In Turkey, I had an English banker husband who just loved golfing so much that I sent him to Scotland with his business partner while his wife and I sailed the Nile. I've explained away a lack of wedding ring with absurd stories about rock climbing accidents and chopped off fingers. In El Salvador, I have a college boyfriend who is studying abroad for the summer, but we're meeting in the Bahamas for a romantic getaway when I'm done with work.

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There are three questions that pop up in every conversation I have with Salvadorans. Are you married? Do you have kids? And, my personal least favorite, why not?

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It's easy to forget, when walking down streets covered in bright murals, looking at peaceful mountain scenery, drinking as much pineapple licuado as possible, that the same streets I travel today are part of a larger, very recent history. And, in some sense, it's constantly humbling. In some places I've traveled, I've gone to the historical sights, compartmentalized them, and then gone on to the fun stuff. But El Salvador is tiny and its history is recent, and everywhere I turn seems to be another reminder that under the surface, things haven't really been the way they seem.

I'm no expert on the El Salvadoran civil war, or US involvement in it, or Central American politics at all. But travelling here is forcing me to learn more; with a people so open to discussion, and so curious about my knowledge, there is no excuse for ignorance. I can only listen so much before I'm expected to contribute-and in El Salvador, contribution to the community is everything. So, when I get another surprising fact about the history, I listen. And then I Google. And hopefully, next time, when I'm in a town and asked what its significance is-I won't have to stare blankly and wait for an explanation. I'll be ready for the discussion, instead.