brendan!!

2008-12-16T15:04:00.000-08:00

Wow, that last entry was a giant explosion teetering on the verge of incoherence... just close enough to the edge to exhilarate, but not actually falling into the pit of incomprehensiveness... I don't remember writing it, but it's a pretty accurate representation of the emotional terribleness that so much of my Peace Corps service involved. I cannot believe I've been back for five months... time flies when you're buried in books and trying to keep up with the demands of Law School. I'm much happier nowadays, but I'm occasionally struck by just how pointless my life can seem. My days consist of reading and learning about practicing The Law, but I'm producing nothing and helping nobody but myself. I thought I'd spent too much time stuck in my own head in El Salvador, but geez, now... it becomes especially difficult to come to terms with the self-absorption required for school during exams, when the learnings accumulated over the prior months must be demonstrated in the course of a four-hour exam period, and whatever is produced on that exam paper is arbitrarily judged and graded. I'm not contributing any value to the world, just plugging away. But I make it sound so negative. I've actually really enjoyed the intellectual stimulation and having a pretty clear mandate for what I need to accomplish in the course of a day. I do not, however, enjoy winter.

2008-02-25T14:26:00.000-08:00

Well, it’s been a bit, hasn’t it? The political difficulties I discussed in my prior entry have only worsened, but I’ve been able to distance myself from them enough that I’m not too bothered at the moment. As for work, I put together a day-long aids awareness/ gender equity workshop for students in Nueva Esparta, a two- day informational conference attended by about 50 volunteers in the Eastern region, fought long and hard with El Salvador’s completely incompetent Education Ministry so several schools in my municipality could receive a large shipment of donated computers, have since begun training the schools’ teachers and Directors on the computers’ use, and so on and so forth.

I can’t believe it’s already almost March and I’ll be returning home in only 5 months. I’m looking forward to many aspects of my native land but realize that El Salvador has become my reality and returning will certainly be an adjustment. Oh, what it’ll be like to expect efficiency, well-stocked supermarket shelves, wireless Internet connections, conversations in my native language and concern about only my own affairs!

Note: I define “My Own Affairs” as my personal health and mental well-being, daily work/school/other responsibilities, and concern for the well-being of my friends and family. I certainly don’t mean to imply that at the moment I’m selflessly crusading for the benefit of others—I spend plenty of time taking care of myself and thinking about my family and friends- yet I can't help but expend a great deal of mental and emotional energy concerned with the difficult- (at times nearly impossible) -to -solve-affairs of my Salvadoran community. To do so is almost inevitable as I’m confronted with so many problems on a daily basis… and the concern I can’t help but feel is far different than that experienced by a concerned individual living in the first world. The first-world-dweller has the luxury of being detached from the “need” and can reconcile their guilt simply through donating money to a cause or buying fair trade coffee.

Let it be said that first-worlders SHOULD be concerned and that donating money or spending conscientiously is valuable and important. But being a first-worlder in the third world means that awareness of needs does not go away. And although the needs are almost always apparent the solution is not. And neither one’s concern for the situation nor the answer to the problem can be purchased away-- monetary solutions often cannot solve ingrained structural problems.
For instance, it isn’t simply that a student doesn’t have money to go to school—even if you can help a qualified student receive a scholarship, the parents and student still have to recognize that attending school is an investment and should be favored over the more immediate gratification of earning money through working or emigrating to the states. And the problems of teen pregnancies and people having more kids than they can support aren’t the result of a material lack of condoms or family planning educational materials, it’s that sexual taboos, masculine cultural norms, and short-term thinking result in far too many young mothers, fatherless children, and overpopulation. Just a few examples. And when you’re surrounded by these difficult-to-solve problems you can’t help but try and become preoccupied with constructing solutions—some of which can make a small change, some of which can’t be implemented, but the point is that one feels a consistent responsibility to do something about these issues.

I absolutely can say my presence in El Salvador has made a difference and I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. And of course I’m only one person and not so presumptuous as to imagine I’d be able to solve all the world’s problems. But when so many problems surround you and your primary reason for being present is to try and solve some of them you can’t help but find yourself preoccupied… not only because as a volunteer it’s my responsibility, nor because my heart bleeds altruism and love, but because my Salvadoran friends and adopted community truly mean something to me and it hurts to see them in crappy situations. And I’ve noticed that as my time comes near a close I can justify spending less time thinking about solutions simply because I won’t be around long enough to implement them. And doing so has been disturbingly refreshing. It’s strange to imagine what it’ll be like to once again be in the United States and not be faced with the need to care. I suppose my disposition towards giving a hoot won't go away but the hoot-giving won’t feel quite so overwhelming or imperative.

2007-09-27T10:22:00.000-07:00

It’s so difficult to describe the political (and thus, personal) difficulties I encounter as a Peace Corps volunteer here in my particular pueblo in El Salvador…

For example, the director of a school in a poor canton community called Ocotillo asked that I give a talk on deforestation and environmental awareness to the community. Both myself and the school director live within the pueblo, and the canton is about an hour’s drive up a rocky, rough road. Sounds neutral enough, right? Yet the canton community has supported other parties in past elections, and it just-so-happens that the school director is THE political enemy of the mayor. So the drive up to Ocotillo was peppered with jabs at the mayor such as “boy, the road up to Ocotillo is really terrible, huh? Well, you know the mayor hasn’t a thing to pave it. All the Alcaldia projects go to pro-ARENA communities.” I actually did speak up to defend the mayor, because I know how limited the Alcaldia’s funds are and how many necessities are in the municipio—although the road to Ocotillo is terrible, there are plenty of terrible roads and they’re being worked on slowly. Of course, funds are being inequitably directed towards projects in those communities that have supported the mayor, but to some extent that’s simply politics…

Anyway, when the mayor found out that I went to Ocotillo, his face twisted into agony and I’ve been having to work to repair the relationship over the past days. Despite any mistrust I have of him, maintaining a positive relationship is essential to implementing successful projects. At one point I thought I could affect attitudes and be a “democracy warrior” by openly working with both sides, but I’ve come to realize that my actions were perceived in the community as betrayal (especially by the mayor, who perceives a lack of political support as equivalent to a lack of personal support) . If I was here for a lifetime maybe I could ride out the storm, but the mayor has such a stranglehold on power in the town that if I want to do anything productive in my two years here I’ve gotta work to stay on his good side. And on top of all that, my “official counterpart” is the alcaldia. Obviously this doesn’t officially mean political loyalty, but in reality and the way loyalty is perceived “on the ground,” I’m afraid that supporting an individual is perceived as supporting the party.

And I angered the school director because I defended the mayor, and I suspect his invitation to speak on the environment was actually to advance his political ends rather than the health of the community, as my presence accompanying him would be perceived by many as a form of supporting him against the mayor. And I of course pissed of the mayor because I accompanied this guy—but how could I refuse a supposedly neutral invitation for an environmental talk?

And I feel powerless. I see that there is a need in Ocotillo and can’t remedy it myself, so try to talk to the mayor in a very neutral, easy manner—“boy, that road up to Ocotillo is really terrible. When do you think it might get paved?”—yet I have no say in any decisions, I can only try to use my gringo influence, and essentially all decisions are made by the mayor alone, and the only factors influencing him are the party leaders. They come visit the alcaldia in their finely pressed Arena shirts and have secret meetings with the mayor and tell him where to direct projects. And I know what they talk about in those meetings because the mayor very innocently tells me and other people—many times in an excited manner-- because he sees nothing wrong with making decisions in this manner. Which also makes things difficult, because he strikes me more as a naïve person than one who is malicious. And not only is it hard to hate or turn your back on somebody who has such a limited worldview, but it’s next to impossible to try and create a change or influence him using any sort of intellectualism. His worldview and attitude are shaped by a culture of class-based caste differences, a long history of corrupt (or at least self-serving) Latin American politics, and rock-solid party affiliations fashioned by an us vs. them approach that hasn’t changed since the end of the civil war.

But then, it’s amazing how things are construed. When we’ve had events—for example, last week’s inependence day celebration—I always try to lend a hand and help set up by carrying sound equipment, cases of soda, whatever. The mayor doesn’t do this and I certainly don’t need to, but I don’t want to seem too proud or “too worthy” to help out like everybody else. But when talking to people, I realize that those who oppose the mayor assume that he’s my boss and I’m simply being servile to him (because he sure as fuck isn’t carrying anything).

And oh, there´s so much more.

2007-09-26T11:38:00.000-07:00

Here´s a photo of myself and 16-year-old Gabriel at an environmental camp held last April.

We be gettin´ silly. I planned the camp with other volunteers and it consisted of three days of active, fun learning about the environment, and kids were crying on the last day because they had such a great time.

Opportunities that we take for granted in the states, such as attending a camp, just don´t exist for most of these kids.

Last night I found out that young Gabriel is currently in a US jail awaiting deportation because he got caught trying to cross the border. Apparently he went looking for more opportunities.

2007-09-19T11:15:00.000-07:00

I’ve been here for over a year now, and in the past months I’ve noticed a marked increase in the informal markets, both in the actual number of people selling products on buses or streets as well as the variety of products being sold. And when I first arrived in the country the vendors were almost exclusively middle-aged women, and recently there’ve been even greater numbers of male and children vendors. For instance, on my last cross-country bus ride to San Salvador I saw a male campesino selling half-liter liquor bottles filled with honey. Yes, honey. Further, within the capital city, streetcorners are often populated by women slapping together pupusas and frying them on small gas powered plancha stoves, but I’ve noticed an even greater number of these informal vendors trying to scrape together a few quarters by clogging Salvadoran’s arteries.
I can only assume this increase in vendors is indicative of a worsening Salvadoran economy. In the US or other developed countries, an economic “pinch” would also force many who were homemakers or students into the labor market, but the shift wouldn’t be so publicly obvious because they’d be working in the factories, restaurants, or offices that make up the formal labor market. In countries like El Salvador, though, where formal jobs hardly exist, the “pinch” is shared publicly because one’s only option for income is to hawk something on the streets.

2007-08-29T07:01:00.000-07:00

Those who can live "comfortably" here are those who have money sent from family working (legally or not) in the states. Those who are struggling and send their kids to work in the fields rather than attend elementary school tend to be those without money coming from the states. And even those kids who do graduate from high school will then emigrate illegally to the US because there are simply no jobs available in this country.

Immigration to the US-- legal during the war and after the earthquakes as Salvadorans emigrated with refugee status, but now almost exclusively done illegally—is the pressure valve keeping this country from either collapsing or exploding. Although jobs and resources are scarce enough at the moment, the level of poverty and percentage of unemployed would be even greater if the millions of Salvadorans currently in the US were competing for the same number of jobs and resources. And the societal unrest that should accompany such a lack of employment and rich-poor discrepancy is reduced because the incomes of so many poor Salvos are supplemented by money sent from family in the US.

So although it’s typically the US right-wing that supports curbing immigration and deporting illegals, and the left wing that favors some level of amnesty for undocumented workers, I wonder if the idea of deportation resulting in revolution would change the debate? Closing the immigration “pressure valve” would almost certainly result in the election of a left wing-ruler (if not a genuine armed revolution). Preventing the installation of another potential Chavez in Latin America may be enough for some on the right to support amnesty, and for some leftists to call for deportation.
Personally, I think the left wing in El Salvador is naïvely dedicated to romantic ideas of revolution and stuck in outmoded socialist ideology, and I don’t know how much better the country would run with a leftist government. And the Salvadoran right wing seems to care more about political power and appearances than adherence to any particular ideology. And the US certainly can’t continue allowing undocumented immigration to continue as it has. Don’t ask me for a solution, I just work here.

So on the topic of the economy, the informal economy is often the only way people can scrape together a living. There’s a guy who wanders my town hawking random items he picks up at the market in Santa Rosa—Sponge Bob Square Pants bath towels, shoe polish, children’s underpants, and so on. And there’s a pickup truck that drives through town once a week buying aluminum and other metals at $.50/ pound, so despite all the trash littering the ground, you’ll never find an aluminum can—no sooner does a can hit the ground than it’s recovered by a collector (likewise, the phones are so often dead because the market for metals impels the unscrupulous to steal and sell the copper phone lines).
And oh, the bus vendors. Every bus ride is populated by vendors selling everything from sliced mangoes or watermelon (in plastic bags) to fresco or atol drinks (in plastic bags) to pupusas (in plastic bags) to quesadilla (in plastic bags), to big hunks of barbequed meat (on a stick). Although it may be annoying to have a bag of fried yucca waved in your face as the vendor repetitively states the baggie’s contents in an atonal monotone, these people really work hard. Peeling, chopping, and bagging their goods for hours, then sucking in diesel fumes as they chase bus after bus, squeezing through narrow aisles past other vendors and passengers (none of whom are particularly narrow themselves), just to earn a few quarters and scrape together some sort of existence.

And on a semi-related side note, have I mentioned how EVERYTHING comes in a bag? Any item purchased, regardless of size--a pack of gum, for instance-- or current state of bagged-ness— a small bag of sliced mangoes—will then be placed into another bag. And drinks such as soda, atoll, or even coffee are bagged. And people will act bewildered, even offended, if you refuse a bag and carry the item as-is.
I wonder how much money stores and vendors would save if they reduced the number of bags given out with purchases?
And I wonder if the savings would be enough to offset the costs of cleaning the bathrooms and providing a few rolls of toilet paper?

look, i blogged!

2007-07-18T15:24:00.000-07:00

Back in El Salvador after a few weeks in the old US of A. Despite a full year away from my native soil, not much had changed and I didn’t really experience the “readjustment” issues that we’re often warned against… the aspects of American culture that bothered me before I left were still present, as were those that I had been longing for over the past year. I had a difficult time fully conveying just what it is I’m doing here or what my life now consists of… I suppose this isn’t surprising, but a few points I had to continually reiterate surprised me:
1. I live alone (alone!) in a rural El Salvador community, and the closest gringo is one and a half hours away
2. I have no choice but to speak Spanish all the time, as essentially nobody here speaks English

Anywho, the adjustment back to Salvadoran life was more difficult, mostly because I really missed my family and friends. I was welcomed back wholeheartedly by the people in my community, though, and have begun to readjust… I was also welcomed back by simultaneous gastrointestinal infections from amoebas, bacteria, and blastosis/ giardia.
Despite the sickness, I’m swinging back into action with a renewed nutrition-education campaign, computer classes for municipal employees, and the implementation of a plastic recycling program. Plus, the world wide computer exchange computers that I’m bringing to local schools have begun to arrive in-country. We’ll see what kind of ridiculous unforeseen difficulties will arise to frustrate my attempts, but I’m optimistic at the moment.

2007-06-03T14:27:00.000-07:00

The one-eyed bandit's mother apparently reported to the Fiscalia (El Salvador's federal investigation agency) that the alcalde paid off the police to kill her son, and the alcalde then (flexed his ARENA party muscle) and reported to the Fiscalia that the killing was unprovoked and thus Nueva Esparta's entire police force should be replaced and the now-former officers investigated. And so it was done. Plus, apparently an armed family member of the one-eyed man unsuccessfully went hunting for the Alcalde last week... and to top off the week, my "official counterpart" in the Alcaldia was unexpectedly fired. All of which, especially the final event, sorta turns my world upside down, inside out, and round and round.

Plus plus, during these dizzying proceedings of the past week, I was literally dizzy and nauseous as my insides were as runny as the skies. Yes, the rainy season has begun, and yes, my intestines are battling both parasites AND bacteria.

So after several days without improvement, I finally was instructed to come to the capital to undergo a proper health exam. Upon arriving in San Salvador, I boarded a city bus and realized that I should really take more pictures of the bustling capital to share with those back home... the capital is undoubtedly dangerous, and the fear of becoming a target by pulling out my digital camera had prevented me from snapping pictures in the past. But I haven't encountered any difficulties after having been in the country for almost a year, and everybody on the bus appeared fairly safe... as I considered this, a man sitting in the front of the bus pulled a gun on the driver and forced him to stop, and the guy sitting immediately in front of me jumped up and started asking everybody for their money and cell phones. I threw my backpack on the ground and kicked it under the seat, pulled out the change I had in my front pocket, and handed it to the guy as he approached me. He asked for my cell phone and I sorta played dumb gringo, sorta didn't know what was going on (what with the sickness and the rapid progression of events), and before he could ask again his companion signaled that they should flee. It turns out there was a police officer standing on the corner daydreaming, and I would assume the bandits saw him and ran. My fellow bus passengers then had to indicate to the officer that we were robbed and that perhaps he should chase down the culprits.

2007-05-30T11:45:00.000-07:00

I treated the death of the one-eyed bandit rather lightly, but yesterday the deceased´s mother visited the Alcaldia in hysterics looking for the Alcalde because she feels he was ultimately responsible for her son´s death (i.e. the alcalde ordered the police to take out her son). At first I dismissed this as a simple rumor but everybody is acting strangely and not giving me straight answers and the Alcalde ran off to the department capital today to ¨deal with something related to this issue¨ and the atmosphere has again become very strange and I just don´t understand this country.

Police shoot the one eyed bandit

2007-05-29T14:44:00.000-07:00

Last Thursday Nueva Esparta´s police shot and killed a man. They claim he was responsible not only for last month´s attempt on the Alcalde´s life, but for a recent spate of robberies in the municipio. No proof has been put forward for either of these claims, but dead men tell no tales… and the guy only had one eye!
What other proof could you need? Case closed!

2007-05-18T10:51:00.000-07:00

Mother's day took place on May 10 in El Salvador and is a highly celebrated holiday, on par with, say, Independence Day... all businesses close, for example, and while out running at 6:30am, I was offered a beer. In the US a Mother's Day champagne brunch is fairly normal but it's hardly a holiday based around drinking. Maybe it's just the company I keep, but Mother's Day El Salvador consisted of killing a chicken, making soup, then drinking beer and watching Spanish soccer. How unexpected this country can be.

So I'm worth a mention, but not a quote?

2007-05-18T10:37:00.000-07:00

I'm Famous!

2007-05-07T13:39:00.000-07:00

(a day in the life, continued from below...) I’m often invited to people’s houses for lunch but really prefer cooking my own food to the overcooked-oversalted-overgreased meals available at other’s houses… anyway, I eat, then work for an hour or so on the nutrition-information posters I’ve been making to hang in the Unidad de Salud. I bring the posters to the Alcaldia so the employees can proofread what I’ve written before finalizing the poster. Despite the fact that the Alcaldia employees are educated professionals (“educated” being defined as having completed high-school), they too are shocked to learn from the poster that soda is really really bad for you. While there, I help a few employees with some computer issues… another project I’m working on is improving employee-employer relations within the Alcaldia and promoting efficiency, but it’s not a priority today as the Alcaldia is undergoing an audit.
While in the Alcaldia, I help a woman translate a US visitor’s visa application so she can hopefully visit her son living in Houston. I say hopefully because the bar to receive a visitor’s visa is set very high to prevent immigration-- thus, many Salvadoran parents haven't seen their kids for many years, or their grandkids ever... I’ve had to help several people with their applications because the US State Department prints parts of the application and instructions in English. Although the State Department unwittingly commits a great number of bureaucratic errors, I’d imagine that printing English instructions for non-English speaking visa applicants is a “happy error,” or an unofficial, non-formal way of further raising the bar for visa seekers.
Just before the Alcaldia closes, we notice that there are horses grazing in the town’s very pretty and well- maintained central park, so we throw mangoes to chase them away.
After the Alcaldia closes I head home. Many days I'm completely exhausted and don't want to interact with anybody or speak another fumbling word of Spanish, but today I'm feeling lonely. I head over to Don Beto’s house, where I’m always welcomed and whose family I’ve kinda adopted as a substitute for my own. I help him rake and water his small grassy backyard for an hour or so—backyards of this sort are not common in El Sal, and helping out with American-style yardwork is kinda relaxing and helps remind me of home. Further, once we’re done (or more accurately, once we’re about halfway through) he sends one of his kids on a run to buy us a few Pilseners. Yardwork and beer, kinda like home.

2007-05-02T11:46:00.000-07:00

Of course much is new because I haven’t posted anything for such a long time.
Every day is completely different, but I’ll give an account of a relatively average recent day, starting with the morning, will post about the second part of the day when I get the chance to write it.
I wake up at around 5:30 as the sun rises. I do so not because the roosters are crowing or dogs barking (they do so regardless of day or night) but because I go to bed at around 8:30pm like the rest of the town. Besides, if I want to go running I need to get an early start before it becomes dangerously hot. The town starts to rouse itself around the same hour— the kid who delivers bread calls his customers out by ringing his bicycle bell and I can smell the tortillas being prepared- and I listen to the BBC over shortwave while I get myself good and roused. Once ready, I grab a handful of rocks to throw at angry dogs and get running—I’ve three or four routes I usually take, but one of my favorites is up a mountain to canton Ocotillo, seen while standing in the pueblo by the cell phone towers .
It’s an hour run up to the towers, 30 minutes back down, and I stop halfway through the run and eat a mango from the ground to refuel. Plus, near the top there’s an avocado tree, so I carry a pair of avocadoes on the return trip. Once I get back to the pueblo I stop and buy requeson (a dairy product whose closest equivalent is cottage cheese, made by boiling the milk protein left over after making the cream and cheese) from one of the ladies that make and sell it every morning. Like many of the homemade goods available in the community, there are no signs or advertisements proclaiming a product for sale, everybody just knows where to go. I try to buy from everybody that sells it so as not to offend— in the same small- town, word-of-mouth way that everybody knows who sells what, everybody also knows who’s doing what, and word would spread pretty quickly if I only frequented one vendor. Further, I’ve gotta do so for political reasons—the mayor’s mother is one of the requeson makers, and from what I’ve gathered, the other vendor near me is from a family that supported the other party in the last election. To many in the community, buying from one or the other can be a relatively political act.
Once back to the house, I stretch and eat some requeson with toasted tortillas. BBC news only comes across the shortwave radio for an hour or two every morning, but flip through the channels because sometimes I can pick up English language-news from China or Ukraine (yes, they broadcast in English)…yet this morning the only news on the shortwave in my native language comes from a fiery preacher announcing judgment day near.
Today is Tuesday, so I go to the Unidad de Salud (local health clinic) to make my weekly nutrition presentation to patients in the waiting room. Some stare at me blankly as I speak, others nod their head, still others giggle, but everybody pays attention. The presentation basically states that “being obese is bad because you get diabetes and hypertension and have heart attacks” and “food is energy, and energy you consume but don’t use makes you obese,” and “sugar and oil are concentrated energy,” and “soda is pure sugar and can make you fat (drinking one can of soda is the same as eating two tortillas!!!)” and “grape soda and orange soda is soda, not juice,” and so on. All of which, surprisingly, is new information for most people. I then pass out a sheet of easy, healthy, recognizable, and culturally appropriate recipes— from my experience, Salvadorans are VERY hesitant to try new foods and don’t tend to like unrecognizable flavors, so I actually spent a lot of time assembling the recipes and trying to get the Spanish correct.
After leaving the Unidad de Salud, I stop at the post office to send a letter. As often occurs, this ends up being a 30 minute ordeal because the postage price is inexact and there are a limited number of stamp denominations available, so we have to run a series of addition equations with the available stamps to find the appropriate combination. All the stamps come in odd denominations of “$.87” or “$.04,” despite the fact that sending the letter costs $1.03. If El Salvador would only print one or two cent stamps we wouldn’t have this problem… or perhaps it’s just that Nueva Esparta’s post office guy doesn’t go to the central office enough to update the stamp collection.
I then head towards the Alcaldia, of course having to stop a few times on the way to make niceties with people… the conversations usually consist of people commenting about the weather or about how far I ran in the morning, both of which usually inspire a guttural, exclamatory “hahk!” (not a word, but a sound many people in my town use to accent conversations, similar to a “whew!” or low whistle, usually uttered while quickly turning the head as if spitting over the shoulder).
So I eventually make it to the Alcaldia, where I don´t have anything particular activities to carry out today, but I always try to make my appearance to find out what´s going on in the town and local government. Usually meetings and events just seem to pop up without any forewarning, and informal conversations can really reveal a lot about what people aren´t telling me directly. So chat for a few hours with the employees, find out about upcoming meetings, head to the house for lunch…

2007-04-24T15:27:00.000-07:00

You know the mayor? Somebody just tried to kill him. The would-be assassins stopped his car with a roadblock just outside the pueblo on the only route into town (from which there is a vantage point that would allow them to anticipate his arrival; fired one bullet that passed through the driver´s side window and exited the passenger window, narrowly missing the mayor´s head; shot a second bullet that hit the post in- between the front and rear driver´s side windows and would have struck the mayor had it penetrated; and shot out the rear tire with a third bullet as he escaped.
This was certainly not a chance incident or robbery attempt, and the culprits seemed intent on a kill rather a warning... since then, he´s received further threats and has hired a security guard for the evenings. He has a wonderful family who has always been good to me, and although they´ve remained very composed, I think they´re fully aware that when individuals are vengeful enough to attempt a murder, they´re not going to give up after one attempt.
Yet, this incident has made clear that despite my best attempts to stay connected and aware, there are obviously goings- on that I´m unaware of. I certainly don´t know of anything that the mayor has done that could possibly anger anybody enough to try killing him. And I know that political affiliations run deep (and in such a small town, the political is personal), but perhaps I´ve misinterpreted just how deep.
I´m not personally in any danger (the Peace Corps checked things out and agreed, and if I ever felt threatened, I was told a site change could be arranged),but needless to say, I´m distancing myself from anything very political right now focusing more on working with the Unidad de Salud.

2007-03-02T08:41:00.001-08:00

So recently three ARENA diputados (senators) were murdered in Guatemala, including the son of ARENA party founder Robert D’Aubouissoin (an individual the party still treats as a visionary despite the UN Truth Commission having proven that he personally ordered the assassination of Archbishop Oscar Romero and controlled the death squads during the war). The brutal, obviously targeted murders took place on the 15th anniversary of the elder D’Auboissoin’s death, and the plot has only continued to thicken as four high-level Guatemalan police officers were arrested for the murders and then promptly killed in jail…
I happened to be reading some ARENA party literature on the same day the three diputados were murdered and was shocked at the explicit divisiveness of the party’s guiding philosophy. I’d been treating my work with other groups in the community as fulfilling my “politically neutral” role and brushed off suggestions that I was wrongfully “helping the other side” by interacting with non-ARENA affiliates. I argued that competing opinions and varied voices contributes to the marketplace of ideas, promoted the idea that only through sifting and winnowing can truth be found, claimed cooperation and collaboration makes for greater development, and so on. I looked at my working with both sides as an opportunity to informally educate people about democracy. Reading the party literature showed me, though, that even on the philosophical level, the party doesn’t have much of an operating political ideology beyond “we are the ARENA party and all who oppose us are absolutely wrong.” This proved that the divisive, closed-minded attitudes I encountered aren’t simply the result of personal rivalries unique to my sleepy little isolated pueblo, they’re the basis for the party’s existence.
The newspaper recently featured pictures from the burial of the murdered diputados, and although I previously recognized how insane party affiliations can be, I was still shocked to see the coffins draped not in the flag of El Salvador, but in the flag of the ARENA party. It’s certainly strange that a member of a party that calls itself nationalist wouldn’t be buried under the flag of the country he supposedly so loved… yet the symbolism of being instead buried under the party colors demonstrates that party loyalty comes even before dedication to one’s country.
It’s becoming increasingly clear to me that for many, the war has never ended here. The fighting came to a close with signed peace accords and inclusion in the political process, yet neither side ever received satisfaction or a feeling that they won… thus the same wartime divide-and-conquer, us versus them attitudes have persisted among the party faithful.

2007-02-19T10:30:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I went to a funeral. Although I’d been to other events to honor the dead and still haven’t been to a funeral where I’d known the recently departed, I’d attended past funerals with others who were (like me) mostly going as a “community responsibility” and weren’t particularly close to the dead. Yesterday, though, I went to the funeral of a man who’d been a good friend of my buddy Don Beto so I had a chance to experience the more human, emotional aspects of the grieving that inevitably accompanies a passing. Although the rituals of a Salvadoran funeral differ from those in the states-- everybody is served coffee with a tamale and slice of sweet bread, the wake runs all through the evening, everybody sings while proceeding to the cemetery on foot from the church—the individuals really affected by the death behaved very similarly to Americans. Everybody struggles for something to say to the surviving family, people laugh through tears as they tell stories about the departed, and then a few of the guys sneak off to the bar to drown their sorrows.

2007-02-15T08:42:00.000-08:00

I'm officially 25 years and one month today, but on my birthday last month the Alcaldia employees bought me a cake and shoved my face in it (as is customary).

I then went to a cerveceria with my buddy Don Beto (the short one in the first picture) and Evita, a volunteer from my region...

2007-01-25T10:55:00.000-08:00

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the need for nutrition charlas in the pueblo, but confronting what is probably the biggest problem—sugar consumption through soda and junk food—is almost a cultural insult, considering that every meeting absolutely MUST include refrigerios (in the form of a coke and a cookie)… even the Unidad de Salud (local government health clinic) hands out these unhealthy snacks when they have a meeting, and since that's where I'd be giving the charla, goodness gracious how mixed the message would be.

Which leads me to another thought-- how much El Salvador (and latin america in general) could benefit from the US cutting off it's corn subsidies. The direct economic impact of these subsidies on Latin American farmers is well documented-- the livelihood of farmers here has historically relied on growing corn (as it's a huge part of the diet), so since NAFTA, they’ve been devastated by the drop in corn prices from opening markets to subsidized American corn.
Further, corn subsidies make corn syrup and it’s derivitaves (the sodas and snacks that contribute greatly to obesity) really cheap and readily available, which leads not only to negative health effects, but increased external economic costs to an already strapped society by using limited government funds to pay for obesity related diseases.
If US corn was no longer subsidized, corn prices would rise leading to more money for the farmer and less consumption of the newly expensive corn-syrup based junk food (assuming, of course, that the extra income from the rise in corn prices wouldn’t go towards paying for the newly expensive junk food).

2007-01-25T10:52:00.000-08:00

Wow, I felt like I’ve genuinely accomplished something, contributed, and made a subtle difference—the employees received their requested raises, and the arguments justifying the raises echoed what I’d been saying (subtly) for weeks. My presence here matters.

2007-01-22T09:35:00.000-08:00

I suppose I should mention how I passed the holidays. I spent both Christmas and New Years with the large extended family of my buddy Don Beto (his given name is Alberto, but because men in Latin America are all named Alberto, Carlos or Jose, nicknames are common… he’s a jolly 48 year old retired guy with a huge heart, so if I had to find a nickname in English it would definitely be Uncle Al), We ate tamales, drank Salvadoran beer to excess, and danced a little bit (people here love dancing). Fireworks are also a big part of Christmas and New Years, so the streets were covered with perhaps two inches of firecracker paper by the end of the night. New Years was a similar celebration but I more enjoyable because people were a little bit more transient, visiting a number of houses and dancing in the streets, rather than staying isolated within their own homes. There were also more fireworks. In prior blog entries I think I’ve mentioned the conservative attitudes towards drinking, but Christmas and New Years are exceptions… however, when people don’t drink often, they don’t know how to drink and I saw alot of people acting silly and passing out at 6pm. As I’ve also mentioned before, though, Salvadorans are incredibly good natured and friendly and I didn’t notice anybody acting aggressively or fighting.

I’ve maintained my interest in the study of law and have been very intrigued by the codes, regulations, and laws in this country, particularly those that supposedly govern the municipal governments… I believe they were written with help from US advisors, so they’re actually a great foundation for a decentralized, democratic, inclusive, participatory form of governance, but of course they aren’t enforced. This lack of enforcement is troubling and frustrating coming from a country where the rule of law is taken for granted, but doubly so since I’ve had some exposure to the legal field through my old job at the personal injury law firm… there, if I could find statutes or case law that would support our client (for instance, that one is eligible for reimbursement for time without a vehicle regardless of whether another is rented,) I could wave it in the face of the defendant's insurance company and it was treated as The Word and obeyed accordingly. Working with an Alcaldia/ municipal government in El Salvador, I can identify deficiencies or injustices in operations or governance (not paying employees overtime, not holding open meetings, etc), find precisely where this is prohibited in the statutes, and it means nothing. The unenforced laws, codes, and ordinances are worth little more than the paper they’re written upon. And because I’m working at the “grassroots” level and also need to serve a diplomatic role, I can do nothing about the enforcement of these statutes.
Recently, though, the Alcalde had some complaints about the Alcaldia office staff, and the Municipal board discussed “enforcing the laws” with the purpose of cracking down on the employees… of course, if the board members were to actually know what full and fair application of the laws would involve (as opposed to arbitrary enforcement), they wouldn’t be so eager. Still, they gave their blessing for me to put together a document compiling the important parts of the Municipal codes as they relate to employees, primarily just to placate me rather than out of any actual interest. In addition to helping with my Spanish, I found reading the logically organized legal terminology much easier to understand than most slang-laden daily conversations. I presented the document to the municipal leaders and although they didn’t read it immediately, the material is now easily accessible and the content of the laws are just a little bit more concrete… further, I also distributed the document to the employees, who truly seemed to appreciate it (and gave me a thank you card).
Employee policies have actually changed since my contribution and the Alcaldia is now honoring some aspects of employee rights. Although I can’t definitively say that the change was purely my doing-- the Alcalde didn’t say to me “oh, the law says this? We’ll obey it right away!” (for him to do so would require admitting he was wrong or acted inappropriately, thus ‘losing face’)-- I know I played a part.

Terribly random thoughts

2006-12-31T12:33:00.000-08:00

[let me say that one can't argue against remesas on a personal, instinctual level. If I work and earn money in another country, what gives anybody the right to say that I shouldn't be able to share that money with my family?]

It’s a pretty standard free-market, conservative economic trope that money directly in the hands of the people (rather than into the coffers of government, who’d then distribute that money through programs) is a more efficient manner of developing an economy and country… to some extent, El Salvador’s remesas put this idea into action, as money from Salvadorans working in the states is transferred tax- free to their family members. At first glance, the experience would seem to discredit the free-market theory: a disproportionate amount of those dollars are spent on extravagant consumer goods (big screen TVs, brand name clothing, flashy cell phones, etc), rather than education, a decent roof, infrastructure, etc. I suppose Friedman would argue that the recipients of those remesas aren’t working for them, and therefore don’t have the same sense of ownership and responsibility over a dollar as one who earns it… Initially, remesa recipients will make “rational economic decisions” in order to satisfy their most basic needs (food and clothing). However, after meeting what one considers their “basic needs” (which are somewhat defined by what one is used to, so those who’ve grown accustomed to living under dire conditions can live without what others would consider “necessary”) one’s standard of life is more immediately improved by a DVD player than investment, thusly leading to an “irrational economic decision”…
In this situation, education left to the free market (which in reality is the case in rural El Salvador) to compete with coca cola and cell phones is bound to fail, Even routing remesa money towards better uses (such as scholarships) is a limited improvement, as the children still are attending overcrowded, substandard schools…
I’m not so naïve to think that simply throwing money at a problem leads to improvement. I really can’t speak for what other factors lead to a better educational system but money is undoubtedly one important part. Further, in the case of El Sal, I particularly wonder how much better the government would distribute dollars towards education than the market. With such a politically divided culture, aid would only reach those who supported the administration during the prior election, regardless of where the greatest needs may lie.

2006-12-31T09:57:00.000-08:00

The Santa Claus story isn’t particularly prominent here in El Salvador, partially because few gifts are given (in some families due to custom, others because money simply isn’t available). But the season has me thinking about what the myth meant to me.

Although I was raised with some exposure to Christianity and the idea of a higher power, the image of Santa Claus as an almighty being who knows undoubtedly whether I’d been naughty or nice throughout the year helped guide some of my earliest moral decisions… looking back, I was a very well behaved kid and never was tempted to commit any serious sins, but for those minor moral dilemmas which did arise (should I glance at my classmate’s answer to #2? Should I disobey my Mom and eat another cookie? Should I return this borrowed pencil or just keep it for myself? Should I admit to breaking my sister’s toy or plead ignorance?), the idea that Santa Claus would see my actions, judge accordingly, and that said judgment would have real world material ramifications-- no presents under the tree and a lump of coal in the stocking!-- impelled me greatly to take the proper path. With Christianity, one only had to confess their sins to be absolved, but with my childhood “faith” in Santaism, judgment was passed with no chance for appeal. If I committed enough wretched acts to get my name on the “naughty” list, Christmas—the greatest time of year—would be ruined, I would be exposed as “naughty” in front of my entire family, and my world would thusly be devastated. I was too young to really conceive of death or the end of the world, so part of what made Christmas so exciting and anticipated each year was the overwhelming fear that Christmas morning would be a disaster. Christmas Morning and Judgment Day were one and the same for me, my four horsemen of the apocalypse were Santa’s twelve tiny reindeer.

2006-12-19T11:01:00.000-08:00

Article in the Washington Post about remittances and millennium project funds:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/12/07/AR2006120701342.html

Also, in regards to my prior entry, meeting all the expatriates reminded me how, despite my blog being in english, my writings aren't inaccessible to people in my community... which makes it hard to express and frustrations or doubts I may have. Which gives all of you another reason to maintain direct contact with me.

2006-12-19T10:48:00.000-08:00

I doubt anybody is paying attention to this blog any longer because I've been so terrible about updating it, but I've finally got a computer and will be able to compose entries more regularly. Promise promise.
Too much to really report over the past month or months... I love receiving emails and letters, though, so those who've been maintaining contact with me have some idea of what I've been doing. One more reason to keep me informed on your lives in the states. So I'll start with the most recent events and maybe work back.

Anywho, Nueva Esparta has just wrapped up it's fiestas titulares (a week-long event corresponding to the week allotted to the town’s patron saint, according the “church calendar”)… this is the week that the Nueva Espartan expatriates who’ve been working in the states (all illegally, although those who’re visiting have been there long enough to gain citizenship through what the Republicans would call amnesty) come back to visit and party. I’m the first Peace Corps volunteer here since before the war over 30 years ago, so more or less the first gringo in recent memory. The guys who’ve left associate the gringos with “over there,” and have their week or two per year where they return home and don’t see any gringoes… the gringos are associated with “over there,” where I know these guys bust their ass and inevitably have to deal with anti-immigrant “go back to your country” bullshit. But they’ve been ridiculously warm, welcoming, and hospitable to me cause they know how hard it is to exist alone in a foreign country and adjust to the culture and language. I haven’t had to endure anything like what they’ve dealt with, and not once have they implied that I have it easier than them, but their generosity and warmth has been incredible.
Also made me realize how much my simple presence here can really mean—in a sleepy little community where things don’t change, a foreigner joining the community and being present at their soccer games, dances, and community events lends credence and makes it seem like somebody else cares.

2006-11-12T10:30:00.000-08:00

Article in the Houston Chronicle which gives a pretty good synopsis of the remesa situation: http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/headline/biz/4327564.html

2006-11-06T15:06:00.000-08:00

Wow, two articles in the US papers about El SAlvador within the past weeks, and they complement one another pretty nicely.
From the Washington Times:
http://washingtontimes.com/world/20061030-112506-9910r.htm

And from the Wall Street Journal (reprinted in the Post-Gazette)
http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/06305/734722-28.stm

2006-11-01T07:49:00.000-08:00

Currently sitting in the computer lab in the Peace Corps office waiting to meet with the medical staff concerning my followup doctor's appointment yesterday... all medical- related care must take place with a Peace Corps- approved doctor, all of whom are in the capital city. And because I'm five to seven hours away from the capital city (depending on whether I catch a "super special" bus or have to transfer several times), a single doctor's appointment requires three days out of my site. The free medical care is great, but it's frustrating to be out of my site for so long; even while I'm here, most of my time is spent in- transit between the PC office and appointments, so I don't feel like I have time to do anything productive (either on a work-related or personal level).
But I'm starting to accept these time-wasting bureaucratic inefficiencies as an unavoidable part of my role as a Peace Corps volunteer... perhaps I'm even lucky, for volunteers in other countries put up with 16 hour commutes to their PC headquarters. Still, how much one can accomplish is certainly limited by the amount of time wasted in "organization- related" matters.

Which isn't to mention the other frustrations that come from living in El Salvador- watching people throw trash everywhere, eat terribly, show up late/ not show up for meetings, value consumer goods over basic education, the list goes on. And not being able to fully communicate. But I've not only been frustrated recently at the bureaucratic inefficiencies of my organization, but those of the other "aid" agencies working in El Salvador... because El Sal has had such a history of strife (civil war, earthquakes, poverty), there are many international NGOs and foreign governments working in the country trying to contribute to development [Which to some extent has caused Salvadoran communities to approach solutions to problems as something that must come from OUTSIDE the community in the form of aid dollars or support, rather than something that can be confronted and resolved through local resources, abilities, and organization. But that's another issue.]. And as I accumulate more time in ES, I've noticed that many of these aid organizations have similar goals but no collaboration, mostly because they don't know what other organizations are doing. Even if a particular project design has well- planned objectives, strategies, plans for implementation and methods of assesment, it´s success depends on the cooperation and motivation of the community. And as community members are presented with similar messages, plans, and promises across multiple meetings, people grow tired and apprehensive... and because of this country´s relatively long history with aid organizations (and their inevitably unfulfilled promises), community members are justifiably weary of new promises, which in turn affects their motivation to actively partipate in development projects (which only exacerbates the aforementioned difficulties with expectations of ¨handouts¨).
So what I´m trying to do now is create some format for mapping or comparing the various groups trying to implement projects in Nueva Esparta with the idea of promoting more collaboration and less duplication of tasks and inefficiencies. We´ll see how this goes.

2006-10-25T15:48:00.000-07:00

I´ve been putting off updating this here blogaroo for too long so how´s about I just toss up an entry (partially copied from an email to my sister).
A few weeks ago, I was invited to accompany the high school lit teacher and some students to hear the Salvadoran author Manlio Artez (sp?) give a speech at another high school... when I arrived for the activity in the morning, I learned that the lit teacher wasn´t present, so I alone would be escorting the students through an unknown transportation system to an unknown location, and soon found myself standing in front of the high school with eight 14 year old girls staring at me. Luckily, I was able to rope in a friend who wasn´t busy, and with the help of a teacher, organized transport on a microbus. Nonetheless, the presentation was VERY Salvadoran. While the national literary treasure was giving his speech, the mayor sat at the table of honor in front of the crowd and talked on his cell phone and the director of the school threw things at the rooster that was running around in front of the stage and of course, after the author spoke, the school had four students perform a booty dance to a reggaeton song. The basic idea of the author´s speech was that works of ¨fiction¨ can reveal other truths or comment on reality... so of course of course, after the booty dance, the next contribution came from a student reading a plot-based report on a book by the author. The floor was then opened to brilliant questions like ¨what was your first book about?¨ I enjoyed myself.

2006-09-30T09:43:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I accompanied two workers from CARITAS (an international catholic NGO) to the canton of Monteca to help with the formation of an ADESCO (more or less a community advocacy group whose existence is formalized in El Salvador´s municipal code... when forming, they elect a directiva [president, treasurer, etc] for the following year, create laws and rules, come up with a work plan, and so on... it´s one of the more impressive parts of El Sal´s municipal code and can really allow for a partcipatory democracy- the ADESCO´s structure can give a voice to the huge sectors of El Salvador´s population that has little or no education [we voted by ¨number¨ of the candidate rather than by name, for instance, to accomodate those who couldn´t read]). I played a more observatory than active role, but I learned a great deal and can see where I can apply myself in the future.
It was inspiring to see that the 70+ participants were representatively balanced by gender and age, and had the patience and dedication to sit through the a five hour meeting in the ridiculous heat... at the end of the meeting, we had to vote on a name for the ADESCO, and although every vote requires five options, nobody would present a fifth idea for formality´s sake. Finally, I offered the name ¨Estrella del Oriente,¨or ¨Star of the East,¨ so we could simply vote and get on with it... however, the Montecans at the meeting thought this name was hilarious, and despite the fact that we weren´t going to select my suggestion anyway, made sure the option was changed to¨Star of the North¨ because the think of themselves as ¨Northern,¨not Ëastern.¨
I thought ¨Star of the EAST¨ was pretty appropriate considering that Monteca is in the eastern part of the easternmost department of El Salvador, and we´re less than 10KM from the Honduran border... however, Monteca is in the northern part of the municipio, and the only access to the canton comes from a single north/ south road. It´s interesting to see how people´s geographic perceptions are formed-- the residents have lived in the canton their entire lives, so they´ve always accessed the outside world by traveling south. Further, most of what is needed from ¨the outside world¨-- food, clothes, etc-- is obtained within the municipio, so it´s never really been necessary to perceive of their place within the larger department, country or world. Which could explain the littering.

2006-09-25T11:19:00.000-07:00

In other news, I recently saw an old woman nonchalantly pull up her dress, crouch, and clear her bowels while simultaneously sipping horchata in a plastic bag through a straw.

2006-09-24T08:23:00.000-07:00

Every day is a struggle and there are plenty of small satisfactions and general feelings of frustration but things are going well. People here are wonderful and I haven´t grown accustomed to the beauty to the point where I stop appreciating it. I´m going to start posting pictures at shutterfly (link is on the right) so ya´ll can match visuals with the escribiendo.
Let´s see... my spanish is consistently improving but I still miss an awful lot and have a hard time expressing my thoughts. My brain is usually exhausted by the end of a long day trying to understand and interact with my surroundings and I love that I have my own place where I can close the door and unwind. People here can´t really relate to my desire to be alone and read (I´m working on ¨The Executioner´s Song¨ by Norman Mailer at the moment and loving it)-- nobody in El Salvador reads, and spend most of their evenings sitting outside their houses and shooting the shit. Which is fine, but not particularly stimulating, and at this point with my spanish level it´s just exhausting. Still, I wish I could take pictures of my brain as new synapses open and the chemistry changes... I can feel myself organizing language and information differently as a result of my developing ability to deal with my foreign surroundings.
And oh, I am foreign here. On the one hand, being the only white face in the vicinity brings safety, because everybody knows who I am and looks out for me, but it also doesn´t allow ANY privacy. Drinking is definitely frowned upon (at least in public), and buying beer when a friend visited last night was definitely a hassle. It felt like high school.
I really miss the freedom to meet a friend or coworker at a bar and just share a respectable drink in a social setting. We have no bars in my town... and the cantinas that do exist in El Salvador are nothing like bars in the states. Although we can joke about people going to bars in the states to get drunk, there is definitely a social aspect to it, and at worst, you usually have to wait until the end of the night before people start passing out on the floor. Salvadoran physiology must be pretty different, though, in terms of either alcohol tolerance or addiction, because cantinas are only populated by fucking bolos who are just ridiculously drunk. And if people see you drinking in public, you're assumed to be a worthless bolo.

2006-09-21T13:59:00.000-07:00

My neighbor handing me bananas (mahonchas). She is awesome.

2006-09-18T14:33:00.000-07:00

My computer has decided to stop working so I´ve had a hard time finding the time to report (and post pictures). Coming up on one month in-site. After my first two weeks in site, I had terrible stomach pains and all the symptoms of appendicitis, so I spent two nights/ three days fearing for my life in a Salvadoran hospital in San Sal, then had to spend three more days in the capitol city so the Peace Corps medical office could öbserve¨me.
Returned to Esparta on the 8th and since then, have been trying to regain the momentum that I experienced during my first two weeks. I felt pretty ineffective at first, but I´m slowly getting back into the swing of things...

2006-08-30T10:39:00.000-07:00

So after my site visit, I had my final days in Verapaz with my host family. Tears were shed on the final day, but I know I’ll be able to visit so it’s not quite goodbye... finally, here's a picture of where I stayed for the past three months, now that I'm gone:

And making Atol (corn-based drink) in our yard:

After the goodbye, it was on to San Salvador for the swearing- in ceremony at the US Embassy and post- swearing in party. Most volunteers slept- in the following day and leisurely made their way to their home for the next two years, but my Alcalde had stayed the night in San Sal and offered me a ride at 8am the next day. Nonetheless, my first day as an Official Peace Corps Volunteer started early and turned out to be a little bit surreal. Peace Corps service is usually associated with roughing it in a mud hut for two years but my first offical day as a volunteer was spent at a WATERPARK with the Alcalde and his family. Gringo in the Salvadoran waterpark is itself quite a spectacle, but because my skin is more appropriately described as “transparent” than “white,“ all eyes were on the honky.

So I’ve been in my site for a week now, and so far so good. I live alone in what is essentially a big garage with an attached bedroom, bathroom and shower, have a Mango tree in my scenic backyard (as well as another fruit- bearing tree whose name I can’t remember), and have been so touched by the generosity of the community in general.
The Alcalde’s wife has been specifically amazing. In exchange for a few bucks per week, she keeps me supplied with tortillas and her homemade cheese, occasionally sends other gifts (half a papaya, a bag of limes, a few tamales, fresh shrimp, etc), and keeps me supplied with cooked beans (picking pebbles from uncooked beans and then throwing them into a pot for a few hours certainly isn’t difficult, but it is time consuming, so her efforts help greatly).
Also, thanks to the Alcalde’s ability to bargain my rent, my greatest expenditure right now is the phone bill from calling my family in the US (despite only paying .10/ minute). The ability to talk freely allows me some normalcy in a time where nothing is familiar, although I find myself talking more about mundane events and reporting very little... I guess I adapt to things pretty quickly, because I have to force myself to think of ways to actually share what I’m experiencing. When somebody acts surprised that they hear roosters or pigs in the background of our phone conversation, for instance, I’m reminded that things I’ve begun to take for granted aren’t normal back home. At the same time, it’s hard to really share the small triumphs that occur throughout the day—maintaining a conversation for more than thirty seconds, rounding a corner on a morning run to encounter a stunning view of the countryside, getting a project started, and so on. The hardest thing to express is the general feeling that I can do this (“this” being the Peace Corps thing), and I am doing this, and I think I’m going to succeed at doing this. My group of volunteers just lost another member today (bringing us to 22 from an initial group of 27), so I guess this feeling isn’t universal.

Still, I’m definitely am not used to everything. For instance, as a way of giving back to the Alcalde’s family for all that they’ve done, I just made a big pot of broccoli- cauliflower soup and brought it to their house to share. I told them in advance that I was making soup that I’d like to compartir with them, found out what time they’d like dinner, and was anticipating that we’d sit down and eat together. However, when I brought the soup over, they accepted it as a gift that they’d eat without me and told me to have a good night. From what I can figure out, it’s more customary to make extra food and bring it to a neighbor rather than having dinner together... also, because lunch here is the primary meal and dinner is generally a smaller afterthought, meal- sharing tends to take place midday. Still, I can’t help feeling dejected... and kinda pissed because the soup took awhile, tasted good, and I was never able to eat it.
Communication is also difficult despite improving language skills. As I meet community leaders, I’m having a hard time explaining that my role here is to collaboratively encourage sustainable development within the community and municipal government, not solely to bring money or solicit for money (potentially contributing to a culture of dependency and lack of self- reliance). And I recently opened my back door to find the neighbor girl “cleaning” my newly- begun compost bin. I struggled to explain that yes, I KNOW garbage should be placed into the trashcan clearly situated in front of the house, not into a box in the backyard, but the plantain peels and coffee grounds in the backyard box are ORGANIC waste that will turn into, how do you say, “good earth”... as I tried to explain this, her expression changed from blank, to amused, to mildly disturbed as she anticipated the ramifications of living next door to this crazy fucker for two years. I eventually thanked her and embarrassedly closed the door.

2006-08-14T08:56:00.000-07:00

Site visit completed.
The trip started out pretty terribly—I managed to spill coffee on my pants while riding the bus (thank dios that the nearly- invincible Dickies my pants of choice for El Salvador), and after exiting said bus in the incredibly hot city of Santa Rosa de Lima, where I was to await a ride to my city of Nueva Esparta, I decided to try to Beat The Heat and splurge on a Pepsi Light (I wasn’t much of a soda drinker while in the states, but for whatever reason cold diet beverages are a remind-me-of-home comfort in El Salvador). But as soon as I cracked the can and took my first ice- cold sip of aspartame- sweetened refreshment, my brief meditation was violently interrupted as a mustachioed Salvadoran in cowboy boots, camouflage pants and a vest drunkenly tried to confront some other asshole, knocking my drink to the ground and it’s contents over my person. But before I had a chance to feel sorry for myself, the Alcalde (or Mayor) of Nueva Esparta pulled up in a new, spotless, AIR- CONDITIONED Toyota pickup. And things more or less improved from there.

First impressions of Nueva Esparta: the people are extremely friendly, there’s a ton of remesa money, and it’s way clean. I’m the first volunteer to work in Nueva Esparta, and the alcalde and his family are extremely excited to have me. He ‘s young (mid-to-late 30’s) with a warm, vibrant wife, beautiful house, and two outgoing sons aged 16 and 10. He’s motivated, personable and dynamic, has ideas for projects and seems very willing to work with me. He and his family also want me to become their fifth member. I stayed with them for the four days of the visit, and although we weren’t able to find an available apartment during that time (due mostly to owners not being around and other logistical issues), they were very insistent that I live near their house so I could socialize and eat with them. Which is great, but I’m nervous about being TOO close and not having any privacy... I’m unsure of their conservativism or what is exactly expected of me as a community member, and although I’m fine with avoiding public drinking, I worry about being so close that I wouldn’t be able to share a beer behind closed doors if a friend came to visit.
He’s extremely excited about the fact that he’s invited to the swearing in ceremony at the US Embassy. He’d introduce me to people as a Peace- Corps- Volunteer- who’ll- be- working- in- Nueva Esparta- for- two- years- starting- next- Friday in order to mention that we’d be going to the US Embassy on Thursday. Although my Alcaldia may have larger political aspirations, my first impression of him is positive enough that I don’t mind partially aiding his quest.
At the same time, I need to take things slowly and be careful aboutt how my relationship with the Alcalde will appear. Allegiances within the community (and country as a whole) divide pretty sharply along party lines, and I’d like to be able to communicate and work with those that may mistrust the Alcaldia ... also, the community’s most salient needs may not necessarily be met by the Alcalde’s proposed projects, and I’ll need the confianza of the whole community if I’m to determine this.
Other stuff: tortillas are way thinner and way wider in La Union than San Vicente. And no, it’s not that “thin tortillas are more common in the East” or that they TEND to be wider, but you absolutely cannot find a thin tortilla in the West, and you cannot find a fat tortilla in the East. Such a sharp divide in such a small country strikes me as remarkable. Further, the Eastern department of La Union is hotter, flatter, and drier than San Vicente, so the land isn’t as fertile and vegetables tend to be pricier... however, the bananas are amazing. The markets in El Salvador tend not to display the gorgeous, picture- perfect produce you’d see in a European market high-quality US farmer’s stand, but nearly every banana I saw for sale in La Union was absolutely perfect. Considering that a banana’s period of “perfect ripeness” is so brief, I also found this remarkable...

Site assignment!

2006-08-02T13:40:00.000-07:00

I finally know where I´ll be living for the next two years: Nueva Esparta, in the department of La Union, east side of El Salvador. Supposed to be beautiful. I visit the site for four days starting next Monday and will have more info then...
I am pointing to my site.

2006-08-02T13:08:00.000-07:00

We went to the beach weekend before last. Not having structured activities was great.

Adriana and Will, one of the two married couples, announced that they´re leaving the Peace Corps to pursue other interests in Australia. Click the link to their blog on the right and read all about it.

The muni 2006 boys at the beach (Will included):

And the current male representation:

2006-07-28T12:32:00.000-07:00

Here are pictures from a presentation we gave during field based training. The kids ranged from grades 1 through 9 and attended classes led by a single teacher in a one- room school house. Keep in mind that these are the kids lucky enough that their parents can afford to send them to school-- not only must the family have the actual dinero to pay for classes, as public funding for schools is extremely weak and requires a family to spend more than is often possible, but also that they don’t need the child to work in the fields or the household. And despite the sacrifices each family has made for their child’s education, how much education can these kids receive from a single teacher with no resources?
And speaking of resources, El Salvador’s development is partially hindered by it’s lack of natural resources (any that did exist have been mostly eradicated by destructive agricultural practices, contamination, and war). So the best hope for future development lies in developing it’s human resources through education and capacity building…
Oh, did you know El Salvador is spending money on maintaining a standing military? Despite having no external enemies or resources requiring protection, the country not only budgets for a military, but ALSO contributes troops to the war in Iraq! One can argue about the role of a developed country in the Middle East, but does a cash-strapped undeveloped Central American country have enough of an interest in the region to warrant involvement?
Yes, we’ve all heard that “it’ll be a great day when schools have the resources they need and the military has to hold a bake sale to buy an aircraft carrier” or whatever, but sometimes priorities seem so misplaced that overused catchphrases on earth-toned posters just don’t seem to suffice.

2006-07-17T14:13:00.000-07:00

My host sister graduated from an El Salvadoran University last May with a degree as an attorney, but there are simply no jobs available in this country... she´s spent the past several months helping her mother prepare meals for locals in the pueblo, and feels that the best available option to improve her life is to illegally emigrate to the US and find menial work waiting tables. And I don´t know what to tell her-- on a macro scale, of course, illegal immigration is bad for all parties and her native country would benefit from a young, educated, talented individual remaining in-country and contributing to it´s development. But on a micro scale, it´s far more rational to roll the dice and go where you know you can earn a living, even if you´re doing so illegally and not fully utilizing your capabilities. It´s the best choice from among the available options, and it´s the option that would best serve one´s self interest.
Either way, from a US perspective, my host sister is exactly the ¨type¨ of immigrant we´d want. Seems like it should be easier for an intelligent, educated individual to emigrate legally to the US and find work that´d utilize her abilities rather than forcing her to sneak in undercover and waste her talents. Just a thought.

Osicala, Morazon

2006-07-07T17:44:00.000-07:00

Pics from my immersion day visit in the mountains...

2006-07-07T17:42:00.000-07:00

Immersion day did not provide any real difficulties, besides getting sick for the first time. I visited a picturesque site in Osicala in the mountainous northeastern department of Morazon, relatively near the Guatemalan border. I stayed in a home more rustic than that of my host family, which didn’t really bother me, but something in the fresh mountain breeze didn’t agree with me…the fever didn’t hit me until the afternoon of the second day, but that left the morning open to catch the dinner’s chicken. I don’t know if there’s supposed to be a science to doing so, but myself, the elderly grandmother, and her 9-year-old grandson just chased chickens around until I was lucky enough to grab one by the tail. I asked to help kill it, too, but she did so while I was out looking at the grandfather’s plot of land. Oh well. It was worthwhile to see the lives of Salvadorenos in other parts of the country.
The fever passed by the time I returned to the volunteer’s site on Friday, where myself and another trainee spent a night in the volunteer’s apartment. We made chili and drank beer, and it felt so good to be reminded that soon, I WILL regain control over my schedule and life… my host family is great (a fact I really noticed after staying with my immersion day family), but there’s always the discomfort of living in somebody else’s home. Further, cooking chili at the volunteer’s house reminded me how much I miss cooking—my host family allows me to help with some food prep and my Mom’s been wonderfully receptive to my food preferences, but I haven’t been able to use cooking as a creative outlet the way I did in the States. Also, because my host mom runs a comedor out of her house, the kitchen is a source of income and not a place for me to play. The rigid structure and hand-holding of training had also become trying, and the weekend was a nice release.

On Saturday the “American Society of El Salvador” held an independence day celebration at the San Salvador Sheraton. Approximately 50 or 60 volunteers showed up, and I met most of them for the first time… El Salvador is a small country with a comparatively decent transportation system, so the volunteers here are pretty tight. They have regional meetings, collaborate on projects or camps, and regularly visit one another in their sites. We played a few soccer games in the concha across the street (where I was reminded of how uncoordinated I really am), reveled in the Western comforts of the Sheraton, packed 14 people into a room, and more or less lived like Americans for a day.

Some of the other trainees found it difficult to transition from Western-style living back to developing country standards, but I didn’t have much trouble… it was wonderful to appreciate those limited comforts, but they’re something I can do without for a while. Further, I can’t forget that I’m really no more than a few hours away from all the comforts in the world—at any given time, I can grab a taxi to the airport, catch a flight to the states, and be back in my parent’s kitchen in less than eight hours.

I chose the quote “everybody hates a tourist” for my entry in the Peace Corps Yearbook. I think the phrase stands alone pretty well—even though Peace Corps volunteers are here as much more than an average tourist, we cannot escape the fact that we’re only here temporarily. Further, even though we’re ostensibly living at the same level as the average Salvadoran, we’ve all brought US bank accounts, laptops and I Pods, and even those that stay longer admit that they’re always going to be an American in El Salvador rather than an actual Salvadoran. And none of us are will ever truly know or deal with the hopelessness of having no opportunities or future. And yes, music nerds, I ripped the quote from the Pulp song. But it works, doesn’t it? “As you watch the roaches climb the wall, you can call your dad and he can stop it all…”

I have limitless options and opportunities and have made a conscious choice that I want the perspective that’ll come from enduring this, hopefully contributing something to mankind in the process. But I don’t hesitate to admit that I’m in this for me. Recently, the saying “scratch an altruist and watch a hypocrite bleed” has really resonated...

2006-07-03T16:59:00.000-07:00

(Composed June 26)
It’s been a while. We’ll start with last weekend, briefly. Saturday, went to the hot springs at the base of the volcano with my host brothers, a friend, and two other volunteers… these weren’t the relaxing “hot springs” you typically think of but steaming water bubbling out of the ground that stunk like rotten eggs. We then walked to a ruined Finca (coffee plantation) that served as a base for right wing forces during the war, where we ate mandarin oranges directly from the tree… we returned to Verapaz, where we completed a “community outreach” project with some kids on the street and watched the “dia del padre” celebration taking place... Sunday was Corpus Christi day, and started with a procession down the street and the holy folks went to several houses for something resembling prayer meetings…
my family isn’t particularly religious, but they held a Raza more to fulfill a community responsibility than for holy purposes (I think). and my family was holding a Raza (religious get- together for the community). Salvadorans prepare tamales for almost every religious celebration, and this was no exception. I had the honor of helping with the preparation (which required several steps out of my assigned gender role in this society), and holy crap was it a lot of work. No shortcuts were taken: instead of buying masa harina (cornmeal flour), we cooked the corn over a fire and took it to the Molina (mill); instead of buying banana leaves, we took full stalks from banana trees, dried them on the aluminum roof, and tore each leaf by hand. We also we plucked every feather from the chickens and assembled each of the several hundred tamales by hand. In my opinion, probably not worth all the effort, but an experience nonetheless.

The last week was more Spanish classes, a visit to a current volunteer’s site, and a visit to the capital city San Salvador. I struggle with the language, but I’ve grown accustomed to the life and culture, although the night before the capitol city visit I was reminded of the myriad problems facing this country—of the 50 or so kids with whom my host brother had started high school, by the time of graduation, only four or five (himself included) went on to University, something like 75% of the girls were pregnant or had kids, and the boys/ fathers of those soon-to-be-born children had mostly gone illegally to the US to support their new family, as there are no jobs in El Salvador. I’d also begun to hear stories about the ridiculously recent war—back when I was blowing out birthday candles at Chuck E Cheese, my host sister was hiding underneath her bed and listening to bombs explode outside the house.

Anyway, we visited San Salvador on Thursday. The public bus we rode back from the capital city showed a kung fu movie originally filmed in Japanese, badly dubbed in English, and with no Spanish subtitles. Considering that we were in an entirely Spanish- speaking country, this was an appropriate bizarre end to a surreal day. The capital city has a few high- end malls familiar to any American, but entering a mall after a few weeks in the pueblos was a little bit disturbing, especially when the mall is situated within sight of the myriad shanty towns engulfing San Sal. It had been weird enough watching TV with my family and constantly seeing ads for products that are completely unattainable by anybody in my community, but to actually worship at the symbolic altar of disposable consumption makes one feel rather strange.
Oh yeah, and after leaving the mall, it feels particularly strange to get on a bus playing the song “I Can’t Get You Out of My Head” by Kylie Minogue while a shirtless burn victim (you can tell he’s a burn victim because he’s not wearing a shirt, which makes visible the scorched blisters covering his entire body) grovels in the aisles begging for money.
But that was San Salvador. This past Sunday, I went to San Vicente with the family. The women went to the market for groceries and I fulfilled my gender responsibilities by drinking vodka with the men while watching the world cup. Later this week is “immersion day,” where I take the bus to the other side of the country and stay with a different family who hasn’t been briefed on “Peace Corps expectations,” and I won’t have planned activities or other volunteers to rely upon. I’m not anticipating any difficulties—I haven’t been relying on other volunteers for my interactions with my host family, and I think the main idea of this activity is to provide experience using the transportation system alone and dealing with a family who hasn’t been briefed on how to treat the crazy gringos. And I´m really looking forward to not having my hand held for a while.

What else... for some reason, I wasn’t expecting to find many fruits I hadn’t seen before, considering our globalized economy and food distribution system. However, I failed to take into account that any fruit we find in the supermarket has to be transportable and appeal to the American palate—anything with large seeds, an “unfamiliar” taste, short shelf life or cumbersome preparation will never arrive in a US kitchen. It’s been great fun sampling the bitter, funny looking crops available here.

riding the pickup to the host family...

2006-06-19T16:49:00.000-07:00

host dad playing marimbas outside my room---

2006-06-19T16:40:00.000-07:00

2006-06-19T16:25:00.000-07:00

2006-06-19T16:22:00.000-07:00

(Note: this blog was composed June 11 but posted today. Sorry.) We arrived in El Salvador June 8 at the beginning of the rainy season, and the weather was appropriate—intermittent periods of heavy rain and sunlight. We took a bus directly to the training center in San Vicente, and I was struck by the overwhelming presence of political propaganda related to the recent elections between the leftist FMLN and conservative ARENA parties (the same two groups who clashed violently throughout the eighties, so the divisions run deep). In addition to every lightpole and bus stop covered by posters, almost every possible surface was covered with graffiti advocating one of the rival parties. I also couldn’t help but realize that nearly every person near my age and older had lived through constant violence and terror during the civil was of the eighties, and the green countryside had served as cover for armed militants only seventeen years ago…
At the training center, we dealt with a number of logistical issues (safety, credit cards, Spanish tests, etc), of which I can hardly remember any because we’d been awake for far too long and slept too little... for some reason, this was also the day when we took pictures for ID cards. All the volunteers stayed in a hotel together, and went to the balcony and shared a few El Salvadoran cervezas (the most common is beer is called Pilsener, and obviously tastes like a pilsner, but with a little more flavor than most American beers). The second day was also spent in the training center dealing with more logistical issues, with Peace Corps staff doing their best to convince us that debilitating sickness and safety issues lurk around every corner (not to make light of the genuine concerns in this country, especially for women). I expressed interest in running Friday morning, so our training director brought a few of us to a soccer field where we ran laps for twenty minutes before the day began… it felt a little bit silly after training for a marathon, and I felt especially silly while my fellow volunteers watched me trying my best to break a sweat, but the opportunity to move was much appreciated. When we arrived in the training center, we received our host family assignment—each of the twenty one volunteers were individually assigned to a family in a town or city surrounding San Vicente, with four volunteers in each municipality. During the ten weeks of training, we’ll spend three to four days per week in our community taking language lessons, practicing Spanish and trying our best to integrate, as well as two to three days per week in the training center getting shots, learning technical skills, or visiting volunteer’s sites.
Our Spanish teachers escorted us to our host families on public buses so we’d learn how to ride ‘em (it’ll be our only form of transportation over the next two years), but the direct bus to my host community of Verapaz never arrived, so we took an alternate bus and waited to catch a transfer. The second bus also never came, so we climbed in the back of one of the standing-only pickup truck taxis for the remainder of the route, despite the fact that earlier that day, our training director specifically advised us NOT to ride in these pickups, Oh well. It wasn’t raining, so it was a very pleasant way to travel.
I was initially pretty shocked upon seeing the condition of the home and city in which I’d be living for the next three months, but the shock wore off pretty quickly… the family has a living room full of disco equipment, and from what I can tell, they rent the equipment to those … the mother Maria Luisa and father Mauricio have two boys, aged 17 and 21 year, and a daughter in her late twenties. They also have a son in his thirties who lives in Verapaz and repairs computers… he was listening to a Bee Gee’s video when I arrived and was excited to show me the American bands he liked—Queen, Duran Duran, Def Leppard, Culture Club, Elton John. I was relieved by how comfortable the family made me feel, and how patient they are with the cultural differences and my lack of Spanish ability. I spent the night hanging out with the family, watched the 21 year old brother play basketball in the park and chatted with the 17 year old, and bought Pupusas with the mother.
Pupusas are the national food of El Salvador—essentially a really thick corn tortilla filled with cheese, beans, pork, etc and fried. Women prepare ‘em on almost every corner in the country, and they usually sell for .25 each. Like almost all El Salvadoran food, the lard and/ or vegetable oil is used liberally, and it’s very rare to see a thin person. More on that later.
We returned to the training center the next day, where we discussed our first night with the families. I have it pretty good—the family has a toilet rather than a latrine and a shower rather than a bucket bath, (although a few people were lucky enough to have internet connections and washing machines). Animals running around everywhere is pretty much universal, and I found out pretty quickly that roosters don’t just crow at dawn, they cluck and crow nonstop 24 hours a day.
The Pueblo (analogous to a US town) of Verapaz is located at the base of a volcano in the Department (analogous to a county or state) of San Vicente. It’s location allows for some pretty challenging uphill morning runs, although I know it’s only a matter of time before one of the abundant stray dogs decides to attack (I’ve been chased and growled at several times). When the mornings are clear, the view is lush and gorgeous, although I’m told that the landscape turns brown and desolate when the rains stop…
These morning runs are my only time alone throughout the day—I’m in language or technical classes from approximately 7:30am until 4:30pm every day, then practice or study Spanish until bed almost every day. It’s so frustrating to be unable to communicate while trying to avoid cultural mistakes. Further, because I’m able to comprehend more Spanish than I can speak, so I can’t respond to situations, especially when the family is talking about me. Although my brain hurts from trying to comprehend all day, I see enough small signs of progress that I can keep at it. Still, I really envy the other volunteers that have enough language skills that they can actually begin to learn how to make a positive impact on the country. In time, I hope, in time.
Other observations: everybody carries machetes (which is kinda scary if you know anything about Rwanda), everybody has at least four mangy dogs, and everything is loud. Reggaeton blares from every speaker (in buses, inside houses, and so on), creatures are screeching 24 hours a day, and vehicle loudspeaker advertisements are the norm (from 5am until 9pm). I made tortillas by hand today and eat beans all the time.

2006-06-14T15:48:00.000-07:00

The infocentro finally decided to stay open today, so this is my first internet access since I´ve arrived in El Salvador... I´ve typed a full entry on my laptop with some background on what I´m doing, so forgive me if the posts are a little disjointed, but I wanted to let people know I´m still alive.
You know what? Living in a country that doesn´t speak your native language is really hard. I´m taking intensive daily language classes, staying with a spanish- speaking family that patiently deals with my terrible spanish, have access to any learning materials I may need and I can still only hope to achieve basic competency within the next few months... I can´t imagine how difficult it would be for an immigrant to work eight hours (or more reastically, 12 or 16 hours) per day without any resources or support and be expected to learn a language. I don´t know where the immigration debate in the US stands right now (I´ve been living and breathing nothing but Spanish), but it seems so unrealistic Especially when people are ready to jump down their throat for every grammatical or pronounciation error, and they´re considered a drain on society. Here, at least I´m a novelty and people put up with me.

2006-06-06T16:20:00.000-07:00

So after a great going- away party and some emotional farewells (even if my feelings weren't apparent when I actually was saying goodbye), the journey has begun.
I arrived in DC yesterday for the two day "staging event," which is a general orientation to the Peace Corps and a chance to meet the other new volunteers... I'm in a group with about twenty other trainees, all of whom are going to El Salvador to work in the municipal development or youth development programs (oh, and we're not officialy volunteers until we complete the three months of training, so I'm a Peace Corps Trainee [PCT] until mid- August, at which point I'll swear in and become a Peace Corps Volunteer [PCV]). Everybody is approximately 21 to 30 years old, more girls than guys, two married couples, and all come from a wide range of backgrounds and experiences.
The staging event has pretty much been what I expected-- we sit in a conference room, use a workbook, and learn Peace Corps procedures through small group activities like drawing pictures to represent our trepidations and writing poems on how to stay safe. A little bit elementary, but I understand what is trying to be accomplished and I'm far more forgiving of this sort of thing than I would've been (or had been) in the past.
We've had a chance to meet with some Peace Corps administration reps from El Salvador and Central America, too, and they were pretty inspiring and really made me glad that I'm here and have decided to follow this path. Although I had to deal with a number of hurdles and disappointments during the application process, the Peace Corps is an organization trying to accomplish a great deal on limited resources so difficulties will be inevitable. The individuals working in the organization, though, seem to be concerned with nothing more than faciliating a positive experience for volunteers. And that is super.
We leave the hotel at 4am tomorrow to fly to El Salvador, and initial days in-country will be pretty hectic, so I'll probably be out of touch for a while. I'll be in a hostel for the next few days, and on Friday placed with a host family who I'll stay with for the next three months of training. During the next few months, you can send mail to:

PCT Brendan Fischer
Cuerpo de Paz- El Salvador
Correo Nacional
Centro de Gobierno
Apartado Postal # 1947
San Salvador, El Salvador, Centro America

They say mail from the US usually arrives within 14-21 days. I'll also purchase a cell phone at some point in the near future, so eventually I'll also be able to communicate via phone calls or text messages.
It may be awhile before the next post, but hopefully I'll get some pictures up and receive some emails or letters from all of you!

2006-06-02T18:29:00.000-07:00

I never really finished the last entry, but I imagine I'll continue editing and updating about my Europe trip. I'm not sure if that's unethical blogging, but I'm new to this. Anyway, I'm at home (my parent's house) dealing with last minute details and trying to relax before leaving for DC at 7am Monday morning. My going away party is tomorrow, and as one would expect, the house and family is in panic mode trying to get organized for 70+ people rather than focusing on spending time together before a long separation. Oh well. I'm just trying to stay calm amid the madness of my surroundings and coming uncertainties. I'm not going to worry much about buying more crap or packing everything I could possibly need for the next two years, and just take what I have, knowing that my life is going to change so drastically that I can't really anticipate what my needs will be.
However, I know that one need that won't go away is music... I'm bringing my laptop and the music on my hard drive rather than a million CDs, and the prospect of the computer crashing just dawned on me. I've been trying to back up my itunes library on discs, which has been more time consuming than I anticipated, as well as load my sister's computer so she's not totally deprived while I'm gone.
Today I also purchased gifts for the family I'll be staying with during training. One of the current volunteers said Yankees merchandise is very popular, so I purchased four hats. Two blue and two pink.

2006-05-31T08:22:00.000-07:00

Been a few weeks, so lots to report. I'm writing all this well after the fact so I'm sure I'll leave out a number of details, but bear with me.
I ran the Green Bay Marathon. I started out slow for the first six or seven miles to avoid running out of steam as the race progressed, increasing my pace mile by mile and feeling pretty great the entire time. The final six miles are typically considered the most difficult, especially for first- timers, but I still felt really strong as I passed the 20 mile marker and continued moving at a good clip. I was amazed at how good I felt as I crossed the final miles, despite a strong headwind, and felt fairly emotional as I realized that I was not only going to successfully complete a marathon, but get a pretty good time. I felt some lactic acid buildup in my legs halfway through the 24th mile, but focused on my breathing and concentration, and felt strong as I began the 25th (and final) mile. The race finishes with a loop around Lambeau Field , and that frozen tundra loomed on the horizon as I felt another twinge of nausea and lightheadedness about 1/4 into the final mile. I could tell it'd be a fight with myself to maintain my pace to the end, but I concentrated, breathed, and the "twinge" passed... as I was fighting to maintain my centeredness, a large coach bus pulled up next to me, slowed, then stopped. I first thought it may have been a first aid bus that saw I was struggling and stopped to help, but then the doors opened and the fucking Green Bay Packers, in full uniform, start unloading! Needless to say, it's difficult to concentrate on breathing when America's team are in front of you at the foot of their legendary stadium, and I could feel the sickness increase... the next thing I know, I'm waking up from what feels like a deep sleep and having no idea where I am. I'm lying on my back surrounded by people helping me sit up, and a woman shoves a bottle of juice in my face and tells me I've passed out and collapsed. It took a few seconds before I remembered that I was running a marathon, and still had to finish the race. I chugged the juice, thanked everybody, and started running again. They yelled at me to stop, and somebody followed me for a while on a bike, but I felt rejuvenated enough that I knew I could make it. The final .2 miles (a marathon is actually 26.2 miles long) were a struggle and I was pretty sure that I'd collapse again, but I somehow crossed the finish line of my own accord with a time of 3:17:51. That's an average pace of 7:33 minutes per mile and better than I anticipated, DESPITE having been passed out for an unknown period of time. So yeah, I'm awesome.
This really felt like an accomplishment because it was something I did entirely on my own-- I didn't train with anybody else, none of my friends are even remotely interested in fitness or running, and I didn't follow an official training program. I referred to a number of different marathon training programs and researched expert's advice, but mostly just accomplished this through discipline and busting my own ass. My parents came to watch the marathon, which was great, but running and marathon training had become so personal that it felt a little bit strange to share it with loved ones. But thank god they were available to drive me home, because I was pretty dead for the rest of Sunday.

Then I woke up Monday and flew to Frankfurt. My sister's flight came in a few hours after mine, so I was able to meet her at her gate... our primary destination for the one week trip was Budapest, Hungary, and we purchased Eurail passes to get there (which was most cost-effective). An uninterrupted train ride from Frankfurt to Budapest would take something like 19 hours, though, so we decided to go as far as Munich, then continue to Budapest the next day. We picked up a free map from the tourist office, found a decent hostel near the Munich train station, then went out wandering. We checked out a few churches, sampled German beer at a few beer halls and Rathskellars (Franziskaner Weiss Dunkel = super), stumbled onto a pretty great, inexpensive restaurant/ bar near the University filled with attractive young Germans (or at least non-Americans), then hit it the next morning. The train ride to Budapest was still pretty long, but the view was pretty and the seats comfortable, which allowed me to not notice whether I was hungover.

The second we stepped off the train in Budapest, a woman swooped in and tried to convince us to rent a room from her, and as soon as she was politely shaken, a second woman sidled up to us and asked if we'd be interested in a less expensive room. But we made it out of the train station alive and stepped into a wet, dreary Budapest evening... despite the weather, you could sense that this was a great city. We found a hostel, went to dinner, then went to the bar in the hostel's basement with a German kid staying in our dormitory. A wicked Hungarian speed metal band just happened to be playing, complete with flying V guitars, shredding solos and long hair thrashing about. I didn't get any pictures of the band playing, but after they finished, a DJ kept playing terrible metal and a few dudes decided to rock out on their own. This picture doesn't fully express the intensity of their rocking, but believe me, they were rocking hard.

The next few days were spent wandering Budapest, using the sights listed in tourist books as destination points but finding amazing points of interest around almost every corner and in every doorway. I don't mean to brush over this part of the trip, but I'm writing this well after the fact and didn't take enough pictures...
During our final full day in Budapest, we had lunch and toured the city with some fairly distant relatives on my Dad's mother's side. Only the 25 year old granddaughter spoke (shaky) English, so communication was pretty difficult, but the cultural exposure and exchange was very interesting and pretty good practice for my upcoming Peace Corps experience.
We LITERALLY caught a train to Vienna at 6am the next morning-- we jumped on to the platform as it was pulling away-- and rode in a train compartment with an Austrian kid who was really eager to practice his English. He was very likeable (and a member of what sounded like a hip-hop collective, so he made a point to demonstrate his beat- boxing ability), but I was pretty exhausted and eventually had to tell him that I needed to sleep. After arriving in Vienna, we made reservations for an overnight train to Frankfurt departing that evening so we could catch an 8am flight the next morning. We spent the day wandering Vienna's "Old Towne," which has some beautiful cathedrals and palaces, but didn't strike me as impressive after coming from Budapest. It seems like the well- known tourist cities in Europe have become very similar-- a few notable sights surrounded by cookie cutter pedestrian shopping streets with American stores and multiple H&M's. Budapest, on the other hand, seemed to have a genuine, homegrown modern culture thriving amidst beautiful landmarks and architecture, and in the context of such an interesting and checkered history. I really didn't see enough of Vienna to pass judgment on the entire city (and the modern art museum complex DID seem pretty unique), but I wasn't enthralled by most of what I did see. Anywho, caught the overnight train, flew from Frankfurt to Chicago, made it home.

2006-05-20T17:02:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure if I'm going to keep this blog up, but if I do, now seems like a pretty good time to start.
I'm sitting alone in a hotel room in Green Bay, WI taking advantage of the free wireless connection and resting before my first marathon tomorrow morning. I'm trying not to get worked up about it-- I know that I've trained enough and will have no trouble finishing, but because I leave for the Peace Corps in a few weeks, I'm not going to be able to run another marathon for at least two years (and probably longer, assuming I go to Law School upon my return, as my first year as a 1L will probably be too intense to allow me to put the time in to training). I know I'm capable of running a pretty good time, and will probably feel like I could've pushed myself harder when I finish tomorrow, but at least I'll have a reason to train for another eventually.
And for another twist on the above, I broke my toe the night before last when I got up to use the bathroom. I'm sure the pain will subside after a few miles, but I imagine the toe won't be pretty after the race. I'll post pictures if it's really disgusting.
My last week has been really bizarre. Actually, let's go back two weeks. Last week Friday was my final day at work, and the Wednesday prior was my going away party.

I really did like working at the law firm, and having the company and my co-workers express their appreciation for me felt great. (in case you were wondering, I'm not wearing a bra, I'm wearing a "#1 investigator" tank top signed by me coworkers... on the left, Joyce, Lula, and Brendan; below, Brendan and Mr. McNally himself.)

Having the last week off work has certainly been different, but I"ve had plenty of new stresses to deal with. Namely, getting my shit together so I can be gone for the next two years. In addition to preparing for this weekend's marathon and a weeklong trip to Europe (I didn't mention this earlier, but if you didn't know, after I run the marathon on Sunday, I'm planning on leaving Monday to meet my sister and visit Hungary-- she just finished her year studying abroad in France and I feel it necessary to take advantage of this opportunity to spend time together. Nonetheless, I'll have only a day or two after returning from Europe before I leave for the Peace Corps, so I've had to squeeze everything into the past week. But anyway), getting my shit together has involved moving out of my apartment, getting my finances in order, buying whatever I need to buy, trying to squeeze in time with friends, etc. Fitting in friend time has been really difficult and I'm probably going to regret not making more of an effort. Last night in particular. The .357 String Band, The Stranger, and Dead By Monday were all playing separate shows in Milwaukee last night, and I had been planning for weeks on jumping between all three shows... yesterday was just a terrible day, though, and I couldn't break out of zombie mode enough to attend even one show. I'd slept terribly the night before (above, see mention of "breaking toe night before last"), and whipped myself into a stressed frenzy by realizing that I'd hit my last day of the week to get everything done. I went to bed super early and felt much better today, and know that I would not have been a fun person to be around if I'd forced myself to go out, but the idea of "last time for two years" is really starting to set in...