El Salvador. Entry Two

Yesterday I decided to give to the cause of public transportation in San Salvador.
I did this by getting on the wrong bus. Twice.



It took me an eventful hour just to get out of the city itself, but once at the Terminal de Sur (where I had to catch another bus to take me to Usulutan, the community I’m staying in) things were easier.  



For the better part of the ride I was seated next to the type of man who shows you what a good, protective person he is by warning you to keep your legs together while in a skirt, but mainly he does this so he can talk about your skirt. And your legs. 


He kept joking that I would later describe him to people as the annoying fellow that wouldn´t let me read my book. 
I wanted to tell him that wasn´t a joke. It was the first time I can ever remember being glad that I am no longer fluent in Spanish.

Despite that minor nuisance, the drive was gorgeous! Once we passed the congestion and trash of the city (which has its own indefinable charm) we swept past vast, greenly-lush open fields occasionally interrupted by greener mountains, tan barefoot children resting in the shade, women speckling the side of the road selling fruit and juices, cows being herded in the next lane over.

The whole ride I was thinking about what it would be like when I got to my community. It’s called Cuidad Romero. 

I’m nervous about being here in the campo: the work I’ll be doing, and the language barrier. I guess the more mistakes I make the more indicative it is of how hard I´m pushing myself. All people in every part of the world have the uniting flaw of making mistakes, but laughter is also the universal serum that sooths those over, so hopefully they wont be too painful or unsalvageable. 

After meeting the family I’ll be living with for the next couple of months I walked to the shadowy tienda on the corner. 
The floors were sticky from children who couldn’t wait to open their popsicles and soda. Sugary gum and hair ties hung from the ceiling like beaded curtains, and it was stocked with everything but nutrition. While I was there I began talking to a man who told me he had heard that I was coming and that the radio people would want to see me. He pointed me to a building across the way—the only building in my community with stairs that lead up to it.

When I got there I met my new boss and a few dj’s. None of them are over thirty. Maybe this won’t be so bad.