Diego is the room cleaner and general attendant at the B&B we are staying at.  He’s 21 and more than a smidge over 300 pounds.  Diego works at Casa Clementina every day, most of the day and seven days a week.  He resides there.  The landlady gives him a couple of days off every now and then to go see his family.  His salary is $50.00 a month plus he gets room and board.

He’s a nice guy, friendly, accommodating and always smiling.  I like him.

The other day he heard us trying to find out about which bus, which bus depot and what the schedule was for getting to Guatemala City. “No worries, senor, I’ll take you there.  The landlady has given me two days off and I am going home but I can show you first and help arrange things for you.”

On our way there I asked this big gentle bear of a guy where he learned English.  “I taught myself, senor.  I watch TV and read the books the travelers leave behind.”

So far, Diego’s English is the best I have encountered in the country.  I tell him that with his ability to speak English so well and without an accent makes him a pretty valuable employee.  “Yes.  I am very helpful to the guests and to the landlady.  But I cannot get a better job because I do not have a degree.  I do not have the education.”

“I think you speak well enough to get any number of good paying jobs.  And I should know.  I speak English all the time.  I’m pretty good at it.”

He laughed at my little joke and insisted that no one would hire him.  “Those people (who can speak both Spanish and English) can get good jobs making as much as $500 a month if they work hard.  They would not hire me.  I know that.  No degree.” 

I encouraged him a bit more but didn’t push it.  We got our business done and parted.  I’m never going to see ol’ Diego again.

Later in the same day, I encountered another young man who spoke passable English (not as good as Diego).  Jose’ William was a ‘higher class’  El Salvadorean, also 21 and he went to the university.  We got to talking and he revealed that he made $300 a month at a call centre translating with buyers and sellers of ‘stuff’ from the US and from various parts of Central America.  I gave him some tips, some information that he wanted and asked a small favour in return.  “ Say, Jose’, how ‘bout you do me a small favour?”

He agreed on the spot without knowing what the request was – typically friendly and accommodating response that we have come to know in El Salvador.  I told him Diego’s story.  And I asked him to ‘pop over’ to the Casa Clementina when he had the chance.  “Tell Diego that you are a friend of mine (the old fat Canadian) and tell him about your job at the call centre.  He’ll need you to encourage him to apply.  He doesn’t think they’ll hire him.  He needs your help.” 

JW laughed and promised to do it.  He was very keen to ‘do me a favour’.  I am sure that he will do it.  I am not sure that Diego has the confidence to seize the opportunity.  We’ll see.  I hope.  I left JW my e-mail address.

Still later, when Sal and I had finished dinner at a restaurant that we had frequented before, I discovered too late that my wallet was empty.  I had spent what I had earlier.  The rest was back at the hotel.  I told the young man who was our waiter both times that  that we’d been at the restaurant that I’d leave and come back in 20 minutes to settle up.  He said, “Si, signor.”  And we left.

Remember – Diego’s monthly salary was a paltry $50.00.  And I owed this overpriced-but-convenient neighbourhood restaurant almost half of that ($21.00).  I can’t imagine what that amount meant to our friendly young waiter who lives in an armed encampment for a city.

I got the money, left Sal at the B&B and returned just a bit later than I had estimated.  I looked through the window of the restaurant as I approached.  My waiter was looking a bit worried and his two waiter buddies were scowling at him.  I thought that it might be about me.

As I approached the door I saw that the two others immediately headed off and my guy turned to look at the kitchen as if he wasn’t giving it a moment’s thought.  When I tapped him on the shoulder, he was grinning from ear to ear.  The tip was generous, too.  I am pretty sure this guy is walking around the staff looking pretty smug.

And I, for one, really appreciated the trust he showed us in a city that is clearly lacking a lot of it for each other.

Point of the story: once you’ve seen one big church, you’ve mostly seen ‘em all.  Same for volcanoes (but I admit that they can still get one’s attention when they want to).  A pretty little town, a chicken bus, a few trinkets and a beach……….?  Been there, done it all.

It’s all good.

But, somehow, in some way every trip is memorable and almost always it’s because of the people.  And in that way, the most meaningful way, El Salvador did not disappoint.  Those three young men are not my friends.  I’ll never see them and not likely hear from them again either.  But I’ll always think of them when I think of El Salvador.

It was an interesting day.