Dispatch From My Last Day in El Salvador
A thousand Dollar Phone on a Six Dollar Day. Plus, Going Through Customs in Dallas.
SAN SALVADOR — The morning sun nudged me awake at 7 a.m. in my San Benito hostel. After a refreshing shower and a bowl of sugary cereal, I set out to find a hotel with a proper bed.
Wandering up Boulevard Sergio Viera de Mello, I passed a fortress-like hotel, its guards’ stares too intense. Then I found a modest place, its bored clerk quoting $85 for a single room.
With just one night left in El Salvador, I took it—a likely boon for the empty hotel, maybe equaling six bookings. The crisp air conditioning, fast WiFi, and plush bed were a stark upgrade from the hostel’s humid fans.
At my self-proclaimed “work cafeteria”—Denny’s—I met a young guy sipping a Modelo, his English so American it floored me. Let’s call him Modelo, his name lost in our chat.
“American movies,” he grinned when I asked him how his English was so good. Over burgers, we roamed San Benito, drifting toward the hospital. I confessed Americans view El Salvado…