these parts, they weren't particularly welcoming either. My GPS confidently declared a route onward and with blind faith I kept riding content that the tracks were always climbing and therefore I was likely heading the right way. After about twenty minutes the track became more of an over grown path and I was starting to get a little concerned. I spotted a local guy, stood by a field with a machete in his hand and asked for directions, he laughed and muttered something whilst gesticulating wildly. I didn't understand a word he said and asked again if this was the way to volcano, I caught something about a road and turning left, not even half confident I carried on only to be stopped by a barking mad crazy lady with half a mouthful of teeth a few meters down the road. She was waving her arms, pointing at her fence and shouting, her words were aimed at me as if I understood and would resolve her problem, god knows what she was saying and after a minute of polite nodding and smiling I figured it best to just ride on.
After another 5mins I found the mystery road, well, slightly wider rocky track, and turned left. Intially promising I buzzed along through a couple of tiny villages until the road turned into a tiny, quad bike wide, overgrown mud track that started to climb really steeply. Clouds were gathering overhead and I pondered my situation. The mud track was steep and barely wide enough to turn round on, if it rained getting down would be a mission and the bike although designed for all terrain was shod with road tires which weren't much use in the brown stuff. On the other hand, I had ridden for an hour and a half and it would suck not to see the volcano... On I went riding the bike like a bucking bronco across deep ruts and over steep ridges, all the time climbing the steep hill, spinning up the back wheel as I struggled for grip whilst trying not to catch the board rack on the rocks or bushes. I was sweating heavily and getting more and more anxious about getting back down the track, I hadn't seen any people for about fifteen minutes and was wondering how much fun it would be to get stuck up on the side of this volcano on my own. The GPS was still egging me on but surely there would be signs and a more accessible track if this was a proper tourist attraction? After a while I came to a fork in the track and looked down at my GPS to find it had stopped offering a route, the tracks got steeper and narrowed and I decided to stop and think. As I stood there heart pounding and hands shaking I felt spots of rain landing on my head, the sky was dark and I knew I had to turn around. Massively dissapointed and yet scared shitless that I was gonna crash on the way down and break a leg in the middle of nowhere I heaved the bike around and started riding down in first gear the bike popping and spluttering as I went.
Thankfully the rain held off and I was amazed at how well the bike dealt with the path back down, it would have been soo easy to scrub the front out in a ditch or patch of mud but instead we nailed it and happily made it back down to the villages and finally back out onto the main road. I still have no idea wether or not I was on the right track or why the hell there are no frigging signs for such an impressive looking crater, anywhere else in the world there would be a tourist gravy train and gift shop but not here!
Somewhat defeated but happy to be in one piece I rode back toward Juayúa and followed the road on along the Ruta De Las Flores along to Ataco where I stopped and had some lunch next to the central plaza. The views over the distant volcanoes and mountains are stunning, Ataco itself was also a very pretty, cobbled town with an eclectic food market and selection of restaurants and artisanal shops and stalls.
Taking the advice of mi amigo at the hotel, whose name I think was Salee, I cruised along to the hot springs at Santa Teresa. Along the way I watched several groups of locals loading these ramshackle, gravity powered, wooden karts with huge stacks of logs and riding them down the steep mountain roads with the rest of the traffic. Check out the photo, it looks like great fun!
The hot springs were rather dissapointing, the complex itself was rather grandiose for El Salvador, lots of random concrete pools linked together with milky, greenish water flowing from pool to pool. I was hoping for a more natural mud pool type affair but this was like going to a municipal swimming pool, complete with a massive bar and restaurant set into the mountain side and what sucked the most was the water temp, it felt like getting into a bath that had been sat for an hour, it was warm at best. On the plus side the ride into the place was kool, steam rose from random swampy lakes and clumps of grass in the lush hillsides, It felt like riding through a landscape from Jurassic Park only a little safer!
Back at the hostel I got chatting to Salee, he had just finished his shift and suggested a game of backgammon and a coffee at a bar in town. We randomly bumped into a Polish chick who had arrived at the hotel while I was out so the three of us went and drank beer and coffee and chatted for five or six hours in a really wicked bar called El Cadejo. The backgammon was a close affair but ultimately I got schooled.
My time was up in El Salvador, time to move on to the wilds of Guatemala. In the morning I packed and talked coffee with a Danish conissuer who was in Jauyúa for business sourcing beans from the local farms then headed off down some of the most amazing windy flower covered roads back to the coast. It wasn't long before my bum was numb and the rain kicked in...
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