I Moved to El Salvador; Ask Me Anything
Last year, I planned a hike through El Boquerón, a national park atop the San Salvador Volcano that features a scenic crater, as well as a tiny crater within that crater called Boqueroncito (”Little Boquerón”), which I find adorable. In true millennial fashion, I consulted a handful of travel blogs to make sure I was well-prepared for the trip.
A blog entry by a couple of tourists caught my attention. Be careful to avoid the advanced hike route, it read, as you might run into aggressive stray dogs.
Now, getting bitten by a dog and then spending hours seeing my life flash before my eyes as I rushed to the nearest hospital wasn’t really appealing to me. Suddenly unsure of my plans, I called my Salvadoran friend Sara to tell her about my concerns.
She straight-up laughed.
“I am so happy,” she exclaimed, “that your biggest concern here are stray dogs, and no longer the gangs.”
In the end, my stray dog worry was unfounded—you know that’s not the point of this anecdote, but lest there be any confusion, I had the best time, and nobody bit me.
The world feels like a weird place lately, and I’ve wondered more than once whether past generations have felt the same. When the gaps between crises close and each of them leaves a scar deeper than the last, and when we see before our very eyes how things change, gradually, then suddenly, it leaves me no other conclusion except that we are living through the end of an era, if not the end of an empire; I know that sounds dramatic, but one way or another, it is definitely a time our children will look back upon, shaking their heads going, “how could they not see it coming!”
As bitcoiners, we pride ourselves in “seeing it coming.” (For the record, I don’t think we do, but that’s a different conversation.) We are witnessing the bloody decay of entire countries’ financial backbones. State-level corruption is socially acceptable. “So, our government is hella shady, whaddaya do?”
Move, that’s what ya do. At least that’s what I did. Then again, most of the time that means jumping out of the frying pan into the fire. I’ve spent the last ten years traveling the world, and in just about any country I have visited or lived in, I could see shades of the same pattern forming. The general mood is shifting; people are struggling to plan, let alone build their futures and, as a result of this and other influences, delving into destructive high-time preference distractions.
Bitcoiners seek to escape this vicious cycle. For you and me, Bitcoin is a lifeboat. A lifeboat is great. It protects you from the tide and keeps your head afloat. But who wants to live on a lifeboat? A boat needs a harbor to dock.
Enter the smallest country in America. El Salvador was never on my radar. By that I mean, it was so very far outside my radar that the first time I even heard about it was when Nayib Bukele announced he was making Bitcoin legal tender.
I had the privilege of meeting the president a few months after the Bitcoin Law became official, at the very affordable cost of one of my first plushie prototypes. At the time, he was on a state visit to Turkey; when my business partner Danny and I went to meet him, he showed up flanked by his security detail and what I assumed were at least 50 members of staff. What immediately caught my eye was the youthful energy in that colorful mix. Unbeknownst to me, it was a teaser of the spirit that had gripped the country. This kind of optimism was all but alien to me. Where I’m from, governments are sluggish, bloated, boomer-operated calcified machines (I could’ve added more adjectives, but you get my gist).
The experience made me decide to go and check out the country myself. It took me a year and a half to make the trip, but I made up for it—by staying.
El Salvador is one hell of a place. At first, I thought it was just me, that perhaps my personal bias skewed my experience from the moment I set foot here. But so far, every single person I’ve spoken with confirmed my own impression: something is different about this country, and it took coming here to really grasp it.
Let me attempt an explanation anyway and tell you why I moved myself and my company to Bitcoin Country—spoiler alert: it wasn’t for the Bitcoin Law.
Enter El Salvador
“People really drive like madmen here,” Sara moaned as we set out for our roadtrip during my first week in El Salvador.
“I’ve seen worse,” I said. Not about to drop names, but compared to some other places I’ve seen, the traffic in El Salvador isn’t half-bad.
We drove along the famous Ruta de las Flores, a scenic road winding its way through tropical hillscapes, connecting numerous lively townships and sleepy villages. Our destination was the famed village of Ataco, not too far from the border to Guatemala, where Sara had looked up a little restaurant serving traditional Sopa de Gallina, or hen soup. On a small veranda off to the back of the place sat a weathered rocking chair that smelt of leaves and rain. As I walked up to the edge of the porch and peaked beyond at the sprawling forest below, a dizzy sensation gripped me and pulled my feet back a couple of steps.
We ate hen soup, thick corn tortillas, cheese, and chorizo, all with a view that would’ve made you believe somebody had thrown a real-life Instagram filter onto the landscape. When I was little, I would see sceneries like these printed on the centerfold of travel magazines, or postered on the inside of the local supermarket window. Gazing upon the lush tree-covered hills, it felt as if I had stepped right into one of those adverts.
As we strolled through the buzzing little market that was happening in town, I spent half an eternity at a stall selling colorful handmade capiruchos, a popular toy in the form of a little wooden cup, tethered to a stick by a string. Three or four locals demonstrated the game (the goal is to flip the cup up into the air and catch it with the end of the stick). They say those who make a skill look easy show true mastery. Alas, I failed spectacularly and instead resorted to watching the experts while capturing the scene. When I pulled out my phone, I caught Sara smiling from beside me.
“You know, before the new government, this would’ve made you a target,” she said, leisurely pointing at my bright-red flip cover.
“Walking with my phone in my hand?”
“Yep. Also, wearing branded clothes, like those.” Her gaze fell onto my worn Nike sneakers, and I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. I had spent a considerable amount of time living in places where you’d generally be advised to always keep a hand on your bag, just in case. But recalling the stories I had heard from Salvadorans about the state of things “before the new government,” I began to slowly realize just how different life had been here just a couple of years prior.
“Things are a lot better with the new government,” Sara told me. “Sure, not everything is perfect. But we understand there are things that can’t be fixed in five years’ time.”
“Like what?”
“The healthcare system,” she replied instantly, “as well as job opportunities for young graduates. Also, real estate prices.”
“We’re happy that people are coming to El Salvador to invest, and that the diaspora is returning. But housing prices have gone through the roof.”
If you bought property in El Salvador two or three years ago, hats off to you. Prices have gone parabolic (sorry Bitcoin). This is also reflected in rent prices, so if you’re looking to relocate anytime soon, be prepared. These are growing pains, and so wherever you go, you’ll see houses, condos, and also malls and recreational facilities being built.
Meanwhile, you’ll be hard-pressed to find anyone who has something negative to say about the current administration. In fact, it happens on the regular that people will start proudly talking about “the new government” without so much as a prompt,…
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