Logos


DAY 14: The minivan driver had just dropped Camilla off at the Guatemala City airport and rushed back into the city to drop off the rest of the passengers going to buses of varied destinations.  My bus was to be a “luxury” bus run by Tica, a private bus company with their own stations, servicing the major cities of Central America, from Mexico to Panama.  I would take it to the next major city on their route, from Guatemala City to San Salvador (translation: “Saint Salvador"), capital of the almost eponymous El Salvador ("The Salvador.")

I had paid for my ticket at the gRuta Maya tour agency in Antigua who gave me a not-so-official-looking bus ticket on their standard form with their logo on top.  “[Is this the ticket?]” I asked.

“Si.”

It was common practice though; any tourist agency that sold tours wrote “tickets” up on their stationery, so that the person providing the actual service could take it back to them to collect pay afterwards.  It’s a system that works—as long as you have the ticket with you.

“[Do you want to pay in quetzales or dollars?]” the Tica bus guy said at the Tica office.

“[I pay,]” I said in Spanish, only knowing the present tense.

“[Where is your receipt?]”

“[I don’t have it.]”

“[Where is your voucher?]”

“[The conductor...]”

“[He only gave me tickets for the woman and these two,]” he said, pointing to the two gringos in the room.

It was probably just a mistake, but the driver/conductor hadn’t given the Tica guy my ticket, my proof of payment in full.  Fortunately I managed to explain in broken Spanish where I’d purchased the ticket and had them call gRuta Maya directly to confirm.  Fortunately, they had a carbon copy of my voucher. 

“Todo bien?” I asked.

“Si, amigo.”

In the confusion, I caught the attention of the two gringos, Fin and Elin from Denmark, who expressed some concern.  “Everything okay?” Elin asked.

“Yeah, they called the agency in Antigua.”

“Are you hungry?” Fin asked.  “There’s a Subway.” We lugged our bags over to the other side of the strip mall, and then sat out for lunch, killing time with travel talk, Fritos and Subway BMTs.

SUBWAY IS JUST ONE of dozens of American companies that have overridden the city.  Like an American colony, Guatemala City is full of American and international brand logos:  McDonald’s, BMW, Burger King, Audi, Pizza Hut, Good Year, Office Depot and more.  I suppose it’s ironic: the banana republics (the developing nations I mean, not the clothing stores), now stable after years of violent wars, are on the path to come into their own modernized state, only to have the charge led by imperialistic corporations.

Not surprisingly, American movies on DVD have also reached the developing world, and it was a softened Ice Cube who graced the bus’ video monitors in Are We Done Yet? in English with Spanish subtitles, followed by Titanic dubbed in Spanish.  The bus ride was long, yet comfortable with the movies, plush cushion seats, A/C, a bathroom, and most importantly, shocks for the bumpy road.  Along with many locals traveling from point A to point B, the Danes and I rode down the highway, away from American colonialism and back into the rural landscape of shacks and palm trees.

In a few hours we arrived at the border with El Salvador (a.k.a. The Salvador) where dozens of street money changers followed us into the immigration office trying to switch our currencies at an agreeable rate (for them).  The exit process for Guatemala wasn’t such a formality—the officer just looked at my passport without stamping it—and the entry process for El Salvador was even more informal.  There was no office to walk into, only a tent, but it didn’t matter because the immigration officer just came on board the bus to glance at passports without stamping them.  We were delayed anyway because the officers started searching bags in the under carriage, ignoring all gringo backpacks for some reason—not that I had anything to hide.

The Danes and I hung back and waited, eating freshly roasted corn from a local woman selling them across the street.  Around us (picture above), more money changer guys chased each vehicle coming in, with calls of “Dollares?  Dollares?  Cambio?  Cambio?  Dollaritos?”

Since 2004, El Salvador, like Ecuador, has adopted the official use of U.S. currency, both paper and coins.  Once a country torn by bloody decades of civil war—of which four billion dollars was funded by the U.S. government—it too was on the path of coming into its own in a modern world, only with a few set backs in agriculture due to decades of land abuse.  Only about the size of New Jersey, El Salvador is Central America’s most densely populated country with a headcount of close to 7 million, which might have been a turn off for some of the travelers I’d met so far—no one mentioned going or coming from there.  That’s not to say it’s not a nice place to visit; it is after all, home to one of the world’s best surfing scenes.

BY NIGHTFALL we arrived in San Salvador and I saw again that the city too was a cornucopia of American logos:  Tony Roma’s, Texaco, Hilton, Nine West, McDonald’s, Burger King, etc.  I opted against the American chains for dinner, having a platter of three chorizo tacos (a throwback to a regular lunch back at the office in NYC).

The bus pulled not into a central bus terminal, but their own Tica office, conveniently next to a swarm of available taxis and a travelers/business hotel, the Hotel Meson de Maria, where employees waited for their daily busload of instant guests.  It was good that it was there; it helped avoid looking for a hotel at night in the urban sprawl of the city.

“I’m staying here,” I told the Danes.  “I don’t feel like going anywhere.”

”I’m staying here,” Elin told Fin whether he liked it or not.  He didn’t argue for they would be leaving on the next Tica bus early in the morning for their ultimate destination of Managua.

I went to get my bag in the bus compartment, only to realize that in my confusion earlier that day, the Tica guy failed to give me a tag and claim ticket, which they were actually checking for to prevent thievery.  I pointed to my bag, “Es mio.”

The guy didn’t believe me, so I showed to him that the logo on the luggage name tag matched the logo on The Global Trip t-shirt I was wearing. 

“Bien.”

I guess some foreign logos in El Salvador come in handy after all.


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Previous entry: Disbanded Until The Bay


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Comments for "Logos"

  • it’s good to BE the brand....

    Posted by markyt  on  12/07  at  04:24 PM


  • El Salvador is on my plans for my world trip so i’m really interested to see how you like it.  I’ve pretty much been taking notes for the past year reading your blogs. 

    On a side note, isn’t Friday awesome!

    Posted by  on  12/07  at  06:50 PM


  • I don’tt know a lot about “the Salvador,” so this is great reading as usual.

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Next entry:
Surf's Up

Previous entry:
Disbanded Until The Bay


This blog entry about the events of Tuesday, December 04, 2007 was originally posted on December 07, 2007 on the trip blog, "The Global Trip: The Central American Eviction Tour* (*with jaunt to Colombia)." It chronicles a six-week journey through Central America, with a jaunt to Bogota, Colombia.




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