San Sal.
I left San Sal in the exact opposite way that I had arrived - still drunk, exhausted, and in the mood to speak to damn near no one. It was 7 am and I was in a bunk bed that wasn´t supposed to be mine, but after the night´s festivities I returned to my room at sunrise to see that a hermit had found their way to my sheets and left theirs vacant. What seemed like moments later I awoke with a start, fully dressed sin crocs, and about 72 minutes of sleep under this Nautica belt of mine. I fell off the top bunk and landed in a plate of the worst pancakes I´ve ever encountered. I gave appropriate hand gestures to the people who muttered something that resembled a goodbye in either English or Spanish, and collapsed in the cab.
By 9 AM I was back in Molineros consigiendo my dog. By noon I was back where I started: this absurd excuse for a capital they call San Salvador. Long story short, by 4 PM I was finally arriving in Metapan to take the hour and a half ride to La Peña. Exhausted, stressed, and a little looney I heard some words that my recent training helped me decipher roughly into ¨Welcome to your new home!¨
For the sake of carpal tunnel I´ll spare you the day to day details...
BUT I have been speaking with some other volunteers in otros lugares in El Salvador and they tell me what they are lookin at. Some have it bad. They´ve been crying and just can´t help it. Being this far away from home with zero chance of speaking English, less chance of eating peanut butter, no family, no running water, no possiblity to sleep past 5 am, all of it can seriously be a major downer. To those of you who aren´t diggin it right now: remember why you applied. However, there are others that want to compete about whose new canton it better. Some have balconies looking at mountains, others have waterfalls, some even have a TV! To those of you who care to challenge me...step right the hell up.
La Peña can´t possibly be real. Picture 7 Years in Tibet (I´ll play Brad Pitt), a little Spanish charm, more cows than people (just how I like it), and having Sam Sweeney just a stones throw down the mountain. Heaven, right?
The place is beautiful. My cancha, the futbol field, is literally at the very, very top of a mountain. Looking from any angle from the cancha you can see just vast, vast, unbelievable vistas. This cancha is such the real deal that they have to play with three balls because if a shot on net isn´t stopped by the keeper then it flies off the mountain and they have to send cipotes after it. This is how they keep the youth skinny...a sick form of fetch. In all seriousness, though, if you take a wide shot on goal you are the dunce of the town for what seems like weeks. Don´t miss or you´ve got quite a hike ahead of you. I don´t have a camera and I won´t take a picture of it even if I did but just for a minute picture being at the epicenter of a mountain range and to all sides there are green mountains. I don´t think I´ve got the time to describe it... From any point in my town you can see just miles and miles of untouched El Salvador from 7,000 feet. This place is a dream.
I found a reading tree. It´s this enormous, gorgeous tree that had been a siren for me since I got here on Saturday. It was about an hour hike up the mountain from my house but, having Guanaco´s company, I decided to hike it anyway. With the exception of all the cow dung under the enveloping shade of the tree, this place was like heaven. The roots sticking out of the ground were created, I´m convinced, for people to sit on . When it was hot, the tree dripped water down on me, and when it was windy it was wide enough to provide shelter for both me and the dog.
I am too cavalier. I am admitting right now that I don´t let things bother me. I act as if I can handle any situation with some semblance of grace and an almost alien calm. I genuinley believe that I can do anything that needs doing without losing a wink of sleep from worry or stress. La Peña is beautiful, my family couldn´t possibly be more amable (They have a 16 year old that looks like Cristiano Ronaldo and a 4 year old that couldn´t be cuter... They are, I´m sure of it, the perfect family), and the vistas are everything I´ve ever wanted out of my eyes. That said, I still I find that my jaw is clentched during mass, my hands are too busy when I´m having conversations, and my eyes avoid contact with the people who are studying me like a lecture. There isn´t a doubt in my mind about anything that I am doing here, but for the first time yesterday I realized that I am a little more tense than I let on. There are days when I orate like a Salvadoran Martin Luther King Jr. and then there are days that I resent myself for not wathcing more Dora back home. This place, all joking aside, is a roller coaster; each day a Russian Roulette. Will I be able to speak Spanish tomorrow morning? Will I remember what the name of that tree in Spanish or the exact process of feeding and milking these cows? Will I actually call home tomorrow? How long is it going to take me to walk this mule up to the pump to get water? Is it rude to tell him that I´m actually really hungry right now? Will I remember the name of the third kid from the left wearing blue sandals and a red Manchester United jersey who always twirls his cross around in his left hand? How, exactly, do I say ´no I cannot give you my dog. it´s mine and I actually want to keep him around.¨ when the next drunk guy finally resorts to asking me for things other than money. This place is a trip...
And I couldn´t be happier.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Monday, March 22, 2010
Why isn't there a Razzles in El Salvador? (International Edition)
So I opened my G-Mail account to find an e-mail from Kid Cement waiting very patiently at the top of the list. Inside that beautiful little package was a story comprised of a smaller vocabulary than that of an upside-down marmoset, but the story was so funny I almost shit a brick. Well played, Clem, I appreciate the e-mail thoroughly.
If you aren't already, I suggest you become friends with my friends immediately. Depending on the day, they can be mighty hilarious. If you take my advice please do yourself a favor and ask about the 'weather girl.'
That's about it for the international part. Some cross-cultural sock hops from the stoop of Razzles Daytona, Florida. For the record I miss a hell out of a lot of you like you wouldn't believe. Stories like weather girl bring me back.
We have swearing into the Peace Corps this Friday at the Embassy here in El Salvador. We've got to get as dolled up as possible and stroll proudly into the embassy here in El Salvador to impress the Ambassador or whoever the hell it is that shows up. Wish me luck with that; my wardrobe consists of clothes even a damn hobo would consider strictly nightwear. The ambassador (...or whoever the hell it is that shows up...) may laugh me out of the joint - or throw up in his own lap.
This weekend was a little sideways.
Saturday morning we had our fiesta in order to properly thank our families for all the hard work they've done for us. They feed me (a seriously daunting task), a veces levan mi ropa, put up with my shit, scold me when I'm bad, me apoyan when I'm sad, and try their hardest to force a smile every time I tell a woeful, culturally insensitive joke in broken Spanish. They are the best.
The fiesta was good, but this country, and this town in particular, is relentlessly hot. If you weren't sitting in the shade se desei suerte. It was boiling. The kids loved the pinatas, the families enjoyed the games, and I personally loved the food because it was free.
Saturday night we took a bus to San Salvador, our first night in the capital. I'll skip the boring stuff and get right down to it. We ended up at a bar called La Luna. The band that night was a Red Hot Chili Peppers cover band and it was a blast. The lead singer of the band didn't know the words, but she didn't need to because enough people there did haha. Imagine rocking out to a song you grew up listening to, maybe even a song you love, and abruptly the song ends to a woman going on a rant in Spanish. A large, large slice of Americana...live American songs... and very suddenly you are given a strong reminder that you are far from Worcester County. It's utterly astonishing how many times I need to be reminded that the person I am having a conversation with does not speak English and that I am not supposed to be able to know how to speak Spanish. Reminders scare the shit out of me, to be honest, until I open my mouth and realize I do, in fact, speak a little bit of this funny, funny tongue. I live in El Salvador now...
The night ended by me showing my goofy-ass and infinitely entertaining friends how to play 'Bear, Ninja, Cowboy.' Cowboy always beats Bear, Bear always beats Ninja, and Ninja always beats Cowboy. If you think about it... it makes a whole lot of sense. What you do is stand back to back with one other person, both people scream 'Bear, Ninja, Cowboy!' and jump a 180 with the appropriate gesture of a bear, a ninja, or a cowboy. Holy shit that is the best drinking game ever. Bring that one home to all your friends, get them about 12 beverages each, and at about 3 AM peel them off the hotel floor and teach them this fantastic interpretation of Rock, Paper, Scissors, and go god damn bananas. Write here with the results. We'll have a tourney when I get back in two years. I always throw Ninja...test me.
We got to play in the Stadio Cuscatlan, which was a blast. Things were made infinitely more difficult by the Marlboros and Pilsners consumed the night before, but we successfully proved to those damn Japanese that we do not, even a little bit, know how to play soccer. Haha, only the girls beat the JICA team and (gracias a dios) they smoked them like 7-0. Way to go girls! Bringing home the gold while we men licked our wounds and made up excuses with words like 'Marlboro,' 'Pilsner,' and 'hangover.' Way to step up to the plate and get things done. I think we won by aggregate thanks to you guys. Felizidades!
I got a dog, officially. His name is Guanaco and he is fuckin lazy. He sits in my lap and doesn't move. He's a sleeper and that's all there is to it. To be honest, he doesn't even like me that much. He'll come around, though. Everyone always does (right, Nora?). He's tiny. 2 months old and he doesn't make a sound.
I also bought a handwoven hammock today and it is beautiful as well. We got to watch like 5 dudes going to town on these looms and believe me that shit is complicated. They have to dance on these pedals while pulling the loom around and around and making sure the colors are perty in some way shape or form.
Training ends in less than 3 days. Thank the high heavens. By Friday I will be an official volunteer getting silly drunk with about 100 other volunteers celebrating. After swearing in there is an open bar rented out to us so we can (finally) get to know each other on the most personal level of all... the inebrated one. I got a good feeling about this one, haha, and by Saturday I will be living in La Pena, Metapan, Santa Ana, El Salvador. I will be living in one of 35 houses in my tiny, tiny, rural community, living in a corn shed made of adobe.
Long story short this could be the last of my posts for a few weeks. I hope you've enjoyed what I have to offer so far. I certainly have.
Va
Gregorio
If you aren't already, I suggest you become friends with my friends immediately. Depending on the day, they can be mighty hilarious. If you take my advice please do yourself a favor and ask about the 'weather girl.'
That's about it for the international part. Some cross-cultural sock hops from the stoop of Razzles Daytona, Florida. For the record I miss a hell out of a lot of you like you wouldn't believe. Stories like weather girl bring me back.
We have swearing into the Peace Corps this Friday at the Embassy here in El Salvador. We've got to get as dolled up as possible and stroll proudly into the embassy here in El Salvador to impress the Ambassador or whoever the hell it is that shows up. Wish me luck with that; my wardrobe consists of clothes even a damn hobo would consider strictly nightwear. The ambassador (...or whoever the hell it is that shows up...) may laugh me out of the joint - or throw up in his own lap.
This weekend was a little sideways.
Saturday morning we had our fiesta in order to properly thank our families for all the hard work they've done for us. They feed me (a seriously daunting task), a veces levan mi ropa, put up with my shit, scold me when I'm bad, me apoyan when I'm sad, and try their hardest to force a smile every time I tell a woeful, culturally insensitive joke in broken Spanish. They are the best.
The fiesta was good, but this country, and this town in particular, is relentlessly hot. If you weren't sitting in the shade se desei suerte. It was boiling. The kids loved the pinatas, the families enjoyed the games, and I personally loved the food because it was free.
Saturday night we took a bus to San Salvador, our first night in the capital. I'll skip the boring stuff and get right down to it. We ended up at a bar called La Luna. The band that night was a Red Hot Chili Peppers cover band and it was a blast. The lead singer of the band didn't know the words, but she didn't need to because enough people there did haha. Imagine rocking out to a song you grew up listening to, maybe even a song you love, and abruptly the song ends to a woman going on a rant in Spanish. A large, large slice of Americana...live American songs... and very suddenly you are given a strong reminder that you are far from Worcester County. It's utterly astonishing how many times I need to be reminded that the person I am having a conversation with does not speak English and that I am not supposed to be able to know how to speak Spanish. Reminders scare the shit out of me, to be honest, until I open my mouth and realize I do, in fact, speak a little bit of this funny, funny tongue. I live in El Salvador now...
The night ended by me showing my goofy-ass and infinitely entertaining friends how to play 'Bear, Ninja, Cowboy.' Cowboy always beats Bear, Bear always beats Ninja, and Ninja always beats Cowboy. If you think about it... it makes a whole lot of sense. What you do is stand back to back with one other person, both people scream 'Bear, Ninja, Cowboy!' and jump a 180 with the appropriate gesture of a bear, a ninja, or a cowboy. Holy shit that is the best drinking game ever. Bring that one home to all your friends, get them about 12 beverages each, and at about 3 AM peel them off the hotel floor and teach them this fantastic interpretation of Rock, Paper, Scissors, and go god damn bananas. Write here with the results. We'll have a tourney when I get back in two years. I always throw Ninja...test me.
We got to play in the Stadio Cuscatlan, which was a blast. Things were made infinitely more difficult by the Marlboros and Pilsners consumed the night before, but we successfully proved to those damn Japanese that we do not, even a little bit, know how to play soccer. Haha, only the girls beat the JICA team and (gracias a dios) they smoked them like 7-0. Way to go girls! Bringing home the gold while we men licked our wounds and made up excuses with words like 'Marlboro,' 'Pilsner,' and 'hangover.' Way to step up to the plate and get things done. I think we won by aggregate thanks to you guys. Felizidades!
I got a dog, officially. His name is Guanaco and he is fuckin lazy. He sits in my lap and doesn't move. He's a sleeper and that's all there is to it. To be honest, he doesn't even like me that much. He'll come around, though. Everyone always does (right, Nora?). He's tiny. 2 months old and he doesn't make a sound.
I also bought a handwoven hammock today and it is beautiful as well. We got to watch like 5 dudes going to town on these looms and believe me that shit is complicated. They have to dance on these pedals while pulling the loom around and around and making sure the colors are perty in some way shape or form.
Training ends in less than 3 days. Thank the high heavens. By Friday I will be an official volunteer getting silly drunk with about 100 other volunteers celebrating. After swearing in there is an open bar rented out to us so we can (finally) get to know each other on the most personal level of all... the inebrated one. I got a good feeling about this one, haha, and by Saturday I will be living in La Pena, Metapan, Santa Ana, El Salvador. I will be living in one of 35 houses in my tiny, tiny, rural community, living in a corn shed made of adobe.
Long story short this could be the last of my posts for a few weeks. I hope you've enjoyed what I have to offer so far. I certainly have.
Va
Gregorio
Thursday, March 18, 2010
More from this place
'"You know the best part? Walking around like this feeling good about everything. If you missed the rest of it I certainly wouldn't cry for you."
Kurt Vonnegut
Bluebeard
So today is the day that everyone gets their site assignments officially. Granted I am probably a day early in reporting this (because I won't know my exact mailing address until later today) but I can guarantee I am still a dollar short. So by about 1 PM today you can probably hear the bitching and/or celebrating from where ever it is in the world that you currently reside. You won't hear much from me, though, because I am one of the fortunate few who will not be surprised... I already know my corn shed will be in La Pena. If you stumble upon google earth at any point in the near future (I know the readers with spliffs in their hands have already been looking at towns in South East Namibia for the past three hours...you can't shit a shitter) then you can probably locate a town close to mine called Cuyuiscat. I'll be about an hour hike up the mountain from that site. If you look close enough you'll probably spot a gringo in a hammock waving back at you.
On Tuesday myself and 8 other aspirantes took a trip to a local guitar maker's homestead. Long story short I accidentally ended up buying a homemade guitar. Cost me 45 bean sacks, plays like a charm, is beautiful, and makes me look infinitely cooler holding it (because allah as my witness I do not know how to play). I guess the plus side is that I now have a guitar.
On Sunday afternoon we volunteers have an unbelievable opportunity to play JICA (the Japanese equivilent of the Peace Corps.) in a futbol game at the Stadium Cuscatlan here in San Salvador. For those who don't know (including myself up until about 12 minutes ago) the Stadio Cuscatlan is the national stadium in El Salvador that only the National Team gets to play at. For the Salvadorans I would say it would be like being born in and living in the Cask n Flaggon for 45 years and never knowing what the inside of Fenway looked like to the naked eye. It's the mecca of deportes here in El Salvador. Starting to get it? To Salvadorans they'd rather play here than Wembley. It's like being able to get a free shot to A-Rod's face from homeplate in Yankee stadium...people drool over the chance and for one reason or another a bunch of foreigners have taken over the stadium for the 21st. To those who don't like sports: It's like having the chance to.. uh... do something really sweet. So yours truly will be running around like a chicken with his head cut off, my pride slowly slipping from one hand, and a hang over in the other, trying my damndest to take down the Japanese just one more time.
No but seriously, I've met some of the JICA volunteers and not only are they extraordinarily nice but they are unspeakably more qualified than us. So, give them a damn cookie, would you? I'm trying my hardest..haha.
Oh, and for the record, the hate for crocs shows no respect to international borders. It is as alive and well here as it is in the states. It does no descriminate and it does not show mercy. Good thing they are one of two pairs of shoes I brought.
El Diario de Hoy, a national newspaper here in El Salvador, reported from the 1st of January to the 12th of March there have been 863 violent deaths here in country.
That said, and completely to the contrary, the people here in El Salvador are some of the most amiable people I've met in my life. Despite the international reputation they are sincerely wonderful people always willing to help a gringo out. Having troubles with the language? They will go mas despacio for you. Standing on a huge crowded bus? They will hold your stuff for you (without riffling through it). Need directions? Odds are they won't know what the fuck you're talking about but they will smile while they are laughing at you. All in all the Salvadoran people are unbelievably friendly and will offer you everything from tortillas to the worst coffee ever brewed (it's not their fault...the good coffee gets sent to the states).
And that's another thing... Weird shit is expensive here. Like cashews. Cashews are harvested here in El Salvador but they cost two and a half arms and leg because they sell ALL of their cashews to the states. So in order to get cashews here in El Salvador you must buy Salvadoran cashews from Planters...an American business. Fuckin whacky, huh?
Alright. That's enough out of me.
For the record, my pinky is still real ugly. Don't I just have the prettiest hands?
Humbly,
Gregorio
Kurt Vonnegut
Bluebeard
So today is the day that everyone gets their site assignments officially. Granted I am probably a day early in reporting this (because I won't know my exact mailing address until later today) but I can guarantee I am still a dollar short. So by about 1 PM today you can probably hear the bitching and/or celebrating from where ever it is in the world that you currently reside. You won't hear much from me, though, because I am one of the fortunate few who will not be surprised... I already know my corn shed will be in La Pena. If you stumble upon google earth at any point in the near future (I know the readers with spliffs in their hands have already been looking at towns in South East Namibia for the past three hours...you can't shit a shitter) then you can probably locate a town close to mine called Cuyuiscat. I'll be about an hour hike up the mountain from that site. If you look close enough you'll probably spot a gringo in a hammock waving back at you.
On Tuesday myself and 8 other aspirantes took a trip to a local guitar maker's homestead. Long story short I accidentally ended up buying a homemade guitar. Cost me 45 bean sacks, plays like a charm, is beautiful, and makes me look infinitely cooler holding it (because allah as my witness I do not know how to play). I guess the plus side is that I now have a guitar.
On Sunday afternoon we volunteers have an unbelievable opportunity to play JICA (the Japanese equivilent of the Peace Corps.) in a futbol game at the Stadium Cuscatlan here in San Salvador. For those who don't know (including myself up until about 12 minutes ago) the Stadio Cuscatlan is the national stadium in El Salvador that only the National Team gets to play at. For the Salvadorans I would say it would be like being born in and living in the Cask n Flaggon for 45 years and never knowing what the inside of Fenway looked like to the naked eye. It's the mecca of deportes here in El Salvador. Starting to get it? To Salvadorans they'd rather play here than Wembley. It's like being able to get a free shot to A-Rod's face from homeplate in Yankee stadium...people drool over the chance and for one reason or another a bunch of foreigners have taken over the stadium for the 21st. To those who don't like sports: It's like having the chance to.. uh... do something really sweet. So yours truly will be running around like a chicken with his head cut off, my pride slowly slipping from one hand, and a hang over in the other, trying my damndest to take down the Japanese just one more time.
No but seriously, I've met some of the JICA volunteers and not only are they extraordinarily nice but they are unspeakably more qualified than us. So, give them a damn cookie, would you? I'm trying my hardest..haha.
Oh, and for the record, the hate for crocs shows no respect to international borders. It is as alive and well here as it is in the states. It does no descriminate and it does not show mercy. Good thing they are one of two pairs of shoes I brought.
El Diario de Hoy, a national newspaper here in El Salvador, reported from the 1st of January to the 12th of March there have been 863 violent deaths here in country.
That said, and completely to the contrary, the people here in El Salvador are some of the most amiable people I've met in my life. Despite the international reputation they are sincerely wonderful people always willing to help a gringo out. Having troubles with the language? They will go mas despacio for you. Standing on a huge crowded bus? They will hold your stuff for you (without riffling through it). Need directions? Odds are they won't know what the fuck you're talking about but they will smile while they are laughing at you. All in all the Salvadoran people are unbelievably friendly and will offer you everything from tortillas to the worst coffee ever brewed (it's not their fault...the good coffee gets sent to the states).
And that's another thing... Weird shit is expensive here. Like cashews. Cashews are harvested here in El Salvador but they cost two and a half arms and leg because they sell ALL of their cashews to the states. So in order to get cashews here in El Salvador you must buy Salvadoran cashews from Planters...an American business. Fuckin whacky, huh?
Alright. That's enough out of me.
For the record, my pinky is still real ugly. Don't I just have the prettiest hands?
Humbly,
Gregorio
Sunday, March 14, 2010
So what the hell have you been doing, Greg?
This will be my extraordinarily scatterbrained recap of the past 6 weeks...
Moved to a canton se llama Molineros (a molino is a place where you grind corn and rice, and all that jazz.) where there are a lot of molinos... got it?
I live with an absolutely wonderful family. Mi Mama se llama Gladys and her husband is Don Orlando. The family is complicated beyond that and do not at all feel like explaining it. She is, without a shadow of a doubt, the sweetest woman I have ever met in my life. Don't dare challenge me on that. In my house I've got a bed and tarantulas. Outside we've got two hammocks and chickens. I eat at least 3 tortillas every meal and drink water from the well. I've lucked out, though, because Molineros has potable water. Oh, and the chickens live in the latrine. Took me weeks of being concerned about the clucking noise every time I pissed to realize my penis wasn't mocking me.
Training is a perpetual bore, but an undeniable necessity...not unlike cuddling. Well not that its boring, really, there are just better things I'd like to be doing with my time. (see: cuddling) Spanish is coming along and is a whole lot of hard work. Aside from that I've learned just about everything there is to know about women's health, women's reproductive system, how women should act in public, that women get treated like dirt here, women cook clean, care for kids, and often aren't the only girlfriend or wife of men, women's personal safety, and one time they told us this thing about men's health but I don't think anyone was listening.
Myself and 5 other aspirantes (trainees) had the unbelievable privilege of releasing I think close to 250 endangered baby sea turtles into the ocean by hand in Corral de Mulas, Usulutan. You want to talk about 'what the fuck?' I'm gonna go ahead and say that was it... That was a moment, man. That was something I won't soon forget barring any serious head injuries. Those things are mighty cool and mighty endangered. I recommend trying it...suckers.
There is some really interesting stuff going on around here. Foremost there was a civil war here, a particularly brutal one, between the early years of the 80's (and according to some fanciful others the middle 70's) and the early 90's. I've met only one person who likes to talk about it (a gringo) and frankly I may have heard all I can handle from him. In my canton they were not really effected by it it was mostly the eastern part of the country.
But I digress and am boring you terribly. I am as sure of that as I am sure that I fell out of the hammock this morning. (I swear it didn't hurt.) Anyway, its really cool... believe me, won't you?
The other crazy thing about this place is the gangs...MS-13 and M 18. Look that shit up... its real, I can fuckin promise you that. Myself, 4 other volunteers, and about 40 other bus passengers were hauling along at about 80 miles an hour on the Panamerican Highway for San Salvador when we came to a screeching halt because of an immense amount of police and commotion. When I say screeching I mean like 82% of the people on that bus now have "Blue Bird" permanently etched into their frontal lobes and the others got to know what kind of shampoo the person in front of them uses.
So all of us, a little jarred, start to look out the windows and one person points out just a little ways behind us is a little boy in a school uniform sprawled in the street.
By the time we got home later that day my family told us that the local news said the boy was 12 waiting for his bus to school with his mother. The maras pulled up and told him to get in the car. He didn't and paid the ultimate price. His mother was shot in both shoulders and brought to a hospital in San Sal. The news did not make the evening news. It did not make the papers the next day. By the next day people didn't even know what I was talking about it for anymore. 440 murders in El Salvador in 2010 by February 5th 2010 more than any city in the States gets in an entire year.
voiceselsalvador.wordpress.com/2010/02/05/el-salvador-reports-440-murders-in-2010/
On a lighter note! I have successfully avoided the drug trafficking and am currently living. Things are sometimes sketchy here, but not everywhere I hope.
I found out my site. I will be living in a tiny community called La Pena near Metapan in Santa Ana, El Salvador for at least the next two years of my life. It is about a 45 minute to an hour hike up the mountains from my nearest regular bus stop. Actually, there is a pick up truck but it runs like Monday and Friday mornings at 6 am. Monday AND Friday... not Monday through Friday. If I can handle Orchard Hill for a year I can handle anything, right?
So my site is tiny and I'm really digging the idea. I'm going to be living in a corn shed for at least two months. My family has a lot of cows and makes and sells cheese. I will guarantee I'll be an udder wizard...just give me a week. I hope to be riding horses soon, too. My site requirement was natural beauty so I'm pretty lit to see what things are like up there. There are only 50 houses in my community, its in the mountains so it shouldn't be 97 degrees every day, and I'll have a dog to hang out with me... Oh wait...
I also got a dog. A two month old dog who has yet to be named. I was thinking the caliche (its a language that only people in the cantones understand... a strange sub Spanish language) for a person who doesn't wear shoes haha. I've found a few other good ones but I'll save those for his introduction to this blog. He's got some serious shyness issues which will not fly with me but once I'm the one feeding him, I think he'll come around haha. He's mighty effin cool, though.
That sums up what I've been doing, I guess. Oh and I typed all this after tearing a ligament in my left pinky finger today in a basketball tourney. That injury is undiagnosed but hell I'm gonna milk it for all I can. All I know is that my pinky looked like the sign of Zoro this morning and the opposing teams point guard was my medic. How's that for Salvadoran hospitality?
We'll see when I get time to get back here... Got questions? Come on down to Santa Ana and ask them. I will have a hammock waiting for you. There is a good chance it will have chicken shit in or around it, you may get robbed on the way, you will get extraordinarily sick from the water or the food, you may end up in the wrong place (because everything has the same name), and you will most definitely get chaggas disease, but I can try my best to answer any question you've got when I get to the hospital to collect you.
It's been fun, kids, but I am fucking starving. I'm gonna go get some pupusas and see if I can make my pinky look like Harry Potter's scar again.
Que le vaya bien.
Moved to a canton se llama Molineros (a molino is a place where you grind corn and rice, and all that jazz.) where there are a lot of molinos... got it?
I live with an absolutely wonderful family. Mi Mama se llama Gladys and her husband is Don Orlando. The family is complicated beyond that and do not at all feel like explaining it. She is, without a shadow of a doubt, the sweetest woman I have ever met in my life. Don't dare challenge me on that. In my house I've got a bed and tarantulas. Outside we've got two hammocks and chickens. I eat at least 3 tortillas every meal and drink water from the well. I've lucked out, though, because Molineros has potable water. Oh, and the chickens live in the latrine. Took me weeks of being concerned about the clucking noise every time I pissed to realize my penis wasn't mocking me.
Training is a perpetual bore, but an undeniable necessity...not unlike cuddling. Well not that its boring, really, there are just better things I'd like to be doing with my time. (see: cuddling) Spanish is coming along and is a whole lot of hard work. Aside from that I've learned just about everything there is to know about women's health, women's reproductive system, how women should act in public, that women get treated like dirt here, women cook clean, care for kids, and often aren't the only girlfriend or wife of men, women's personal safety, and one time they told us this thing about men's health but I don't think anyone was listening.
Myself and 5 other aspirantes (trainees) had the unbelievable privilege of releasing I think close to 250 endangered baby sea turtles into the ocean by hand in Corral de Mulas, Usulutan. You want to talk about 'what the fuck?' I'm gonna go ahead and say that was it... That was a moment, man. That was something I won't soon forget barring any serious head injuries. Those things are mighty cool and mighty endangered. I recommend trying it...suckers.
There is some really interesting stuff going on around here. Foremost there was a civil war here, a particularly brutal one, between the early years of the 80's (and according to some fanciful others the middle 70's) and the early 90's. I've met only one person who likes to talk about it (a gringo) and frankly I may have heard all I can handle from him. In my canton they were not really effected by it it was mostly the eastern part of the country.
But I digress and am boring you terribly. I am as sure of that as I am sure that I fell out of the hammock this morning. (I swear it didn't hurt.) Anyway, its really cool... believe me, won't you?
The other crazy thing about this place is the gangs...MS-13 and M 18. Look that shit up... its real, I can fuckin promise you that. Myself, 4 other volunteers, and about 40 other bus passengers were hauling along at about 80 miles an hour on the Panamerican Highway for San Salvador when we came to a screeching halt because of an immense amount of police and commotion. When I say screeching I mean like 82% of the people on that bus now have "Blue Bird" permanently etched into their frontal lobes and the others got to know what kind of shampoo the person in front of them uses.
So all of us, a little jarred, start to look out the windows and one person points out just a little ways behind us is a little boy in a school uniform sprawled in the street.
By the time we got home later that day my family told us that the local news said the boy was 12 waiting for his bus to school with his mother. The maras pulled up and told him to get in the car. He didn't and paid the ultimate price. His mother was shot in both shoulders and brought to a hospital in San Sal. The news did not make the evening news. It did not make the papers the next day. By the next day people didn't even know what I was talking about it for anymore. 440 murders in El Salvador in 2010 by February 5th 2010 more than any city in the States gets in an entire year.
voiceselsalvador.wordpress.com/2010/02/05/el-salvador-reports-440-murders-in-2010/
On a lighter note! I have successfully avoided the drug trafficking and am currently living. Things are sometimes sketchy here, but not everywhere I hope.
I found out my site. I will be living in a tiny community called La Pena near Metapan in Santa Ana, El Salvador for at least the next two years of my life. It is about a 45 minute to an hour hike up the mountains from my nearest regular bus stop. Actually, there is a pick up truck but it runs like Monday and Friday mornings at 6 am. Monday AND Friday... not Monday through Friday. If I can handle Orchard Hill for a year I can handle anything, right?
So my site is tiny and I'm really digging the idea. I'm going to be living in a corn shed for at least two months. My family has a lot of cows and makes and sells cheese. I will guarantee I'll be an udder wizard...just give me a week. I hope to be riding horses soon, too. My site requirement was natural beauty so I'm pretty lit to see what things are like up there. There are only 50 houses in my community, its in the mountains so it shouldn't be 97 degrees every day, and I'll have a dog to hang out with me... Oh wait...
I also got a dog. A two month old dog who has yet to be named. I was thinking the caliche (its a language that only people in the cantones understand... a strange sub Spanish language) for a person who doesn't wear shoes haha. I've found a few other good ones but I'll save those for his introduction to this blog. He's got some serious shyness issues which will not fly with me but once I'm the one feeding him, I think he'll come around haha. He's mighty effin cool, though.
That sums up what I've been doing, I guess. Oh and I typed all this after tearing a ligament in my left pinky finger today in a basketball tourney. That injury is undiagnosed but hell I'm gonna milk it for all I can. All I know is that my pinky looked like the sign of Zoro this morning and the opposing teams point guard was my medic. How's that for Salvadoran hospitality?
We'll see when I get time to get back here... Got questions? Come on down to Santa Ana and ask them. I will have a hammock waiting for you. There is a good chance it will have chicken shit in or around it, you may get robbed on the way, you will get extraordinarily sick from the water or the food, you may end up in the wrong place (because everything has the same name), and you will most definitely get chaggas disease, but I can try my best to answer any question you've got when I get to the hospital to collect you.
It's been fun, kids, but I am fucking starving. I'm gonna go get some pupusas and see if I can make my pinky look like Harry Potter's scar again.
Que le vaya bien.
First Blog Ever
'We are here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is.'
-Dr. Mark Vonnegut
Last night I experienced my first earthquake ever.
'"Have a nice time," people said to me at my send-off at South Station. It was not precisely what I had hoped for. I craved a little risk, some danger, an untoward event, a vivid discomfort, an experience of my own company, and in a modest way the romance of solitude.'
-Paul Theroux
The Old Patagonian Express
I never thought I'd start one of these, and I'm sorry to those I've disappointed by caving, but to be honest, it's damn near impossible to write back to all the people I'd want to in the sparce time I spend on the internet.
Get what you can out of this, please. I'm not writing for my health.
Vaya pues.
-Dr. Mark Vonnegut
Last night I experienced my first earthquake ever.
'"Have a nice time," people said to me at my send-off at South Station. It was not precisely what I had hoped for. I craved a little risk, some danger, an untoward event, a vivid discomfort, an experience of my own company, and in a modest way the romance of solitude.'
-Paul Theroux
The Old Patagonian Express
I never thought I'd start one of these, and I'm sorry to those I've disappointed by caving, but to be honest, it's damn near impossible to write back to all the people I'd want to in the sparce time I spend on the internet.
Get what you can out of this, please. I'm not writing for my health.
Vaya pues.
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