Earlier this year, Nathan, our Roaster Extraordinaire visited El Salvador on his first trip to origin. Here are some of his thoughts about the trip…
When I first stepped off the plane into the El Salvador airport it was 90 degrees (not the 50 degrees and rainy Seattle coffee territory of home) and glancing around the terminal the first thing I noticed were the uniforms. They were everywhere. The second thing I noticed was the guns. Never before had I seen so many. It was like how I imagined an NRA convention to be. The third thing I quickly realized was the unavoidable fact that I didn’t speak a lick of Spanish. The combination of these three revelations resulted in a nervous and uneasy Nathan.
Even the mountains in Central America are different than the Mt. Baker and Mt. Rainier of my backyard. Walking on a volcano in this country is no big deal for there are so many of them. I know we have them in the Northwest too but these were different. The ground was black and every step had a crunch to it, similar to the sound of walking on rice crispys. As we were led through the coffee orchard with the ground crunching underfoot, our leader spoke of “stumping.” We all sort of looked around and said,”Stumping, what’s that?” As quick as that our host grabbed for his machete and removed it from it’s sheath. It was long and menacing. This caused everyone to around him to immediately step back in unison. He reached for the closest coffee tree and pulled it down against his side and with two full swings of the machete the tree was finished. He then reached out and handed me the remains of what was a tree about five feet tall with a base four inches thick. I was surprised at how heavy it was and how the bark was so thin, like paper. A section of this coffee tree now sits on my mantel as well as the machete that liberated it from it’s life giving roots.
At another coffee farm, peering through a doorway, I saw some women preparing what looked like papusas (the food that we had been enjoying everyday). Just then a flash of reddish orange skimmed past my head. Still on edge with the abundance of weapons I cautiously approached the doorway. Prepared to fight (or run) I took a better look in the kitchen where the women continued going about their work, apparently unfazed by the attempt on my life. As I stood there I heard a cluck cluck cluck and squinting to see better I suddenly came to the realization that my assailant was a chicken. There were many of them just wandering about the kitchen. I looked to the women who were now watching me and I said “pollo” in my most Spanish inquisitive voice and they smiled at me and motioned for me to come in and learn about Papusa.
El Salvador was, as a whole, not what I expected, but full of new experiences for this Northwestern coffee roaster.
