As if this country didn't have enough problems of its own...

Those last few photos were actually taken by Jimbo, as he walked through his neighboring villages and towns on the slopes of Volcán Chinchontepec. In the distance, you can see the muddy-colored scar where the volcano split apart and sent down torrents of minivan-sized boulders through the mountain communities below.

A lot of you have been asking about him. Thank you for that. He's doing okay, despite having the horrible luck of being in the epicenter of the Hurricane Ida shitshow. For his account of what happened, check out his blog.

<<< How do dogs know Spanish? >>>

Much love.

G

Oh shit

Just wanted to let you all know that I'm alive and well. Thanks for the emails. If I weren't broke, I'd be calling you all to check in.

<<< The New York Times >>>

Up in the northern region, we escaped most of the damage. But San Vicente (where we spent our first three months of training) and the central valleys around Jimbo's volcano got pretty fucked. He actually called me at 3 am during the storm and over a choppy connection was yelling for me to call PC to save his ass. Pretty freaky. They did end up evacuating him and as far as I know he's doing fine.

Don Callo

He refuses every time I offer it to him. Keeps telling me he prefers to use nails.

We leave my house and walk the short distance to his, down a graveled road, the color a dusty, pale orange the result of two weeks without rain.

We pass through an iron gate leading to his property, the hinges complaining as the door swings open, yet silent as it slowly returns and we walk away, apparently happy to be left alone.

As neighbors, we have spent many evenings together. Almost always over a smoky fire, sipping strong coffee brewed in a large clay pot. At the bottom, the saturated coffee grounds sit, listening, growing more and more bitter the more we talk. I always know when it is time to leave when I start tasting the coffee’s disapproval.

He leads me past the wash area, cluttered with plastic buckets of various colors, but never straying from even the most basic crayola rainbow. We duck under arcing banana leaves and arrive at what appears to be a muddy garden. Small banana trees, no higher than one’s knee, sit alongside their older siblings, patiently waiting their turn to reach the sun. An area has been cleared and work has already begun on the supports. Scraps of multi-colored wood, I imagine stripped from various sources, have been nailed together to form longer beams. Small patches in two eucalyptus trees have been shaved away, revealing inner layers, white like milk.

I begin double-checking the measurements for the project - the roof, the posts, the cross beams - and again broach the topic.

No, I prefer nails, he tells me.

I think about what he has said as I lift up the first beam and steady it on my shoulder. He places four nails in his mouth, raises his end of the beam and reaches for his hammer.

His blows with the hammer make a clean sound, a ping that hangs in the air for what seems like seconds, although I know it to be only a fraction of that. I notice his control is perfect; each blow landing dead center on the nail, with the satisfying ping resonance as a reward for his efforts. I begin to look forward to each one, and smile.

We lift the second beam and again he fills his mouth with nails. He smiles at me for a brief moment, a genuine smile, yet weakened with the strain of gripping the nails between his lips.

Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. The last note reverberates out through the banana leaves, as the nail disappears into the soft, vanilla-colored wood.

He tugs on the beam, pulling down and outward to test its strength.

This is good, he says.

And it was.

The big three... oh, crap I'm old

So last week I got old. I wasn't before. But now I am. This apparently is what happens when you turn 30.

But as most of you know, being 30 has its privileges. You get a lot of nice emails (thank you all)... reassuring you that death is just around the corner (screw you all). And you get to boss people around in a way that would have been considered highly uncouth only a year before.

But in general, I feel the same. Except maybe happier since I got to spend some qt with Lauren and a few of my buddies who we affectionately call "site rats" for the fact that they haven't been spotted since swear-in with the ambassador, May 2008.

For my actual bday, I celebrated 30ness with Lauren. She'd organized a few surprises, including a few days of rest and relaxation at a luxury hotel at the beach (think infinity pool, waterfalls, free breakfast - woohoo!).

And afterwards, like Hugh Hefner at the Friar's Club, I took my hits in the emotional spanking line and chilled with my buddies up in the mountains near my site, celebrating life one last time... before I apparently drop dead of a heart attack. Oh it's easy to be funny when you're only 25 punks!

We had a great time and they came from far just to remind me life is short. But besides presenting me with a bottle of Bombay Sapphire, they gave me something I needed - a few kickass days of testosterone with my boys, some chill time with my brothers in arms. Reminiscent of Martinifest a few years back, we grilled steaks and toasted the good life, something we began to affectionately call "Cocktoberfest".

Sidenote on the Bombay: only a handful of times in this country have I been blessed by the juniper gods to find myself not only in a decent establishment with actual gin on hand, but the cash in my pocket to buy it. (You'd think with all the malaria epidemics this country has gone through, they'd be a little more into the tonic water.) And twice I've had to teach the bartender how to make a passable gin and tonic. Picture the fancy-pants waiter, nodding yes as I order, but slightly cocking his head to the side the way my dog does whenever he sees me do a handstand, and then coming back two minutes later with a bottle of cheap vodka and some fresca.

I see it as a sustainable project. Salvos have taught me so much in my time down here - how to harvest corn and beans, how to net fish with canoes, how to kill and eat pretty much any animal with a heartbeat - the least I can do is help them make a decent G & T.

Anyway, here are a few shots from Cocktoberfest, the ones which could be considered safe for public consumption.



Chris taking it easy



The dark side of Andy. Just kidding, Andy doesn't have a dark side. Love hangin out with this guy. He was the manager of a grilled cheese restaurant back in Iowa before he came down here. A grilled cheeeeeeese restaurant! Nuf said.



I'd give my right arm to throw a spiral like Hoop. Oh crap. I didn't think that through



Chillin with my homies.



Our buddy Rich used to be a chef, and proved it later on behind the grill. His sister's the personal chef for... watch your toes, Gabe's name dropping... Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes, so I guess it runs in the family. He grilled up some amazing steaks.



And the next day. Breakfast of champions. Nobody remembers the night before. We just woke up here eating breakfast.



Brother Will (before)



Brother Joe



Brother Brad



Brother Will (after the freight train of the previous night started to hit him)



This photo of Andy kind of sums up life on the mountain...



All in all, 30 ain't so bad. Thanks for all the calls and emails. Big hugs to everyone up north.

An Ode to Engineers Without Borders

Oh man. EWB. So different from what I expected...

<<< The Onion >>>

Totally kidding. They were probably the coolest bunch of gringos I’ve ever met. I say that knowing full well that my friends and family are the shit and the beach bums and surfers my friends and I chill with at the beach are, well, also the shit.

But beach bums and surfers come here for the smoothest waves in Central America. And my friends and family come here for me.

But these engineers, they came here for another reason. For the simple satisfaction of helping people they’ve never met, and the possibility of lending their expertise to others in need.

As usual, I've been overloaded and sitting on this for awhile. But I'll add to it in the next couple days.

When the moon hits your eye...

Yesterday I held another cooking class with my women's committee. As you can see, it was a huge success!





But wait, I'm not gonna lie. Here's what actually happened...

It really was a huge success, but instead of a smooth afternoon, it was kind of a trainwreck. The muchacha who came and led our first cooking class two weeks before actually left me high and dry by flaking out on us a couple hours before class. "Oh, that cooking class was today?"

I was ticked off, but that's campo life. People forget, something comes up, they get a spontaneous attack of shyness. So no big deal.

I called Melida, my neighbor, rockstar counterpart and unofficial president of the women's committee. I explained what happened and said I'd see her in half an hour.

When I showed up, instead of the usual attack from my dog and collapse into my hammock, I was greeted by six women sitting on my porch, smiling. They said class or not, we're making pizza.

I couldn't help but beam, and I got that feeling, you know, when the hair stands up on the back of your neck. When you know you're in one of those moments. We launched into making the dough, screwing it up a bunch, but not really giving a shit.



And it turned to be a fun afternoon. Without the pressure from being a formal class, we were able to just experiment. Back in the day, Chuckie had showed me a few things about making pizzas, and everyone enjoyed the novelty of making "gringo" food.

Here's one of Melida's masterpieces. She was great. Experimenting with tortilla dough made from corn, and even trying a comal pizza, one cooked over an open flame.



By the way, don't worry, I represented. Did the whole show-off pizzeria twirl and everything. This was my little one to show you can even make them in a toaster oven...



I secretly love that this chick has on a tie dye shirt.





The demanding judges



Right now we're having fun, just reorganizing ourselves (remember cooking classes from a year ago?) and figuring out what we want to do - organize a sewing course? healthy cooking classes? learn how to make soap and shampoo? first aid and CPR? home gardens? collect food for poor families?

They have a ton of ideas. And eventually, this group of women will work with me side by side on my rabbit project and continue it after I'm gone, hopefully keeping it alive and kicking in the years to come.

If any of you have any suggestions or want to donate items to the women, please let me know. Thanks!