Central American Journey

El Salvador and beyond…


A Rant about the Buses in San Salvador

There are many things to tell you about the buses in San Salvador.  I’ll start with the positive.  They are cheap!  It costs $.20 per ride if you take the large buses, or $.25 if you take the microbuses.  They also come very quickly.  I don’t think we’ve had to wait more than 5 minutes for a bus ever.  Sometimes the drivers let people on who try to sell you candy or snacks, so you could eat without leaving your seat (I have never bought anything on the bus).  Also, since the large buses seem to all be repurposed school buses (usually) or transit buses from the U.S., they reuse a vehicle which I imagine would otherwise go in the landfill (or at least parts of it would).  So, yay, for sort-of being environmentally friendly.  I think that might be the end of the good list.

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This used to be a school bus in the US.

The first thing we noticed, before we ever got on a bus was that, if you were new to El Salvador, there is no easy way to figure out the bus system.  There are no maps available.  We learned that each route (maybe each bus, but I don’t think so) is privately owned by a different company.  They apparently don’t make maps of their routes.  This is the only route I’ve found and it is unofficial.  Some website just decided to make it.  It’s also not on an actual map; so it’s not that helpful because I don’t know the landmarks.  And there are no signs for bus stops.  Really.  You have to just know where a bus stop is, or if you’re lucky during busier times you’ll probably see other people standing around waiting.  But not all buses stop at all bus stops and you don’t necessarily know that.  Sometimes you can wave to a driver who will stop at an unofficial stop, but it depends.  The way that people who live here do it, is to ask someone (or lots of people) where the bus stop is or where this particular bus goes.  We’ve tried that several times.  We’ve had people who have helped us, but most people have either spoken too quickly for us to understand (with multiple tries) or also didn’t know the answer to our question.

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Some are decorated quite colorfully inside.

Now on to the physical discomfort.  As I discussed in my last post, I am fat.  And every single large bus (those are the cheaper, more prevalent ones) has been retrofitted with a turnstile.  Not just one kind of turnstile, but many different types/shapes of turnstiles.  I can barely fit through them, if I turn sideways.  Two times, pretty early on in our time here, I was not able to physically fit through the gate.  The first time, I just stood there because I didn’t know what else to do and we would be getting off not that far away.  Luckily no one else needed to board the bus in that time.  The second time I was with Andrew and our host mom Melba, and I ran around and entered through the “exit” door which doesn’t have a turnstile (usually – we came across one the other day that did).  But one day I was traveling, again with Andrew and Melba, carrying my big hiking backpack so I knew I wouldn’t fit through the turnstile.  Melba asked the bus driver if they could pay him my fare while I entered through the back door.  He said no.  They aren’t allowed to let anyone or anything enter through the exit door.  So, we took a microbus when one came along.

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This is a retrofitted turnstile.

Then the other physically uncomfortable part is just how high the steps are from the ground.  I don’t really remember having a problem with them when I was a kid riding the bus to school.  Maybe I just liked jumping up and down a lot more then.  Maybe the tires here are taller.  I don’t know.  I do know I’m less agile than when I was a wee one.  Either way, I’ve hurt myself twice coming out of the bus.  Both times I was exiting onto ground that was both uneven and on the edge of the road and therefore lower than street level.  My knee has mostly recovered, but I still get twinges.

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This one is a tour-style bus with super hard plastic seats.

The bus drivers really seem to experience a lot of time pressure, which I judge by their crappy driving.  We’ve had drivers that run red lights, that speed past other cars and buses weaving in and out (really only the microbuses are capable of this), that take turns quickly causing people to fall sideways, and that stop abruptly causing those standing to stumble.  However, everyone else seems a bit more used to this behavior (having experienced it for longer) than Andrew and I are.  The most dangerous thing for me is that people exit and enter the bus while it is still moving.  The driver will start moving before everyone is on the bus and through the turnstile.  Some people (usually young men) are quite adept at it.  I am not capable of this.  Usually the bus driver notices that we’re white and I think waits longer than he would normally.  But sometimes, the bus is so crowded, he can’t see who is exiting or when and has started moving while we’re still getting off.  A couple of days ago, I almost fell backwards out of the bus because the driver started moving before I entered the turnstile and it was rainy so the floor was wet.  So, basically, if I get hurt or die in El Salvador, it will probably be on a bus (I mean, I did survive the fireballs thrown at us during a festival, but we’ll tell you about that in another post).

Additionally, many of the buses have decorations on them which are Christian-themed.  Sometimes they have a name written across the front of the bus which includes God or Jesus (usually in Spanish).  Other times they have pictures on them.  We have met people here who are not Christian or Catholic who experience the pervasive presence of a particular kind of religiosity as detrimental.  It is similar, I think, to the Christian hegemony that exists in the US, except that in El Salvador there is no official separation between church and state.

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Jesus is also wondering why he is on the side of a bus.

And finally, back to the sort-of environmentally friendly part.  The buses release soooo much dirty, polluting smoke.  El Salvador apparently doesn’t have strict (or any) regulations about emissions from vehicles, so the cars are pretty terrible in this regard too.  It’s uncomfortable for my lungs when I am walking on the sidewalk when a bus passes, or on a bus behind other buses in traffic.

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This photo is not actually hazy. That’s the exhaust coming from the bus.

I would love to do more exploring of this city, but the bus situation presents a big barrier.  The person we live with owns a car, so she either walks or uses her car.  Many people don’t know about the buses that they haven’t taken (which is mostly the ones around their house).  If you add the uncertainty about bus routes with our less than fluent Spanish, it is difficult to figure out how to get to new places.  I’d love to visit more museums or do various types of exploring, but I’m a little concerned about getting stranded in an unfamiliar place.  I’m writing this post in part for anyone else looking for information about the buses here.  Maybe google will lead them this way and they will not feel so alone and confused.

So what unusual public transportation stories do you have?  Feel free to share them in the comments!



An Observation about Cultural Differences, Context, and Chairs

When I started classes in graduate school, everyone was required to take the same class for the first two weeks of the semester, called Organizational Behavior 1.  It was a class about group dynamics, cultural differences, and how to work together.  One of the concepts we read about was the difference between high context and low context cultures.  Low context cultures tend to be pretty heterogeneous, and the communication is characterized by being more explicit and spelling things out more.  More of the communication takes place in the actual words said.  In high context cultures, people tend to be more homogenous and the communication takes the shared culture into account.  More of the information can go unsaid, because the people around you are already aware of or observing the non-verbal cues, historical perspective, etc. to make sense of what is being said.  In general, the U.S. is on the lower end of the context spectrum and El Salvador is on the higher side, while the campo (the rural portions of the country) is even higher.  Keep in mind that high/low context is on a spectrum, it varies a lot within and between societies, and it interacts with a lot of other things in a given culture.  So, why am I writing this really academic stuff right now?  Because I’ve seen this play out in really interesting ways in El Salvador, especially in our time in el campo.


The ubiquitous plastic chair.

I am fat. (By the way, I don’t consider this an insult, but a statement of fact. Read here for more background or do your own internet search. ) In many places in El Salvador the only furniture available is those molded plastic chairs with arms. Because I am wider than the average person, I don’t fit into those chairs (or many chairs with close-set arms).  Then there is the fact that they are also pretty unsound structurally and that an average-sized person can cause them to collapse.  I had a conversation about this fact with one of the organizers of our delegation with the Washington Ethical Society (WES) before we left the US.  I spent sooooo many hours (really!) looking online for a foldable/portable stool or camping chair that I would be able to easily carry around, which had a sufficient weight limit and fit within my budget.  I couldn’t find one.  It’s important to me to have a comfortable place to sit and those plastic chairs aren’t it.

So, this is to let you know that I have frequent problems with seating (in the U.S. too) but most people are not aware of it.  It is a function of relative-thin privilege (read here for what that is, or do your own search) that many people don’t have to think about whether they are going to fit into the seats of a given restaurant or theater or those in the house of a generous host family.  Many, many people aren’t even aware that this is a difficulty that exists.

Now what does this have to do with being high or low context?  In El Salvador I experienced people doing things to make my life easier without even talking to me about them first, which I don’t experience in the US.  Many of these incidents involved chairs.  Luckily, the house in El Rodeo where we ate our meals had a set of wooden, armless chairs. I used one of those during every meal, at the head of the table to minimize my discomfort.  Of course, it still had the problem of being very tall, so my legs would go to sleep the longer I sat in it.  The women who cooked for us seemed to know why I was using that chair and seemed to expect me to sit in it. (I say “seemed” because my Spanish was bad enough that I didn’t communicate with them very well.)  Whereas, some members of our delegation used the chair as a place to hang things (bags, clothes, etc.) which made it more difficult for me to move around for our various meetings that happened in the same space.

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My view, from a hammock in El Rodeo, of a stack of plastic chairs. Properly hung hammocks are super comfortable!

At one point, we met with some of the people who collectively run Radio Victoria, which we talked about previously.  They had those same really common plastic chairs for us to sit in.  Shortly into the meeting, Elvis (Head of the ADESCO in El Rodeo and a member of the collective who runs Radio Victoria) got up and went into another room and returned with a wooden bench (without arms) for me to sit in.  I didn’t even notice him look at me to see my discomfort with the chair.  Without speaking a word with me, he did something which made the rest of my time in the meeting so much more pleasant.

While we were at CIS, during our Spanish classes, I witnessed two people fall from their chairs because the legs bent and dumped them on the floor.  Some days, when I couldn’t find the plastic chairs without arms, I sat on a big bucket with a lid because it was more comfortable than sitting on the edge of the chairs with arms.  One day when we had been unexpectedly called into a presentation in another room which only had chairs with arms in which to sit, I fell in the same manner as the thinner people.  The front legs bent because all of my weight was on the front and I hit the floor.  I decided to stay sitting on the floor because it too was more comfortable than the chair.  The next day, the coordinator of the school brought me a chair (with a metal frame, plastic seat, and no arms) from her office, so I sat in that for the rest of the week.  Unfortunately, it was also too tall and my legs kept falling asleep.

For a story unrelated to chairs, we talked in an earlier post about how our host father in El Rodeo spent several hours one day completely redoing the path from his house to the main path, because he saw me slip on it one morning.  (The residents seemed to have little difficulty with the frequently slippery dirt paths – I’m guessing it’s because they had a lifetime to get used to the particular balance it requires to walk on them.)  He cleaned a bunch of mud out and then located and placed stones to create a new walkway.  If we were in the US, he might have said after I slipped, “Be careful! Don’t hurt yourself,” or commented about the inevitability of mud during the rainy season, or worried about his homeowner‘s insurance. I doubt that he would have taken that project on, especially without me saying that it was a problem for me.

As a contrast, in the US, we are fairly low context and require people to advocate for themselves if they need something.  At WES we have a couple of short people who use a small collapsible foot stool during activities that require sitting in our stackable (and thankfully arm-free) black chairs.  I, too, am short enough to need one of these, but I don’t think the stool would hold the weight of my feet/legs on it, even if most of my weight is on the chair.  That stool brings people’s awareness to the requirements of short people with a visual reminder.  Most people don’t notice when I am sitting on the very edge of a chair because my hips don’t fit into the arms.  When I bring it up, people usually are happy to make accommodations, or switch seats with me, but not everyone remembers the next time (or the next) when we are in the same room meeting in the same chairs.

folding foot rest

That just doesn’t look sturdy enough for me.

One time in the US, I was attending a workshop about racism being led by two women, one white and fat and the other black and relatively thin.  I noticed that the facilitator who was fat was having the same problem with the provided chairs that I typically have.  I had already scouted out armless chairs elsewhere in the building because we were going to be there all day.  I offered to get her a different chair and she gratefully agreed.  But over the course of the workshop, the thinner woman kept sitting in the armless chair, even after being asked to move the first time it happened, not aware that her colleague was quite uncomfortable in the other chair.  I would like for us in the US to be more aware of differences in people and the resulting needs they have.  It would not only help people with different needs than ours, but it would also help us to become more aware of our own needs.  I have only been doing this practice of asking or looking for a different seat for a couple of years now – before, I just suffered through it.  Despite the fact that I have not yet had a negative reaction to my request for a different seat, it takes a particular kind of resolve to constantly advocate for seating that fits me.  Every time, I steel myself for the possibility that someone will say something that will hurt me.  I have a long history of being bullied and denigrated for my fatness.  I have to work against the life-long, trained response to be ashamed of being fat.  I have to work against the desire to not be made the center of attention, especially for my size.  It’s not easy work, but it is becoming easier.  And I think that in my asking, I have brought other people’s awareness to the issue.  I know Andrew, my husband, thinks about it now, when he didn’t before.

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That is me, sitting while fat, on a bench of dubious structural integrity.

I am sure I also have gaps in knowledge around the every day things that other people struggle with.  I am sure at times it seems like I am oblivious or unintentionally hindering other people, and I am.  I am sure I don‘t recognize things like that maybe the chairs people sit in cause them constant pain.  While I could say that this isn’t much of a problem because I have “good intentions,” for the people my actions or inactions are hurting, that doesn’t really matter (this is a challenging idea for a lot of us; I highly encourage you to read this post for starters).  This is a problem with privilege.  I don’t know exactly where my gaps in knowledge are.  That’s why I try to be more observant and challenge myself by reading things and experiencing things that are not in my comfort zone (like going to El Salvador).  And when someone points something out to me that I was previously unaware of because of my privilege, my job is to try to understand it and change my behavior going forward.  I do think, though, that being from a low context culture, I would feel more comfortable asking people first before I did something I thought would make them more comfortable.  I know that sometimes I guess wrong about what people are experiencing or misinterpret what I do observe.

So, what do you think?  Do you have stories, thoughts, or feelings you’d like to share in the comments?  If you would like more resources about the stuff I linked to, I can send you some.  Just email me or write a comment.


Lime curd ice cream (Helado de limón)

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I know we haven’t yet told you anything about the rest of our time in El Salvador except our first week.  In the mean time, I felt the need to blog about the first attempt I made at real ice cream (and food photography) with a Salvadoran Spanish lesson thrown in for good measure.  According to our host family, in El Salvador, what we call a lime in the US is called el limón and what we call a lemon is called la lima.  Lemon curd is also not really a thing here, so my Spanish dictionary translation of crema de limón didn’t mean anything to them.  It is next to impossible to find lemons here, but the limes are $.09 a piece.  It’s been pretty hot and there was an unexpected (to us) holiday which started on August 1st and ended yesterday.  So, when I got an email several days ago with a recipe for lemon curd ice cream, I decided I had to make some, with los limónes.  However, I’ve only ever made frozen yogurt before, with an electric ice cream maker. Through that post, I read a lot about making ice cream without an ice cream machine.

Also coincidentally, I came across a blog written by a pastry chef, which had an interesting recipe for lemon curd that didn’t use butter or other thickeners.  I highly recommend bravetart.com if you are looking for entertaining (and sometimes complicated) homemade dessert recipes.  She uses exclusively weight measurements for her recipes, which would be great if I were in my kitchen in the US because I have a scale.  But, I am in El Salvador in someone else’s kitchen with no scale, so I had to translate the exact measurements into volume.  I think that is how I ended up with less curd than the recipe suggests.  I also found Stella (aka BraveTart) to be very communicative and generous, responding quickly to my question on facebook.

I combined my lime curd with equal amounts of cream and put it in a pre-chilled stainless steel skillet in the freezer.  I stirred every 30 minutes or so, until it was like soft-serve consistency.  Then I transferred it into a plastic container we reused from a previous ice cream purchase.  It made about a pint and a half of ice cream.  It was delicious and had a great creamy, not icy, texture!

Also, fun fact about El Salvador, the refrigerators are kept at a higher temperature than in the US (I assume for energy conservation purposes).  We discovered this by having a package of chicken go bad after two days (you have to keep it in the freezer until you’re ready to cook it).  So, when I bought the only container of cream they had at the grocery store that was not in a can, it was a full liter (!) of cream.  We needed to make more ice cream to use it up before the cream, which lives in the warmer refrigerator, went bad.  Our coffee ice cream is currently freezing.  I’ll post the recipe I made up at another time.  I also have ten egg whites, from medium sized eggs, in the freezer to use up.  I’m open for suggestions for things to do with them that don’t require an electric mixer (or equivalent).  Any ideas?

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