El Salvador Wedding

​Welcome to a special one-off blog post! Here, I chronicle my weeklong trip to El Salvador in March 2025 for the wedding of my friends Gavin and Katherine. I met Gavin back in high school through the Speech & Debate team. His fiancée (now wife) Katherine grew up in El Salvador. The couple had two wedding celebrations, one in El Salvador and one in California. Traveling to El Salvador for the first event was a unique opportunity to spend quality time with friends and experience this country for the first time.

​Before the trip, El Salvador brought to mind pupusas (the cheese-stuffed savory pancakes) and the gang MS-13. As I started my research, the country's embrace of Bitcoin and President Bukele's crackdown on gang activity were intriguing points. Between the drop in crime and government's friendliness towards the Trump administration, it seemed like a safe moment to visit as an American tourist.

The journey itself was smooth, a direct flight from San Francisco to San Salvador. The Avianca agent at SFO spoke to me in Spanish, and boarding announcement was exclusively in Spanish. A premonition: this destination would not be catering to English speakers. On the flight, there were a few characters like an older gentleman in the row ahead. He wore two stacked Giants hats, still with tags, and listened to a YouTube Bible reading on speakerphone. I also spotted a younger man wearing a blue Bukele hat.
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On the descent, I was blinded by a beautiful sunrise, squinted at the shadows of volcanoes obscured by the haze, and scanned the coastline. I answered a few standard questions at immigration. On the way out of customs, I passed a presidential display with portraits of Bukele and the first lady. Nice to meet you, El Salvador.

Katherine had kindly arranged a taxi to the city for me. Daniel was the driver's name, raised in San Salvador, father of two. He was a skilled driver, having learned the art at age 13. I asked him a few questions about the country, and learned the reduction in "delicuencia" (crime) was good for taxi business. However, his accent was hard for me to understand. I think he said something about the gangs demanding most of the taxi profits, but I'm not sure. My impression was he wasn't used to fielding questions from curious travelers.

The morning commute traffic was awful. Weaving between buses and slow cars was the least scary part. Every onramp merge was a game of chicken, with conflicting vehicles mere inches apart. Motorcycles somehow slipped between the cracks. Overcrowded buses breezed through stops, leaving passengers in the dust, to await the next one in 40 minutes. Roundabouts were a free-for-all, a case study of turbulent flow. Daniel mentioned that in order to make it to work at 8am, he had to leave home at 5:30am. A similar rule applied to his kids' school buses. I thought of all the lost human potential: the hours wasted in traffic or in anticipation of it. On the 1.5 hour drive, one source of entertainment was the variety of painted buses, known to foreigners as “chicken buses.” These old school buses, presumably offloaded from the US, have been reincarnated with unapologetic colors, bold numbers, and cartoon mascots.

​We slogged through the city, past the soccer stadium and a dizzying number of fast food chains, from foreign imports like Pizza Hut to local favorites like Pollo Campero. Suddenly, we turned down a side street and the chaos flipped off. We were in the Zona Rosa, a safe neighborhood popular with tourists. The guard at the complex gate didn't immediately let the taxi through. I appreciated the scrutiny.
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The AirBNB was spacious, with three bedrooms and three bathrooms. My room had purple curtains that pleasantly glowed in the afternoon sun. The living room overlooked a side street with a giant pink bougainvillea, a mango tree, and another fruit tree that Gavin and I couldn’t identify despite looking at the fallen fruit on the sidewalk.

​​The kitchen was basic, but at least the microwave and coffee machine were working. We learned that the previous guests stayed for a month without taking out the trash. The traumatized AirBNB host had called in an exterminator to clean the place up before we arrived, but warned us about residual roaches. We saw a few, but Gavin and I weren’t fazed – it was the tropics after all.

When I arrived, Gavin was prepared with takeout food in the fridge. I got to enjoy the inaugural pupusas mere hours into the trip. Katherine stopped by, and we had an extended conversation about restaurants worth trying. We agree to meet for lunch. I unpacked and napped for a bit.

​Uber is both cheap and convenient in San Salvador. While I tend to avoid it back home, it was a lifeline here. For added safety, the app required us to provide our driver with a 4 digit PIN from our phone at the beginning of the ride. While Gavin doesn’t speak much Spanish, he was quite acclimated to this interaction and confidently read out the PIN every time we entered the car.

We arrived at Pollo Campero (“Country Chicken”), a local favorite fast food chain that people often bring on plane flights leaving the country. I later learned it’s a Guatemalan chain, and competitor to the Salvadoran version, the similar-sounding Pollo Campestre (also, “Country Chicken.”) Gavin and I arrived before Katherine and her sister Andrea, and we started placing an order. I explained it was my first time there in attempt to garner sympathy, but the waitress wasn’t very helpful. Trying to figure out their dizzying combos, what sides and sauces were eligible for each one, substitute drinks, etc. was a stretch for my jet-lagged Spanish. Thankfully Katherina and Andrea arrived, both native speakers, and helped us complete the order. The chicken and sauces were both excellent. We also tried some flan for dessert, accompanied by black coffee and cheap plastic spoons.

​Even though we were full, we couldn’t resist the pastries at Ban Ban across the street. We had semita (a strudel-like dessert), a Salvadoran quesadilla (a cornbread-like disc made with cheese), and a coconut-flavored marshmallow sandwich that was mistakenly brought. And there were many more baked goods in the arsenal! My sweet tooth was excited to try them all.

​Next, we picked up groceries at the nearby Super Selectos. I gravitated to the fruit and alcohol sections, so our basket ended up with papaya, jocote, maracuyá juice, craft beer, and local rum. Jocote was a new find for me – it had thin edible skin like a grape, and a tangy yellow interior (with a pit) just like a mango. We forgot to get our fruit weighed before arriving at the checkout and were scolded.

​With several giant water bottles in hand, we piled into the Uber and returned to the AirBNB. At sunset, I went to the roof of the apartment complex. The silhouette of the volcanic ridge peeked over the skyscrapers. A jarringly modern Google building also stood out.

For dinner, the four of us met up at a seafood restaurant. Gavin and I arrived first. We climbed a poorly marked staircase to a dining terrace and asked the host if this was La Hola Beto’s. He gave a confusing answer that made it sound like La Hola and Beto’s were two different places, so we turned away. Upon their arrival, Katherine and Andrea confirmed we had found the correct restaurant. Apparently, the family who owned the restaurant had a schism, and created several similarly named restaurants (“La Ola” and “La Hola”) with identical branding.
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La Hola (or whatever it was called) had an impressive array of ceviches. I ordered the Salvadoran ceviche, which was a classic white fish ceviche with lime and red onion. Andrea had the Peruvian ceviche, which had a yellow sauce and giant corn. Gavin had a whole fried fish. Katherine ordered a seafood cocktail, but unfortunately couldn’t eat it because it included concha, a local black oyster that’s a delicacy but can also poison you with amoebas. Earlier in the day, she had specifically warned me to avoid it – and wasn’t about to risk it before her wedding. At least we all got to share an appetizer called “washimi,” a Salvadoran take on sashimi that included an olive oil drizzle.

​Day 2 of the trip continued the culinary journey through San Salvador. Gavin had a morning obligation, and afterwards, the two of us met for brunch at Biscuit Factory. It was a quaint café with a beautiful courtyard. I had a “desayuno típico” (traditional Salvadoran breakfast) which included eggs, sweet plantains, a dense mound of refried beans, and some light cheese. While Gavin took some work calls, I read a book on Central American history and sipped on a pacamara coffee. I learned this was a special hybrid coffee bean that was invented in El Salvador. My drink came with a card that indicated the coffee farm of origin, plus some tasting notes. It was the smoothest coffee I can remember having – no acidity or aftertaste.

To stretch our legs, Gavin and I walked around a shopping mall called Multiplaza. I browsed a bookstore for local authors, and we ventured into a toy store to check the price of Lego (it was about double the US price). I was surprised to find a Radioshack and a Chuck E Cheese, relics from a bygone era. We stopped at a coffee shop so Gavin could take another meeting. I had a growing sense of unease. The mall was relatively empty, and the average person was dressed a bit nicer than we were. I felt like we stood out just a little too much. We headed back to the AirBNB.

I was pleasantly surprised when Gavin suggested we continue exploring in the Centro Histórico. It was a 30-minute Uber ride across town, and not for the faint of heart. We passed by a truck with a fridge in the back, precariously secured with a single ratchet strap.
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Our first stop was a beautiful church called Iglesia El Rosario. The roof was a giant arc with colorful stained glass, a kaleidoscopic rainbow above. It was bursting with color in the late afternoon sun. There were also some intriguing minimalistic sculptures with scenes from the life of Jesus.

​From there, we walked to the modern National Library, which Gavin told me was funded by Chinese investors. Later on, we heard complaints about the charming buildings that were bulldozed to open up this prime real estate across from the main cathedral. But we couldn’t argue with its impressive design. The rooftop terrace had good views. The inside was beautifully curated with a Star Wars exhibit and video game stations. We also poked our heads inside the yellow walls of the main cathedral across the plaza, which had impressive green pillars and chandeliers.

Our idea of exploring a block or two away from the plaza was quickly nixed when the sidewalks became shoddy and the hustle and bustle of street hawkers became stifling. Although their bags of tomatoes and $2 Bluetooth headphones were tempting, we powered through. However, the Uber we called was unable to follow us into this congested area. The driver told us to meet at the “Ex Cine Apollo,” which we interpreted as the nearby bus station of the same name. In hindsight, it was probably the former location of a movie theater – not locatable on Google Maps. We waited in front of the busy bus station, watching chicken buses and “coasters” (smaller vans) fill up with commuters leaving the city. It was an uncomfortable place to be. Overloaded buses scraped their bumpers on the ramp directly in front of us, while a megaphone at the snack stand behind us blared an unintelligible phrase on a repeat loop. Locals generally seemed uninterested in us, but were still waiting in close proximity. We guarded our pockets and phones. After 15 minutes, the Uber cancelled on us. I urged a speedy return to the plaza.

We found a better pickup spot, and a second Uber was there in a few minutes. However, it was now a battle against commute traffic. At one point, the driver was so frustrated with a slow merge that he circumvented the car ahead, driving almost perpendicular to the flow of traffic. When there’s a will, there’s a lane.
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It was dark when we arrived at Diamante de China. Visiting this restaurant was a personal quest of mine, as it’s owned by my mom’s coworkers’ father-in-law, a Chinese immigrant in El Salvador. The restaurant was large and uncrowded, providing a nice respite from the traffic. Complimentary wontons were served as an appetizer with our beers. We ordered the “Chinese tacos” (burrito-shaped spring rolls), orange chicken, and chow mein. The portions were enormous! We barely made a dent.

I tried to explain the five-degrees-of-separation to the waitress, who was confused but got the gist and went looking for the restaurant owner. As luck would have it, Jessica was around – the sister-in-law of my mom’s coworker. After initially speaking in Spanish, we realized she spoke English and switched so that Gavin could participate (also a relief for my tired brain). Jessica had studied in California at the same community college as one of Gavin’s close friends, so there was an instant connection. We learned the restaurant has been around for 35 years, and that people are ordering less alcohol in response to President Bukele’s strict drunk driving laws. It was so incredibly kind for Jessica to humor the unexpected visit. I hope Gavin can return with Katherine on a future trip!

Hiking the Santa Ana Volcano (Ilamatepec) required an early morning. The tour bus driver showed up promptly at 6:30am. He was a young, long-haired, indigenous-looking, English-speaking man and a safe driver. On board were three other Americans: a heavyset lady who was born in El Salvador but grew up in New York, her husband with braces, and a solo traveling NICU nurse from Texas. We drove out of San Salvador, encountering traffic despite having the reverse commute, and out into the countryside. The trailhead was marked by a gauntlet of roadside stalls. Here, we added three more members: an American father/daughter from upstate NY, and a Spanish-speaking guide named Delma.

The last time I hiked a volcano was in the Galápagos, when our elderly guide neglected the group and zoomed on ahead. This experience was the opposite. Early in the hike, I asked Delma a question. To my surprise, she stopped walking before replying. I realized she was already out of breath. I kept my questions to a minimum until we reached the summit. The couple from NY wasn’t in good shape, and our driver stayed behind with them, allowing the rest of us to continue with Delma.
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I was curious how the other travelers picked El Salvador and was surprised by the answers. The solo traveler had been inspired by Instagram content. The father/daughter were looking for something in Latin America. None of them spoke Spanish or had much prior travel in the region. Even the NY couple with Salvadoran roots seemed a little out of place: they had been inspired to travel more after enjoying a cruise in Greece. The volcano hike was apparently a focal point of their trip despite the physical demands they couldn’t meet. In hindsight, joining a highly rated but more expensive Viator tour had filtered out the backpackers I had expected to find.

​The hike up was a pleasant hour-long climb through the forest and the more recent lava rock. We passed many maguey/agave plants, some of which unfortunately had initials carved by hikers. Others had long stalks with blooming flowers, which I initially mistook for a type of tree. At higher elevations, we found ourselves face to face with enormous clouds blowing through the valley.

​At the summit, we were thoroughly immersed in the clouds and had no outward views. But the view down into the crater was spectacular. It was almost perfectly round with several tiers of rock. At the center was a cheerful turquoise lake, shedding a constant stream of steam. It felt like standing in the nosebleeds of a natural sports arena. I loved the volcanic yellows, reds, and blacks. I asked the guide a few questions; it last erupted in 2005, and was the tallest volcano in El Salvador (7,800 ft)

On the way back down, we encountered several large groups of 15-20 people. Many were young European backpackers, melting in the early afternoon heat. I realized how lucky we were to have a small group and an earlier start. We also passed by a pair of policeman and a group of soldiers. The hike has a cutoff time and requires a professional guide; apparently these were being enforced. I overheard someone explain that the gas from the volcano is more intense in the afternoon, and can make people dizzy.

I asked Delma about local wildlife and received a surprisingly long answer. Some were familiar fauna like white-tail deer and coyotes. Others were obscure ones like the gato zonte (jaguarundi), the agouti (rodent cousin of capybara), and the pezote (white nosed coati). To explain what a pezote looked like, she compared it to a “mapache,” a reference I didn’t understand until she pantomimed bands around her eyes, and I realized it meant “raccoon.”
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After regrouping, the driver dropped us off at Cráter, a restaurant with a wonderful view of Lake Coatepeque. I had a panini and a beer and chatted with the other Americans. A few traffic jams later, we were back in San Salvador. The others were staying on the coast, so I was the first to peel off.

I desperately wanted to wash the dirt off my legs, but Gavin had the key and was out getting a haircut. I tried to make myself look presentable and got a coffee at the café next door. After an hour, I realized that Gavin was working on wedding planning and couldn’t come back. I took an Uber to Santa Tecla just to collect the key. Ironically, the door to the AirBNB had failed to latch and the key wasn’t needed.
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Finally freshened up, I went out with Gavin for dinner at Cadejo Brewing, a craft brewery with slick branding. I had already noticed their dog logo at the airport and in the grocery aisle, so their marketing people were doing something right. The walls were adorned with artistic canine masks. The appetizer, bite sized mozzarella sticks with a grapefruit sauce, was served in a dog bowl. The menu explained the inspiration for the dog theme was a legend of two dog spirits that were village guardians. The beer was excellent; we split a flight with 6 different types. I particularly like the darker end of the range, which was convenient as Gavin preferred the light end of the range. My main course included a tasty selection of steak, chorizo, and tortillas. I had a full glass of their stout for dessert, which tasted like Guinness without the pomp and circumstance.

Back at the AirBNB, Gavin and I stayed up talking and sipping rum and maracuyá cocktails. We received a text from Yeshar, our mutual friend and the best man in the wedding. He made it to the airport but had left his passport at home. Thankfully, he managed to retrieve it and make his flight. When I woke up the next morning, Yeshar was settled into his room for a nap. The passport snafus made sense in the context of his week. He recently started as an assistant teacher for an AP Physics class, and the main teacher had abruptly resigned a few days prior. Now he was away, relying on a substitute of his own for a few days.
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I took Yeshar out for breakfast at a bakery-restaurant called San Martin that Gavin and Katherine recommended. It was a high-end establishment, with a terrace looking towards the mountains. I enjoyed an egg scramble with loroco, a green bud vegetable that evoked okra. We also split a plate of fresh fruit, including watermelon, pineapple, and papaya. On the way out, we picked out a few pastries to go. The baskets were poorly labelled, but we managed to get help from an attendant who explained the fillings and jaleas (jams). Our haul included a few empanadas and a peperecha, a dessert covered in red sugar.

In the afternoon, Gavin, Yeshar, and I ventured out in search of Mayan ruins. To get there, we hired a driver that Katherine recommended, an energetic fellow named Freddy. He had a strong accent that both Yeshar and I struggled to understand at times, but we appreciated his chattiness. On the drive into the countryside, he rattled off a series of critiques of wage exploitation by foreign companies, botched construction projects due to incompetence, and the president’s draconian policies. He was dismayed at Bukele’ use of taxpayer money to finance projects that benefitted the elite and drew particular attention to the extreme traffic fines: $150 for basic offenses, which could cripple someone making $10 a day. He often prefaced a shocking revelation with the word “ojo” (literally: “eye”) and a dramatic pause. It was harrowing to drive through a dangerous traffic zone called Los Chorros while learning that its lack of streetlights and lane reflectors led to collisions at night, and the use of improper steel had caused structural collapses that killed multiple construction workers.

Our first stop was Joya de Cerén, nicknamed the Pompeii of the Americas. In 600 AD, this Mayan village was covered in ash from an erupting volcano, preserving the architecture and artifacts of everyday Mayans. It’s the only UNESCO site in El Salvador, and it was practically deserted when we arrived. Freddy half-heartedly attempted to drive past the ticket booth without paying. When noticed by a parking attendant, he backed the car up and tried to make a joke about the booth attendant being asleep (they weren’t). Tickets were $10 for foreigners and $1 for locals. Freddy hadn’t been to Joya de Cerén. However, seeing our interest in the site seemed to inspire him. He had the idea of taking his daughter there someday, to appreciate their country’s historical legacy.

The site was covered with an enormous shade structure. Birds were perched in the rafters, including a torogoz (the national bird). From the walkway, we looked down on excavated buildings. Some were built with stone walls, others with “bajareque” (waddle and daub), a composite of sticks and clay. It was impressive, but a guide to explain it would have been helpful.

​The grounds of the site were full of tropical delights. We spotted cacao pods growing on trees, pineapples and mangos, lizards and iguanas, and an unusual red fruit. Freddy explained that it was called marañón, the secondary fruit of the cashew tree. He surreptitiously ducked under a hedge to pluck one off when no one was looking. We passed it around and each took a bite. Its texture was juicy but chalky – an unpleasant mouth feel, but a fun experience. We stopped in the site’s museum, where Yeshar had a spontaneous conversation with a couple from the US.

​We drove to the next Mayan site: San Andrés. It was similarly uncrowded, with more staff than visitors. This site had an acropolis, a raised area with multiple pyramid structures. The sun was oppressive, but it was still magical to be staring up the stone steps of a bona fide Mayan temple, the stuff of explorers’ dreams. We were starting to wilt in the humidity, so we didn’t linger in the open-air museum, though I did have time to appreciate an elaborate artifact known as the “eccentric flint.”

We sought a refreshing drink; Freddy asked the booth attendant for ideas, who suggested Lake Coatepeque. It was 30 minutes out of the way, but why not? On the way, we passed a recent car crash, where a pickup truck had flipped on its side. The road to the lake had a slightly different feel, with yellow tuk tuks, pedestrians carrying live chickens in their hands, and women with nun-like headdresses. Freddy drove down the hill looking for a specific restaurant, but couldn’t find it. We returned to the top of the hill and picked one at random.

The restaurant had an overhanging patio with excellent views of the lake. I ordered a “vaca negra” (black cow), which was an ice cream float with Coke. Yeshar ordered an horchata, which had a more peanuty flavor than Mexican horchata. Gavin ordered a coffee and Salvadoran quesadilla, which was burnt on the bottom. He accidentally launched a piece off the table while trying to cut it with a spoon. Freddy stood up for him and sent it back to the kitchen. It was a great example of service in El Salvador trying to cut corners, a subtle but recurring theme of the trip. With a 10% tip usually baked into the check, there wasn’t much incentive to strive for a better tip. While leaving, our surly young waiter accused Freddy of not paying for some cinnamon gum. After seeing Freddy’s willingness to drive on through a ticket booth, I wasn’t sure who to believe, but they worked it out.

On the drive back, Freddy entertained us with some catchy cumbia music. He also made some mildly racist jokes about “Don Wong” (Gavin) profiting from Kia and Hyundai sales and comparing him to the actor Ken Jeong in the Hangover. It was dusk when we reached the ominous, unlit lanes of Los Chorros. Still, we made it back to San Salvador safe and sound.

There was some confusion over our dinner plans. Katherine had recommended a restaurant called El Xolo Maíz, which was apparently a quirky corn-themed restaurant. However, the only search hit was a Michelin star restaurant called El Xolo with no corn jokes in sight. After some deliberation, we decided to go for a more casual option, a casual Salvadoran restaurant called Típicos Margoth, in a modern shopping center called Bambu City Center. We met Andrea there.

The process of ordering was convoluted. Some items were requested a la carte from a glass case. Pupusas were ordered from an electronic kiosk. Drinks were ordered from the cashier. The TV screen menus rotated faster than I could read them. Yeshar ordered a beverage that I had never heard of called “atol” – and was offered two different flavors that none of us recognized. With help from Andrea, we somehow cobbled together a dinner order.

The pupusas were excellent – fresh, cheesy, with beans or pork. Pupusas are typically served with a coleslaw-like topping called curtido. Uncooked veggies are always a risk in Latin America, but I decided to try the curtido here, and it was good. The other dishes fell a bit short. The yuca fries were a bit tough, and the atol beverages were downright weird. The chilate flavor had a bland, creamy maize flour base. The piñuela flavor had a cloying fruity taste and a few inedible bits.

The next morning, Yeshar was interested in a shave and haircut, and we needed a few groceries, so the three of us went back to the Ramblas shopping center in Santa Tecla. We found a nice restaurant called Graciela’s and had traditional breakfasts plus coffee and beignets. My breakfast featured a Salvadoran tamal, which was soft and moist, though light on filling. Yeshar went for his haircut, which ended up being a huge ordeal with multiple rounds of shaving and washing. He was gone for an hour and a half! He left a generous tip but regretted it when he later found a long hair that was missed.

In the early evening, we went to a rehearsal dinner style event at the house of Katherine’s late grandparents. Here, I got to meet Katherine’s relatives. Papi Memo and Mama Elsie were there, the grandparents that she lives with in Daly City. Bubbly Aunt Jeanette was visiting from San Mateo. Cousin Isabela had flown from NYC and was accompanied by her long-distance German boyfriend Sam, a Stanford PhD student

Katherine’s parents, Ivette and Roberto, were both lovely and personable hosts. Ivette was born in the US, and moved back to El Salvador to be with Roberto, who was a successful ophthalmologist there. Roberto’s brother, Tío Neto, was the first deaf person to graduate from the Rhode Island School of Design. He could read lips, though communication was still a bit tricky. His partner Graciela, an enthusiastic college professor, was a big help with facilitating the conversation.

The house was a charming slice of paradise nestled in a secure, hilly enclave. The white adobe walls were covered in fine art. Tío Neto’s beautiful floral arrangements adorned the tables. Brick arches offered a glimpse into the tropical garden. A balcony looked towards the glistening lights of the city and the rising red moon, a reminder of last night’s eclipse. Waiters offered sangrías and hors d’oeuvres. It was a classy start to the wedding weekend.

Katherine’s mom and Gavin’s sisters Tiffany and Chloe made speeches, and then everyone settled into their dinner tables. I was at a table with Tiffany and Chloe, Isabela and Sam, and Yeshar. There was plenty of good conversation, though Yeshar’s fascination with Sam’s life and impressions of the US got the most airtime. Dinner included a tasty salad, rolled chicken with pesto, and coffee crème brulee. Yeshar was pleasantly surprised to receive a tofu entrée, as he’s vegetarian and Katherine had remembered without asking. I had a little wine and recognized the brand, Concha y Toro, which I had visited in Chile. After dinner, I chatted with folks from other tables, including Gavin’s parents and Katherine’s dad. The party slowly wound down. Katherine’s dad offered to drive us back to the AirBNB. He was the safest driver I encountered all week.

Saturday was a free day between events. Katherine arranged for Freddy to take Gavin’s family sightseeing. After experiencing the Mayan ruins outing with Freddy, I thought it was a good idea for me to join – both on a practical level (Spanish translation) and because I preferred sightseeing outside of the congested city. Yeshar joined too. We all met at the Hilton. This time, Freddy had a much larger van – and a dedicated driver. Given that Freddy wasn’t exactly a tour guide, having two drivers seemed a bit excessive. Nonetheless, I appreciated Freddy’s willingness to aggressively negotiate with locals wherever we went. Gavin’s mom was extremely inclusive and was more than happy for Freddy to join us for meals throughout the day. The other driver tended to keep his distance at the stops.
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We drove to Lake Coatepeque, now my third time experiencing it. This time, we stopped at a fancy restaurant called La Pampa – not for the food, but for the view. It was spectacular on such a beautiful sunny day.

Adjacent to the restaurant was a mini theme park with a roller slide, swings, and a ropes course. It was clearly a competitor to Café Albania, an Instagram-famous spot in El Salvador with a rainbow slide. However, we had none of the Instagram crowds. I decided to give it a shot. Gavin’s family wasn’t interested in participating but were more than happy to spectate and cheer on Yeshar and me.

​​The inner tube ride started out slow, but accelerated in the second half. I loved the feeling of coasting down on hundreds of tiny wheels! The ropes course looked easy but ended up being really hard, like a Survivor immunity challenge. I’m not sure how Yeshar made it through wearing flip flops. It was a good time and made me feel like I was getting something new from this day trip.

Freddy had advertised a lake cruise with a lunch option. When we got to the dock, we learned the cruise wasn’t serving food, so we ate on land. The restaurant was right on the lake and felt like a tourist trap. Hawkers with tchotchkes passed by the table. Amplified music from the restaurant next door clashed with our restaurant’s soundtrack. Cute blackbirds perched on the railings, looking for scraps. I ordered a whole fried fish called a mojarra, which was tasty, though it turned out none of their fish were actually from the lake. Gavin’s dad took a risk ordering a cut of beef called “loma de aguja” that Yeshar and I couldn’t translate. It turned out to be a skirt steak, and a good one too. While it wasn’t the kind of place where you risked consuming ice or uncooked veggies, it was a nice lunch. Unfortunately, when we finished, Freddy said there wasn’t time for a cruise.
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We drove around the rim of the crater, stopping at a viewpoint. A signboard explained the lake was a supervolcano, formed by four major eruptions. The Santa Ana volcano that I hiked was nearby but had its head in the clouds. The Izalco volcano was below the cloud line – we headed there next.

The parking lot at Cerro Verde National Park was crowded, a striking contrast from the many empty tourist sites we’d encountered. Freddy tried to figure out our walking options. He was given bad info from a gate attendant and had to recalibrate with a more knowledgeable policeman. Minor delay aside, we headed to a restaurant called Casa 1800 with excellent views of the perfect cone of Volcán Izalco. After hearing a random tourist offer an unprompted rave review of the food, we also stopped for a snack.
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Tiffany and Chloe were clearly impressed with Salvadoran food prices, and their mom encouraged them to go all out. The end result was a full table and a lot of generous sharing. One dish, called torreja, was like a Salvadoran version of French toast. Freddy said his grandma made it better and offered to source one from her kitchen the next time we visited El Salvador.

I ordered an horchata served in a natural bowl called a morro, a giant nut we’d seen growing on a tree at the San Andrés Mayan ruins. The drink had a peanut flavor, which must be the Salvadoran twist. It was so good! I had to pace myself and savor it.

During the meal, I asked Freddy if Salvadorans actually use Bitcoin. He said it was more for government investment and wasn’t used in day-to-day transactions. Though for fun, he asked the waiter if they accepted Bitcoin at Casa 1800. The waiter’s face went blank. Clearly not a typical question. He had to go ask, but the answer was indeed yes.
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We were tight on time, so instead of returning to the Hilton, we went directly to Katherines’ parents’ house in Santa Tecla. It was a beautiful home in a gated community. Her mother, Ivette, was a talented gardener who made the most of the tropical climate and had cultivated a stunning yard. I learned that Katherine’s grandma was also a talented gardener, and many of these plants were clippings from the house we visited for Friday night’s rehearsal dinner. I particularly liked the hanging baskets of staghorns, a plant I recognized from Australia.

Katherine catered the evening with pupusas from her local favorite shop, Pupusas de Olocuita. I thought I was full from the meal at Casa 1800, but the pupusas were so good that I devoured at least four. There were also some excellent drinks. The national soda, Kolachanpan, has the flavor of a tropical fruit called mamey. There was also jamaíca, a hibiscus beverage. And for dessert, a sweet hot chocolate was served. It was a fun, casual meal.

We also rehearsed the wedding ceremony. It was a bit rowdy but honestly helpful. Tiffany and Chloe learned how to set up the rope that symbolically held the couple with God at the center. I had been given a last-minute assignment of handing Gavin the “arras,” a bag of coins that he would give to Katherine as a symbol of the emotional, spiritual, and financial support he would provide as husband. Isabela read a Bible passage that required some edits – an obscure reference was removed. The mothers practiced hugging their children while holding the unity candles at a safe distance from any veils.

The day of the wedding had arrived. We had a pineapple for breakfast, served in an unusual way that Yeshar saw on YouTube. Instead of cutting off the skin or removing the core, we loosened the pineapple by smashing it on the floor and rolling it back and forth. The pieces separated along their cell boundaries and could be individually plucked out. It was a juicy tear-and-share.

I went on a solo shopping mission to Multiplaza. I thought I knew the mall layout but got turned around. At the grocery store, I picked up some energy drinks for Gavin and coffee to bring home to the US. At San Martin, I picked up a giant slab of semita for the office and some pastries for the plane ride.

At the AirBNB, the three of us partially changed into formal clothes and basked in the one air conditioned room. We took an Uber to Katherines’ parents’ house and waited a bit. Katherine’s dad Roberto, the ophthalmologist, drove us to the wedding venue. On the way, he told us about splitting his time between a public hospital and a private hospital, about trying to minimize small talk with chatty patients, knowing when relatives of gang members were getting treatment at the hospital, and training new docs. As we headed up into the mountains, he thought back to earlier times when gangs controlled peoples’ ability to move between neighborhoods, and charged monthly bribes that were proportional to a business’ income (they called it “paying rent.”)
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The wedding venue was called the Cajamarca, an old coffee plantation turned into a modern events center. There was a charming little chapel for the ceremony, a village of villas for people to stay overnight, and several large grassy fields and gardens for receptions. Yeshar and I hung out with Gavin at one of the villas, where Gavin and Katherine would be staying after the wedding. It had just been constructed a few months earlier. We blasted the AC and reminisced about the Speech team.

​Andrea summoned Gavin for the “first look” and we all left the villa. While Gavin and Katherine had their emotional moment in a private garden, I helped Yeshar with his boutonniere and greeted Gavin’s family who had just arrived. Guests slowly arrived at the venue and filtered into the chapel. The interior was small, and yet a string quartet was squeezed behind the altar. About 1/3 of the seats were actually outside the chapel; the audio was projected via speakers.

The ceremony was the first religious wedding ceremony I’d attended. The officiant was a pastor who knew Katherine from her birth. After everyone had walked down the aisle and the couple settled on a bench, the pastor gave an introductory speech in Spanish. The symbolic rope, coins, and unity candle lighting took place as we rehearsed the night before. Then, Gavin gave his vows in English, and Katherine gave hers in Spanish. It was the first time I’d heard the classic vows translated in Spanish, and the appropriate responses of “sí yo quiero” or “sí prometo.” It was a poignant moment that gave me chills. As the couple walked out, the violins marched out behind them. Afterwards there was a photo session on the lawn next to the church.
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The outdoor reception had light snacks and cocktails. I talked to Yeshar and Gavin’s family while sipping on a tasty margarita. Katherine, Gavin, and Roberto gave brief speeches, and we toasted them with champagne. Ivette introduced me to Reynaldo, a friendly man visiting from Guatemala. He was a photographer and creative type who owned multiple vacation properties in the US and Central America.

We moved into a forested area with banquet tables set up. The dessert table was tempting everyone as we waited for food to be served. The table was just a little too wide, so it was hard to converse across. I still enjoyed talking with Gavin’s parents to my left and Yeshar to my right. The couple entered and had their first dance, mother/groom, and father/bride dances. Gavin and Katherine nailed their choreography.
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Dinner was soup and beef/chicken entrée. Poor Yeshar, a vegetarian who strives to be vegan, had to turn away both, though the wait staff produced a mushroom alterative in the end. Dessert was a self-serve affair, and I was a bit late to the game, so I hadn’t finished mine when a parade of people worked its way to the dance floor, recruiting from the tables as it weaved through.

​Dancing was a blast, and I really love the upbeat Latin pop music. And everyone was into it! Gavin, Katherine, and Yeshar were busting moves. Gavin’s parents and sisters were grooving. Even Papi Memo and Mama Elsie were dancing like there was no tomorrow. I took a few breaks to finish dessert and rehydrate (G&T counts, right?) The cake, belatedly served, was made with an amazing dulce de leche. It ended up being my favorite food of the wedding.

Though many of us expected a Latin American wedding to go late into the night, the dancing was winding down by 10:00. Maybe it was having the wedding on a Sunday night, or the remote location, or the average age of the attendees skewing on the older end. In any case, Yeshar and I did our part to keep the dancing going as long as we could. Towards the very end, they played a song Yeshar had requested earlier in the evening, and he went all out dancing!

As things wound down, I entertained Gavin’s family plus Sam and Isabela with some card tricks and coin tricks. Soon, we were all bidding each other farewell. ​Yeshar and I waited for our Uber with Gavin’s parents and sisters, who called their own. The Ubers arrived almost simultaneously from opposite directions – a huge relief, given the remote mountainside location.

I had arranged a taxi for 4:00am. It arrived at 3:30am, and sent me a voice message while I was still in bed. I groggily replied. Eventually, my fear of it driving away outweighed my reluctance to get up early. The driver was quite nice. He asked if I was from Spain. We chatted a bit on the drive. The airport dropoff area was chaotic, but once I got through security it was laid back.

I couldn’t resist one more round of pupusas before leaving the country. While waiting for my breakfast, I read the news about Trump sending a deportation flight of Venezuelans to El Salvador. The prison was just 45 minutes from the airport where I was sitting. I sipped my black coffee and was thankful that I was traveling between two friendly countries, even if they were a bit too friendly.

There was an additional security screening between the terminal and waiting area, so I had to discard a recently purchased water bottle, but the airline handed out replacement bottles on the jet bridge. I was thankful to have a window seat next to an empty window seat. The guy in the aisle seat was a bit intimidating. He was covered in tattoos, including a dagger on his neck and a jaguar on his hand. As we got off the plane, I noticed he had Spongebob slippers sticking out his backpack, so maybe the fear was misplaced.
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The views during takeoff weren’t great, as the haziness shrouded the volcanoes yet again. I napped for a few hours and listened to a podcast. Arriving home to a cold, rainy St. Patrick’s Day was a shock after a week in dry, tropical climate. My dad picked me up at the airport, and the return to normal life began.

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Having a whole week with Gavin, Yeshar, Katherine, and her family was a tremendous blessing. I’m glad the wedding drew me to El Salvador, as otherwise wouldn’t have had a premise to visit and get to know this up-and-coming country. The volcanoes, lakes, Mayan ruins, pupusas, tropical fruit, and coffee were abundant and made it a true vacation. Plus, the chance to meet locals like Katherine’s family and Freddy added to my understanding of daily life. I didn’t make it to the coast, which is a tourism draw, so I got an incomplete picture of the tourism scene. However, I felt that El Salvador was not really a hidden gem from a touristic standpoint. It’s a fascinating place, but adventurers might look to neighboring countries like Guatemala or Mexico. I’m still grateful for the chance to spend a week there and will be dreaming of pupusas and sweet pastries!