Banana Republic

"Banana Republic"

These words flashed through my mind as we landed in San Salvador. Lush hills and winding rivers give way to idyllic coastline with long, lazy breakers that seem to take minutes to reach the shore. From the air, it is easy to tell the farm houses from the hotels. Ceramic roofs and swimming pools grace the former, while plants and animals unrecognizeable to me dot the latter. Are those cows? They do not look like any cattle I am familiar with.

The heat and the humidity are stifling. As we taxi in on the tarmac, clouds of condensation pour forth from the air conditioning vents above every seat. The overhead compartments look like freezers with their doors open. Tropical foliage pervades well inside the bounds of the airport, with palm trees lining either side of the runway, and I am happy.

I stop for a meal in the airport, and damnit if every single cooked dish on the menu doesn´t have cheese. I order a sandwich with two kinds of ham, cheese, pickles, and avocado. Soon I will be departing for Lima, without even a hint of what the rest of this beatiful third-world paradise looks like.