For three days I had an issue with a guide situation. It was now the afternoon of the third day and the situation has only been escalating. The substitute guide was taking me from place to place while my guide was in court. I had no idea why.
After leaving Joya de Ceren, a Mayan archaeological site, then going another 30 miles to Santa Ana to see the cathedral, Manual said, “I am going to take you to a beautiful lake where we can have lunch. Do you like pie?” I had no idea why he said pie. It has nothing to do empanadas, pupusas, tortillas, or any food we would likely be served in a country restaurant in El Salvador. I said, “Is Moises going to meet us there?”
“No, he will meet us at El Tazumal.” This is the largest Mayan pyramid in El Salvador and it was on my itinerary. Manual would say, “It is O.K. Don’t worry.” Some people make you feel comfortable, like a trained guide, but Manual was not like this. He was out of his element and sent off vibes that kept me on edge.
We left Santa Ana and drove 30 miles or more to another range of volcanos and a crater lake to a roadside, open-air restaurant. There was no one in sight except a waiter and manager. It was a clean and pleasant country restaurant and I felt O.K. stopping here. I believed Manual did well to find a good safe place for us to stop and kill some more time waiting for Moises; this was better than any place I had been since leaving my hotel early this morning. I Iooked at the menu and ordered for both of us, as I had the feeling that Manual had no money and Moises was supposed to handle all of this. You can imagine my feelings.
I enjoyed the lovely view overlooking a crater lake surrounded by volcanos, on a hot summer day, with a slight breeze blowing over the lush green landscape. We ate very slowly and I watched a professional football (soccer) game on a flat-screen television on the wall of the restaurant. I thought Manual was going to stay there all day. Finally I called over the waiter and asked for the bill. I know Manual was waiting for a call from Moises, but my plan was to start moving back to San Salvador and take care of the guide problem before dark.
Manual said, “We are going to El Tazumal. Moises is going to meet us there.” This was in another direction, but closer to the capital, with an embassy, my hotel, and the international airport—much better than Santa Ana, a poor place for me to be in my circumstances. We drove on and I watched the road signs and directions to El Tazumal, a historic site. The area was not a well-secured area, there were souvenir stalls, but no tourists—no one but Manual and me and one attendant at the gate. Manual said, “You go in, and I will park the car.” I was very hesitant. I had everything in that car as the original plan was to continue north and across the border to Guatemala that day. My suitcase and backpack were in the trunk and it was getting late in the afternoon.
This was not a good situation. I went to the gate and the attendant went into the ticket office; I paid him and he let me in the gate. There was a small, one-room museum with a few artifacts from this site. My attention should have been on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to focus on rare artifacts and history of this ancient Mayan site. I was not fighting to get a glance at one piece like the Mona Lisa in the Louvre with hundreds of tourists; I was the only person at this site except for the attendant. I had the entire site to myself.
After hurrying through the tiny museum, I glanced out of the gate and to my relief, Manual was coming towards the gate. He asked if I had been in the museum and I said I would like to go in again. This time I read the labels and learned a little more about the artifacts. Of interest was the most treasured funerary piece in the museum: a container shaped to cover the deceased body. The buried were not mummified or cremated. The plexiglass had been removed and it was left unprotected.
We walked out to the pyramid and this had a simple restriction chain encouraging people not to climb the steps. It was amazing to think a million Mayans lived in this area and less than a fourth of the ruins have been excavated or found. Two thousand years ago, this was a thriving, advanced empire.
I took a few photos and asked Manual to call Moises, since I wanted to talk to him. He gave me his cell phone and I listened and it was a recording. I passed him the phone and said please call him now. He handed me his cell phone again and this time Moises answered. I said, “Where are you? I want to talk to you in person.” He said, “Yes, yes. I am coming.” He said, “Things didn’t go well in court and I can’t cross the border.” He was now hours late! I had no guide!
Manual and I were both trying to contain ourselves with respect and decency. Manual said, “He is on his way; we must go back to Santa Ana.”
This was the worst of all places and it soon would be dark. We drove to Santa Ana and he was using his cell phone to find where we would meet. We came to an intersection with a gas station and both cars pulled in at the same time. We all got out and Moises had brought his wife, who he said played violin in the National Symphony Orchestra in San Salvador. I was so upset with Moises I said “Now I need to know why you went to court?” He went on and on telling me a long story about a young guide about money issues. Later when I was with the owner of the Honduras travel company he asked me what Moises told me. He said, “No, that is not true, he did something different.” He had known him for many years and said Moises was a former teacher.
I asked Moises why it took him so long to get here. He had planned to have Manual be my substitute guide for the next several weeks without telling anyone. He went to get money at a bank, and then he went to his home to have his wife get clothes for him for this trip. He had to get a folder of papers to cross the borders and credentials. All of this required much time and effort, going to different towns and driving quite a distance. Moises was in bad shape, pathetic, and full of apologies when he got out of the car.
At this gas station, as in all the gas stations in El Salvador, twenty-four hours every day, they have two or three armed guards with loaded assault rifles and they take it very seriously. Here we were carrying on without buying gas in their parking lot. All attention was on our little group of four: Moises, his wife, Manual, and me. My cell phone was not working, so I asked to use Moises’s phone to call Edwardo, the owner of the Honduras travel company who had hired Moises.
In the terrible scorching heat in the parking lot, I paced back in forth in front of everyone, explaining to Edwardo on the phone what a terrible situation I was in. First I would not accept this driver, Manual, as my guide, because in actuality he was not a guide at all. I pointed out that Moises had lied to me, I was not off to a good travel adventure, and if it wasn’t taken care of now, on the spot, I was going home. Edwardo said he would come himself if necessary, and he did. He also immediately sent another guide from his office. Both had to fly to get to me, and his assistant had to then rent a car and drive thirteen hours that night to reach me by morning!
Meanwhile at the gas station, it was terribly hot. In my current situation, the best solution was to have Manual drive me to my next destination across the border to Antiqua, Guatemala, as I had reservations there in a resort that night. We swapped cars and went in Moises’s little car, with the seat belt now repaired. Manual got his backpack and my luggage and we took off. In one way, I was relieved to be out of the gas station and away from Moises. It was an upsetting situation for all involved and the day wasn’t over.
It was a long drive for Manual and me in the unfamiliar territory of El Salvador. As the night went on, Manual became very tired. He didn’t have a map or GPS and he didn’t know the way. Five times we stopped at gas stations and asked directions to Antiqua. Each time the guns were aimed into our car windows. We were stopped twice on the way by the police for no reason. We took all back roads, going through small villages and watching for cows, dogs, horses, cowboys, children and bicycles darting out in front of us. We didn’t stop for dinner or even a snack. There was no place I dared to stop in the dark in this area.
I had a place to stay, but Manual had no place to stay that night. That became a concern. He used his cell phone and tried a few places. He said he got a room but I was not sure; perhaps he slept in his car. I don’t know. He said he would meet me at 8 am at my hotel the next morning. He was still hoping to be my guide as he needed money. I knew there would be a guide there that Edwardo was sending, and it would be an embarrassing situation at 8 in the morning, but that was not my doing.
At about 10:45 pm, we came to a small border crossing between El Salvador and Guatemala. There was a long line of trailer trucks, but only a few cars, as most people do not travel at night, especially to cross an international border. We both got out and went through the dark parking lot to a small station. With Manual’s help I was passed though without a problem. He had to go to another office and go through a lot of paperwork, which took a long time, and I was standing outside, alone in front of the station. It was a relief to get back in the car and cross a bridge between the two countries, but on the other side, we had to do the whole process again. After the long day and the border crossing, it was a relief to be in Guatemala, but this was no picnic either. It was another 35 or 40 miles to Antiqua, though several towns, again asking for directions first to Antigua, then to the resort. Our cell phones didn’t work in many places and most places were closed at night.
The night manager at the resort knew I was coming, and I was warmly greeted that night. I said good night to Manuel; I knew he had had quite a day and he was planning to meet me at 8 am the next morning. My room was fit for a queen, with a bed like the Princess and the Pea, and a midnight snack was on a small table. As soon as I was in my room, I received a call from Edwardo, the owner of the travel company, to see if we had made it safely, especially coming through the border crossing. He assured me my new guide, Rafael, was on his way and would be there at 8 am to meet me. As you can imagine, I was too upset to sleep well, and I would long remember this El Salvador experience.
(posted May 9, 2017)