So long, El Salvador.
Javier wasn’t around when we arrived at Frolaz on Sunday, where we greeted coolly by Irma and given our old room with shared bath. He was, however, out of jail. A free man, minus driving privileges, Javier was finally released the day Tim and I left for California. A bit embarrassed by his ordeal, his story wasn’t so much a story as a shrug of the shoulders and a denial: He’d never owned a gun, never even threatened the kid who’d accused him. The whole thing was fabricated, he said. But -- you know -- they take these things seriously down here.
We gave him the large bottle of “artesian” American beer we’d brought as a thank you gift for housing Dolly while we were away, but he stuck to his large cans of Pilsener 100 and bottles of Regia. Jail hadn’t so much tempered his thirst -- showed him the error of his ways -- as given him cause to make up for lost time.
* * *
It took us over 30 hours to get from Mendocino, CA to Santa Ana, El Salvador, including the nausea-inducing car ride from Cleone to San Francisco in Uncle Mike’s “Merc”, the four hours we spent at Pier 39 as my cousin Alina competed with 29 less-talented others for the chance to sing the National Anthem at a 49ers game (she was, in my opinion, robbed of the honor), the BART ride from downtown San Fran to SFO, the wait at the airport for our delayed United flight, the three hour layover in LA, which we spent having a sushi tailgate party with Tim’s parents overlooking the runway lights at LAX, the six-hour flight to Guatemala City and the six-hour bus ride across the border to Santa Ana. 
We arrived so exhausted we could barely feed and hydrate ourselves before collapsing in our shared twin bed at 6pm. The entire next day at Javier’s was lost to recovery.
* * *
Tuesday, we repacked the van and headed to Lago Coatepeque with Solly -- a Brazilian-American-Israeli detouring from a round-the-world adventure to visit family in Brazil -- and Katie, an English girl from Norfolk, traveling solo before grad school.
When Tim and I were here last, the lake was deserted of its weekend hoards of San Salvadorans. It was quiet and clear -- stunning -- save for the afternoon thunderstorm that moved in as we were leaving. This time, the Amacuilco Guest House had been occupied by a crew of Peace Corps volunteers and their visiting friends. All had begun drinking at 9am and by the time we got there, they were well into the next morning's hangover, but still going strong. The Peace Corp: saving the world, one cerveza at a time.
Solly and Katie ordered a round, which turned into several more. The swimming was good, the sun hot, the company totally amusing. Quite a send-off. So long, El Salvador.
Below: Trust me, it's us, not the photo, that's blurry.
Freda Moon
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