Last Night in San Salvador: Christmas Blessings, Winter Solstice & Chanting With a Sweeter Mood

Some nights feel like a little closing ceremony, even if you didn’t plan one. You’re just sitting there, the light is changing, the day is cooling off, and you realize, oh, it’s our last night here.

That’s how it feels in San Salvador. A simple Christmas check-in at sunset, a few laughs, a travel plan for the next week, and then that gentle spiritual pivot that always seems to show up when you least expect it. Not as a lecture, not as a “do this or else,” but as a reminder to come back to what’s steady, even when the world is loud, messy, and yes, occasionally smells like a sewer for no reason at all.

A Christmas sunset check-in from San Salvador (and the “always ready” mood)

It starts in that playful, travel-ready way.

One of those, “Merry Christmas from wherever we are,” moments. You can almost feel the backpacks by the door, the phone charged, the day planned loosely, because when you travel a lot, you learn to stay always ready. Not tense, not rushed, just ready. Ready to move, ready to adjust, ready to laugh when something goes sideways.

And this night has that soft “end of chapter” feeling. It’s the last night in San Salvador, and tomorrow marks the winter solstice, or at least winter beginning, depending on how you’re counting seasons and where you’re from.

There’s gratitude in it too, gratitude for autumn, for the last few months, for the way seasons give life a rhythm. Life doesn’t always come in clean calendar pages, but seasons help. They give you a natural review point.

They even mention a practical way they track life: 90-day increments, like quarters. It’s simple, and it works. Three months is long enough to change, short enough to stay awake.

Weather talk, because weather is real life

The temperature check is part of the scene, because it always is when you’re on the road.

It’s around 23 to 24°C at 6 p.m. in San Salvador. Not bad at all. During the day, it can feel a little hot for them, which leads to the next plan.

They’re heading up to a place called Berlín.

Yes, Berlín.

There’s a little joke about it being founded by Germans, shipwrecks, renaming things, history doing what history does. But underneath the humor is the real reason: they want cooler air and a different pace, and Berlín is known as a beautiful coffee-growing region.

If you’re curious about the place itself, these references give a grounded look:

• Berlín travel guide from El Salvador’s Ministry of Tourism
• Berlín, El Salvador (basic location and background)

The hope is simple: cooler days by four or five degrees Celsius, with nights staying around 18 to 19°C. That’s the sweet spot for a lot of people, cool enough to sleep well, warm enough to live easily.

They plan to stay for seven days, make videos, and celebrate Christmas along the way.

Hammocks everywhere, and the joy of small discoveries

Then comes the hammock moment, because of course it does.

They’ve noticed hammocks hanging everywhere. That kind of detail is so travel-specific. You can read about a country all day, but it’s the little things that stick, the daily-life objects that tell you what people actually do to rest.

And it turns into a playful idea: maybe a hammock video. Maybe some swinging back and forth. A little laughter, a little chanting slipping into the jokes, Krishna names tumbling around with affection.

That’s part of the charm here. The spiritual practice isn’t separated from life. It’s braided through it.

Chanting, but not on autopilot

At some point, the conversation shifts into something they were reading that day. It’s about chanting, specifically about chanting in a certain mood.

Because it’s easy to chant like a machine.

Not because you don’t care, but because repetition can turn into muscle memory. Your mouth keeps going, your mind goes shopping.

They name it plainly: repeating the names like parrots, mechanical.

And then they offer a way back.

One image they share is simple and tender: when you touch your beads, do it as if you’re washing, or even massaging, the feet of the Lord. It changes the feel of the practice right away. It slows you down. It turns “counting” into “serving.”

They also bring up a classic bhakti teaching, Lord Chaitanya’s third prayer, the mood of chanting in humility. Not performative humility, not self-hate, just a soft inner posture that says, “I’m not the center of everything.”

Another practical piece: chant sweetly, like you’re singing softly. Not pushing. Not trying to impress anybody. Just sincere.

And then the heart of it:

Chant with longing. With desire to be close to the Supreme Person. With that honest inner question that isn’t really a question, it’s more like a sigh:

When can I be with Him? When can I meet Him? When can I see Him?

That’s the mood they’re pointing toward. Not forced emotion, not pretend tears, just real yearning, the kind you already know from ordinary life. Missing someone you love. Wanting to go home. Wanting something clean and true.

Goloka Vrindavan and the idea of “home”

They mention Goloka Vrindavan (also said as Goloka Vrindavan, Goloka, Gokula, Vrindavan). The point isn’t to get perfect pronunciation. The point is the idea: the highest spiritual realm is described as a real place, with a real name, like people and cities have names.

And that’s a striking thought if you sit with it.

Not “a vague bliss cloud,” not “some abstract light,” but a place called home, a place where the Divine is at home.

They say it in a way that feels honest and human: we aspire for this, or we aspire to aspire to aspire for this. That’s relatable. Sometimes you’re not even at the level of “pure desire,” you’re just trying to want the right thing.

And they circle back to the path forward, the steady thread:

The way forward is through the holy names.

Not as a slogan, but as a practice you can actually do, today, while sitting on a balcony or standing in a line or walking through a city.

The material world is never fully “perfect” (even with a great view)

Then the moment that makes the whole video title feel earned: the random sewer smell.

They’re sitting in a beautiful location, a nice view, sunset vibe, and suddenly, the air shifts. Sewer. Just like that.

It’s funny, but it’s also a teaching without trying to be one.

Because we all do this thing where we think, “If I just get the right setup, then it’ll be perfect.”

Perfect place. Perfect body. Perfect relationship. Perfect schedule. Perfect health. Perfect peace.

And then something interrupts.

A smell. A noise. A craving. A weird thought. A sore knee. A barking dog. Kids screaming. A worry that shows up out of nowhere.

They say it plainly: it’s never perfect in the material world. There’s always something, either the body, the mind, other beings, or calamities.

And in that moment, it’s the nose. One of the senses is having a moment.

That’s life, isn’t it? You’re enjoying something beautiful, and one sense, one thought, one little discomfort starts tugging at your attention like, “Hey, remember me?”

Winter solstice energy: contraction, contemplation, and deeper practice

As they look toward tomorrow, they reflect on winter, and it’s not just about weather.

Winter, for them, is a season of quiet contemplation. A time to prepare for the next year, for the next spring when things get lively again.

They talk about it like breathing:

Expansion, contraction, expansion, contraction.

Winter is contraction. Not depression, not shutting down, just turning inward, simplifying, getting honest, deepening practices.

And one of the main practices they name is chanting more. Not as punishment, not as “I should,” but as a natural winter move, like the soul wants more warmth from within when the world gets quieter.

They also mention something subtle but powerful: paying attention not only to what you’re saying, but how you’re saying it, what mood you’re in when you speak, when you chant, when you pray.

Because mood shapes meaning.

The same words can be lifeless in one mood, and alive in another.

Church bells, interfaith warmth, and simple blessings

As the scene closes, church bells start ringing in the background.

They pause to appreciate it, because it’s a genuinely beautiful sound. It’s also a quiet interfaith moment, not forced, just natural. Respect for sacred sound wherever it appears.

And then come the blessings:

Hari Krishna. Harinam. Namaste. Peace be with you and upon you.

It’s inclusive, warm, and direct. A recognition that people are watching from different places, different times of day, different inner worlds.

And it ends the way it began, like friends signing off at sunset, grateful you were there with them for a few minutes.

If you want to stay connected

They mention a community portal where people can reach out with genuine questions or appreciation: Juicy Magik Agora registration. They also share a page for supporting Juicy Magik projects: Juicy Magik projects page.

Conclusion

A last night in San Salvador turns into a whole little life lesson, the kind you don’t plan. One moment you’re talking weather and hammocks, the next you’re talking about chanting with humility, longing, and attention, and then the sewer smell rolls in to remind you that the material world always has a surprise waiting.

Winter solstice has that quiet pull, a natural contraction that invites deeper practice, more careful chanting, and more awareness of mood. If you take one thing from this sunset check-in, let it be this: don’t chant on autopilot, come back to sweetness, come back to presence, come back to the holy name.

Try it today, even for a few minutes, softly, sincerely, and see what shifts. What sound will you let shape your life?

mariakerwin

As a former serial entrepreneur, she turned from a workaholic in the business world to freedom and creativity, living now as a writer, creator and world traveller. Since an early age Maria is close to death and what exists beyond, courageously exploring the dimensions of existence. A Kundalini Awakening guided her into the abyss of fully surrendering to the life force itself, crushing all known aspects of her old life. Finally, it led her to her purpose of bridging both worlds, connecting to what goes beyond the ordinary.

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