THE handbook described Santa Rosa de Lima as a “charming little place”, so it was here that we headed for our first night in El Salvador. We walked the streets, past boarded-up shops and piles of rubbish, and found nothing charming about the place.

The streets were deserted and, as darkness descended, it was apparent the town was without electricity. An electrical storm broke over the surrounding hills and, for a brief second, the street was illuminated by lightning. A group of men stood in a doorway. Realising it was our hotel, we pushed our way through and pounded on the door as they reached out for us. Finally the doors opened and we were inside. There is something quite electrifying about arriving in a country racked by years of civil war and death squads, as vividly portrayed in the film Salvador. The civil war officially ended with the signing of the peace accord in 1992, but its legacy remains and it is necessary to be vigilant and sensible, while I would recommend avoiding dark, unlit streets.

There is an element of lawlessness in El Salvador, particularly in the cities, but, on the whole, people are hospitable and welcoming. Tourists are still a novelty and Salvadorians are anxious to show their country isn’t such a bad place. The people were kind, giving their seats on buses, sharing their food and offering help and advice. Travelling in El Salvador is an exhilarating experience. The countryside is rich in contrasts and the breathtaking landscape — featuring volcanoes, verdant valleys and stunning beaches — is unspoilt by tourism.

Like other capital cities in Central America , San Salvador is badly polluted and overcrowded. The earthquake of 1986 destroyed much of the city and it bears many scars — cracked and formless buildings, craters where buildings once stood and shanties on the outskirts where a majority of the population still live in cardboard and corrugated iron dwellings.

The streets are lined with fresh juice stands, providing a welcome relief in the stifling heat. An old man approached and asked for money. I gave him my juice and some money and he stood, hand outstretched, as tears ran down his face.

Nearby, in the plaza, a group of missionaries from Louisiana were preaching. A pretty blonde woman came over and, in a heavy southern drawl, asked if I had found the path to salvation.

She explained they were staying at the Hilton and were in El Salvador there to save the people. I wished her luck, thinking it would take more than the light of Jesus to save these people.

San Salvador is a city that lives on the edge. It is a fascinating place but, it was with a sense of relief that we left its oppressive environs and headed for the Costa de Balsams (Balsam Coast). Pain relieving balsam was once a major export, but the number of trees is now somewhat depleted. Zunzal boasts one of Central America’s best surfing beaches and, with black volcanic sands and sheer dramatic cliffs, it is quite magnificent and deserted. This is the perfect place to sling a hammock and spend a few days unwinding.

The coastal road leading to Sonsonate is quite stunning, hugging the cliff tops and winding through mountain tunnels. The roadside is dotted with crosses marking the places where people have driven off the road and died. At one stage the bus stopped, there was a murmur of excitement and everyone ran to peer over the cliff. The object of interest being the crumpled remains of a bus which had plummeted over the edge two days before.

American school buses, relics of the 1950s, are the mode of transport throughout El Salvador. The buses are colourfully painted and decorated. Jesus memorabilia seems to be the order of the day, stickers proclaiming Jesus es mi amour or Jesus es mi amigo are common, usually sharing windscreen space with Salvadorian “Page Three” girls and plastic silhouettes of buxom women bobbing with the movement of the bus.

Near Sonsonate is the village of Nahuizalco. This is one of the few Indian villages remaining and here handicraft-selling women still wear traditional clothing.

Santa Ana was our next stop. Many battles of the civil war were fought there and its violent history is all too evident — it isn’t possible to enter shops as one is obliged to make purchases through iron bars. After dark, the streets and alleyways are crawling with prostitutes. It became apparent we were staying in a brothel when a woman approached and asked if we wished to be serviced — we hadn’t previously noticed the tariff board showing both hourly and nightly rates.

There are, however, also a number of waterfalls and caves in the region and the nearby Cerro Verde National Park provides a wonderful contrast with two volcanoes and a picturesque lake.

The three hour climb up Santa Ana volcano was strenuous, but, on reaching the summit, the view was breathtaking. Surrounded by black volcanic rock, clouds and a fiercely cold wind, it felt like the end of the earth. Indeed, one hundred years ago, the volcano was known as the “Mouth of Hell” as its violent eruptions destroyed surrounding villages. Now dormant, it is possible to peer into the vividly sulphur-stained crater lake, the fumes of which gently rise and swirl, bathing the volcanic walls in rainbow hues.

The volcano was so absorbing that we lost track of time and missed the last bus back to Santa Ana. We walked to a village looking for shelter and were told there was a place to go. An hour in the back of a pick-up brought us to a clearing and a small hut — “perhaps a guerilla hideout”, we thought.

Luckily, it was nothing so sinister. Rather a wake was progressing following the death of a local man. We were given food and coffee and, in their time of mourning, these people made us feel very welcome. Perhaps a little too welcome, however, as our attempts to sleep in the truck were thwarted by a group of teenage boys. Overwhelmed by the sight of us they spent most of the night trying to get in the truck, calling out “princessitas, we love you”.

We had come to El Salvador in search of adventure and excitement, and found it in abundance. It’s not a place for the faint hearted, but, for intrepid travellers in search of something a little different it is well worth the detour from the “gringo trail”.