El Salvador appears to be a country on the rise. This small Central American nation of 6.3 million has captured global headlines in recent years, largely due to a dramatic drop in violent crime attributed to the controversial policies of its millennial president, Nayib Bukele.

More recently, El Salvador has drawn renewed international attention—from outlets like Univision to Fox News—for its high-profile role in detaining migrants from the United States at its sprawling supermax prison, CECOT. Earlier this month, I traveled to El Salvador to examine the reality behind the headlines.

The country orbits around its capital, San Salvador, which accounts for one-tenth of its total population and which produces about half of its total GDP. The city is full of contradictions: towering hills and steep valleys that must be traversed via long, narrow staircases; an aura of overall safety, with shotgun-toting private security guards (to say nothing of countless assault-rifle-toting Army and National Police patrols) at ice cream and gas station parking lots serving as a reminder of the recent past, when El Salvador had one of the world’s highest homicide rates. There are grand villas that wouldn’t be out of place in Milano or Madrid, a block away from buildings abandoned after a pair of devastating earthquakes in late 1986.

The city is strikingly car-centric, defined by a web of highways and overpasses. For those who opt not to drive, the alternatives are unconventional: privately run bus lines (there is no public transit system), Uber Motorcycles—precisely what they sound like—rides hitched on the beds of pickups or trucks (a routine sight, even for police and military units), or simply traveling on foot.

That last option isn’t for the faint of heart. Cracked, uneven sidewalks, yawning gaps between curbs and asphalt, and a relentless flow of traffic can make crossing the street feel like a game of real-life Frogger—though elevated pedestrian walkways do span the busier thoroughfares. It’s not unusual to spot people walking along the margins of highway shoulders where no sidewalks exist.

Bicycles and e-scooters are virtually absent, likely casualties of the city’s unforgiving infrastructure. Instead, the working man’s ride is the motorbike, weaving perilously through packed traffic in a high-stakes ballet. The slim corridor between lanes effectively becomes their unofficial highway, shared not only with fellow riders but with street vendors and panhandlers, who risk life and limb to reach out to passing cars on either side.

Each neighborhood in San Salvador has a unique feel. There were times when I felt as though I was in Buenos Aires, Mexico City, Havana, Rio de Janeiro, or Lisbon. Vibrant architecture was a near-constant, whether in more upscale or downtrodden neighborhoods. There are numerous shopping centers and small clusters of skyscrapers, mostly notably at the busy intersection around the Plaza Salvador del Mundo. It’s not uncommon to see houses with multi-color accents. This aesthetic synchs quite well with the local flora. The city is surrounded by tree-encrusted mountains. At street level, a variety of flowers and trees adorn the boulevards. It’s not uncommon to see fresh mangoes fall into the gutter from the tree line.

The residential blurs dizzyingly with the commercial. Countless people sell cheap goods directly out of their homes to supplement their income, in a country with only a 49% official employment rate. Walking past a random residential block, you can find people selling all sorts of odds-and-ends from out their front windows or front yards: SIM cards, ice cream, soft drinks, clothing, and freshly-cooked food, like pupusas, the national dish. Sarita ice cream and Claro/Digicel SIM card stands dominate this informal market, forming their own cottage industry of house-based franchisees.

Likewise, you don’t have to walk far to encounter curbside vendors crowding the already narrow streets, selling everything from cigarettes and nuts to toilet paper and toys. Their makeshift storefronts range in complexity—from clusters of umbrella-shaded tables and food carts to repurposed shopping carts and blankets spread across the pavement.

Women and elderly individuals are disproportionately represented in this informal retail economy. It’s also common to see children assisting at these stands; I passed a pair of unsupervised, early-primary-school-aged kids selling indigenous jewelry across from the Metrocentro Shopping Center and later spotted two tween boys weaving through traffic with trays of drinks and candy.

The nightlife is decent for a relatively small city. Restaurants and malls close relatively late. There are some upscale bars in the commercial areas, where you can catch cover bands or trendy DJ sets. Local pubs blast Latin music to patrons sipping cervezas and chowing on snacks. You can catch a musical or dramatic performance at the Teatro Luis Poma. Dedicated groups of students meet nightly at the Live Dance Studio to practice salsa, bachata, merengue, and belly dancing, among other styles.

I’d describe the average Salvadoran’s temperament as friendly though reserved. In quiet residential neighborhoods, it’s common to acknowledge passersby with a nod and a soft “hola” or “cómo estás.” On busier commercial blocks, people tend to keep to themselves—voices low, eyes averted—creating an atmosphere more reminiscent of Tokyo than New York. The city carries a laid-back rhythm: people don’t rush as they do in many American urban centers, and informal storefronts shutter whenever the owner decides it’s time. Outside the commercial zones, the streets are rarely overcrowded. Elderly residents gather in parks or take leisurely strolls through their neighborhoods, anchoring the city’s unhurried pace.

Salvadorans tend to be notably reserved when speaking to the press. During my reporting, I was only able to interview a few dozen people. Many declined to go on the record, even though my questions were relatively non-controversial. This reluctance is likely shaped, at least in part, by a broader climate of hostility toward the media. In recent years, the Bukele administration has been implicated in hundreds of incidents that impeded journalistic work—including the use of Pegasus spyware against journalists.

President Bukele has repeatedly disparaged independent journalism, dismissing criticism of his administration as “fake news.” He has even accused the investigative outlet, El Faro—without offering evidence—of engaging in money laundering. The outlet later relocated its headquarters abroad. In 2022, the U.S. State Department noted in an internal report that Bukele’s strategy was “to flood El Salvador with propaganda, demonize the institutions charged with debunking that propaganda – the free press and civil society – dominate public narratives, and repress dissent…Bukele’s government uses paid influencers and ‘likely bot farms’ to tweet pro-government messages ‘tens of thousands of times’ on a given topic while masking their origin to ‘create the appearance of authentic grassroots support.’”

Independent and local watchdogs have noted a decline in freedom of expression in recent years, such as Amnesty International and El Faro, which among other reporting, recently spotlighted the re-arrest of an activist who was suing a prison director for inhumane treatment. The efforts of Bukele have served to dramatically shift trust in media from independent to state-owned outlets, over which he can exert direct control.

Protesting remains legal in El Salvador. In the lead-up to President Bukele’s re-election, two sizable demonstrations took place, followed by further protests in March over the country’s migrant detention policy, which is being coordinated with the Trump administration. Still, the ongoing State of Emergency—which permits authorities to arrest and detain individuals without formal charges—has undoubtedly had a chilling effect on would-be protesters.

One can’t help but question why this emergency decree continues to be extended, especially given that the homicide rate has dropped by 95 percent since Bukele launched his aggressive campaign against organized crime. Several individuals I spoke with urged caution when dealing with police, particularly while filming in public spaces.

The young people I spoke with expressed cautious optimism about the country’s future, although many voiced concerns about job prospects. Someone whom I befriended shared hopes that the government would prioritize infrastructure development—particularly sewage systems—as well as expanded access to education and employment. El Salvador holds considerable potential to grow its emerging tourism sector, as well as opportunities in manufacturing, shipping, and renewable energy, thanks to its largely untapped solar and hydroelectric resources.

For Americans considering a holiday in Central America, El Salvador is a worthwhile destination. U.S. citizens will appreciate that the official currency is the U.S. dollar and that no visa is required for entry into the country. It is currently the safest country in Central America, offering warm hospitality, lush wildlife escapes, and affordable prices on most goods and services. Still, it’s worth remembering the country’s recent legacy of gang violence—a trauma that continues to shape both its national psyche and political climate.