#intipuca

El Salvador: Un enjambre sísmico genera 350 temblores y daña decenas de viviendas

El fenómeno destruyó al menos 11 casas y dejó una menor de edad herida. Imagen ilustrativa Jose Cabezas / Reuters

En El Salvador, la Dirección General de Protección Civil activó este domingo las alertas naranja y amarilla en dos departamentos de la zona oriental del país que fueron afectados por el enjambre sísmico localizado entre los municipios de Chirilagua e Intipucá.

El Ministerio de…

Intipuca, La Union, El Salvador

It is a soggy day in the district. Fog and mist lay over the city like a cloud of smoke. On my walk to work I realize that the buses here have blue tinted windows, like the meat cases in all the supermarkets. Like they're trying to make the passengers look as appealing as steak, full well knowing their commute is miserable. Everyone is unhappy because the bus costs $1.70 each way and their transportation stipend from work isn't covering it. Add to that the fact that the stairs scratched their new shoes. Woe is them. Since returning, I have felt a strange apathy for the highly industrialized city I live in. The bustle of K Street seems so disingenuous, so cursory and only really self-serving. As the plane took off I had this sensation that my feet were still on the ground in San Salvador. As the vessel pulled away, my legs only stretched longer, my feet unwilling to loosen their grip on the land. I wanted to drag my finger across each mountain top, trace every volcanic valley down to its lagoon. I wanted to take just a few more pictures of that cloudless particular blue sky, the unrelenting green slopes of the mountain towns. I wanted to pick more flowers, to put in my hair and press in my books, which I will forget about until a pleasant surprise when I turn certain pages months later. One more hug from a local student, so enthused and so grateful, so interested. One more gestural and highly non-verbal communication about how much I love the food or how I like to take photographs. But the plane reached its top altitude and my legs could stretch no longer. They coiled, sullenly and defeated, back under my body. To Miami, to DC. To "home." But each time I return it feels a little less like home and more like a space bar. A pause. An anchor.

Meeting the kids was such a surreal and amazing experience. They were really great, and I feel like most, if not all, of them were so attentive and absorbing up every bit and scrap of information thrown at them. How crazy is that? And I wish it were this easy in DC, but they are two completely different experiences and places, and...well...c'est la vie, I suppose.