Entre Pinos
The pueblo of San Ignacio is a quiet tourist town in the northern central region of El Salvador, held within the department of Chalatenango. Nestled among the pines and artisans you’ll find the resort hotel of Entre Pinos, an impressive complex, it’s topography chiseled from land, much like a similar hotel found on the other side of the country (La Lenca in the city of Perkin, department of Morazan) but the amenities offered is an impressive buffet that takes advantage of the terrain and beauty of this department. Extras such as tennis and basketball courts, horseback riding, hiking, and two swimming pools are available. The feel of the place is very welcoming, a place of refuge amongst the blind-dead stares found in many of the rural areas.
It was here, amidst the lovers, hiding behind the pines and in the hammocks that littered the entire complex, stealing kisses from week long waiting, friends embracing after a month long absence, and in the sea of green (as it was St. Patrick’s Day after all) I found myself thinking of my projects within Peace Corps, bouncing ideas of one another, of my trip to Nicaragua which is up and coming, Mexico after that, the history of this place, of life loved and lost. As I looked over a point that showed a view of Guatemala, Honduras and El Salvador, the horse beneath me stirring and fighting, I thought of the fallen, of love and war, sickness and distain.
By some unknown reason the horse was responsive to my commands and we galloped back, my blood racing with the wind and my mind became blank, with only the rushing of blood and the beating of my temples competing with sounds of the world I often forget I inhabit.
It was a long weekend with a layover in the capital, there I enjoy good company and we ate Gouda cheese, pesto sauce, a loaf of bread and bottle of Chilean wine. Talk of work, life, the educational system of the United States and El Salvador, language, dialect and distinctions of the two, both in opportunity and culture filled the night.
The weekend was much needed. Tonight, I think I will make Hummus as a snack before dinner.
Your Affectionate Volunteer,
Scrutape
It was here, amidst the lovers, hiding behind the pines and in the hammocks that littered the entire complex, stealing kisses from week long waiting, friends embracing after a month long absence, and in the sea of green (as it was St. Patrick’s Day after all) I found myself thinking of my projects within Peace Corps, bouncing ideas of one another, of my trip to Nicaragua which is up and coming, Mexico after that, the history of this place, of life loved and lost. As I looked over a point that showed a view of Guatemala, Honduras and El Salvador, the horse beneath me stirring and fighting, I thought of the fallen, of love and war, sickness and distain.
By some unknown reason the horse was responsive to my commands and we galloped back, my blood racing with the wind and my mind became blank, with only the rushing of blood and the beating of my temples competing with sounds of the world I often forget I inhabit.
It was a long weekend with a layover in the capital, there I enjoy good company and we ate Gouda cheese, pesto sauce, a loaf of bread and bottle of Chilean wine. Talk of work, life, the educational system of the United States and El Salvador, language, dialect and distinctions of the two, both in opportunity and culture filled the night.
The weekend was much needed. Tonight, I think I will make Hummus as a snack before dinner.
Your Affectionate Volunteer,
Scrutape
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