February 9, 2025

Today’s challenge: a hike to the local waterfalls! That means another early morning, not that I don’t naturally wake up very early – but without just the right sustenance, I am not sure how prepared I could be. Eating out isn’t much of an option early on Sunday, although the food market will be set up shortly close to the main square. The youth hostel where we are intended to meet is a template for the generic backpacker from pretty much anywhere on the planet, a cross-section of Dutch, a few Norwegians, a German, and the Irishman I have been running into the last few days, all young, tall, ungainly, although as we will later see, fit enough to easily take on the moderately challenging hike we embark on.

We gather on the bed of a small pickup, the type that transports people throughout the country, the back enclosed by a metal grate, with no seating. We soon leave town, lurching treacherously back and forth on the rough dirt roads, overhead branches knocking into our unsuspecting heads, the tall Europeans valiantly attempting to maintain their stability as the vehicle is thrown back and forth.

The drive is not long: we are soon to disembark, climbing off the back of the flatbed, one by one, then gathered on the trail, we leave in single file, weaving through the dense forest, then onto a steep descent with well-formed steps, but difficult for me to descend in a single pass, each step requiring an angled shuffle and strain on the quadriceps. This goes on for some distance …

And there it is, through the screen of trees, water cascading down a steep slab of rock, not as a single sheet but individual rivulets, delicate enough to cause minimal turbulence in the pools at the bottom, the water flowing downward in much more graduated fashion over shallow beds of shale. I am forever intent on not getting my shoes wet, for fear of the shoes losing their shape, but that concern is quickly thrust aside as we are required to continue by wading through the creek. The backpackers take selfie upon selfie with the Salvadorean flag, not something of much interest to me, as it smacks of the insipid. I would happily just continue with the hike …

More trails, climbing, descending, and wading through shallow rivers to reach another wall of rock with vertical streams showering across its face, here sheer, flat and intimidating. Next, the vaunted fourth, the Cascada Escalata, the one that we are supposed to climb up. Standing in front of the shallow pool the waters pouring down the rugged face empty into, I can’t imagine that we will climb up that – this is where I need to find an alternative, or simply return.

Returning is apparently not an option, as our guide tells me that we are hiking in a circuit, and even if I returned to the point of origin, there wouldn’t be any vehicle to pick me up. My hiking boots are already soaked, so getting my shoes wet isn’t the issue: I have camera equipment in my daypack, and even enveloped in plastic bags, climbing in whatever fashion upwards into the torrents of water cascading down that rock face would destroy the equipment. No one else seems too perturbed – they all dressed in expectation of getting soaked, although they mostly carry phones – so it just doesn’t make sense to me.

In the end, scaling the waterfall is not that challenging, as it just requires firmly gripping the rope, ensuring that you find solid footing in the crevices of the rock face, the guide loudly directing the hikers as to where they should place their feet, the height we climb in any case relatively minimal before we continue laterally through more pools of water onto a somewhat level trail, the idea of keeping our shoes dry at this point a lost cause.

The guide tells us we need to hurry, as there is an increased risk of rock fall due to the many seismic tremors the region has recently had, although I suspect the real motive is that there are too many other groups on the trail. I am certainly in poor shape, but wonder how some of the obviously overweight locals in other groups deal with all the steep climbs and descents of the trails.

An individual waterfall would have been a major attraction, but the succession of beautiful cascades and the pools they gush into makes this understandably a star attraction in the country. The backdrop to the many waterfalls is the coherent forest itself, which seems thankfully relatively untouched, hence very attractive indeed. Having waded through numerous streams and climbed and descended enough steep slopes to see the waterfalls, the guide is now intent on showing us examples of herbs and unusual plants found in the forest, which I of course find fascinating. The pungent, fragrant aromas of some of the herbs is truly enticing.

There are wild equivalents to domesticated plants, such as wild lemon and torch ginger. You can use one particular fern to make tattoos on the skin. We try coffee fruit, abundant here as the trails navigate the fringes of coffee plantations, the flavour surprisingly fresh and tasty. The efforts of the guide to explain the nuances of the vegetation are largely wasted on the group, since only those closest to her pay attention, then none of them speak Spanish, and she certainly doesn’t speak English. I occasionally broadcast translations to the group to make the experience more meaningful for everyone, but the effort remains challenging, given the size of the group.

We come upon a clearing and now we have a sanctioned break. Not that I haven’t been stopping continuously and hanging at the back of the cordon, losing my motivation at the seemingly endless climbing. The guide portions out slices of sweet pineapple, telling me that she has worked as a guide some 15 years, seven days a week, sometimes taking groups out two times a day. It seems somewhat improbable, especially considering that some 30 guides are available to lead this hike. Given the number of online resources describing the excursion, it must be an institution in the region, certainly mandatory for the hordes of backpackers that troop through here.

Following the end of the hike, we return to town. Most of the European backpackers return to Rick’s Hostel, and will soon be en route to their next destinations to the north or south, others, including the Irishman, off to Santa Ana, where they are based. I will stroll down to the food market, where the column of tents with eateries lines the walkways, the interleaved tables almost all filled with people, mostly locals. The plates of chuleta, steaks, tiger pawns, roast chicken, pork cutlets with accompanying salads, rice, and grilled vegetables look eminently inviting, but somehow I feel utterly unmotivated to sit down and eat, never mind that there is virtually nowhere to sit.

I continue meandering in and around the plaza, but am feeling the urge to spend the last afternoon exploring one or two of the remaining villages in the Ruta de las Flores that I have not yet seen. And it’s simply so easy to walk the few blocks to the main road and wait a relatively short amount of time for the next bus heading either north to Ahuachapán or south to Sonsonate.

A short conversation with an older English couple waiting for the bus as well, notes on travel experiences we have had, highs, lows, and what stands out in the region. At their age, they want to experience highlights without having to risk too much or make the mistakes they did in the days of yore. Here in El Salvador, traveling has become very easy, certainly traveling through the villages of the Ruta de las Flores, although it is worth paying attention to the time and not miss the last bus. We crowd onto the bus, the bus grinding its way to the main road, and from the highway, the succession of bright green volcanoes marking the horizon to the east, although sadly, the speed of the bus precludes taking any decent photos of the scenery – and notably, it doesn’t seem as if any of the towns I have visited have great views of these volcanoes, either.

To the north of Juayúa, Concepción de Ataco is another pretty town geared to the tourist trade, but with its unique sensibility as well. Long, cobblestone streets sweep over the gently undulating terrain to the far end of town, the ensemble in the mandatory grid formation, the town square making its mark somewhere in the sea of retail establishments selling tours, coffee, snacks, souvenirs of all sorts that appear cute in the moment but ultimately without any lasting value. Walking on the narrow sidewalk becomes awkward, as its height varies based on the presence of steps, access roads, and so on, motivating me to return to walking on the street with its gentler pitch.

A small coffee shop beckons, just around the corner from the bus stop on the main road. It consists of a series of small rooms with imaginative decor, the walls plastered with memorabilia and bric-a-bric, the coffee relatively inexpensive, only $1.35 for a pour-over, something like half the price of the trendy cafes that dominate tourists’ experience here. But the Pacamara coffee is exquisite, very delicate, with strong floral notes, significantly better than the liquid dross I had at the trendy Bloom cafe in Juayúa the other day.

They also make fruit wine from mango, jocote and cranberry, the latter quite exquisite – I would happily stock up, but not given the amount of traveling I will be doing the next few days. The place has an unusual story – the owner created the space, then left it shuttered for two years because he couldn’t find staff to work in it until he passed it onto the woman who is running it now as of only two weeks ago. Its prices, quality and ambience are all attractive, although it is on the fringe of town, hence bound to receive less traffic.

Anything closer to the main square is bound to attract a greater amount of attention, and this is also where the most work is invested in the town’s artistic cladding, although the prices are also correspondingly higher. The landmark for good coffee here is Axul, but despite its vaunted funky atmosphere and reputation for good local coffee, the prices are outlandish for El Salvador – and the clientele reflects the place’s branding, almost exclusively Caucasians and a few wealthier, possibly offshore Latinos.

I roam around, looking for imagery worth capturing, and given the abundance of arts and crafts, murals, and colour, my camera is always busy, although the sense of authenticity is also somewhat strained in this burg catering unequivocally to tourism. The main square is huge, the blue-and-white church far to one side, a fountain at the centre with a raised statue of Jesus, the overall space so large that it is easy to lose oneself in the fray of flowering shrubs.

On all sides, the expected small shopfronts, the adobe surfaces painted in solid colours, the roofs gently-pitched terracotta tiles, vendors and workers sunnily intent on luring tourists into their establishments. There is a much greater sense of space than Juayúa, and if I had been familiar with the towns in the area prior to coming here, I would happily have settled on staying in Ataco, rather than Juayúa.

The English couple I met at the bus stop in Juayúa make their rounds as does a mix of other independent European travelers, seemingly the dominant demographic of visitors here. A common theme with the visitors I speak to is that the prices in the region seem excessive; while prices have gone up everywhere, the nature of inflation visible here is probably also correlated to surging demand and increasingly viewing naive tourists as ATMs. Although Europeans, particularly from the Mediterranean countries, are far more cost-conscious than their North American counterparts.

One Italian couple wiling away their time on a bench are planning on continuing to Guatemala, but dreading the overly commercial direction tourism in the country has taken. I inundate them with the virtues of see the Mayan territory in the remote northern reaches of the country, although having visited last over 35 years and spoken to very few people that have visited Huehuetenango and Quiché provinces since, I would hardly be an objective resource. But there is nonetheless a good chance these places are still intensely magical, given the richness of the Mayan culture; the reality of having heard nothing of these areas from travelers is probably the best promotion possible, given that the contrary would only point to assembly-line tourists being de rigueur. Just stay away from places like Antigua and Tikal …

Further away from the main square, locales remain largely empty, as there are not enough foreign visitors willing to spend, and locals have no intention or ability to pay the exorbitant prices. In any case, there isn’t really much to do here other than wander around, look the shops, eat, drink, and perhaps take a tour of town with one of the colourfully-painted open-topped tour buses. The upside with the towns in the Ruta de las Flores is that they are easily reachable from San Salvador; in general, reaching some more remote bucolic corner of the country from the capital is probably far easier than in any other country in Latin America, other than perhaps Uruguay.

Sunday evening in Juayúa. The CoLiving hostel is quiet, the evangelicals having abandoned the riotous cause that held us hostage the last few evenings. Without having been able to decide on where to eat this evening, it was just easier buying some chicken in the supermarket, which will be transformed into a dinner of fried chicken and cannelloni in a tomato and onion sauce, far from extravagant, but effective. And something I can enjoy in my temporary premises – when you spend most of your time exploring, you also appreciate the parts of the day where you can just relax in the comfort of your home …