El Salvador: The Sequel

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

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

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

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 they're 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

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

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"

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

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

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

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

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.