El Salvador, in English
The following are excerpts from a travel journal kept during my visit to Honduras in March 2005 with Habitat for Humanity. Getting to Honduras, as the title suggests, my co-Gringos and I had a four hour layover in El Salvador. I happened upon this journal after a visit to my mother’s house where she insisted that a three-drawer Rubbermaid cabinet from my college days accompany me home. Eager for something useful to come out of my four year sentence at William and Mary, and noting the 100,000 post-its and index cards stowed in the drawers (infinitely better than a degree), I obligingly took it with me.
It was only later that I discovered the Rubbermaid not only held index cards of every size and color, but my Honduras journal. It was by no means faithfully kept, but I recall several nights at least in which I sat on the roof and wrote in it, smoking a Cuban cigar like any normal visitor to Central America would. It speaks of thinks occupying 22-year old Mary's inner thoughts--dealing with people, Europe and colonialism, and food. Specifically, plantain chips and how amazing they are.
*This* excerpt is v. short, sweet, and (I think) quintessentially Mary, written in the terminal of Cuscatlán International Airport:
“We are officially “That Group” of American kids, traveling in packs, wearing Livestrong bands, and looking a hot, loud English-speaking mess. Things escalate as a heated game of Egyptian Rat Screw turned into Pens (no spoons available). I have spent a good deal of time watching Celine Deon videos on the Airport TV. Who knew the good people of El Salvador had such a love for the Greatest Singer in the World? Reminder: put your effing watch on.”
At the work site:
I am building a house. I am building a house and I never mow the lawn. Crazy. Hurt lower back lifting cinder blocks. Bollocks. Ate some of Keisha's granola.
in Copan:
I really feel like I won't see any of these people again...and I really feel like I'll be OK with that. Also, we are now watching the Devil's Advocate in Spanish. Who are we? My fingernails are actually clear [had a proper shower in hotel].
End of trip tally:
Mosquito bites: 14
Bleeding mosquito bites: 4, at this time
Bruises: 26 on right leg, 22 on left [I had the unfortunate habit of resting cinder blocks on my thighs, despite all warnings given to me. Needless to say, I was very bruised by the end of the trip].
Scrapes from falling down like an asshole: 3 good scabs on right arm
Spots on face: 4, GROSS.
Cut on left ankle, unsure of cause. But I think it was the pick ax. Unclear. Will try v. hard to remember tomorrow.
Cornstalk dolls: hundreds. Or 4. Which is probably 4 too many.
Cigars: 3
Underwear swim: 1, but was drunk and prematurely stopped by v. mean-spirited hotel employee
Plantains consumed: thousands.
It was only later that I discovered the Rubbermaid not only held index cards of every size and color, but my Honduras journal. It was by no means faithfully kept, but I recall several nights at least in which I sat on the roof and wrote in it, smoking a Cuban cigar like any normal visitor to Central America would. It speaks of thinks occupying 22-year old Mary's inner thoughts--dealing with people, Europe and colonialism, and food. Specifically, plantain chips and how amazing they are.
*This* excerpt is v. short, sweet, and (I think) quintessentially Mary, written in the terminal of Cuscatlán International Airport:
“We are officially “That Group” of American kids, traveling in packs, wearing Livestrong bands, and looking a hot, loud English-speaking mess. Things escalate as a heated game of Egyptian Rat Screw turned into Pens (no spoons available). I have spent a good deal of time watching Celine Deon videos on the Airport TV. Who knew the good people of El Salvador had such a love for the Greatest Singer in the World? Reminder: put your effing watch on.”
At the work site:
I am building a house. I am building a house and I never mow the lawn. Crazy. Hurt lower back lifting cinder blocks. Bollocks. Ate some of Keisha's granola.
in Copan:
I really feel like I won't see any of these people again...and I really feel like I'll be OK with that. Also, we are now watching the Devil's Advocate in Spanish. Who are we? My fingernails are actually clear [had a proper shower in hotel].
End of trip tally:
Mosquito bites: 14
Bleeding mosquito bites: 4, at this time
Bruises: 26 on right leg, 22 on left [I had the unfortunate habit of resting cinder blocks on my thighs, despite all warnings given to me. Needless to say, I was very bruised by the end of the trip].
Scrapes from falling down like an asshole: 3 good scabs on right arm
Spots on face: 4, GROSS.
Cut on left ankle, unsure of cause. But I think it was the pick ax. Unclear. Will try v. hard to remember tomorrow.
Cornstalk dolls: hundreds. Or 4. Which is probably 4 too many.
Cigars: 3
Underwear swim: 1, but was drunk and prematurely stopped by v. mean-spirited hotel employee
Plantains consumed: thousands.
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