gabriel*salvador

Soon soon soon

2011-04-04T23:26:00.002-06:00

I'll be wrapping things up for the second time and going nomad for a bit. I'm looking forward to being back, but it'll be tough to give up moments like these...

Music: Vampire Weekend

Song: Boston (Ladies of Cambridge)

We made the news!!!

2011-03-22T15:53:00.042-06:00

Apparently all eyes are on tiny El Salvador this week. And not just for Charlie Sheen's latest outburst, which was pretty hilarious, by the way. Pissed off a few folks, but it kind of made me laugh that he's even heard of us here.

No, we're finally getting some semi-good publicity, thanks in large part to a certain gringo passing through, taking a break from the frigid northeast.

<<< Obama in The Savior >>>

I wonder if they made him pay the $10 visa fee...

While he was here, Obama announced a US pledge of $200,000,000 to Central America to combat narco-trafficking and improve overall security. Great news, right?

What many were hoping for and what he ultimately failed to publicly mention were any increases in health initiatives for the poor (sort of a useless word since practically everyone's poor), but specifically funds which could be utilized for water projects, hospitals, child nutrition. In short, areas of dire need.

Here's a relatively old article, but one which outlines the situation fairly well.

<<< Salvadoran water crisis >>>

I know, I know. I'm sure an argument could be made for fiscal restraint in light of the ever-present US budget crisis, but those arguments lose nearly every ounce of credibility when US-led warships launch 112 Tomahawk cruise missiles in one day. Damn.

<<< Costs of this weekend's involvement >>>

Don't worry, I'm not about to go off on military spending in Iraq, Afghanistan, blah blah blah. I fully realize that our two wars there are costing tax payers approx. $450,000,000 a day. That's not my style nor what this blog is all about. I'm just disappointed that our commander-in-chief clearly views El Salvador and Central America as nothing more than impoverished nations caught up in the bullshit narco war and not populations in dire need of support. Frustratingly basic support.

A few facts to consider: each one of those Tomahawks costs as much as $1,500,000. Digging a well for a community of 100 families can cost as little as $5,000. You don't have to be a Rhodes Scholar to figure out which of the two will benefit more people, and in not publicly addressing the health needs of the Salvadoran poor, I think Obama ultimately revealed his views on the region as a whole. What a shame.

The ultimate weekend

2011-03-21T17:42:00.022-06:00

This past weekend, a bunch of us gathered together for the third annual ultimate frisbee tournament at El Cuco, a remote beach out on the flat, eastern shores of the country. I'd actually been there with my dad and Vicki about a year ago. But with 30 volunteers taking over the resort, this experience couldn't have been more different.

It was my first year at the tournament, which as a west coaster up in the northern mountains was just too hard to reach. But with a rental car and a free schedule, nothing's impossible.

Way more volunteers turned out than I expected, all fired up to throw the disc around. It was a good chance to say goodbye to a few old friends who are on their way out and to the Peace Corps community as a whole, which I'll be officially leaving in a couple weeks.

At the tournament, body paint was a must.

As well as all forms of eccentric behavior.

For those not in the know, first possession in beach ultimate is decided by a team boat race. Both teams gather up and drop down on all fours, downing as much as they can without touching the frisbee. Great news if you're one of the first in line. Horrible news if you're the captain anchoring the team. Fun fact of the day: over four cans of beer fit in a frisbee. Not so fun fact: in the first moments, beer shoots up your nose, causing most people to only take a few sips and leaving the vast majority for the team captain. Ug.

My boy Greg rocking the joker/christmas tree look.

Fred, rocking the ultimate war paint beach fro duo.

Team Gang Green

Wild Man Karl, Zach and I get the bonfire going.

Brian, one of the weekend organizers, enjoying a little downtime by the fire.

Hagan, Peace Corps El Salvador's very own Mark Zuckerberg-esque computer genius.

There's nothing like a full-moon bonfire and a few pitchers of cuba libres and kalimotxos after a day at the beach.

Help a brother out

2011-03-17T17:54:00.005-06:00

Recently, my younger brother Adam launched a kickstarter campaign to get his final thesis performed in Chicago. It's a classical piece modeled after a season of baseball.

In just four days, he's already raised almost $700, but he's got a long way to go. To throw your own coins in the proverbial guitar case, click on the link below.

<<< Adam's kickstarter campaign >>>

Even 5 bucks can help. C'mon, that's one less green beer today!

The latest and greatest

2011-03-14T16:08:00.016-06:00

So my days here are going well. The school-wide recycling project continues to chug along and it's looking like this year will be markedly better thanks to the addition of a much needed educational component (that's where I come in) and improved coordination between all the parties involved - schools, Silvia's foundation, the mayor's office, the multi-national cement company Holcim, Lions's Club... Damn, anyone else? Phew!

As many of you guys know, my main focus since I joined the project in late January has been to increase youth participation and impart the underlying importance of recycling on both kids, parents and teachers. Since the program's inception three years ago, not much of an effort was made to actual educate students as to why the hell they were missing classes to go out and pick up what many parents simply viewed as garbage. And to make matters worse, a competitive spirit was encouraged (for understandable reasons) which pitted schools against each other to collect the most amount of recycling. However, an accompanying educational component was never developed and (surprise, surprise) each school's participation rapidly deteriorated into nothing more than trying to outdo and ultimately out "garbage" the other schools. Parents complained, teachers gave up, and school directors made side deals with business owners to receive massive amounts of recycling to win the competition. Sounds great for the kids, right?

Sad emoticon.

But that's where I come in. This year we wanted to take the first steps to create a cultural change. I've been visiting the nine schools participating in the program almost every day, meeting with students to discuss the hows and whys of recycling. On good days, you can see the change happening, as we talk about the effects of clear-cutting trees and burning plastic and watch videos on how recycled soda bottles get converted into plastic chairs and broom bristles. On bad days, however, I wake up and my voice sounds like I drank a hot cup of sawdust just before going to bed, from the hours spent corralling groups of 44 teenagers, all too eager to change the subject or yell out snippets of poorly pronounced English they've picked up from the latest Steven Seagal movie they've seen.

But I am making steady progress, and in a week or so I'll pass my 1,000th student included in the educational program. A drop in the bucket compared to the 6,000 students here in Metapan, but it's at least a start. Plus, a few weeks ago, we organized a city-wide parade and awareness event in Metapan to promote recycling and reward the schools with the best participation. Here are a few shots from the day...

We're still a decade away from creating a similar culture of recycling like that of any "green" city in the US, but at least we're taking the first steps.

And finally, in other news, the grad school situation is really starting to take shape. I've got some decent options in front of me and it's definitely pulling my mind back towards the states and getting me back on those travel websites to shop for return tickets home. Chances are I'll be pulling the trigger on a flight this week, shooting for sometime in the beginning of April. It's gonna be tough to transition back to life stateside for the second time, but thawing temperatures and opening day at Fenway will surely help.

And not to turn this into a tweet...

2011-03-07T17:26:00.004-06:00

... but I just saw Inglourious Basterds last night and I had to comment. Man, what an artfully crafted, well soundtracked junk film. I'm trying to remember all the people who raved about it a year ago so I can contact them personally and trash their taste in movies. Unfortunately it had some great moments of acting and one of the better villains I've seen in years, but damn what a lousy ending. And as my good buddy Aaron put it: "what the fuck was up with the Eli Roth character? And the Oscar for most unnecessary use of a Boston accent goes to..." So true.

On the other hand, I've been catching up on what I would dub a true masterpiece of modern day filmmaking (albeit, short filmmaking). If you haven't had a chance to watch HBO's Eastbound and Down, do it. Right now. Netflix it or stream it or however you get your media fix. You won't be disappointed. Kenny MF Powers will invade your mind like termites taking over a house. Hilarious, foul-mouthed, mulleted termites.

Earmuffs kids!

<<< A taste of Kenny MF Powers >>>

Rockport wouldn't even let him in the door.

Also, while we're at it, last week Katie sent me a link worth watching...

<<< A few brilliant moments with Louis C.K. >>>

Hope you're all doing well out there. I'll be seeing you soon.

I love it when a plan comes together

2011-03-02T22:43:00.054-06:00

It was more than a year in the making. Countless hours spent planning, researching locations, on the phone with tourism police. Ropes and quickdraws shipped from the states. Shoes brought down by visiting friends. All well worth the satisfaction of seeing a plan come to fruition.

So as you've probably gathered, last weekend my buddies Dylan, Brad and I headed up to the cliffs above San Salvador to chill out for a while and challenge ourselves with a little sport climbing.

Over the past year and a half, nearly every time we've met up, the conversation has seemed to drift back to the same topic - a climbing excursion, specifically to an outcropping of massive rock faces and cliffs just outside of San Salvador given the not-so-welcoming name of La Puerta del Diablo, or The Devil's Gate.

Puerta del Diablo is a well-established climbing destination in Central America with a solid collection of pre-bolted surfaces and routes and, as we found out later, a decent climbing community who trek up from the capital each weekend to put those hours on the climbing wall at the national stadium to good use.

A comically large brick of cold cuts, some veggies and pita bread, and a few bags of salty junkfood to avoid cramps. Just like the pros eat. Throw in some tunes and that's not a bad picnic.

I should mention the night before at the hotel, we may have gotten a little too excited to be back in our climbing gear. I think that rare combination of ultra-gummy rubber and rum just automatically leads to antics. Ah, antics. Who doesn't love 'em?

And now back to the day of the climb with an overhead shot of la P de D. You could spend days here and not climb the same route twice.

As we packed up the gear, that calm from exerting 5000 calories or so started to set in. While my forearms started to seize up, my mind seemed to open up. If you've ever exerted yourself to the point of exhaustion, chances are you know what I'm talking about.

We were all pretty stoked from the experience and will definitely be back, so look for more climbing posts in the weeks to come.

The Venier-Lockwood-Forsdick-Cohen-Leadholm experience in photos - Part II

2011-02-27T23:05:00.008-06:00

The Venier-Lockwood-Forsdick-Cohen-Leadholm experience in photos - Part I

2011-02-25T23:51:00.006-06:00

2011-02-13T22:14:00.004-06:00

A great series about living and traveling on the cheap.

<<< The frugal traveler >>>

Worth a look for those whose idea of seeing the world involves a beat-up backpack and sticking your thumb out every once in a while.

A potential advancement for ALS research

2011-02-04T10:35:00.006-06:00

Read an interesting article in yesterday's NYTimes about a neurologist at the Beth Israel who was recently awarded a hefty prize for developing a reliable method for tracking the advancement of ALS. According to the article, the $1,000,000 prize is the largest ever awarded for tackling a specific medical challenge.

<<< $1,000,000 to inventor of ALS tracker >>>

A few excerpts from the article:

The winner, Dr. Seward Rutkove, showed that his method could cut in half the cost of clinical trials to screen potential drugs for the disease.

Each year, doctors diagnose about 5,000 new cases of A.L.S. in the United States, according to the National Institutes of Health. Despite decades of clinical trials, the diagnosis remains a death sentence. It paralyzes and suffocates patients while their minds remain intact.

A few patients live for decades — the physicist Stephen Hawking is the best known — but most survive only three to five years after they first notice symptoms. And riluzole, the only A.L.S. drug approved by the Food and Drug Administration, costs about $10,000 a year and typically extends life by just a few more months.

The high cost of clinical trials limits drug companies' ability to test potential treatments. Researchers must recruit hundreds of patients and run trials that last as long as two years just to eliminate a drug from the running.

One executive told us, "For the cost of one A.L.S. drug I can develop two multiple sclerosis drugs, so obviously I go with M.S."

Dr. Doug Kerr, associate director of experimental neurology at Biogen Idec, which is working on an A.L.S. drug, said more sensitive testing methods "will allow us to test more drugs, more patients, and get an answer earlier." He called Dr. Rutkove’s method "a powerful new part of the armament to study A.L.S."

El Salvador: The Sequel

2011-01-29T17:06:00.015-06:00

Well, we're into week two and honestly things couldn't be going better. As I was just telling one of my former bosses, it is positively kickass being here and not having the usual stress of being a Peace Corps volunteer. Well, it's not stress per se, but more like this constant awareness of Peace Corps' rules that sort of bounce around the back of your head during your service. Those rules, combined with my own personal drive to make good use of my service, definitely kept my nose to the grindstone.

So now that the books are officially closed on my service, it's refreshing to be here, no longer obsessing about my community's health projects or sweating the small stuff. It's like I gave myself to the job, did what I could, and now it's time to turn it over to someone else. I'm also enjoying the other perks of being back in country as a non-PCV, including, but not limited to, riding around on motorcycles, renting cars, chilling for days on end in San Salvador and grabbing drinks with my bosses.

As most of you know, I'll be here for a few months while I'm waiting to hear back from grad schools. I applied in January and was on a flight down here just two days afterwards. Gotta be honest, pretty excited not to be concerned with snowy winter commutes or blowing $100 a week on delicious, delicious micro-brewed beer. That last part actually sucks, along with missing my friends and family, but my consulting gig with a local NGO organizing school recycling programs is providing me with enough cash to treat myself to a nice beer in the capital every so often.

The job should also occupy just enough of my time to keep me from shacking up at a surf hostel for a month in my lifelong quest to master a short board. Sidenote: anything shorter than a 10 footer I like to call short boards. Also, swap the word "master" for "stand up on" and that's probably closer to reality.

Back in the campo

2011-01-19T10:35:00.011-06:00

After an epic day of traveling, I'm back in The Savior, and man it feels good.

Apart from the heat, I'm readapting well. Thanks for the emails. But I'm not sure which is worse: sweating uncontrollably from shoveling out your car, or sweating uncontrollably from simply being in El Salvador. At least with the shoveling you can just put down the shovel.

Another year of kicking ALS' ass and taking names

2011-01-15T23:11:00.015-06:00

As you may know, last year our fledgling cycling team raised over $20,000 for ALS research in only its fourth year, totally blowing away our goal of raising $14,000. And the Tri-State Trek as a whole brought in a whopping 500,000 bucks for ALS research. Incredible numbers.

To celebrate the two accomplishments, Team America organized a small gathering at the Cambridge Brewing Company, a chill night just to share a few beers, make a few toasts, and motivate the team for this year's fundraising campaign and ride.

About 30 people came, no doubt attracted like moths to the glow of free apps and towers of microbrewed beer. We even had our first sign-ups from people willing to put their money where their mouths were.

A typical reserved Mearns and Z at the registration table.

We also reactivated our fundraising page so anyone who won the lottery recently or is feeling extra generous today should visit our Team America fundraising page.

Thanks in advance!

An update and a few long-overdue thank you's

2010-12-20T22:23:00.041-06:00

Well a lot's changed since my last post. All of it good.

I've officially moved back to Boston, painfully realized my blood thinned more than I expected (I used to scoff at 20 degrees!) and we just sold our house of over 30 years.

There's too much I could write about the house and, to be honest, it's not what this blog is about. But I will say that from its death came a rebirth of sorts. I'll explain...

Many of you know that back in July, we held a small fundraiser for children's scholarships in El Salvador at our favorite neighborhood watering hole, Doyle's. What we lacked in attendance, we more than made up for in sheer numbers. We held silent and live auctions and, in that one night, we raised something on the order of $3,000, well beyond what I had expected. It was also a chance to catch up with old friends and for me to answer any questions people had about my work in El Salvador.

Well this past Saturday we were fortunate to improve on those numbers even more. Thanks to a successful (and impromptu) moving sale, which again far exceeded our expectations, we are now up to a whopping $4,500. Woohoo!

But what does $4,500 even mean? What does that money go towards?

For starters, it means a hell of a lot to the nine students who rose to the top of our selection process and received scholarships. Books and uniforms can cost as little as $10 a year. Not that much, right? Well, unfortunately, that's enough to stop a family from allowing their son or daughter to attend classes for the year.

This money ensures that every one of our kids can continue their studies no matter how much the price of coffee drops or what the bean harvest brings. It eliminates one more excuse for parents insisting that only their eldest son attend school or continue studying on to the 6th grade, the average grade level attained in my community.

Below is a great moment from one of our Saturday study sessions. It was about 90 degrees in the shade that afternoon, yet there we were, hanging out and trying to write essays despite the oppressive heat. We eventually gave in, calling off the afternoon session so we could all pass out in our respective hammocks. I think the younger kids darted off to the river for a quick dip, while I headed to my neighbor's to see if she had any frozen mangoes.

You'll note that not all of the students pictured here made it to the final rounds and received scholarships. As much as I wanted to help every student, I stressed personal responsibility and attendance and had to let them make their own decisions and live by them.

And here's Jimbo, our essay-writing guru imparting a few pointers on making their essays pop.

I love these shots. So "Peace Corps." Ha ha ha.

For those who don't know how our scholarship fund works, every dollar we raise gets deposited in an account managed by a non-profit out of California called Aid El Salvador. The organization focuses on scholarships for Salvadoran youth and most recently, disaster relief and mitigation, as a direct result of the November 2009 landslides.

So whenever we raise funds, whether it be through an event or direct donations made through the organization's website (hopefully specifying "El Carmen," the name of our community), the money gets deposited into a Citibank escrow account, which an Aid El Salvador representative personally accesses and distributes to our scholars, typically twice a year, assuming they maintain a minimum GPA and complete a certain amount of volunteer hours. Oh yeah, and there are still funds in the scholarship account (cough, cough, hint, hint). Ha ha.

After the school years concludes, students have to reapply for the scholarships to reaffirm their commitment. If all those conditions are met (GPA, volunteer hours), and assuming they want to continue studying, funds are available up through the university level.

The girls receiving their first payment and signing their contracts.

Betty and Henry signing theirs.

After months of sacrificing their Saturdays for essay-writing workshops and clearing an untold number of hoops and hurdles, I'm proud to introduce our Aid El Salvador scholarship recipients!

Betty and Henry, both bright, responsible kids, will be the first in their families to earn a college degree. You can tell their pretty excited about it.

I can't thank you all enough for your support and, above all, your generosity. Have a happy holidays and know that you have made a huge impact on the lives of these youth. Muchísimas gracias!

Tradition revisited

2010-12-06T15:47:00.020-06:00

Another turkey day in the books. And this year didn't disappoint. But with 15 members of the Abrams, Cohen and Leadholm clan in Tucson, how could it?

It was great reconnecting with the not-so distant branches of our family tree and meeting the fast growing army of budding acorns.

Those little rascals are growing up fast and being able to see them before they're old enough not to give a shit who I am was worth the jet lag alone.

So I don't think I'm going out on a limb in saying that Thanksgiving is arguably the most traditional of traditions. A day crafted around a single meal that seldom varies. On what other day of the year do we know exactly what we're going to see when we sit down at the table? Sure, I guess you could argue International Ice Cream Sandwich Day (August 2), Gazpacho Day (December 6) or Waffle Day (March 25), but you get my point.

We did our best, however, to uphold those traditions yet turn them on their collective head. A grilled chipotle turkey? Why not! Mole sauce on your mashed potatoes and stuffing? Hell yeah!

It was an unusual Thanksgiving, yet in the end, what more do you need than a comfortable setting, a room full of good food and family? Oh, wait. Booze! Copious amounts of booze.

After a week of golf, gin and tonics, and desert hikes, the party unfortunately came to an end and the clan disbursed.

I, on the other hand, was not as eager to dive headfirst back into a northeast winter and stayed a few extra days with my friend Christina from El Salvador who, as luck would have it, lives in Tucson. Small world.

Christina and her friends went out of their way to show me what you might call the "real" Tucson, a mix of university hang outs, authentic mexican restaurants and your typical psychotic, sexual biker bars where patrons brave enough to get branded by the owner receive 50 cents off drinks for life. I wish I were joking.

<<< The Meet Rack >>>

Wow.

We also had the chance to hang out with Christina's stepdad Phil who, as you'll see below, happens to be a 30 year member of the Tucson Glider Club...

Saying goodbye to Latin America

2010-11-15T10:03:00.014-06:00

Modern art museums, hipster vegetarian bars, a great metro, dollar beers, an obsession with recycling. Medellin was a vibrant city and the perfect place to say goodbye to Latin America.

Drinks with Chucho, our gracious host for the week. How gracious was he? Well, he and his girlfriend actually flew to Bogota for the weekend and left us the keys to their place. Man, what a kickass couchsurf.

On our final day, we treated ourselves to paragliding in the hills above Medellin. Hell of an experience.

A quick video of the end of my paragliding experience, where my guy informs me we'll be crash landing in a field instead of back up at the top of the mountain. Greeeat. But at least as a final bribe, he spun us like crazy.

Now I'm in that weird limbo between not wanting the experience to end and feeling good about the prospect of some TLC back home. A hot shower and some clean clothes after living out of my backpack for two weeks sound amazing.

The definition of "off the grid"

2010-11-11T12:05:00.052-06:00

Man, it's been a crazy past couple weeks.

Currently writing from cloudy Medellín, Colombia, one of my new favorite cities. Incredible place. Super cosmopolitan. A big change from where I spent the past week (more on that in a minute).

Lauren and I are couchsurfing with a cool couple here, an architect and theater teacher, both originally from Medellín. They've got a swanky apartment in a quiet neighborhood and are showing us all that this city has to offer, although Medellín sort of sells itself after a few hours of strolling its streets and hopping in and out of open air cafes searching for the best cup of tinto, what they call a strong cup of black coffee. Very european feeling.

Before we arrived here, however, we were in a totally different world, both physically and mentally. We had been making our way south little by little to catch my flight from Medellín to Boston on the 15th. After taking a 16-hour overnight bus from San Sal to San Jose, we hitchhiked to the Panamanian border and then met up with our Peace Corps friend David in Panama City.

Quick note about Panama City. Damn what a different world. It was like walking on the moon at times. Nothing like the Central American capital cities I was used to. Clean and suuuper developed. That, combined with the fact that they're on the American dollar, meant you had to remind yourself every so often you were in Central America and not in Miami, especially when the supermarkets have Guinness for 69 cents a can. What?!!!

David took us to all the spots - the canal, the former U.S. army bases, the causeway. And as an added bonus, we were lucky enough to arrive just as the national independence holidays were starting up, when the entire city shuts down for a three day party.

Here's a shot from our private tour of the craziness that is Panama City.

But despite the good times, after a couple days we had to move on. I had a plane to catch, after all.

For the majority of world travelers country-hopping in Central and South America, it's rare to stray too far from the Pan-American Highway, a 30,000 mile road stretching from Prudhoe Bay, Alaska to the tip of South America (both Chile and Argentina claim the highway's end). Backpackers shuttle up and down it like New Yorkers riding the 6 train. For the most part, it's smooth sailing until they hit something called the Darién Gap, a virtually impassable rain forest separating Panama and Colombia. For 60 years, this mountainous region is the only break in the north-south highway, yet because it's undisputed FARC territory, I don't think that's going to change anytime soon.

To circumvent the gap, most people opt for the hour and a half flight from Panama City to Cartagena or Medellin. But those with the luxury of time and the curse of a tighter budget cross the border by boat through the San Blas islands, a 365 island archipelago also known as Kuna Yala, which means "Land of the Kuna."

As ex-PCVs, Lauren and I were pretty strapped for cash, and the $300 flight was out of our league. Our plan was to island-hop for the week, making our way south. There's a lot of info on this route on the internet and it's becoming more and more popular, as only 49 of the 300 plus islands are inhabited and a week snorkeling off the islands and sleeping in hammocks on the beach can be an unforgettable experience, despite the trouble of getting out there.

Well, it was all fun and games for us until we found ourselves stranded on one of those islands because of lack of transport and bad weather. Lucky for us, the inhabitants of the islands, the Kuna people, had a place for us to stay and were incredibly open.

Each day we did our best to endear ourselves to the community by fishing with the kids on the dock and entertaining them with the magic thumb trick. So powerful, the magic thumb trick.

I'll write more later, but here are some pics until then...

A Kuna woman sewing a mola, a traditional hand-sewn cloth, which the women wear along with elaborate beaded bracelets and anklets.

The Kuna are fascinating people. I spent most of my nights chatting with a small group near the dock while I ate dinner. Many books have been written on their rituals and history, but here are three things I found interesting.

For starters, the Kuna are matrilineal, which means women run the show and households are centered around the elder women. When a marriage is approved by the elder council, husbands marry into their wife's family's compound (unlike 90% of the world's societies).

Also, young girls are permitted to dress in western clothes until they reach puberty, at which point, the elder women cut the girl's hair and the community acknowledges her step into womanhood with week-long celebrations of seafood and fermented fruit wine typical to Latin America, called chicha.

Actually, on our last night on the island, this happened, and the entire community was beginning the preparations for the fiesta. We wouldn't have been able to attend anyway, but I still wish we could have been there for some part of it.

Finally, numbers and counting in Kuna vary depending on the shape of what you're describing. If you're referring to round objects, like three balls, for example, you would say "round-three balls." If you're talking about a longer shape, like a stick, you'd say "long-one stick." You get it? It's kind of complicated, but pretty damn cool if you think about it.

If we weren't on the dock with the kids, we were hanging out at our cabin, reading or occasionally jumping off into our own private ocean (but only when the tides were right (island community = floaters = bad, very bad)).

Eventually after three days, a Colombian cargo ship passed by and gave us a ride to the Panama-Colombia border port, Puerto Obaldia. Jesus christ it's been wild.

The ship was a memorable experience. The seas weren't exceptionally high, but being in a loaded cargo ship in open waters isn't always smooth sailing...

Trick or treat from Costa Rica

2010-10-31T22:48:00.010-06:00

Hit San Jose this afternoon, crashing for the night at a backpackers hostel, and then continuing on to Panama to chill for a couple days with our buddy David and hopefully catch a boat to Colombia.

I've loved seeing the geography and colors change as we've pushed further and further south. It's like we're heading deeper and deeper into the source of all things green, and the closer we get, the more intense it becomes. Looking forward to seeing what Panama and Colombia have to offer...

A hell of a milestone to reach

2010-10-28T08:21:00.007-06:00

Over $20,000 raised for ALS research. Wow. That's all I can say.

<<< Team America's fundraising page >>>

What a long, strange trip it's been

2010-10-23T21:46:00.012-06:00

Well, we're in the final countdown.

And if you know me, you won't be surprised to hear that I'm taking thousands of photos and videos in my last few days in the campo in an attempt to capture some of the "feel" of my Peace Corps experience and daily life for the past two plus years. But obviously that's impossible. There's no way to document the feeling of walking down a dusty road, hearing a familiar mixture of kids and chickens off in the distance, and feeling, well, happy. Or being able to stroll through the woods over to my neighbor Blanca's house to sip some burnt cowboy coffee and just sit for a hour or two while she prepares lunch for her family.

I was emailing with Jimbo about this the other day. That it's impossible to leave PC on one's own terms. And how, the last month of Peace Corps sucks. It simply sucks. So much to do and so little time. It honestly feels like time has been accelerating, rolling downhill and picking up speed despite my efforts to pull the e-brake and get everything back under control. Don't know where those days went when I had nothing to do but hang out on my porch and kick plastic bottles back and forth with Peligro. Ah well.

It's been a comfort for me to see your names in my inbox. To my family, Ellie, Amy, Katie, Chuck: thank you. Thank you for reaching out.

The only way to describe these last few days in my community would be as indescribably bittersweet. Happy to be moving on and beginning another chapter of my life, yet unabashedly ripped to pieces emotionally for the loss of friendships, routines and the life that I've become accustomed to.

Know that I am really looking forward to seeing you all and catching up when I'm back in November and December. Hopefully over a cold pint of IPA and some solid hot wings.

The end of an era

2010-10-14T23:10:00.003-06:00

A couple weekends ago, we bid farewell to another one of our own. A fellow third year volunteer, and a dear friend. The good news is, he's a southie kid and will be sharing dollar pints with me at Tom English's before the year is up.

So most volunteers, when they finally take off, plan a night out in the capital or the beach with their closest friends, who are usually nearing their end date themselves. Usually one last hurrah to cap a couple years of blood, sweat and tears in the developing world.

Joe, on the other hand, isn't your average volunteer. And it's not his style to go gently into the night.

No, for Joe's despedida (goodbye party), he rented out a beachfront house, complete with pool and space for 30 people, and threw the mother of all parties. He might have even had clowns and a unicorn petting zoo, but the two kegs and unlimited sushi kept me pretty well distracted.

Here are a few shots from the event...

The man of the hour

Rhett and Axel, two stand-up guys.

Fred loves him some chicken teriyaki.

Joe said a few words

And we dug into the feast.

Such a good vibe.

Later on, Sam learns why it's never a good idea to fall asleep in public.

The final product.

Approximately 10 minutes spent setting up...

...yet hours upon hours of enjoyment.

Sam was such a good sport. And, from conversations I've had with him, is turning out to be a hell of a volunteer.

Armadillo. It's what's for dinner

2010-09-22T20:19:00.016-06:00

Now for another installment of Where Your Food Comes From. Although in this installment, we're not talking your average food.

WARNING: you know where this is going... if you're not a fan of such things, skip this one.

Okay, so if you're a regular follower of my snoop blog, by now you've probably read my post on the bull we slaughtered for my friend's wedding last January. You'll know it was a pretty intense process, with the trade-off being that over a hundred people were fed from the death of one animal.

This time it was different. He was the underdog, and with chickens running around justifying their place in the world as the cornerstone of the food chain and making themselves known as only a chicken can (hopping up on the table, knocking over your coffee, shitting in your bed), one felt as though this little guy's life could have been spared. But I digress.

As with most animals killed in El Salvador, I can safely say that it suffered; it's just how we do things here. I'd love to say it was quick and painless, like my rabbits, but it sort of wasn't. He was a fighter. But know that the little guy died a noble death so that a family of six, plus three friends and neighbors, could eat well on El Salvador's national independence day, September 15th.

Alright, let's get on with it, shall we?

So last weekend, my neighbors and I killed a seven pound armadillo and ate it. Not nearly as much a process as killing and prepping the bull, but still one that I found oddly intriguing. Fasten your seatbelts. I took photos...

For starters, they're amazing looking critters. Check him out. Cute little ears, a snouty nose, and of course a fascinating armor shell that was surprisingly warm and flexible, like leather. Thought he'd be more like a turtle.

To kill one, you pretty much break its neck, make a small cut and drain the blood for a good while, occasionally washing it away as it coagulates. One thing I found interesting was that the dogs, normally diving over each other to grab a scrap of whatever Orlando is hacking up, didn't even go near this thing. It must have had such a funky flavor that it spooked even them.

Like defeathering a chicken, you pour boiling water on him and scrape off his scales. They reminded me of fish scales. Almost translucent.

Once he's been scaled, you cut off his head and gut him.

A few hacks to split him in two.

A little salt, some lime, and onto the fire!

Kate's a huge fan of armadillo, or cuzuco as it's called here in the campo.

All in all, kind of awesome. Starting to believe that clichéd saying that everything tastes like chicken.

By the way, as I was writing this post, I googled armadillos and stumbled upon my new favorite animal...

Behold the smaller than your cell phone, semi-endangered Pink Fairy Armadillo of Argentina. Kind of want to carry one in my shirt pocket at all times... and probably eat less armadillos.

2010-09-20T01:04:00.017-06:00

Recently I had a chance to visit one of my volunteers up in his mountain-top community in northern Chalatenango. I remember pausing with him on a ridge and him pointing off into the distance, where a few specks of white poked through the canopy of trees and slowly moving clouds. That's the edge of my community, he said. And we were off.

Hiked for over an hour, almost entirely up. Crossed rivers, ducked under barbed wire, nearly fell off too many cliffs to count. But it was worth it. Clayton's off to a great start and will leave quite the mark on his community when his two years are up.

Early the next day, we hit the trail and hiked through the mountains to Malorie's community, just a hop skip and a jump over the mountains. That's a 30 minute hop, a 45 minute skip, and a 30 minute jump. But her host family is truly amazing and had a feast waiting for us when we arrived. Probably the biggest meal I've eaten in El Salvador. Soup, steak, coffee and quesadillas (sweet bread). I should mention, since it was a special occasion, we weren't eating your average steak. Nope, we were lucky enough to get pelibüey. I'll save you the trip to google translator. Sheep. Don't knock it til you tried it.

Sidenote: there's an unspoken, yet highly respected rule in Peace Corps that when you visit another volunteer's site, you immediately take on strict dietary restrictions, refuse a healthy amount of food you're offered, and speak as much junk spanish as possible. If you haven't picked up yet, this is all to make that volunteer seem like a rockstar, eating everything and dominating the language and culture like Jordan dominated the NBA cerca 1997. Like a jackass, I kind of violated that rule and devoured anything and everything they put in front of me. I did hike through the mountains of Chalate only minutes before! If you're reading this, sorry, chica. The good news is, Malorie is a rockstar volunteer and didn't need much help from me to prove it.

I had some time to kill that night at the hostel, so I put together a quick video of the experience.

Cameraman: Moi

Music: Caetano Veloso - Um Canto de Afoxe Para Bloco do Ile

Ps. Yes I know it's brazilian samba music, but the children's voices in the background reminded me so much of those of kids playing in every dirty, dusty community in this country, I couldn't resist.

Back in the groove...

2010-09-13T23:44:00.021-06:00

... yet wrapping things up.

I feel like this entry could go in any number of directions, so at the very least, I want to begin with a little light comedy, courtesy of one Mr. Aaron "Steve McQueen" Miller.

Buenos Aires Independent Film Festival: Tom Sellecks

With only 48 days left of my 1,000 here in El Salvador, I've come to a strange point in my Peace Corps experience. One that I'm at a loss for words to describe. Don't know why; I knew it was coming.

I'm happy, and overloaded with work, but in a good way, you know? Yet earlier tonight I actually got annoyed, not snapped, just felt a quick pang of peeve pass over me, with a good friend who repeatedly consoled me for what she kept calling my homesickness.

We had been chatting, and I mentioned how it's funny how the things you used to hate take on different meanings under different circumstances. Like how my neighbors' roosters - oh god those awful, goddamn roosters - I will actually miss when I'm no longer here. Yeah, I know. For those of you who've actually had the pleasure of staying at Casa de Cohen in the mountains of northwestern El Salvador, you must be amazed. Those guys probably kept you up or at least scared the shit out of you probably half a dozen times. But yeah, I'll miss hearing those little bastards, and the approaching wave of rooster crows coming from the next community over at 3 am or some other ungodly hour when I should be sleeping and not awake to hear such things.

Maybe what got to me was the dismissive tone of her voice; the way she didn't quite get what I was talking about, nor did it really concern her. Or that she assumed I couldn't wait to get back to the states. I don't know. It might be impossible for any volunteer to really convey how it feels to package up their life of two of three years in a community and move on to supposedly better and brighter things, while leaving their friends and family behind.

Or maybe things were just lost in translation; they often are.

But it's true. That realization that hits all volunteers at some point. That we only get one Peace Corps experience. And mine is just a few short weeks from ending.