Last Updated: May 9, 2022
“$30 for a taxi? Are there buses?” I had just finished sleeping in the airport to save money on a night’s accommodation, which ended up costing me a lot more in the long run. I didn’t really want to then pay $30 for a shuttle to the city.
It was just after 5am when I finally made it out of the airport after my glorious miscalculation the night before.
“Yes, there are public buses. But we can’t guarantee that you’ll be safe on those.”
Not what I wanted to hear.
One thing to know about El Salvador’s International Airport is that it’s about a 45-minute drive outside the capital, San Salvador. The airport is about the same distance to popular beach spots like La Libertad, El Tunco, or El Zonte (Bitcoin City).
“And how much does the bus cost?” I asked, not really sure what price would make me take the dodgy Central American public bus.
“60 cents.” Well, shit. I was kind of hoping it would be much more expensive and easier to justify hopping in the shuttle.
Transport Options From the Airport
- Airport Taxi – $30
- Uber – $20-$35
- Public Bus – $0.60
Is it really dangerous? I’ve been a lot of places where people tell me it’s dangerous only to find out that it’s a lovely place full of friendly people. Knowing what I know now about Central America and El Salvador in particular, I would’ve taken that bus. I never once felt unsafe in El Salvador and the people were so friendly.
The buses are a matter of comfort level – I wouldn’t count on getting a seat, but they’re safe from my experiences. I would count on, however, loud music of any and all varieties, shiny chrome fixtures straight out of Xzibit’s Pimp My Ride, vendors selling food and anything else as they squeeze their way down the aisle, religious pictures, Bible verses, and the occasional animal. There’s a reason they call them chicken buses. They’re safe – just keep an eye on your belongings like anywhere.
At the time though, I hadn’t yet set foot in Central America and had no idea what to expect. I kind of had to trust the people at the airport, even if they were just trying to funnel me towards the airport taxis.
“What about Uber?” They told me there was Uber and a quick search showed me that it wasn’t any cheaper than the airport taxi. Crap.
If it wasn’t 5am and I wasn’t the only sorry traveler hanging around the airport I could’ve shared the taxi with other people headed to the city.
“Okay. I’ll pay $20. Let’s go.” I’m a great negotiator when it comes to this sort of thing. He’ll say $25, I’ll say deal and we’ll be on our way.
“No. It’s $30.” He’s playing hardball. I know this game.
“Okay. $25 and it’s a deal,” I got him right where I want him.
“No. It’s $30.”
“Fine. Let’s go.” Meh. You gotta try am I right?
Despite being a tough negotiator, my driver was very friendly. We chatted along the way to the city and after being in South America for the previous 4 months, when he hit me with a “que padre!” in response to my travel plans, I couldn’t help but by crack a big smile. I love Mexico, and hearing that slang again made me realize I was much closer to Mexico than South America.
He asked if I was hungry to which I replied absolutely, and he said we cold stop to get some pupusas if I wanted. Not having the slightest clue what a pupusa was, but excited to try the food in a new country, especially after the months of food in Ecuador and Colombia (not cuisine powerhouses by any stretch), I told him that if he knew a good spot let’s check it out.
The little tortilla pancake filled with melted cheese and refried beans put another smile on my face. I was pretty confident I was going to love this country.
But, the first order of business was getting my ass to Honduras for the soccer match I was covering. I’d be back to El Salvador in about a week, but my mistake in the El Salvador Airport left me in a rush to find a new bus to Honduras. The game was the next day and there were no more buses to San Pedro Sula.
My driver took me to the international bus terminal in San Salvador, although you could hardly call it that – it was a 1-star hotel that also hosted the Tica Bus headquarters. After a brief chat we found out there was an 11am bus to Honduras’ capital, Tegucigalpa – not where I needed to go, but it would at least get me to Honduras that night and then finding a bus from there to San Pedro Sula the next morning shouldn’t be too difficult.
I thanked my driver for everything and took my seat in the hotel lobby (just an entrance with a couple of chairs and an old, musty couch). I had about 4.5 hours to kill. Tired and groggy as sin from back-to-back nights sleeping in airports, I walked out into the city centre of San Salvador for the first time and to say the least was unimpressed.
A ridiculous interaction with an old man, shotgun in hand is what followed.
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