Living the Northern Life

I've been in my new site for two weeks.

The contrast is astounding, in every way. I've moved on up. Up from the flatlands of coastal Ahuachapan up into the mountains near La Palma, Chalatenango, from the heat to the cool, from the closed to the open. My toilet has moved from outside to inside, and my bucketbaths have turned into cold, high pressure showers in my own, private bathroom.

The people are kind, friendly, and respectful. They have las ganas to work, to better their community, and to do it through the sweat of their own brow.

And the women, oh the women. The Salvadoran woman is a thing indeed, but the women involved with the community association are kick ass mujeres. They raise chickens, they sew and embroider tipico/Llort style clothing, they lead bible studies, organize school events or cleaning campaigns, and they find time to run their homes, raise their children and make the cheekiest jokes.

Unfortunately, I haven't taken any photos... yet. When I do, you'll get a look at my pad, "La Casa Mision," the great view the community has of the sometimes misty mountains and coffee trees and the really charming embroidered clothes, as well as the equally charming women who stitch them.

The next 5 (though some say six) months will be a whirlwind, but I feel like they will be happy, fruitful, and fast.

Teen Spirit

Do you speak spanish? If you do, you'll know what it means when I say: tejido adiposo, glandulas sebaceas y foliculos pilosos.

If you don't know what that means, think enclosed blob of armpit. Fatty tissue, sweat glands, hair.

So now we know.

Depending on how much umph I can muster, I might try to make it out the Miraflores locks to see the canal tomorrow. Can't go to Panama without seeing the canal, they say.

In other news, here are some belated photos from
my jaunt out to Parque Metropolitano in Panama city.

Leaf cutters in every Country! My Favorite.

Beware.

A quiet, solo, two hour hike,
and all I saw were trees and lots of ants.

Panama

Mystery Solved

Last week I packed up the entire contents of my house in El Cocalito, and despite my pleading that the news of my departure be kept under wraps, everyone knew.

I had more visitors in the days before my move than I had in the last month.... Some people came over, crying, and I had to half feign the same level of emotional distress. Other people came by to pretend they'll miss me, but mostly just ask what I am leaving behind... "Va a llevar todas las cosas, Yessi? No me puede regalar alquel boladito?

Irritating, but not surprising.

When I went in for my last day of art class (world map crash course/brain melting insanity) I was rewarded with a surprise goodbye party. They led me in to the classroom blindfolded and popped a confetti balloon over my head. The kids thew in money to buy a cake from Anthony's pasteleria, plus soda. They had the classroom all decorated with balloons and wrote messages all over the whiteboard wishing me well and hoping that god blesses me.

Despite how often I complained about these kids, and how often so many of them would drive me insane, this was the first time I had tears that I couldn't suppress. I felt some of the weight of my time in El Cocalito/El Rosario coming clear, and felt good.

Now I know. In between El Salvador's real dead bodies, and fake dead bodies, and abuse and frustration and roadblocks, I guess, there are relationships and events you need to let in and those are the things that will make you cry, but from happiness.

Casco Viejo

Saturday in Panama. I decided to do some touristy things. I followed all the guides that pointed to Casco Viejo and Old Panama. The literature said it was one of the best attractions for Panama, after the canal, of course.

It was a 1.50 cab ride (though, strangely enough, 3 to get back to the hotel... curious.) I arrived tipo 10 in the morning to do a couple hours of wandering before grabbing lunch.

The neighborhood is slowly going through repairs as it becomes a trendy place to buy property, so there was a lot of construction along the streets.

I made a covert purchase of a Panama hat and hid it in my backpack. (I'll BUY one, sure, but I'll wait to get back to El Salvador to actually WEAR it. - Oh, and also while alone in my hotel room while writing this. heh.) After ages of looking for just such a hat, I'm pretty happy with the purchase, even though Panama hats are actually NOT from Panama, originally.

Well, long story short, Casco Viejo was kinda cool. I planned on hitting the Metropolitan Nature Park in the afternoon, but it started raining, so I abandoned ship mid taxi-ride. Tomorrow.

Things in Panama are fine, though I have to say the allure of traveling alone has worn off. Places aren't as fun when you don't get to share them, first hand, with anyone. My surgery is slated for Monday, at the Hospital Punta Pacifica. I'll probably be there a few days, then back to the hotel.

Cathedral

Municipal Workers, haciendo la limpieza.

Saint Peter

The Panama City skyline from Casco Viejo, and fishing boats.

Rock on, Senor.

Wagner and Shakespeare

My 2 dollar Ceviche Combinado from the Fish Market.

Octopus, shrimp, scallops, and such with repollo, lime and tastiness.

For sale. The neighborhood is still in a HUGE transition.

Poverty and wrecked buildings next to luxury second homes and vacation properties

Another quiet plaza

Photooos

The twins and Saul, at Parque Imposible

Las Ninas

Ricardito. Endlessly Photogenic.

Milena, Making Pipianes for dinner.

The Kiddos. Still under the impression that cooties exist.

Pretty Bird

Museum

Look Out

Modeling

My Godson

Also Modeling

Real Life Peep

In Two Assorted Flavors

World Map Part Deux

Fuego!

Preparing for a site change is a strange experience. I'm not working so much - just doing art and English at the school - and I'm trying to get my things organized.

One of the most difficult things to sort out has always been my trash.

Like so many rural communities, the Cocalito doesn't have trash pickup. I went "native" when it came to things like toilet paper or old scrap paper and set it on fire in my yard. But I drew the line at plastic. I packed up my plastic trash in grocery bags to take in on trips to Sonsonate. But eventually, the trash started to take up a whole corner of my kitchen. Beyond outsourcing to the Sonsonate terminal.

In the early evening, I walked out into my yard with one bag of trash like there was nothing to it. Then I set it on fire. The thing was gone in less than 5 minutes.

So I brought out another. It was like the trash never existed. Guilty satisfaction.

The next night I looked at the remaining hill of "Super Selectos" bags stuffed with refuse and decided to make things happen. Make sacrifices happen.

It was a hard decision, but it was time. I set a bag on fire, and retreated inside to grab the other bag that would go up in flames.

It had been a point of contention in both my host families and my school. The now gnarly, torn, stained, kinda moldy "Da Vinci's Gnome" bag. It was time to let it go. It has traveled around with me since my first-ever boyfriend, Michael, gave it to me years ago. Since then it has been decorated, criticized and admired. It has hauled groceries, books, garbage and live hens. But it's era came to an end.

In the roaring, toxic flames of a farewell fire, the gnome was consumed.

New site, new bag. The women's group in Chalate do embroidery. A artesania bag will be just the thing for a new life in a new site.

In other, breaking news, I will be having surgery soon...maybe here in El Salvador. That should make for a good blog. I'll keep you posted!

Simulacro

On our way up to our second site visit, the super Silvia and I were cruising along past the great views afforded by the mountains of Chalatenango when, de repente, we are stopped by a man in uniform.

The scene was brutal and graphic. A seemingly small rockslide had taken down a tin house, and caused a tree to fall on a man, killing him and pinning his maimed body to the middle of the highway. People seemed to still be stuck inside the tin shack, and the normal array of onlookers and gawkers of all ages were clustered around the scene. TCS, a TV station, had a camera crew there, filming and interviewing.

After passing as quickly as we could cursing and swearing, Silvia and I were totally bummed. It made no sense. Besides the usual frustration one feels whenever they see how the officials handle dead bodies on the side of the road, and how people flock to these scenes with their children in tow, we were also confused about how this strange accident could have happened.

Landslides or falling rocks aren't totally uncommon for the rainy season, but it hadn't been raining. And how did that man end up under the tree in the middle of the road? What a freak situation it was.

On the way back from our site visit a few hours later, we passed the place again. Nothing was there but some blood stains and a few soldiers. Depressing.

The next morning, Silvia called to tell me that there was an article about the accident in the newspaper. It had been a simulacro. A simulation. A drill.

Excuse me?

There wasn't a single thing that warned passers-by that they were about to come across a horrific, but staged, scene and there is no reason to make a simulation so gory with maimed bodies. Isn't an imagination good enough? Doesn't everyone in El Salvador know pretty damn well by now what a dead body on the side of the road looks like?

So, well played El Salvador. Glad to know you are doing drills for the rainy season, but bummed to know that the theatrics of the scene are paramount to sparing people the roadside freakshow.

The good news, though, is that the site we visited was absolutely amazing. I can not wait to pack my bags and move along to this beautiful, focused, mountaintop community. I believe it will be absolutely worth the frustrations and anxieties of relocating and starting fresh. I think that last 8 months of my service will be what I had wanted from my first 17.