La Libertad, El Salvador
April 26 – San Salvador, a Bitcoin Meetup, La Libertad and El Zonte
Besides, I had to travel to the capital first anyway before heading towards the coast.
Early in the morning, Hagen and I walked to the bus stop and caught a bus to San Salvador. The event was taking place in a downtown park at two in the afternoon, so we had plenty of time to get there. During the three-hour bus ride, we had enough time to dive into deeper Bitcoin-related topics and recommend books to each other.
Ever since Bitcoin became part of my life, I had been spending more and more time trying to understand it better. I had already bought at least five or six books on the subject and was making good progress with them. The afternoons, especially after work, were the perfect time to sink into my books in the hammock.
When we arrived in San Salvador, we called an Uber, which took us all the way to the park. Since we still had an hour to spare, we stopped at one of the local eateries to grab something to eat.
The meetup itself was a casual barbecue, but unfortunately, we hadn't prepared very well. We tried looking around nearby for somewhere to buy some meat, but in the end we arrived at the meetup empty-handed.
There were around eight to ten young Europeans and Americans at the event. They had already started grilling and were generously offering food to everyone.
I felt a little intimidated. It reminded me of the networking meetups I had attended in Frankfurt, where I often struggled at first to loosen up and find something in common with people. Here, the common topic was obvious, yet I still remained rather passive and only exchanged a few words with most of the people.
Later, however, I managed to get into conversations with people who had not only been lucky enough to buy Bitcoin years ago, but were also deeply involved in the technology and the revolution surrounding it.
Many of them had moved to El Salvador from Europe, the United States, or Canada over the previous few years, ever since President Bukele announced what was essentially the country's Bitcoin Standard.
I had booked accommodation for that night in El Zonte, a coastal town also known as Bitcoin Beach. Distances in El Salvador aren't particularly large, but getting from one place to another by public transportation can take several hours.
To make sure I would reach my accommodation in time, I said goodbye to the meetup that same afternoon, including to Hagen, who was planning to stay with a friend in the capital that night.
I took an Uber to the bus station and continued my journey towards the coast by bus.
In La Libertad, I changed to another bus, which took me all the way to El Zonte — Bitcoin Beach.
El Zonte had long been an ordinary, quiet surfing village. That changed in 2019, when an anonymous Bitcoin donor, later simply referred to as the “Bitcoin Beach donor,” donated a significant amount of BTC to the local community.
The condition was that the Bitcoin should not be sold, but spent locally, while the residents would be taught how to use Bitcoin.
This was the beginning of the Bitcoin Beach project, which was subsequently developed by local young people and activists.
A large part of the local community uses Bitcoin through the Lightning Network. It can be used to pay in shops, restaurants, accommodation, and even with street vendors. Many young people receive part of their income in BTC. There are also educational programs for both children and adults.
The goal was to create a financial ecosystem that could function without relying on the traditional banking system.
The success of El Zonte became a direct inspiration for El Salvador's decision to make Bitcoin legal tender in 2021. President Nayib Bukele openly referred to the experience of Bitcoin Beach.
This history was exactly why I wanted to come to El Zonte. I wanted to experience what life was like here, meet people from the Bitcoin community, and spend some satoshis myself.
I arrived at my hostel in El Zonte in the late afternoon. After so many hours on buses, I was exhausted, so I went to bed early.
April 27 – The Beach, Swimming, a Lost Shoe, a Missing Phone and New Connections
The next morning, I woke up well-rested at the hostel and set off early towards the beach.
Since El Salvador lies on the Pacific coast, the water here is considerably cooler and rougher than on the other side of Central America, where the Caribbean Sea is warmer and calmer. As a result, surfing is much more common along this coastline than traditional beach swimming.
The beach was only about a ten-minute walk from the hostel, and the Pacific was definitely showing its wild side. Alongside all the surfers, though, there were quite a few people swimming as well.
I sat down on one of the terraces, which naturally had a view of the ocean. I ordered a typical Salvadoran breakfast: scrambled eggs, refried beans, cheese, and bread.
While eating, I could barely take my eyes off the ocean.
After breakfast, I decided to take a walk along the beach and take some photos with my new camera.
After the sandy section of the beach came a huge stretch of rocks that had been completely worn away over the years by the saltwater and powerful waves.
I climbed onto one of them because I couldn't zoom in enough on the waves with my lens.
Just as had happened to me in Mexico, I once again underestimated the power of the waves, and several times I was unexpectedly hit by a huge wall of water.
In Mexico, I had been annoyed when my shoes got completely soaked. This time, I just laughed, wiped down my camera, and climbed back down before an even bigger wave could get me.
The lifeguards noticed me from the sandy part of the beach and immediately started blowing their whistles, telling me to move back towards the safer area.
To be honest, I had absolutely no understanding of the changing tides, and later this would get me into trouble.
After walking back, I decided it was finally time to take a dip in the Pacific Ocean. I went into the water where the other swimmers and the lifeguards were.
Whenever I swim alone in another country, I always feel a certain degree of distrust towards the other people on the beach.
This time I was particularly worried because my new camera was worth more than €1,500.
I had no other choice: I covered my bag and kept an eye on it while swimming.
The waves are exactly what I love about swimming in the ocean, especially when several-metre-high walls of water come crashing towards you.
There was certainly no shortage of them in El Salvador — it was perfect territory for surfers.
I love jumping into the waves, feeling them crash over me and enjoying the moment when they completely engulf me.
I stayed in the water for quite a while before getting out to rest.
Later, still in a photography mood, I started walking in the opposite direction along the beach. In the distance, I thought I could make out a small island.
I figured I'd walk a little closer so I could take some better photos.
I walked a few hundred metres along the water, took a few pictures, and then headed back towards my belongings.
That's when I got the shock of my life.
My shoe was gone.
My backpack and all my valuables were still untouched in the shade. I walked back and forth looking for it, but there was absolutely no sign of my shoe.
At first, I suspected the family resting nearby.
But that made absolutely no sense. Why would someone take my used shoe while leaving my backpack sitting just ten metres away?
Then a wave washed over my ankles, and suddenly I understood.
The ocean had taken it.
In the morning, the tide had been low, which was why so many people had been able to venture further into the water.
But at least three hours had passed since then — roughly half of a tidal cycle.
The water level had been rising slowly and almost imperceptibly.
That explained why the lifeguards had been so active.
Naively, I stared out at the ocean, hoping that the waves might return my shoe.
They actually did wash my yellow insole back onto the beach, but spotting the white shoe itself among the enormous waves was practically impossible.
The water kept getting closer to the rocky wall where I was standing.
Most of the swimmers had already left, and the lifeguards were whistling at the last few people to get out of the water.
I didn't want to give up.
Eventually, I decided that enough was enough.
I accepted that my shoe was gone and was instead grateful that I had left my backpack further away from the water.
If the ocean had taken that, I would have been left without my money, passport, or camera.
The solution was simple: I would buy a pair of flip-flops.
It was extremely hot, and walking along the sandy beach was impossible because the waves had reached all the way to the rocky wall.
The other option was the paved, asphalt road, but walking barefoot on it was absolutely scorching.
That was my only option.
After just a few steps, the pavement was literally burning the soles of my feet, so I started jumping onto the grass along the side of the road.
I continued like that until, a few hundred metres further on, I found a vendor selling flip-flops.
I then started looking for a shower on the beach, but couldn't find one, so I went back to the hostel where I had checked out that morning.
I wasn't sure whether it was officially allowed, but I hoped it wouldn't be a problem.
There was nobody at reception, so I quickly took a shower.
Afterwards, I was about to leave in a hurry when I suddenly realized that my phone was missing.
I knew I had still been holding it when I arrived at the hostel.
I searched everywhere from the shower to the lobby.
Panic started to set in.
Had I really managed to lose my phone after losing my shoe on the same day?
A guy noticed that I was desperately looking for something.
I asked him to call my phone.
Unfortunately, it was on silent, so I couldn't hear it ringing.
Then, finally, I found it underneath one of the cushions of an armchair.
That's when I remembered that I had put it there while getting my things ready before taking a shower.
The relief was enormous.
I still had a few hours before I needed to start my journey back to the volunteer farm, so I decided that it was finally time to connect with the local Bitcoin community.
On the way to the hostel, there was a shop called “Bitcoin Hardware,” selling all kinds of crypto-related equipment, from wallets to mining machines.
It was closed, but there was a guy sitting outside.
It turned out that he didn't actually work there. He was a close friend of the owner.
He was norwegian, a bitcoin maximalist who had moved here a year earlier, bought some land, and started farming.
It was inspiring to listen to his story.
Not long afterwards, the owner of the shop arrived — a curly-haired black guy.
I went inside and introduced myself.
I wasn't looking to buy anything; I just wanted to have a look around.
There was a Bitcoin ATM, a block counter, and a huge collection of books.
A French couple also came into the shop and started asking the owner a series of basic questions.
Outside, a local guy named Marvin joined us.
He had some questions about his own wallet, and since the owner was busy, I helped him.
I explained the importance of self-custody, especially when dealing with larger amounts of money.
Later, he offered to give me a lift to San Salvador, since he was heading there as well.
That was a huge help — it saved me at least two bus rides.
We travelled in his old SUV, talking along the way.
He told me that he kept bees near the coast, although he lived in the capital.
We also talked about the Bukele government.
He was critical of it, much like Ranulfo.
He told me about corruption, authoritarian measures, and how the government had managed to restore order in the country within a relatively short period of time — using methods that were often controversial.
When we reached the capital, he drove me all the way to the bus station.
I was very grateful to him.
The day had started with a lost shoe and a nearly lost phone, but eventually ended with new Bitcoin connections and a series of fortunate turns.
On the way home, while changing buses at the Tablón stop, I noticed a young foreign girl with a large backpack.
Ruben had mentioned that a new german volunteer was expected to arrive.
When we both got off in Dulce Nombre de María, I approached her.
I was right.
Her name was Karina. She was a twenty-year-old german girl taking a gap year.
She had previously volunteered in Guatemala and was planning to spend three weeks at Bambú.
She also spoke fluent Spanish, so just like with Hagen, we were able to communicate in three languages.
