Another border crossing. As I head back towards Nicaragua for my last 2 weeks in this amazing part of the world I decided to break up the trip with a little stay in San Salvador. Not that the 4 hour sleep I had here in between two 10 hour bus rides was brief or anything... Anyway, what do you do in San Salvador in 2 days? Visit the massive shopping malls? Museums (I did actually try, but it was closed, still a point from Mum)? Walk around the old town with the dangerous reputation even by daylight?

Nope. You eat. And you talk.

El Salvador has the most amazing food. Similar to the other countries I have visited but different. Better. Puposas for a start. Tortillas made while you wait, but not just any tortillas. Filled with your ingredients of choice. Cheese and spinach, beans, garlic, onion, courgette... the list is massive. The women making them, giggling at my lack of Spanish food vocabulary (I blame different words used between different countries for the same food), point out the good vegetarian combinations for me. I take their advice. Piping hot with the cheese melting in the middle it is tortilla heaven.

And you talk. You talk to Antonio, who came into the cafetaria where I was eating. He seemed very excited about the opportunity to practice his English. We had a conversation between our two tables. As usual, I was asked about how I found their city. I have become quite good at answering this question if I may say so myself. Similar to being asked it in Cononou (Benin), the most polluted city I have ever attempted to breathe in, you have to wrack your brains for what part of this massive city with buses belching out fumes and huge food chains taking over the horizon you can put in a positive light. So, back to the food topic I went. He seemed pleased with this answer, and then proceeded to practice his quite amusing English complements on me... something along the lines of "You very are charming and beautiful" (clearly using my attempts at white lies of something´s beauty, particularly as in the plus 30 degree heat, homeless-traveller outfit, I was far from it!). He then seemed to remember that he had not entered alone. "This is my daughter" he stated in a clear, "This is not my wife" way.

Somewhat similar to the guy I met while doing my homework by the lake in San Pedro who after discovering that I was unmarried (need to learn to lie about this one better) declared with great sorrow, "Ohhhhhhhhhh, but I am..." as if that little bit of knowledge was going to crush me. Clearly that was the only one little hitch in our potential marriage...

Sometimes the random conversations are amusing or a smidgen creepy. But usually they are open, heart-warming, heart-wrenching and genuine. They remind me why travel can be the greatest teacher. I talked to my bus driver who talked of the differences between Guatemala and El Salvador. He loved the fact that we shared the same ocean despite being so so far away (not in Alaska as he had previously thought, thank you filofax map!). I talked to Luis, who sat at my table at the little stand selling chocolate covered frozen bananas. A maths teacher at a high school he told me of the difficulty of getting into university here. Of the one public university with vaguely affordable education with the overwhelming number of applicants, desperate for learning and qualifications. He told me of those he has known that have attempted to cross the border to the States, in search of oportunities that their country cannot hope to offer them. Of the dangers and the deaths that come from this journey. The fact that the mere possibility of making it is worth the risk. That life here could be enough of an incentive to attempt it. Scary. And sad.