Getting around town was surprisingly easy, although the idea of personal space really doesn't exist there. In fact, the use of space in general is really interesting (at least to a history/geography student). There are basically five ways to get around San Salvador: on foot, which is not that hard, especially if you don't know where you're going; in your own car, which can be complicated with next to no traffic laws; in a taxi, which is also good if you don't know where you're going; in a bus, which is the cheapest way; or in a rapidito, which is a minivan that they completely stuff with people until you can't even close the sliding door. The rapidito is definitely the fastest way to get around, but you have to know where you're going and not mind if people are sitting on top of you or standing up bent over because you're way too tall. Of course, we mostly travelled by rapidito, meaning that I had a few hellish minutes of speeding around, picking people up and dropping people off, resettling in the "seats" every time, and looking ahead for the stop I was rarely sure of, all for 28 cents, until we got wherever we were going.
Walking around town was a lot less stressful, except for the part when we had to walk through the main market. It's blocks and blocks of stalls basically stuck to one another, and you have to wade through people and cars that always attempt to get through, and occasionally cross boulevards that, of course, have bus traffic barrelling through them. And then there's the theives that you have to keep an eye out for, as well as vendors grabbing at you and your attention to try to sell whatever they're selling. I was definitely glad to get back on the regular streets after the market, where there are only vendors every block or so, instead of a million on the same block.
But I did find an oasis in the midst of the chaos. In the Parque Cuzcatlan, one of the few parks in downtown San Salvador, I was surprised to find a little bit of peace and quiet. There were only a few people around, which was refreshing for me but made Sor Mirna a bit nervous, and it was set back from the main streets so the sound of traffic wasn't quite as dominant. We discovered a free art museum that features the masterpieces of a different Salvadoran artist every month. We had the whole place to ourselves, so it was a nice little escape for a few minutes.
After that, we made our way to the other side of the park to the Salvadoran version of the Vietnam Memorial. All along the wall, names of people who were killed or abducted during the civil war that lasted throughout the '70s to 1992 were engraved as a reminder of the past. The names of towns and the dates of massacres that occured there were also included and that little corner of the park was surprisingly still. There were still a few flowers taped to the wall beside names, left over from the Day of the Dead, as well as a few people just sitting and looking at the names of relatives or friends inscribed there. On one end, an artist had recently painted a mural that depicted the events, especially the assassination and martyrdom of Archbishop Romero, an icon of the war and a hero to the Salvadoran people to this day.
There is nobody in El Salvador that hasn't been affected in some way by the war, and it's still very fresh in their memories. There were more than 60,000 names on the wall, and about 3,000 more were added this year.
Rougly translated:
"Monument to the Memory and the Truth
This is a space for remembering. Its intention is to immortalize in the Salvadoran conscience the names of women and men, girls and boys, victims of human rights violations during the repression in the '70s and '80s and the following Salvadoran civil war from 1981 to January 1992.
The Truth Commision, sponsored by the United Nations, published a report that contained the painful testimonies of relatives of those who were killed or who disappeared. One of its recommendations was to build a memorial dedicated to these victims, as moral reparation. Only the civil society was succesful in making it a reality.
This is a memorial to be looked for, to never forget what happened, to honor their memory, to return them their dignity, so that we don't let this horror happen again, and to set the basis for a culture of peace and true reconciliation.
A space for hope, to continue dreaming and building a more just, human, and equal society.
December 2003"
We also went to visit Archbishop Romero's house at the Hospital of the Divine Providence, where an adorable old nun gave us a tour. You can still see the blood stains on his clothes from when he was shot and killed, celebrating the Mass.
We also went to the mall a few times during the week, to meet up with various friends of Sor's and to look around. It really was like being back in America. There are two malls in San Salvador, one that's a lot like North Star, and the other that's exactly like La Cantera, both malls in San Antonio. Everything was decorated very Christmas-y, there were a ton of sales, and Santa Claus even showed up to meet kids and find out what they want for Christmas. And, let's not forget, the crowd of anxious shoppers. ExACTly like America. I only had to go back outside and try to get on a bus to remember that I'm in a foreign country.
However, being in the mall, for me, wasn't so much a nice memory as it was a nightmare. It was almost like it was trying too hard to be like the United States, but wasn't quite there. Everything was really unnatural, and the people crowding it were spending more money in the food court than the actual stores. Most people were there just to look around and be seen and there were only a few serious shoppers (those that could actually afford things). Everything else was like an illusion. There were sometimes four or five versions of the same stores in different parts and they were all selling exactly the same thing. I'm not sure that I ever actually liked going to malls, but this was way too much for me, like an overload. I'd take the craziness of the market over the craziness of these malls any day.
But I think it also has to do with the social mindset. People just want to be where all the other people are. I read an article (and I have no idea if it's true, but I find it easy to believe) that said that Latin Americans that move to the US suffer from depression because of the silence. Here, there's always the noise from the streets, from music and commercials blasting from passing traffic, fireworks going off at all hours of the day and night, noise from the neighbors, etc. There's hardly a moment's peace, but it's not really all that desirable here either. Everyone thinks it's strange that I'm not afraid of sleeping in a room by myself, but I sometimes miss the silence.
And it's clear that the Central American countries are definitely urban countries. At least for the lack of roads and transportation, most people live in the cities or in communities along the main highways. There are vast areas of Honduras that are completely unpopulated (perfect hide-outs for drug traffickers, by the way), but that aren't unexploited either. In my opinion, it's an inefficient way of using its land and resources, but the efficiency lies in the cities. Houses are built in every usable space, even in spaces that we wouldn't normally put a house, for example, a house built as a bridge that spans a creek, or on a hillside that looks like it's about to collapse at any moment, or on the side of a volcano that was active as recently as the 1920s. The efficieny is also found in the transportation, with excellent bus systems but also the lack of traffic laws that mean you don't have to wait for a green light, if there's no traffic, in order to cross an intersection, or, if there's no oncoming traffic, people drive the same direction on both sides of the road. In the rapiditos, you can fit three times as many people inside than the amount they were built to hold. Where there's a need, creativity abounds. And this is exactly the spot where the craziness and creativity intersects, to make something that works for the people here.
I've also found that my idea of personal space has been reduced to at least a third of what it once was. I wasn't really a hugger until I got to college and was forced into it by my beloved dorm-mates. Then, riding the bus to campus from my apartment sometimes required that I had a backpack in my face, but at least I had a seat. Sometimes, it meant I was late to class because the bus was supposedly "full" and I'd have to wait for the next one. Here, the bus doesn't leave until people are piled in and hanging out the door, with the aisles full, two or three people deep. It doesn't leave until either I'm practially sitting on top of someone or someone's on top of me. Someone's backpack or box of goods is ALWAYS in your face, your back, your hip, falling on your head, etc. Your personal space is basically zero. But Sor Mirna, for example, prefers being in a space packed with people to one that barely has any, because she feels more vulnerable.
Also, living with a bunch of girls who live apart from their families has reduced my personal space as well. Sometimes I have to be the maternal influence, which means a lot of hugging, kissing, holding hands, taking care of sick kids, etc. If the girls are finished studying and want to take a nap, they sleep all together in a group on the floor, even on the hottest, sweatiest afternoon. When I was with the little kids in the preschool in El Salvador, I was a human jungle gym, and they climbed all over me until I didn't notice it anymore. When we took the girls in the procession in May, the little ones always had to hold hands with the big ones, and the sun would be beating down, but it's more important to hold a sweaty hand so they don't get lost than it is to feel comfortable. These are just some of the examples of times when I realized that sometimes my body isn't just mine, that I have to share it with other people, especially when it means the difference between making it home from the mall in ten minutes, or two hours, or being responsible for the safety of a child. So, coming from this kind of culture, I can easily imagine how depressing it could be for someone to move immediately from the noise and crowds to the wide, open spaces that America is famous for. And for a certain American girl being pushed, shoved, crammed in, and climbed on, a real relief.
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