By Roger Lindo
18 Oct 2024, 16:23 PM EDT
I’m back. La Montañona continues undisturbed: a swollen forest of pine forests, oaks, liquidambar, colonies of ferns, clay soil, mountains populated by talapos, torogoces, tacuacines, white-tailed deer, and Castilian vipers. Isolation is the secret of its pure air and silence: to enter the massif you have to drive three hours from the capital and ascend the mountain along a rugged road, which requires a high-height vehicle, preferably a 4×4.
It was a good time to attempt the ascent: it stopped raining in the mountains three or four days ago, and although the mud persists on the roads and the clouds loom in the evening, winter seems to be in retreat. The summer winds enter, the temperatures drop, the air becomes dry and smells of pine.
La Montañona is one of the most beautiful and safe destinations in El Salvador. The gangs never established themselves here. Since the agreements that ended the war were signed more than three decades ago, we have not heard of homicides in these mountains. The original members of the community were former guerrillas or formerly displaced people who received land thanks to a land transfer program contemplated when the peace was signed. Upon their return to civilian life, they dedicated themselves to agricultural work.
Credit: Roger LIndo | Courtesy
In the post-war years, the area received hordes of visitors on weekends. They arrived attracted by the fresh memories of the war: the trenches, the remains of camps and field hospitals and the old tatús from which the rebel radio station Farabundo Martí operated. Countless visitors spent a night in the warmth of the bonfires listening to stories of combat or walked in front of the remains of planes shot down by the guerrillas and observed the graves opened by bombs.
Credit: Róger Lindo | Courtesy
We settled on a bench to talk, tormented by clouds of voracious gnats. In a few minutes the forearms are covered with red dots, bites that take days to heal. Finally, a customer climbs the street to where we are. Inevitably, the conversation begins by recreating the old days, the historic days of war and the cherries. The conversation immediately turns to the topic of migration: the caravan of those heading north continues. This partly explains the desolation that surrounds us. It turns out that one of the bizarre houses we saw at the entrance is his. His immigrant children built it. He himself has been visiting the United States, he has an American visa and one day perhaps he himself will leave La Montañona. We asked for the guides who used to lead us into the heart of the forest. That service is not at its best, but he offers to drive us.
We spent the night on the rugged farm of Don Chus, a distant brother who returned to the country a few months ago with the intention of permanently reestablishing himself. He kindly offers to accommodate us. We began the descent to the property as night fell. The road is so battered and muddy due to the rains that we have to resort to the mountain sprocket. Our host’s house is an adobe construction that he has begun to modify with the hope of making it comfortable and providing it with all the services. Meanwhile, if the need arises, you have to leave the house and use a lamp to light yourself to the latrine. Don Chus, a plain and straightforward person, lived and made a living in the United States carrying and bringing cargo for many years as an independent transporter. At times, he made two trips a day between Los Angeles and Oakland, cities 370 miles apart.
At sixty-something, he wants to finally settle down. By nature he is a tireless being. Upon his return to the country he tried his luck in different businesses, including a driving school. He also sold fine meats and lately sells the coffee and tilapia that the farm produces. His most ambitious project, in which one of his daughters accompanies him, is to create a hostel for visitors in the heart of La Montañona. With cabins, trails, a viewpoint and other attractions.
Two hands are not enough, he has to recruit enough manpower for such a huge undertaking. The challenge is where to hire it. Chalatenango is the department with the lowest population density in El Salvador. It is not easy to attract young people to the hard work of the fields, carpentry or masonry, since they, like Don Chus in his youth, also aspire to go north, like those who preceded them.
Róger Lindo is a writer and journalist.