Sleepless in San Salvador

As part of my travel writing retrospective, here's a piece written quite some time ago about a journey undertaken in the 1990s and I dare say San Salvador has changed... Also, with the exception to this one night described in my feature, I did have a very nice time in other parts of El Salvador.

Sleepless in San Salvador

El Salvador had recently emerged from years of civil war and its ravages as well as those of a not so recent earthquake were plain to see all over the capital San Salvador.

From the bus window, on my way into town, I saw the body of a man covered in flies slowly decomposing in the heat. El Salvador had an eerie feel to it, despite the brilliant sunshine over the green, rolling hills. People were friendly but somewhat guarded. There were no other travellers, certainly no foreign women, but despite being on my own I had very little hassle. People simply assumed I must be a journalist and therefore largely left me alone, or chose to share some of their stories with me.

Arriving in San Salvador I found myself a quiet looking hostel not too far from the bus station and set about exploring the city. I was the hostel’s only occupant with the exception of three odd-looking travellers who seemed downright unfriendly and peculiar. In my naivety I failed to realise they were completely drugged up!

Since arriving I had been repeatedly warned not to go outside after dark and consequently I found myself cooped up in my hostel room every evening after 6 o’clock.

Travel does make for early nights when you’re on your own, so I must have dozed off soon after dark only to be woken up some time in the middle of the night by an awful racket. At first I couldn’t for my life work out what was going on or why there was a fight seemingly right outside my door. Two men were arguing incessantly and eventually I managed to hear what they were saying. One of the drugged up travellers had apparently been sold dodgy drugs by the hostel owner and was now looking to exact his revenge. The threats and shouts went on for what seemed like hours, right outside my flimsy excuse for a door and at several points throughout the night someone tried to get in – whether to escape the crazed drug addict or to get at me as well I never found out. I certainly wasn’t going to open the door and ask! There I was huddled under my blanket, listening to all manner of abuse being hurled at the hostel owner who was going to be murdered, chopped up, mashed and squashed by this unknown traveller and his cronies, all the while thinking of what would happen if they actually got around to me.

At dawn the relentless ranting finally stopped and all was quiet. I waited about an hour or so before cautiously peeking out from behind my door. The patio was deserted and so was the reception. I took one look around and legged it to the nearest bus station to get the hell out of San Salvador.