On the bad days, it felt like these two years would never end; on the good days, I never wanted them to. Now that they nearly have passed, though, it seems like the remaining days and weeks are flying faster than ever. Sure, I’ve repeated that sentiment about a million times, that I can’t believe I had arrived at such a point so quickly, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

For the most part, I’ve managed to keep rather busy and very content reveling in wrapping up projects here at the ENA, giving trainings on topics I am passionate about, making far too many spreadsheets (I love them!), planning for the NYIT/PFCAC trip, and desfrutar-ing the company of friends. Never again will I live as I have been, have the freedoms that I do now, nor be surrounded by the amazing people that share this experience with me. At this point, it’s all about making these last six weeks count…

The Shack in the Mountains Now, I’ve lived pretty much in every region of El Salvador from the west, to the east, ending up in the central part of the nation, and have taken the opportunity to travel most other areas of Central America’s pulgarcito. From the cafetales of Ataco to the beaches of La Libertad and La Union, I can unequivocally say that my favorite place in this tiny country lays in the mountains of northern Morazán.

The cool, pine scented air hitting you as soon as you hop off the bed of a pick-up, the mountain view that spans from the Salvadoran-Honduran boarder to the Pacific coastline and the fact that you actually need a blanket to sleep at night makes it as close to el cielo as you can get. Not to mention, two of my dearest friends, Daniel and Krystal, call that blissful place home.

My first trip to NoMo was back in March for my dear friend and now RPCV Emily’s despedida, or going away party. The theme was Riverside Whiskey Tango, and let me tell you, we fully embodied the theme.Whiskey Tango. Note the camo. Since, I have made the daunting seven-hour trek back up the mountains three times: once for translating with PFCAC (more on them later) and twice to give trainings on tourism based marketing with KC, as well as to celebrate Daniel’s birthday. Each trip always proves to be super productive, and more fun than the last.

Daniel and KC’s home, affectionately know as The Shack, is what Peace Corps Barbie’s dream house would be if she existed. The lovely two bedroom, one bath, USAID-style cement block ranch, complete with futon and Christmas lights a la dorm room chic, is honestly the chillest crib in all of PCES. When there, we always make out of this world food in very creative ways with limited cooking instruments, experiment in the fine science of mixology and get a better ab workout in from laughing too hard than Shawn T’s 16-minute abs.

For Daniel’s birthday, I got crafty in the kitchen with a lovely prosciutto bruschetta and gnocchi dinner. KC and I also whipped together a funfetti confetti masterpiece of a tier cake for Señor Pato’s big day. Getting my Martha on.Noms.Birthday Boy. Photos borrowed from Daniel's blog.

Tag Team’s Back Again… As I wrote of a few months back, Krystal, AKA KC, and I made a pretty excellent work team at the Sheraton with her tourism class. For whatever reason, she and I jive very well, so when she invited me back up to the mountains to help in giving a small business charla focusing on marketing for businesses in her tourism association, I was more than game.

I arrived up in NoMo the day before the charla and KC and I worked together to put together a concise, focused PPT on the Five P’s of business: product, place, people, price and promotion. Throughout the whole lecture I was so impressed by Krystal’s business people. They were engaged, participative and excited. KC and I did pretty well together, too, she pointing out things I missed or would never have thought of.Photo by KC. After the first lecture, we assigned some homework to answer a series of questions about the five p’s and how they relate to their businesses. Last week, we met up again and KC and I held hour-long mini-consult/strategy sessions for each business. The sessions, though taxing, were amazing. All the participants came ready and excited to work. Talk about dream counterparts…

The Last Stop The reality that I am really nearly finished with Peace Corps service is forever on my mind. Two weeks ago I attended my Close of Service (COS) conference, learned all the hurdles I have to jump before I’m allowed to depart the country and started saying my goodbyes. It was sort of surreal being back with my entire training class, now down to 27 from 33 volunteers, realizing that the conference may in fact be the last time my whole group is together, and the last time I may ever see a few of these people.

Last week I spent four days in the capital, running across town to countless medical and dental appointments for my COS medical exam. Thankfully, I passed with flying colors and so long as no parasites plague my intestines in the next six weeks, I am medically cleared to head home.

Now all that’s left to do is write up my final reports, collect a series of signatures from my bosses, pack my bags and say goodbye. That, and see one final project to fruition.

In my last entry, I mentioned being invited by Daniel and KC to help coordinate a three-week long medical research trip with NYIT and PFCAC. Well, the three of us, or as Dr. Zehra calls us her Three Musketeers, have been hard at work ironing out all the details for the twenty trip participants. As part of this trip the docs will be giving a two-day conference titled, “What’s the Emergency?” to 50 PCVs and their health promoter counterparts with the intent of educating participants on the prevention and identification of medical emergencies. By focusing on education and prevention rather than merely treatment, the docs and we PCVs hope to help improve the lives of our community members.

For more information on the workshop, please visit our Causes Facebook page at http://www.causes.com/causes/621182-help-support-community-health-training-in-el-salvador. Also for more information of PFCAC, head to www.pfcac.org.

As always, thanks for your love and support throughout the course of these two years. I am positive I couldn’t have done it without out you.

I will preface this by saying that this blog update is not my best work. One good thing, though, is that it’s much shorter than normal!

Easter The holiday traditions involving family have been what I have missed the most in Peace Corps. Spending the Fourth of July gorging on hot dogs, Janet’s potato salad, and Mom’s gin slush; cooking Thanksgiving dinner at my parents house and glutinously eating seconds while our paper crowns slide askew off our heads; and vegetarian Christmas Eve that’s anything but light with countless farmer’s cheese pierogis freshly made by the Kooky Ukies and fork tender salmon steaks, (can you tell food is a theme here?) all shared with loved ones amidst countless gut splitting laughs…these are the activities I most look forward to rejoining.

Easter, of course, is no different. Most often growing up we were in Florida visiting family and attending Easter Sunday mass in the overflow capacity cafeteria, gagging at the smell of rotting milk at the Church of the Epiphany in Venice, Florida or on some other Marohn Family Fun vacation. No matter where we were, though, the Easter Bunny always found us, Rosie Baby always managed to find a nearby Catholic church and we followed it up with an enormous Easter Dinner.

Since Dana and I left the nest, though, we tended to spend Easter back in the 716. This year, for the first time ever, neither one of us was able to make it home for the holiday, Dana being in Boston and I here in ES.

I spent my Semana Santa working, traveling to give small business charlas and editing El Camino. Seeing as I had to work first thing Monday morning, I wasn’t able to travel to my old host family for Easter Sunday, meaning I would spend it alone. Aware of how sad and pathetic that would be, I decided to do the next best thing: videoconference into Easter Dinner with my family. Mildly absurd? Yes. Awesome? You betcha!

On Good Friday, I hopped a chicken bus to the supermarket with the intent of buying all the ingredients to make the Salvadoran equivalent of the meal my family would be enjoying: ham, mashed potatoes, asparagus, borscht, sweet breads and more. The first wrench in the plan was that I couldn’t find a real ham anywhere! Fresh asparagus was nonexistent and the canned stuff (gross, BTW) was $6 a pop! Winding up and down the aisles, not finding any of the items on my list I realized I’d have to get creative.

The meal that resulted, though it would cause my culinary idol Martha to want to debone herself like a duck, was pretty fantastic. Instead of a real ham, I managed to find some sliced, black forest ham, substituted mashed potatoes for a smashed plantain/potato concoction, and made a very creative version of white borscht. I also stumbled upon some challah bread and splurged on two Sam Adams to wash it all down.

3PM eastern daylight time I signed onto Skype and my family was waiting for me. They set me at my “place” at the table and I was able to share Easter Dinner with my family. Granted, the meal itself was a little rushed; the Sabres were playing in the first round of playoffs and the puck dropped at 3:30PM. I also was able to stream the game online while chatting away like I was watching the game in the B-lo.

If I couldn’t be with my family physically, virtually being with them was the best substitute I could have imagined.

PFCAC By far, my favorite work/fun activity in Peace Corps is translating for the various service groups that travel down to aid the Salvadoran people in a plethora of ways from engineer projects to medical campaigns and everything in between. Not only is it a lot of fun, especially meeting new people from all over, but also the important, life-impacting work we get to witness.

Most recently, I had the privilege to meet members of an awesome NGO, Pediatricians for Central American Children (PFCAC). PFCAC, though it sounds like you’re hocking a loogey out of your throat when you say it, is far more than what their name conveys. They are a team of doctors, PAs, dentists, nurses, and other health care professionals who focus their work in the realm of child and maternal health. Unlike a lot of doctor brigades, PFCAC doesn’t set up shop in one of the larger cities and work out of a relatively comfortable space. They pack up their gear, lather on the sunscreen and hop in the beds of trucks to go out and work in the most remote, and often most neglected, areas The Savior has to offer. These guys aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty, nor get rained on—definitely no prima donnas in this group!

I had the opportunity to spend about four days with this remarkable group, their first two and last two, and it was amazing to see how much they came together as a family over the course of a short week. The first day I was with the group we traveled up to fellow PCV and mountain dweller Helen A’s site in literally one of ES’s most remote areas. Helen’s site, Los Cimientos, is a solid hour and a half truck ride from the nearest municipality and about two hours from the closest Unidad de Salud, or major health unit. PFCAC has now been visiting Helen’s site, formerly RPCV Laura K’s who was responsible for starting PC’s relationship with PFCAC, for about two years.

As PFCAC will be returning in July, the purpose of this trip was mainly fact finding, identifying the needs of the community for the team to come back well prepared this summer. Also, we were fortunate to have a dentist in the group who got busy straight away pulling teeth of young children, often the source of countless issues. I paired with one of the head doctors, Dr. Scott, and started making the rounds in Los Cimientos. We went on about ten house visits and in traditional Salvadoran fashion, were warmly welcomed into their homes. Dr. Scott, an ER doc from Long Island, has been dutifully studying Spanish, so much that he almost didn’t need me!

On the whole, the day was a success. Some sick kids got immediate attention and care, we transported a little boy with suspected appendicitis (I was feeling his pain!), gathered some valuable information and left the community with a great sense of confianza and anticipation for the next trip.

I was sad to leave the group after only two days, but I was scheduled to give three trainings that week that simply couldn’t be rescheduled. Though I couldn’t actually be helpful to PFCAC during the week, I was able to hook them up with some sweet swag. I had jersey people make some awesome official PFCAC soccer uniforms that turned out great!

At the end of the week, I met up with the group again in San Salvador at the Crowne Plaza (I never said they didn’t spoil us!). After an incredible hot shower, blow drying my hair and putting on clothes that don’t qualify as safari gear for a change, the docs treated us to a delicious Mediterranean meal, drinks and hookah. The jokes that were shared around the table had me laughing in stitches all night long and into the morning.

The next day, Daniel, Jessica, Dr. Zehra and I were up bright and early to work on a proposal before heading out to that day’s campaign site. We put in a solid two hours before loading up the bus and heading out.

Once at site, we didn’t waste any time and got right down and dirty with a community meeting about health concerns. I did the majority of the translating, and let me just say, translating for two very chatty, passionate docs is no simple task! Thankfully, though, it went really well.

The rest of the day was spent seeing patients, doing house visits and giving a dental charla. I’m not quite sure how it happened, but I ended up taking the lead on the teeth activity. A bunch of kids, Daniel, Jessica and I talked about good oral hygiene habits, played some dynamicas, and then got to play my two favorite oral hygiene games: the rabid dog and spitting contest. With the rabid dog, the object is to see who can make the most foam while brushing their teeth, and hence look like a rabid dog. Afterwards, seeing as we were outside, we played the spitting game to see who could spit their spent toothpaste the farthest. PFCAC’s photographer and my new RPCV best friend, Nick Boire, has some amazing shots of the event, and once I have access to them I will share them. Nick also took my stereotypical gringa-holding-a-baby shot. Thanks, Nick!Photo by Nick Boire.

Imparting the oral hygiene skills my Grammy taught me.

Photo courtesy of Dave Douglas.

The entire experience with PFCAC has been wonderful. I am very glad to have been included in their trip, and even more pleased to be taking more of an active role in planning their next in July. Daniel and Krystal, PC’s dynamic duo, have invited me to help in the process and I jumped at the opportunity. You’ll be sure to hearing more from me about PFCAC!

Please visit pfcac.org to see all the amazing thing they have done for the people of El Salvador.

El Camino Last Friday was a bittersweet day for me when I finished up my last issue of El Camino as head editor, dropped off the PDF at the printers and passed off all my responsibilities to my friend, Lilah. I have to say, of all the work I have done in Peace Corps, one of the things I am most proud of is El Camino. If anyone is interested, I can email along the PDF version of my final issue.

A special thanks goes out to Jack and Janet who surprised me with a care package of baked good goodness, photos and a lovely piece of art by none other than Miss Julianna. Thank you so much for never failing to remember me!

CONGRATULATIONS go out to my big sister, Dana on her graduation from the Kennedy School of Government! I wish more than anything I could have been there with you to celebrate.

Last but not least, a Happy Belated 60th Birthday goes out to my Dad! I love you and can’t wait to celebrate with a Sam or two in just 69 days!

It seems sort of silly that in my last four months of service instead of winding down my activities and having things get calmer, they are in fact speeding up and I'm busier now than ever before. Not a single week has gone by since I have been back in El Salvador after my American holiday that I haven't been off traveling for work purposes at least one day cada semana. By no means am I complaining; this just means the time is flying fast and I have more stories to share.

Based on an overwhelming approval of the new blog format, I will continue forward with it, keep the stories shorter and sweeter and include more photos. ¡Que les desfruten!

Tourism Class

If there is one resource here in El Salvador that hasn't yet been fully taken advantage of, it's the potential for tourism. With a coastline roughly 307 kilometers long, breathtaking volcanoes and beautiful crater lakes, tourism is one industry with tremendous potential to aid in El Salvador's development. Recognizing this potential for growth, a certain number of Peace Corps Volunteers in the Community Organization and Economic Development (COED) program have been assigned to NGOs and other organizations focusing on tourism development.

My colleague and friend, Krystal, happens to be one of these volunteers. Her counterpart organization, located up in the beautiful and fresco mountains of Morazan, is the premier restaurant, conference center and hotel in the region that also operates an NGO and school. Though, like all volunteers, Krystal's role has varied throughout her service, she has focused largely on improving NoMo's (Northern Morazan) hospitality industry including customer service, product and service offerings, as well as catering to the needs of foreigners.

The COED '10 group, upon completion of their Pre-Service Training, were offered access to grant funds through the US Embassy in San Salvador's Office of Public Relations. Krystal, never one to turn down an opportunity for easy money, wrote a grant asking for funding to establish a tourism association in NoMo, an English class specifically designed for the tourism industry, as well as a two-day training session in San Salvador's premier hotel, the Sheraton Presidente.

Nearly ten months later, Krystal has helped to establish a self-sustaining tourism organization in NoMo, has successfully completed two courses of English for Tourism, and as a reward, took those students who excelled in English class to a two-day training in the hospitality industry at the Sheraton Presidente in San Salvador. This is where I come in.

Krystal called me five days before she and her first group of students were to head west to San Salvador, mildly panicky, realizing she didn't want to go through the first training alone, responsible for ten individuals, most who had never been to the capital before, let alone stayed over night at a five-star hotel. She asked me to tag along, to help with the trainings and aid in logistics which would include a night's stay at the Sheraton. (Jackpot!)

The following Monday at 9AM, I met Krystal and her students at the Sherry for the first of two groups' trainings in San Salvador. Besides some really fascinating trainings on reception, large events and getting to see behind the scenes of the hotel that President Obama had stayed at just one week prior, it was great to share this experience with Krystal and her students. It may be difficult to understand for some of you, but to Krystal's students, this was literally a trip of a lifetime. Watching their eyes light up as they caught first glimpse of their plush rooms, the bathrooms and the waterfall at the pool was pretty awesome. We also shared some good laughs, particularly when the 18-20 year old boys, generally very macho and tough, became terrified by the elevator. Krystal and I hadn't realized at first, but most of her students had never been in one before.

All in all, the first group's training went off without a hitch. Krystal and I work very well together, she thinking of things I wouldn't and vice versa. She invited me to join her and her second group of students the following week, which I graciously accepted. You'd be nuts to turn down a night at the Sherry.

Receiving their first training.

Krystal and some of her students.

Visitors!

Now, I will admit, I have been pretty lucky in terms of visitors. Last March my sister came to visit me for two whole weeks and fully experienced the PC Lifestyle, outdoor bathing, latrines and all. In August my lovely parents flew down for a week and to celebrate my 23rd birthday and visit the most beautiful places ES has to offer.

Nevertheless, I've been hoping, itching really, that any one of my friends would come down to visit, even if just for a day or two on a Central American tour. Most of my friends are now too busy with their careers, graduate school or medical school to even think of leaving the states to gallivant in The Savior, so I can't even begin to tell you the excitement I felt when I found out that April would bring me two visitors from El Norte!

Kevin, Claire and I met in the summer of 2008 in Washington, DC, and you could say that softball brought us together. I was in DC for the summer interning at LIFT and was dying to play some ball, which I missed out on the previous year having spent my summer in the mountains of Ecuador. I asked my college friend, David, who had located to DC upon graduation from UR, if he knew of any teams that I could hop on, he having more friends and connections in town than me. As a matter of fact, he said, I could join him on his friend Kevin's office team. Claire was in DC interning at State that summer, and was paired with Kevin's team, too. The rest, of course, is history.

This past December/January, I was in DC for New Years to visit friends. While sitting in David and Kevin's apartment, discussing life of the past two years, Kevin's idea of a Central American surf trip came up. Kev was bit by the surfing bug during his study abroad in Australia, and was thinking of taking a trip to Costa Rica to get back on the waves. I chimed in to say that ES has some of the best waves on the CA Pacific coastline, the waves are far less crowded and much less expensive. He said that a trip down would be a definite possibility and I chalked it up as another friend giving my lip service to shut me up about coming down to visit.

February came around, and I was shocked to find and email from Kev saying that he and Claire were planning to come down in early April for a surf trip! How incredibly awesome! My first non-blood related visitors! After a mountain of exchanged emails and a little bit of planning, things were all set for their week-long visit!

Kevin and Claire at Playa El Tunco.

In my assessment, we had a pretty awesome visit. The three of us all made our attempts at mastering the waves, though I gave up the quickest, satisfied with getting up on a my first attempt and a few more baby waves after that. I prefer not to get beat up repeatedly by water. Kevin and Claire, though, persevered more than me, actually enjoying the sport...weird.

It's hard not to be this happy when spending time with friends by the ocean...

In addition to surf and sun, we celebrated Kevin's "Cumpleaños Rojo", as Kevin so eloquently stated, or in English, his "Red Birthday".

I can't begin to express how grateful I am to have had the chance to share the country where I have been living and serving with friends, not to mention all the "hippy feed" Kevin lugged down for me including six bags of granola and John Freida shampoo. I just hope a few more visitors hop on down before I complete my service. On that note, starting in June, Spirit Airlines will be flying direct to SAL from DCA for $138 each way. Now you really have no excuse not to visit...

Happy 26th Birthday, Kevin!

Small Business Workshop

Back in August when my parents were visiting as we sat enjoying Suchitoto, my boss Rolando called asking if I would be interested in helping to organize and put on a small business workshop for young people. Funds hadjust become available from USAID and he needed to submit a grant request by COB that very day if I were in fact interested in the venture. Naturally I was.

Eight months later, starting on April 13th, we successfully held a three-day small business development workshop for young entrepreneurs in Costa del Sol, La Paz. The 27 attendees, nine volunteers each bringing two counterparts, were selected from a very competitive applicant pool and impressed throughout the entire workshop.

We held sessions on idea development, risk assessment, marketing and accounting, to name a few.

Hard at work.

With my boss, Rolando.

Like I mentioned before when describing Krystal's training in the capital, most counterparts very rarely, if ever leave their home departments. This experience at Costa del Sol, for many participants, was their first time away from home as well as the first time they had ever seen the ocean.

With this thought in mind, my colleague Brock and I thought of a great way for participants to enjoy the locale, as well as learn from the experience. We decided to go on a lancha, or boat, ride on the bay side of the peninsula of Costa del Sol, invite the lancheros, or boat drivers who themselves are entrepreneurs, to dinner with the group followed by a question and answer session. I was incredibly impressed by the questions our young entrepreneurs came up with.

After their initial fear, everyone thoroughly enjoyed the ride, and the chance to swim in the ocean!

The group with their certificates of completion.

*Feel free to visit my Facebook page where I have an entire album of photos dedicated to the small business workshop.

GLOW Camp

It is a well-known and accepted fact in the development world that investment in girls education leads to more efficient, effective and quicker development than equal amounts of investment in boys education. It's believed that females' inherent nature attributes largely to what is known as "the girl effect". Check out this link for more information.

In the coming months, a group of eight other volunteers and myself will be planning and executing a GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) Camp for thirty young women, ages 12-18, from our own communities. This three day camp will serve as an educational opportunity for these young women to learn about leadership, healthy relationships, educational opportunities, self esteem and more.

As with all things, there is a cost to putting on this camp, and we volunteers will be fund-raising to make it possible. I am reaching out to you, family and friends, to help make this plan reality. Next month, our project will be up on the PC giving website where you will be able to make a tax-deductible donation with your credit car dor through PayPal. For those interested in making a difference in the life of a young girl, please let me know and I will be in touch with more information once our project is placed on the website. As always, thanks for your love and support.

Happy Easter and Happy Passover to you all stateside! As always, thanks for reading and your continued apoyo. Enjoy Spring!

These should be standard issue to all PCVs, don't you agree? No? OK, maybe it can be my retirement home.

Clearly I have been shirking my blog updating regimen, but I promise I have very excellent reasons. The past two months for me down here in the 503 have been jam packed with events, trans-national travel, work and a few too many goodbyes.

I’m going to try something new in this blog post. Instead of writing all the down and dirty details of a few events, I am going to provide abbreviated descriptions of several occasions and accompany these stories with a few photos. Please let me know what you think about the new format; I love comments! (That way I actually feel like people read this silly e-rag.)

El Camino As most of you know, I took over as PCES’ magazine, El Camino, head editor with the release of our November issue. Since, the ten-year-old publication underwent a complete transformation from cover design to content formatting. For me, El Camino really is a labor of love, and countless Coke Zeros to fuel the editing process, absorbing most of my time and all of my attention come publication time.

Having never served as the editor of anything, let alone editor of a fifty page quarterly publication, lots of time has gone into learning the ins and outs of the trade. Thankfully I have an awesome team of three other volunteers who assist in the whole process and without them the magazine would be impossible to complete. Below are the cover shots of the two most recent issues we have published. Also, if anyone is interested in actually seeing our humble quarterly, let me know and I’ll email you a PDF.

JICA Jamboree Japan’s version of Peace Corps, JICA, currently has about fifty volunteers working throughout the country. Their volunteers provide support at various institutions in highly specified work areas such as international seaport management, nursing and cultural preservation. All volunteers halfway through their service give a mid-service report on their work with their counterpart institution and their work plan for the remainder of service. These presentations are made in San Salvador at the Crowne Plaza Hotel, a very swanky venue.

This past February I, along with my Country Director and a few other PC representatives, were invited to JICA’s mid-service review. There, I was so glad to run into my JICA friend, Sachi, from Anamoros. She and I had worked on Global Handwashing Day together. Below is a photo of Sachi and me at the Crowne Plaza. *Thankfully, all of JICA’s volunteers’ family members as well as the families of their Japanese nation staff were remarkably left unharmed after the earthquake. Please keep them in your thoughts and prayers as Japan continues to battle the aftermath and recover from this devastating tragedy.

¡Corre! Ever since I ran in my first 5K back at UR in the KD Shamrock Run 2008 (I still have the tshirt, Alix!) I’ve become one of those weird people who actually enjoys running, and now have nearly ten races under my belt.

After the disappointment of being unable to run in this year’s Freezer 5K with my friends Jake and Stefan (though they both kicked butt placing 1st and 2nd in their age group, respectively), thanks appendix, I was dying to find a race to run. Not two weeks after my return to ES did my fellow PCV and fellow running aficionado, Ricky, find just the opportunity. The Salvadoran running group, Yo Amo ES, was holding their second annual 11K and 21K race in San Salvador. We PCVs ran in this race last year, but this year, Ricky and I decided we needed to take our participation to the next level. We needed uniforms.

Seeing as I take care of all of our soccer uniform orders, it fell to me to find a provider for the running uniforms and take the order. Ricky was the mastermind behind the design: short shorts, a singlet and a catchy phrase for our competitors to read as we blazed by. In the end, we had more than twenty-five PCVs participate along with our PTO and an embassy friend. As for me, the whole run felt great, I dropped ten minutes off my previous year’s time and placed 26th over all. Not too bad for my first race post-op. It must have been my appendix weighing me down last year.

Happy 50th Anniversary, Peace Corps! On March 1, 1961, President John F. Kennedy signed an executive order officially creating the Peace Corps. Since, over 200,000 volunteers have served in 139 countries. Currently serving there are roughly 8,500 volunteers who work, live and learn in 77 countries worldwide.

To celebrate this important milestone in our agency’s history, a 50th Anniversary Kick-off Celebration was held at the US Ambassador to El Salvador’s residence. Current volunteers, Returned Peace Corps Volunteers who now serve in the Foreign Service, counterparts and staff participated in the event.

We celebrated the evening with a tribute presentation, testimonials, live music, delicious food and an open bar! Thank you, US taxpayers, for allowing this proud PCV to enjoy a genuine All-American Sam Adams!

Teaching Now, I have always said, and my Mom can attest to this, that I would NEVER in my life become a teacher. Her response consistently was, “You never know, Rosellen,” while making her raised-eyebrow, I-know-you-are-going-to-eat-your-words look. As always, my mother was right, and I have become a teacher. In no way am I an honest-to-goodness, 24-7 kind of teacher. I couldn’t handle it, to be quite frank (and I appreciate those of you who can, especially my former educators and especially my Mom!), but throughout my PC service, I have become a pseudo-teacher. In the beginning it was English, then silly arts and crafts, and now I am teaching what really interests me and I am passionate about: economics and micro-business development.

I am traveling around the country, more now than ever before, to different volunteers’ sites to provide micro-business lessons to counterpart groups for specific projects. Most recently, I have traveled to the most northwestern corner of ES to teach my friend, Molly’s women’s artisan group. Our first lesson, three hours in length, went very well. I am looking forward to the three others I have planned with Molly and three other sessions I have planned with different volunteers across the country.

Graphic Designing Mind you, I haven’t taken so much as an Art History class is college, let alone a design class since Mr. Adam’s Drawing and Painting course my sophomore year of high school. Not that that should matter. In addition to traipsing around the country giving small business lessons, I am also serving as the de facto graphic designer for the National Agriculture School.

Part of my work here at the ENA is to help in product branding and development including packaging and label design. Seeing as funds are limited, we are unable to hire a graphic designing company to assist in the process. After a few frustrating days, video tutorials and time putzing around, I have become proficient in PhotoShop. With my new skills, I have been working on creating designs to the tastes and specifications of the powers that be at the school. (My aesthetic tends to be a little less tacky.)

Also, we have taken a GIANT step at the school store, abandoning traditional plastic bags for our products to biodegradable plastic! As the nations leading educational institute in agronomy, caring for the environment is essential and we are trying to reflect it in all ways possible. Score for environmental protection!

President Obama On March 22nd and 23rd, President Obama and his family visited El Salvador as part of his Central and South American Tour. Over the course of his 24 hour stay, the entire nation altered their daily lives. All government institutions, including the ENA, were closed both the 22nd and the 23rd for “Vacaciones Obamas.” It was a very exciting time for this tiny nation, no larger than the state of Massachusetts.

During his visit, the President, along with Peace Corps Director Aaron Williams, met and took their photograph with fourteen very fortunate volunteers. Sadly for me, I wasn’t one of them:(

Instead of hobnobbing with the President and Mr. Williams, I spent my “Vacaciones Obamas” tracking every move and event the President and his family participated in from their arrival at Comalapa Airport, to their state dinner, to the first daughters’ trip to the artisan market near our office. (Yes, Mom. The same one you went to.) I even found what I at first thought was a mere joke, The Obama Pupusa.

Pupusas are El Salvador’s traditional food, a corn tortilla stuffed with cheese, beans and other varieties of goodness and served with special coleslaw. In honor of the US President, the pupuseras of Zaragoza “invented” the Pupusa Obama, or more simply stated, a pupusa made out of black corn. Think of it what you may.

As always, life in El Salvador is never boring, always interesting and never fails to make me laugh at least once a day. Take for example a placard on a public transport bus: Gold, Moneys and Womens.

A special “I’ll see you soon,” goes to my dear friend, Emily, who has just crossed over to the RPCV side, having completed her service officially on April 1st. Safe travels, EmBo, and I’ll be seeing you in DC. We’ll be real people!

An ENORMOUS THANK YOU goes to my dear friend Mitchy for the beautiful surprise I received mid-February. Every time I wear my rose I receive compliments and remember how fortunate I am to have such an amazing friend. Also, your note was ridiculous. Julia.

Get Well Soon, Eric! Work hard at therapy. You’ll need to be in top physical condition for fall kickball league!

Last, but certainly not least, a HUGE HAPPY BIRTHDAY goes out to my Mom! I am sad I won’t be with you to celebrate, but we’ll make up for it when I get home! I love you!

Thanks for reading, please comment, and I hope to hear from you all soon. Also, I have only FOUR, count them, FOUR months left in The Savior. So, book your tickets, pack your bags and fly on down to see me! Or, you can just wait ‘til I’m back in the US of A.

“What the HELL am I doing here?!?!” It’s an indubitable reality that every Peace Corps Volunteer, and I mean every last one (whether they admit it or not), asks themselves this very question at least a handful of times during their two years of service.

For me, the first time took place in a latrine. It was my third day in El Salvador and first night in my training community when I was contemplating the mechanics of going about my business. I had never actually used a latrine in my 21 years of sheltered gringa living, and the whole process was a mystery to me. Just as I determined my approach, a frog jumped out of a corner while a cockroach simultaneously scurried across my toes, startling me and interrupting my flow, if you will. Looking back now, it’s a pleasantly humorous memory, but at the time I cursed myself for dreaming up this wild adventure, leaving my loved ones and abandoning my adored porcelain toilet stateside.

The most recent, and I’m certain not last, time I seriously doubted my dedication to PC service was just last month. Days after my appendectomy, my bosses decided it was no longer appropriate for me to remain in my second site. During my time at ACOCACPAL de R.L., I stumbled across mismanagement, misallocation and misuse of a well-known development organization’s donated funds in breech of legal contracts between the two entities. This newfound information inevitably rendered the future of the cooperative nonexistent. My fate, too, was sealed. A site change was inexorable and I would be moving to my third, yes third, site of service upon return from vacation in the states.

Site changes here in El Salvador are rare among volunteers; a second site change is practically unheard of. Though I got on the Crazy Thought Carrousel—questioning what was wrong with me, where I had failed in my service to lead to this, if I was the worst volunteer ever—I some how managed to get off and consciously decide to leave the whole situation alone. For the most part, anyways. I had twenty-five days, thanks to, some extent, the unfortunate loss of my appendix, at home to relax and recharge. There was no reason to spend it fretting about my future in a third world country thousands of miles away.

Instead, I spent those amazing days with the people who mean most to me in this world. My Dad and I were able to, for the first and only time, fully surprise my Mom with my early arrival home from ES. I will never forget the look of dumbfounded astonishment on her face. My sister, Dana, and I, as tradition dictates, wore matching Christmas pajamas, though were granted reprieve from the matching sweater requisite. Family Christmas Day Color Coordination still applied.

Mom, Dad and I enjoyed the Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra. I shared some Salvadoran culture with my 92 year-old Grammy in a pupusa lunch. Stefan took me out for my first bar experience in Allen Town. Dana, Darcie, Devin and I had a fabulous meal of Spanish tapas and took in a questionably appropriate motion picture. Aunt Lynn and Uncle Randy took me to a charming holiday theater production and dinner that I was, a little too literally, head over heels for. David, Kevin and I enjoyed some Latin American flare, though, for some reason I still can’t understand, they didn’t love Chino y Nacho’s Niña Bonita as much as I do. I was able to throw a few back with my PC buddies Isabel and Ted under new social and cultural norms in the Penn Quarter. New Year’s Eve was certainly one for the record books with Caitlin, Casey, Eric and company. The greatness of the baked brie and peppermint patty shots will never be replicated.

My point is…I had an amazing time at home and I am still so grateful to have had the opportunity to reconnect with my loved ones. It was reassuring to me that, though we had been apart for nearly 365 days, the relationships hadn’t deteriorated, but quite literally the opposite. Absence in fact does make the heart grow fonder.

This of course, though, made leaving all the more challenging. Why in my right mind would I knowingly leave my heart behind and reenter the lion’s den of such an uncertain fate? I would be remiss if I didn’t thank my parents for dealing with the brunt of my moody, illogical commentary and for encouraging me to come back, at least for a little while, to evaluate my options before making my final decision. (Mom, I found the card. Thank you.)

Regardless of my complaints, mild tantrums and tears, I always knew I’d come back to El Salvador, even if for just a little while. So with a heavy heart, very puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks I said goodbye to my parents and beloved Buffalo for The Savior one last time.

As I was waiting at the gate, still contemplating whether I should say screw it all and have my parents pick me up, I looked up and noticed a young soldier sitting diagonally from. He was obviously on his way back to his post, presumably in the middle east, seated in quiet reservation, probably contemplating the same things as me: leaving his family, friends and pondering his fate. The soldier must have felt my stare, looked up and our eyes met. We both quickly looked away as is human nature when caught staring, but something made me look back. I knew those eyes.

The soldier turned out to be a boy I coached in swimming, diving and made swim extra laps when he ran his mouth during summer practice at Kohler Pool. That skinny, gangly, 15 year-old boy I knew is now a full-grown man serving our country.

Vinny recognized me, too, I moved to sit next to him and we began to catch up on the last six years of life. I told of my studies at the University of Rochester and my time in Peace Corps. He told me of his enlistment in January of 2009, his marriage, the birth of his first son, Dominic, just before the holidays, and what it’s like serving combat duty in Afghanistan. As I listened to this man, barely 21 years old, I realized that though we are both voluntarily serving our country, his sacrifice is so much greater than mine. To begin with, his physical distance from his family is practically astronomical. I cannot even fathom the emotional strain of being away from his wife and newborn child. To top it all off, he is in an active combat zone, fighting in the name of our country.

Certainly, I don’t live under the best of circumstance, but the pressures of my job don’t even compare. I have the luxury of going home when I want, whether I have vacation days and a plane ticket or if I decide I’ve simply had enough and want to terminate my service. Vinny, on the other hand, missed the birth of his first child and is obligated to finish his tour of duty. My family and friends can visit me whenever they so choose. (And I still hope that you will! I can plan a wicked trip…) Vinny has to rely on Facebook photos and intermittent phone calls to see his son growing and hear his wife’s voice. Sure, I’d like to be more successful in my work, especially seeing as I have so much I want to give, but at the end of the day, I’m fighting the good fight. Even if I just make a small change, a ripple of an impact, the satisfaction is worth all the hassle. Our soldiers, like Vinny, are fighting and admirable in the execution of their orders, but they don’t always get to see the positive results of their labors. Soldiers are always respected and held in high esteem, but Peace Corps Volunteers are loved as a member of the community.

Vinny and I continued to talk throughout our snow delay until it was time to board the plane. As I made my way to my seat, I reflected on the perspective my chat with Vinny gave me. Though some days are hell and I haven’t had the easiest conditions of service, nothing compares to war. Sure I may not always have a toilet, or running water for that matter, but at least no one is wishing me harm on a daily basis.

Due to snow, my flight was an hour and fifteen minute late arriving at the Atlanta airport. That meant I had fifteen minutes to get off the plane, change terminals and sprint to my flight to San Salvador. Two days previously, I made plans with my PC friend, Kallie, who was on the same flight to ES, to grab one last American meal together. Obviously I wasn’t able to keep that date. When I saw her, she smiled at me and looked relieved, in a way. The first words she said to me were, “I thought you decided not to come back.” “Nah, I’m back, at least for a little while.”

I tried my best to rest during the flight, and prepare myself for all that I had to face in the coming days: meeting with my bosses, finding an acceptable third site or negotiating terms of separation, and regardless of my decision, returning to my site to pack and say goodbye to the people who have accepted me and loved me as their own. A very large, pale, blonde version of their own.

Once back on the ground and at the Peace Corps office by 2PM local time, several PCV friends greeted me and we caught up on the last month in each other’s lives. One reoccurring theme that I didn’t really anticipate or appreciate was the, “I can’t believe you’re back”/ “Why don’t you just go home?” sentiment. As dramatic as I had been, staying/going home was always a last resort, the final option when enough became enough. With that, I became more resolved to make something work. I’m tougher than that. Meetings with the higher ups started immediately. By close of business my first day back in country, I had a conference call with the top two PCES administrators and my APCD, Rolando, who was out sick from a basketball injury, scheduled for first thing the next morning to discuss my options.

Feeling better about the morning’s prospects, I headed to enjoy an evening of luxury and solitude at the Sheraton, thanks to Mom and Dad. I wasn’t really up to spending a night with any PCVs. I didn’t want to talk about why I couldn’t go back to my site or why I didn’t just throw in the towel. I needed a night to myself. The welcome cocktail, my favorite meal in ES and an amazing night’s sleep on an enormous bed was just what I needed to calm my nerves.

The next morning I woke up refreshed, showered, dressed and headed to the office. Our conference call started sharply on la hora Salvadoreña, meaning thirty minutes late. The first statement out of my APCD’s mouth was, “Thank you for coming back, Rosellen.” For a split second, I was offended, but then realized he understood my struggle, how the appendectomy made me want to stay home that much more, and how upsetting a third site was to me.

My CD, PTO, APCD and I had an awesome open dialogue of my requirements in a new site, options that were available and my exit strategy for my second site. They expressed their support of me and assured me their dedication to finding me a suitable site where I can work to my potential. In the words of Rolando, “Early termination is not an option. I’m not letting you go, lady. We will make this work.” By 9:30AM, we had an appointment made to go visit La Escuela Nacional de AgriculturaI, The National Agriculture School, where I underwent two trainings with PC, to discuss a possible assignment with their head of agricultural business and the school’s director for that afternoon at 1PM.

The meeting that afternoon went extremely well. For the most part I was familiar with the campus, what the school offers and the types of products its students produce—such as cheeses, honey, dairy products, eggs, etc—but unfamiliar what they wanted from me as a PCV. Rolando and I went in prefacing the meeting that we were not making a commitment to the school, but rather there to discuss ideas and projects they wished to pursue should I decide to locate to the ENA. By the end of the meeting, though, I had a million ideas running through my head of the possibilities and mountains of work I could help complete at the school. I was still unwilling to commit, but definitely open to the idea. The director and my potential future counterpart emphasized that the projects I would work on would be entirely up to me, and that they would support me in anyway possible. In terms of living, a room would be made available to me in a house where a Peace Corps Response Volunteer was already living. At the end of the meeting, one of the engineers told me I could even have my own horse. Uh, where do I sign?

In all seriousness, though, I had a very important decision to make. With a little more than six months left in my service, I have enough time to complete some very successful projects, but I also need to limit the scope of my commitments. Rolando and I talked on the way back to San Sal, a mere 35-minute drive, and he told me the ball was in my court. If I wanted to explore more options, we could, if I wanted to commit to the ENA, that’s fine, too. I just needed to inform him one way or another. I decided I needed to take the night to think about it, and to consult with another APCD, Clelia, who always lends an ear and helps put things in perspective.

Once back at the office, I ran right up to Clelia’s office to tell her about the meeting. Before I could get much information out, she told me she could see a visible change in my demeanor that I looked more relaxed and sounded excited while telling about the opportunities. She advised me that the ENA was offering me a very flexible position where I would be able to use my skills on a daily basis. It was the best offer I could hope for. Still, I wanted to sleep on it.

Back to the Sheraton I went for one more night before I was to head back to Lislique to tie up loose ends, pack and say goodbye. One more exquisite room service meal with a dessert of Girl Scout cookies imported from the USA and a good night’s sleep later, I made my decision. I was moving to the ENA.

First thing Thursday morning, I informed Rolando to go ahead and arrange for my move. I can’t even express the sense of relief I felt just saying the words.

The hard part followed: telling my adopted family that I was leaving. As if suffering the heartbreak of leaving my real family and friends in the US wasn’t enough, I had to go ahead and break my own heart all over again and those of my adopted family, the Alfaros. Goodbyes never get easier. Thankfully, though, we have cell phones and the always-open option of visits.

It’s now been two weeks since I arrived here at the ENA and I am just beginning to delve into my realm of work. I am going to be focusing my work on improving the production and supply chains of four products produced here at the school. We will work on quality control, constant production, branding and marketing. This is a very exciting project, and I hope to involve the students as much as possible. My last six months in El Salvador will be very busy, indeed.

To all those who asked, “Why don’t you just go home?” my answer is simple: I’m not done yet. I made a commitment when I swore in as a PCV to complete two years of service for the people of El Salvador. I didn’t say where or how I’d do it, just that I would. Sure, I could throw in the towel. But, what for? I know I’ll be a better PCV because of my challenges, so I’m going to suck it up, pick up my head, use that towel to wipe the sweat off my face and keep on keeping on.

Besides, the third time’s a charm.

By now it’s no big secret, gracias a los powers of Facebook and the chambre monster, that I underwent a fairly routine surgical procedure here in El Salvador on November 24th, the day before Thanksgiving. Thanks to my wonderful Peace Corps nurse, Irma; my deft surgeon, Dr. Alvarez; the attentive nursing staff at the Hospital de la Mujer; and the love, prayers and support of my family and friends, I was able to make a complete and speedy recovery.

***READER BEWARE*** This blog post will recount the details of my appendectomy from initial symptoms to post-op. If guts, gore and semi-gruesome details aren’t your cup of tea, you might want to skip this entry.

Appendectomy The week leading up to Thanksgiving 2010, like most years, was a hectic one. Instead of busily planning my menu, testing recipes and searching out the perfect bird, this year I was more than occupied pairing Peace Corps Volunteers and Embassy Family Hosts for Thanksgiving and finalizing the last minute details of our volunteer bar party on Black Friday.

By Tuesday, most things were in order; all volunteers had Thanksgiving Embassy Families, even the difficult to place vegans, but I still had a few emails to send out. As absurd as this next statement may seem, it’s very true and very common. The cables connecting my town to the internet were stolen over the weekend, (thieves then sell the cables for great financial gain )leaving us Lisliqueños completely disconnected. With no other option, I packed up my trusty MacBook and charger, hopped on the bus and settled in for the hour and a half bus ride down to Santa Rosa.

On the ride into town I was rather lethargic, in hindsight even more so than normal. My body had already begun defending itself. After a bit of a nap I woke up slightly refreshed in Santa Rosa. A week earlier, my fellow NLUers and I discovered that Pollo Campestre, an inexplicably popular fast food chicken restaurant, has free wireless internet service. Connectivity was enough for these gringos to change their hangout from the BK Lounge to Pollo Campestre. In no time I had my portable office comfortably setup in a booth and started tackling my internet to-do list fueled by hot, fresh, brewed coffee. Such a treat. What? You mean to tell me brewed coffee isn’t a luxury good?

Soon enough my friends and PC colleagues, Brian and Erica, joined me. While eating lunch, we chatted and caught up on the latest chambre. Amid the stories and updates, Erica commented on how little of my salad lunch I ate, a completely abnormal occurrence for me as a Lifetime Member of the Clean Plate Club. I chalked it up to a bit of a tummy ache, most likely induced by too many cups of real coffee. In actuality, though, the bacteria attacking my appendix were beginning to wreak havoc.

With a successfully completed to-do list and the afternoon quickly dwindling away, it was time to hop my trusty 374 home. At this point, I was beginning to feel nauseous, very bloated and a little feverish. The unpleasant feelings intensified quickly and were joined by stomach pains. As I wriggled myself into a position where I didn’t feel like I’d lose what little of my lunch I ate out the window, I cursed my decision to have a salad, an often culprit of amoeba transmission. Based on previous experiences, I was positive I had contracted amoebas and was about to begin the unpleasant side effects. I prayed and tensed my entire body as the bus jostled me homeward. For those of you lucky enough to have experienced amoebic dysentery, you fully understand my divine pleas. I have done many embarrassing things in El Salvador, but I have yet to poop my pants and wasn’t yet ready to resign to the lowest of lows, no matter how bad the pain. Yes, I am fully aware of how gross that is, but I am also aware, based on casual research and anecdotal evidence, that 60% of all PCVs wish Depends were standard issue in their medical kits.

By some divine intervention, I was able to waddle gingerly to my house, hastily unlock the two bolts on the front door, run up the stairs, unlock two more bolts and sprint into the bathroom. Just in the nick of time. As this point I, a very risk averse person, was willing to bet large sums of money on the fact that I had little bugs in my belly.

With the idea of amoebas stuck in my head and in my belly, I began the usual at home care regimen until I could get in to see a doctor presumably the next morning. It was about 5PM then, only twelve hours to the first bus out. I could make it, no problem. This wasn’t my first amoebic rodeo, after all.

I busied myself as much as I could in my nauseous state, picking out and folding clothes to pack for Thanksgiving and the bar party, checking over my to-do list one last time and BBMing Mom and Dad. As not to worry my parents, I told them that I was feeling a little under the weather, probably just something I ate, definitely nothing serious. Around 7PM, my stomach pains began intensifying, not unbearable, and the vomiting began. I thought to myself, no worries, this is the standard procedure. By this point in my Peace Corps service, I know how my body reacts to amoebas: nausea, slight fever, followed by diarrhea and ending with two bouts of vomiting.

After my first vom sess, I laid down to try to relax, puke guacal at my side in case I couldn’t make it to the bathroom, and watched Pretty Woman. Halfway through the movie, my stomach pains were incredible and the vomiting hadn’t subsided. The pains weren’t localized to my right side, so the thought of appendicitis never crossed my mind. I transferred my movie screening to the floor of the bathroom (yes, I am aware of how pathetic that is) and fully appreciated having a nicely tiled, clean bathroom with flush toilet.

By round number five of vomiting and increased stomach pain, I began to give in to the fact that I might have something seriously wrong. I consulted my Peace Corps Medical Manual and WebMD on my Blackberry and diagnosed myself with an array of diseases include pancreatitis and bleeding ulcers. Never in my expert prognoses did I identify appendicitis.

Finally around midnight, with much guilt about the inconsiderate late hour, I called our emergency Peace Corps Medical Officer line. Irma, our beloved nurse who in recent months has been terribly overworked as our only full time PCMO, answered the phone. With the pain audible in my voice, I told Irma of my symptoms. She was very concerned and immediately thought of a possible appendicitis. Her main question was, is the pain on the right side of my stomach? At that point, I still couldn’t localize the pain. Without the pain localized, my symptoms seemed more like an intestinal infection. Irma told me to get myself to the hospital in San Miguel first thing in the morning for tests and that she’d be calling periodically to check on me.

Around 1AM, I wasn’t feeling any better when Irma called, yet the pain hadn’t localized either. I tried to hydrate as best as I could with water and oral rehydration salts, but kept vomiting faster than I could consume. At 1:30AM I started to get scared seeing as I live alone and so far from the nearest hospital. Instead of getting myself worked up, I decided to pack my bag and see how I felt afterward. It would be something productive to do to pass the time and at least I’d be ready to go.

Honestly, I have absolutely no idea what was going through my head when I packed my duffle, but I had my party dress, high heels, a bathing suit, seersucker shorts and about five polo shirts. Basically, the most random and useless array of clothing I could gather. I was smart enough, though, to pack my computer, phone chargers and wallet.

2AM came around, the pain was excruciating and I started to get panicky. I decided I needed to call someone I know with a car to beg them to drive me to the San Miguel hospital two and a half hours away. The first person I called was Don Felipe, a member of my cooperative. Unfortunately, Don Felipe lives in a rather remote community and his cell phone had no signal. The next person I called was Dr. Carlos, the head doctor at Lislique’s Unidad de Salud. Of course I felt awful calling people at such a ridiculous hour, but I figured he’d understand. He is a doctor after all. Much to my utter shock, he picked up and hung up his cell phone three times in a row. In desperation I sent a text message, explaining it was an emergency and to please call me back as soon as possible.

At this point, I didn’t know who else to call. The doctor wasn’t answering my text message and I was racking my brain for people I know with transport. Finally, I remembered that Fatima’s, my running partner, dad had a truck. I called her mother’s cell phone number and was incredibly relieved when she answered. Naturally I apologized for calling at 2AM and explained the situation. I didn’t even have to ask, Lola offered to have her husband drive me to the hospital. She told me he’d be over in ten minutes.

Leaving my house in a complete disaster, I grabbed my duffle, locked my door, vomited once more and was on my way to the hospital by 2:30AM.

To say that the ride was rough is a complete understatement. My ambulance was in actuality a small Toyota pick-up at least as old as I am. The first thirty minutes of my 150-minute venture was on a completely unpaved, very uneven and hilly dirt road. All the jostling and jolting intensified the pain so much that I cried a bit. Thankfully the majority of the ride was on paved, albeit not too smooth, roads. I was able to sleep fifteen minutes here and fifteen minutes there between finding comfortable positions.

Irma called me around 3:30AM to check on me and I told her of how I had become scared, the pain intensified, and was en route to the hospital. She then called the hospital to inform them of my arrival and ensured me that everything would be in place once we arrived.

A little before 5AM, we finally arrived at San Miguel’s very new, lovely private hospital. No other patients were in the entire emergency department, as far as I could tell, and as Irma promised, the nurse and doctor were awaiting my arrival. Thankfully I was able to make the entire ride without vomiting, but as soon as I stepped foot in the hospital, I was shuffling as quickly as I could to the nearest bathroom to expel pure bile. The nurse followed me in the restroom to make some observations on my bodily fluids. Extreme dehydration, duly noted.

Feeling much relieved, I was escorted to my exam room where the doctor sat down with me right away. She took my vitals as well as blood, urine and feces samples before performing a full body exam. When she began prodding at my stomach I was near tears again and she was fairly sure that I had appendicitis. The doctor then administered my banana bag via IV, told me she was just waiting on my lab results and on the arrival of the radiologist before sending me for an ultrasound to confirm her hypothesis.

While waiting for my test results, Irma called me to update me on the situation, to tell me to make sure to have them call her as soon as I am in radiology, and under no circumstances allow them to admit me, give me water or food, or even think about operating on me. This particular hospital, though authorized by Peace Corps to perform diagnostic tests and exams, is not authorized for operations.

At this point, I called my parents to inform them of what was going on, obviously causing panic, but trying to reassure them that everything was fine. My mother wanted to hop on a flight right away, my father remained his stoic emotion-internalizing self, while my poor sister was left to handle them both. I owe you big time, Dana.

Soon after, I was wheel chaired to radiology, where the ultra sound quickly confirmed that my appendix was in fact inflamed, but thankfully hadn’t ruptured. I was immediately on the phone with Irma who told me I was being transferred to a hospital in San Salvador and that one of our PC drivers, Gerardo, was already on his way eastbound. In order to save precious time, the plan was to have the hospital ambulance drive me westbound and to meet Gerardo somewhere in the vicinity of San Vicente.

I was taken back to the ER exam room to be given an antibiotic shot to prevent my appendix from rupturing on the two and a half hour ride to San Salvador and rest until the ambulance was ready to leave. In true slow Salvo fashion, Gerardo arrived at the hospital before the ambulance was even ready. Gerardo helped to gather my things and reports and we were quickly on our way.

Gerardo, a Peace Corps driver for nearly fifteen years and notorious for reaching destinations in record time, assured me he’d have me at the hospital in no time. I told him how much I appreciated him, especially being woken up at 4:30AM by Irma to come pick me up and the fact that he brought the brand new Toyota Prado Landcruiser, but to please drive algo suave. Puke guacal between my legs, I braced myself and we were San Salvador bound.

The drive into the capital started at 8AM, meaning it was now sufficiently late for me to make phone calls to my fellow PCVs to cover my responsibilities for Thanksgiving and Black Friday. By the time we arrived in San Salvador, Brock was picking up the wine for Thanksgiving dinner, Isabel was briefed on all the bar party details, and I was able to convince my mother to hold off on flying down until we had more details of my prognosis.

At 10:30AM, Gerardo and I arrived at the Hospital de la Mujer and I was immediately admitted. Irma had called in advance, the hospital was awaiting my arrival and the surgeon was on call. Before I even finished my admission paper work, Irma was rubbing my back, assuring me everything would be ok and making sure the hospital staff was making my case a priority. Irma is an efficient angel.

I was quickly wheel chaired up to my very nice, private hospital room complete with cable, internet and a Lay-Z-Boy recliner. The nurse instructed me to strip down and dress in the latest in hospital couture, a lovely floral pattern gown. The surgeon, Dr. Alvarez, was in immediately, performed a physical exam, and because I wasn’t in apparent excruciating pain, he decided to re-run all my exams. (Note to self: cry next time.) At this point, I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything in nearly twenty-four hours that wasn’t otherwise expelled, so the nurses hooked me up to another IV and took more blood.

My blood test came back, while I was waiting my turn in radiology, with a highly elevated white cell count. With that information, Irma started making phone calls and making sure I was put on priority for my ultrasound. I talked with my parents once again, updating them of the situation and assuring and reassuring my mom I was under excellent care. The truth of the matter is I was getting arguably the best care of my life. I was at the nicest private hospital in the country, I had Irma by my side advocating on my behalf, and my surgeon completed his surgical residency in the US, not to mention he removed the appendix of one of my colleagues two weeks prior.

Dr. Alvarez and Irma were with me during the ultrasound as not to waste any time with reading printouts of the exam. By this point, it seemed pretty imminent to me that my appendix was coming out and I was really starting to feel nervous. Some how, though, I still managed to keep it together. The ultrasound quickly showed an extremely inflamed appendix and then, with a very concerned voice, the radiologist said, “Hay liquido libre,” meaning there was free floating liquid in my abdominal cavity. My appendix had ruptured. My blood work indicated that the bacteria hadn’t yet entered my bloodstream, so time was of the essence to prevent going septic.

From that point, things moved very quickly. Dr. Alvarez ordered the OR to be prepped, he himself went to change from his very fancy suit, and I was wheeled upstairs for preparation. Irma had to make several phone calls to Peace Corps Washington to get my surgery authorized, I called my parents to let them know I was going in for surgery within the hour, and I had to write consent for Irma to call my parents afterwards and disclose my medical information. My dad is my healthcare proxy, but in an emergency situation where said legal documents aren’t readily at hand, written consent is used.

The nurses, all dressed in very adorable tailored scrubs, came in to take me to surgery. Irma, though her son was arriving at the airport from the States, stayed with me, reassured me that everything would be fine and that she’d be in touch with my parents.

Dr. Alvarez came to speak with me once more before going under general anesthesia. We discussed my options in terms of surgical techniques and decided that a traditional incision would be the way to go. The benefits of laparoscopy weren’t overwhelming, and the traditional method was more conservative with time. At this point, I asked him if he wouldn’t mind taking a photo of the appendix for me. He looked back at my as though that were the most ludicrous request anyone could make. “¿Por que querias una foto?” I explained that I had a natural curiosity to see what he was cutting out of my body, and also that two of my good friends are in medical school and would love to see it, too. Dr. Alvarez chuckled a bit and said, “Está bien.”

Once in the operating room, the anesthesiologist went straight to work, attempting to practice his English with me. Right as the juices started working, I remember the last concern I had was if I would be able to run in the Freezer 5k race that I had signed up for the previous week. For some reason, I was very concerned with being able to run and the doctors just laughed. There was no chance I’d be ready to run in three and a half weeks.

About an hour later, I woke up in the recovery room very groggy. To be honest, I don’t remember much other than speaking with the nurses in Spanish, insisting that they talk more quietly and getting angry with them for teasingly accusing me of dying my hair. Apparently I kept rambling on and on in Spanish about running in the 5k, about how I wouldn’t get to eat Thanksgiving dinner and how I needed to get to the bar party on Friday. At some point they told me I needed to callerme, rolled me over and gave me a shot right in my butt! Once in my hospital room, I just kept asking if Irma called my mom.

Irma later told me that my operation took about fifteen to twenty minutes longer than normal, and that even she started to get worried. She told me she paced and prayed in the waiting room until Dr. Alvarez came out and told her all was well. The reason my operation took so long was that my appendix was far larger than the surgeon had anticipated, about ten centimeters in length and of abnormally large girth, and that he had to increase the size of my incision by a centimeter in order to get it out. He estimated that I had been symptomatic with appendicitis for at least three days. Case and point of when a high pain threshold is not a good thing.

A couple hours after I returned to my room I was coherent enough to talk to my family. We all felt a great sense of relief, and I was able to rest comfortably after a few more butt shots of painkillers. Eventually Dr. Alvarez came to check in on me, back in his very dapper suit. He showed me the photos of my appendix he took on his iPhone, which he later emailed to me. Awesomely gross.

Twenty-four hours after my initial feelings of panic I was comfortably resting after a successful appendectomy. The longest day of my life was finally over.

I spent a total of three nights in the hospital, missed Thanksgiving dinner and enjoyed the bar party vicariously through phone calls and text messages from my friends. I was fortunate enough to have visits from Peace Corps friends and to spend “Thanksgiving Dinner” with my family via G-chat.

Now, El Salvador and I have a very unique symbiotic relationship with lots of give and take. I just never thought it’d literally take a piece of me.

About two weeks ago, I made like Fivel and headed west to San Salvador for my mandatory mid-service medical check-up exam. I spent two days running around the capital to a monton of doctors’ offices and trips to the lab to drop off multiple “samples”. As I was sitting reclined in the dentist’s chair, watching on a monitor as he cleaned my teeth (sorry, Dr. Glor, my ES dentist has cooler equipment than you do), it finally hit me that I am now playing the back nine of my service. My first half of service flew by. I can only imagine how quickly the second half with go. With that lovely little realization forever flashing in the back of my mind, I am trying to do as much, experience as much and share as much as I can, knowing that in life, unlike golf, there are no mulligans. So just like all the cheesy Peace Corps propaganda says, I’m doing as much as a can so I “never have to say ‘I should have’”. The Italian Job One of the activities I enjoy most with my adopted family, the Alfaros, is cooking and baking. It’s always a blast to cajole the boys, Jonathan and Melkin, into helping Ana and me bake up a batch of cookies or brownies (thanks to the many mixes sent by Janet and Vi) and see their eyes light up with the first bite of their creation. Over the last four months, we have made chocolate chip and oatmeal cookies, muffins, brownies and pizza topped with pineapple, ham, veggies and spicy pepperoni, to name a few. Experimenting in the kitchen and expanding the kids’ pallets has been a fun and interesting experience. There hasn’t been much the kids don’t like, much to my pleasant surprise, and they often ask me what new thing we can make next. So, as mid-September rolled around, we were all gearing up for Jonathan’s 11th birthday. I told him as my gift to him, I would make him whatever he wanted for his special birthday dinner, just name it. After quite a few days of pondering and debate, Jonathan finally decided what he wanted: lasagna. I was very surprised at this request, honestly expecting him to pick hamburgers or chicken and rice. I asked him if he had ever had lasagna before, which he embarrassedly admitted no. One of the Pizza Hut commercials or Nickelodeon shows like iCarly must have introduced the idea. I proceeded to explain all that the wonderful world of lasagna entailed, and asked one last time if he was absolutely, positively sure that that was what he wanted for his birthday dinner. He gave an unequivocally affirmative response. Lasagna it is, then. On Jonathan’s birthday, after another lackluster day at my cooperative, I was ecstatic to have the opportunity to cook what I was certain to be a homerun meal. Just a few months earlier I made lasagna for my friends Karl and Matt, where Karl ravenously ate half a pan himself. Obviously a slam-dunk. I rode the trusty 374 bus from my town into Santa Rosa de Lima, a mere hour and twenty minute ride, to buy all the necessary ingredients for the meal. Following my Aunt Debbie’s famous recipe, I bought four different types of cheese, ground beef super especial, fresh veggies, lasagna noodles and disposable tin pan. Also while in town, I picked up a birthday cake and candles to top off the celebration. Following another hour and twenty minute, jostling, jolting bus ride, I arrived back in town. A quick trip to my house to grab a few spices and additional ingredients, and I was off to the Alfaros’ to start cooking. Jonathan was still in school, with about an hour and a half until dismissal; the perfect amount of time for preparation and baking, ensuring the house to be filled with the rich smells of Italian goodness when he got home. My tias, Golla, Carmela and Marta, along with Abuela Maria, were all surprised by all the ingredients I brought with me and just looked on in utter shock and amazement as I started getting busy. At this point, I knew my way around their cocina well enough, and they trusted me enough to just do my thing. First things first, I got the water set to boil on the back burner of the stovetop. Next, it was time to start chopping the vegetables to hide throughout the lasagna. Jonathan, and especially Ana, casi no les gustan vegetables, but still desperately need their nutrients. Ana is fifteen years old and only about 80 pounds on a good day, and doesn’t have many sources of vitamins and minerals. Until I can effectively convince my little friends that vegetable are in fact delicious, I don’t mind concealing them. Now, I don’t exactly know how to make my own tomato sauce, but I can doctor up your basic store bought variety pretty well. In a sauce pan, I squeezed a packet of tomato paste, two packets of Ranchero tomato sauce and two packets of the Queso variety, along with about half a dozen roma tomatoes, onions and water. Top it off with some dried basil and my personal favorite, McCormick’s Pepper Medley, and shizzam, an awesome sauce. Some more vegetables, onions and green pepper, got hidden in with the ground beef that I started browning in a frying pan on a third burner of the Alfaros’ stove. I am pretty sure their stove had ever been so crowded, and I could see a look of worry as they watched me juggle the three pots and pans I was using. They kept informing me that the house was starting to fill with unfamiliar smells, and asking if I was sure I wasn’t burning things. Nothing was burning; food can be fragrant. While the noodles were finishing boiling, I mixed requeson, my ricotta substitute (sometimes you have to get creative), with an egg and ground pepper. This will have proved to be a big mistake about an hour down the road. Once the noodles were done, it was time to layer the lasagna the way my Aunt Debbie taught me over the phone the first time I made her recipe to impress a former boyfriend. The quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, right? 1. Sauce, to prevent the noodles from sticking 2. Noodles 3. Ricotta, or in El Salvador, Requeson, mixture 4. Sauce 5. Noodles 6. Ground Beef with hidden vegetables 7. Sauce 8. Noodles 9. Melty Cheese; Aunt Debbie recommends cheddar, El Salvador allows Quesillo 10. Sauce 11. Noodles 12. Sauce 13. Mozzarella With about thirty minutes left until Jonathan would arrive home from school, the stunning, to me at least, lasagna went into the oven. Without fail, about a half hour into baking, the dish really started to smell wonderful, the “Rosy, ¿estás segura que no está quemando?” were abundant, and Jonathan came home with a huge smile on his face as the aroma of deliciousness hit his nose. Ana set and decorated the table for all of us to eat together, a rarity in Salvadoran culture. (Meals tend to be eaten in shifts.) The lasagna came out of the oven looking absolutely perfect, and I set it on the table to settle and cool off a bit. The kids, and adults, looked curiously and excitedly at the pan of lasagna cooling on the table. We took photos to pass the waiting time, and Jonathan was so excited when it was finally time to cut the lasagna. Naturally, the Birthday Boy got the first piece, and the rest of the posse of kids and family followed. When I finally sat myself down to enjoy the fruits of my labors, I noticed that there was really quite a lot of food still on people’s plates. Now, I know we in my family tend to eat quickly, but the amount of food was inordinate. Jonathan just picked, Henri ate only the filling leaving the noodles, and Ana ate abnormally quietly. Melkin, the garbage disposal of the family, just shoveled the food into his mouth without actually tasting. Not exactly a good gauge. As I looked around from plate to plate, face to face, it hit me that these were not happy, satisfied people enjoying their meal. These were silent people, with polite smiles, choking down terrible food. But how could that be? This was near PERFECT. It tasted heavenly to me. Finally the realization sank in, I had crashed and burned on this one. This was, in a word, a disaster. Finally, I broke the silence and said to Jonathan, “You don’t really like that, do you?” He said, “Well, actually no, I don’t.” I let him know it was ok, that he didn’t need to eat the rest, which he didn’t, and the others followed suit. The floodgates of “constructive criticism” then opened. Jonathan told me it was just not good, Henri told me it would be better without noodles, and Ana told me that the requeson was demasiado simple, the pepper was not tasty and that it needed salt. A lot of salt. Now, I was doing a pretty good job of maintaining my composure, keeping the smiling face, until I realized how much was wasted—food, time, money—and that I failed to make a Jonathan’s birthday special. He hated my gift to him. I focused on keeping the smile as I quickly cleared the plates and gave the scraps to the dogs. I figured we might as well just have cake. I placed the candles, lit them and we all sang happy birthday. Jonathan, usually a pretty serious kid, finally smiled a bit. Everyone seemed to genuinely enjoy the cake. At least I did something right. I cleaned up as quickly as I could before packing up the leftovers, not much after all the waste, and made an excuse to leave, saying I was tired. The truth was, I hadn’t felt so bad in this country since a random stranger came up to me and said, in English, “Go home, gringa. We don’t want you here.” My cooking is something I pride myself on, something I am good at and enjoy doing, and something I really like sharing with others. The fact that my Salvadoran family didn’t like my cooking really bruised my ego and hurt my feelings. Not to mention I felt like I ruined Jonathan’s birthday. It took all I had to hold back tears. Once back at my house, I did cry. I’m sure it wasn’t just the lasagna, but all the daily little things and emotions that get you down that finally just came flooding out through my eyeballs. At the end of the day, I realized that the lasagna disaster had nothing to do with me, but entirely with tastes. Things that are tacky in the States are beautiful here; food that is disgusting at home is delicious here; insults in America are complements here. My personal favorite, “My, you’re looking awfully fat today!” It’s just a matter of culture. Now, finally, over a year in this country, I’m finally getting it, and more importantly, accepting it. In addition to having supper club with my friends, I have begun close work with my town’s environmental committee. We are focusing on reforestation and water conservation. This past Friday, we also hosted a Stove Team International cocina mejorada demonstration. This coming Thursday, I will begin work with a youth group that has been working with a Spanish NGO. The NGO managed to donate five beautiful computers with the intent of starting a cyber café with the kids. As it turns out, the group ran out of funding to sign an internet service contract, something essential to running a cyber café. My objective with working with these youth is to educate them on running a small business, and to write and win a grant for start-up funds for the cyber. They already have the equipment, a location and a definite demand (our town doesn’t have an internet café). Hopefully we will successfully work together to start a small sustainable business. All in all, I am managing to keep busy and continue to have a positive experience. I cannot begin to thank those of you who continually remember me. Contact with you is what keeps me going on the bad days. I keep all your letter, cards and photos in what I call me “happy box”. When I have a bad day, I just open it up, pick a card at random, read it and it reassures me that I’m not alone. A special thank you goes out to Janet, who just sent me a killer package of cookie and cake mixes, as well as my favorite, dark chocolate. The kids and I already have plans to bake the funfetti cake on Halloween to celebrate. Also, thanks go out to my parents, as always, for the cards, photos, news magazines and other remesas they send my way. I will be home for the holidays between December 15th and January 4th and would love to see as many of you as possible. On Sunday, December 19th, I will be running in the Freezer 5k with my amazing cousin, Darcie, and fantastic friends Jessica and Stefan. If anyone is interested in joining us, let me know! Thanks for reading!

In Latin American culture, death is dealt with in a much more open, community oriented, and in-your-face manner than our stuffy, puritan ways in the US. Instead of being something feared and evaded, saying aphorisms like someone “has passed away”, death is treated as the natural act that it is: a part of life. Though I have yet to participate in a funeral service here in El Salvador, I have been given a lesson in the traditions and practices surrounding death by my favorite fifteen year-old, Ana, and her family, and have participated in the closing event in the mourning process, la ultima noche. On September 1st, the one-year anniversary of Tia Dolores, Abuelita Maria’s sister’s, death was commemorated. Celebrated may, perhaps, be a much better word. The Alfaros, now including me in their family activities as one of their own, invited me to participate in the entire elaborate three-day process of preparation for la ultima noche, the last night of mourning, for Tia Dolores. Death, Vela, and Burial One day I was at the Alfaro’s spending time with Ana, Melkin and Yona, sharing photos of my family and friends back in the States, sipping on a Fanta. When we ran out of photos of mine to look at, Ana pulled out their family’s digital camera, sent from her father living in the USA, filled with their photos. As I was checking them out, Ana was explaining all the family memories: birthdays, graduations…and deaths. While flipping through the photo files, one of a woman I didn’t recognize, dressed in an elaborate white dress and apparently sleeping, popped up. Of course I thought that was a little weird to have a photo of a sleeping lady, until Ana said, rather casually, “That’s my Tia Dolores when she died.” What?!?! Was she really telling me this photo was of a dead lady? I mean, I’ve heard stories of my great grandmother, Rosie, keeping a death book along with photos of dead family members in their caskets, but I didn’t think that people actually still did that, nor did they just happen to keep those particular photos on their digital camera like it was standard procedure. I tried to mask my reaction of surprise and horror and quickly flipped to the next photo. Much to my astonishment, there was a plethora more of photos of Tia Dolores’ death, including pictures of Abuela posing with Tia, Tia in her casket, and the whole body of mourners during the vela. Anita could sense that I didn’t understand why they had so many photos of their dead aunt, and uncle whose funeral photos followed, so she took the opportunity to explain to me the entire process. When someone dies, family and friends usually surround them throughout the entire process. A vigil is kept around the deathbed until the dying passes on (see, I can’t even comfortably describe death without dancing around it). In Salvadoran culture, people usually aren’t in much of a hurry to do anything, but when it comes to death, there is no waiting around. Once the person has died, they are immediately changed into their burial clothes and transferred into their casket. Here, embalming and preservation are not common, usually prohibitively expensive and all together unnecessary, so there is not time to waste. To help preserve the body, however minimally, it is literally kept on ice. The caskets even have little drain holes in the back for the melted ice to escape. The vela, or wake equivalent, usually starts immediately. It can vary in length from twenty-four to forty-eight hours, and is an around-the-clock event held at the home of the deceased. The casket is the centerpiece of the vela, generally located in the main room of the home where mourners come to pay their last respects. During the whole vela, the female family members of the deceased busy themselves preparing coffee and tamales and washing dishes for those who come to call around the clock. The men tend to sit outside playing cards and sometimes drinking. Certainly there are tears and it’s a solemn event, but generally the people take the time to reminisce about the deceased and they positive times they had together. After the vela, the deceased is then paraded through town, accompanied by family, friends and the community as a whole. The parade makes its way to the church where a funeral mass, in the case of the Catholics, or a funeral culto, in the case of the Evangelical Christians, is held. From the mass or culto, the parade continues on its route to the cemetery for burial. Nueve Dias, Cuarenta Dias, y Seis Meses In American culture, after the burial of the loved one, the formal mourning process is complete and the deceased’s survivors are left to grieve in their own ways. Here in El Salvador, however, the formal and collective grieving process and commemoration of the dead continues. Nine days after the death, the community comes together again in the home of the deceased for an asamblea, where of course they eat bread, drink coffee and pray. Forty days after the death, as well as six months later, asembleas are held, too. Sure, this may seem a little like over kill, but it forces survivors to recognize, process and come to grips with their loss. It is pretty near impossible to ignore one’s grief and loss when they are faced with it, along with family and friends, and forced to deal with it. Also, from the day a person dies, their family immediately drapes a piece of black bunting above the main doorway of their home, and that remains for an entire year, to serve as a notice to the community and a reminder to the home’s inhabitants of the loss. Every time one passes through the doorway, the dead is remembered. One Year and Beyond The one-year anniversary of a death is a very important event, and just as elaborately celebrated as the vela and burial. About a week prior to the aneversario of Tia Dolores’ death, Golla invited me to help prepare for the large asamblea the family was planning. Dolores’ anniversary was to be celebrated on Wednesday, September 1st, so preparation began two days prior. On Monday, the 30th, Golla, Carmela and I spent the afternoon making bread. We went to the house of one of their cousins to use the large, adobe oven that fits about twenty nine by nine inch baking pans. (I wish I brought my camera for this whole process, but I stupidly left it at home.) The first bread that was made was pan de torta, lightly sweet, moist and soft bread. We mixed the ingredients in a large, wooden mixing vessel, about a meter long, fifty centimeters wide and ten centimeters deep. We used the best units of measurement and utensils known to man, our hands. Some how, Golla and Carmela knew exactly how much of each ingredient to put in without really keeping track, throwing in a handful of this and a bag of that. Remarkably, it turned out perfectly. Quite literally thirty-five pounds of this bread was made. The second kind of bread we made was another sweet bread, a little denser, perfect for dipping in coffee and dusted with sugar. The same method of toss and mix was used, I’m not really sure I’d be able to replicate the end product with a recipe, the technique of years of practice, feel and faith. The last bread we baked was pan blanco, a sugarless, cream bread for Abuelita. Grandma Maria has azucar en el sangre, commonly known as diabetes, and avoids all sugar when possible. (Though I have seen her sneak the cookies and brownies the kids and I make on occasion, just like my real Grammary used to.) Of course we had to bring the breads back to the Alfaro’s house from their cousin’s where we baked. We had four large pilones, big plastic tubs, filled with bread. Being the quick walking American that I am, I made two trips carrying the tubs on my head. At first I took a smaller one, just to prove my ability. On the second trip, I planned to take the largest tub that literally housed over forty pounds of bread. (We did a lot of baking.) Carmela, who is about eight inches shorter than me, tried to tell me that she could carry it better, that it was too much for my delicate gringa body. Finally, after explaining several times that I am much bigger, she allowed me to take the big tub. I wish I had brought my camera, because a photo would have been hilarious. My community thought it was at least. The people really got a kick of the blonde gringa, in basketball shorts, flip flops and a tacky Salvadoran apron walking down the street with a large tub of bread on her head. If that photo wouldn’t have made Peace Corps promo material, I don’t know what would. The next day, Golla, Carmela and Abuela were going to teach me how to make pork tamales with them (Mama Chila taught me how to make chicken tamales). Because I work daily at my cooperative and couldn’t abandon the office, I showed up too late for my cooking lesson. When I arrived at Tia Dolores’ house, where we would be celebrating the anniversary, all the tamales were already made and cooking in enormous kettles (even larger than the ones we use for Rech Chowder) over wood burning stoves. I was disappointed that I wasn’t able to help make the over five hundred tamales (I’m not kidding) and learn from my Salvadoran family. They could sense I was a little sad I didn’t get to help, so they let me help with cutting up and preparing the beef that would be served as dinner only to the close family of the deceased. Tia Golla, Rosa and I trimmed, cleaned and cut thirty pounds of beef. They then taught me how to make their traditional beef dish marinated with green pepper, tomato, red onion, cilantro, celery, Worcestershire sauce and beer. We had a good time joking about drinking the beer instead of echar-ing it in the marinade and getting a little bola. After clean up, we walked into the room where Tia Dolores had died, and where the asamblea would be held, and saw the beautiful altar that had been assembled in her honor. There were beautiful drapes and tablecloths, candles, photos of Tia, and elaborate fresh flower arrangements with beautiful roses, calla lilies, and daisies. Before we went home for the night, the women of the family, along with a few friends, met in the altar room and prayed a rosary for Dolores. The next day, the one-year vigil began early in the morning. At 8AM those gathered prayed a rosary and repeated again at 11AM. The large ceremony began at 2PM, and the number in attendance was astonishing. Certainly I’d expect many people to attend velas and burials, but I was not expecting the crowd at the anniversary commemoration. Just think, how many people in the US would remember the date of someone’s death one year later, let alone attend an event to honor the anniversary? The house was packed, such that attendees spilled out the front, back and even to the sides of the house. A beautiful ceremony was held with much music, singing and prayer. On the whole it was a very joyous occasion where the mourning process was officially over, and Tia Dolores’ life was celebrated instead. When the service was over, I fully realized that I was now part of the Alfaro Family. Abuelita grabbed my hand, pulled me into the kitchen, tied an apron around my waist that they clearly brought just for me, and allowed me to get down and dirty helping to serve the guests. We got busy unwrapping tamales, plating them with the three types of bread we made, and pouring coffee to serve to our guests. We laughed as we worked, Abuelita hugging me every once in a while and glancing at me with her toothless smile. Eventually the asemblea of people had cleared out; we cleaned up and sat down to rest. The exhaustion was visible on Golla and Abuela Maria’s faces, but so was contentment. They were pleased to have successfully honored their sister and aunt, Dolores, and finished the mourning process, removing the black bunting from above the door. I left to return to my house, with a bag full of tamales and a huge plate of beef, feeling privileged to have taken part in this special event. Next year, and for the following six, the Alfaros with their friends, will assemble on September 1st to remember Dolores, and on the 9th anniversary of her death, they will hold one final asamblea, complete with tamales, bread and coffee. Though I may not be in attendance myself, I will certainly remember Tia Dolores, who I never had the privilege of knowing, grateful to her and her family for teaching me and including me. Perhaps my perceptions and observations would be much different if I witnessed and participated in the vela and the burial, but from my current perspective, I think the whole Salvadoran mourning process is a beautiful way to commemorate the life of the deceased and to process the emotions of grief and loss. More importantly than the deceased resting in peace, those who remain are able to accept their loss and continue living at peace.

Some volunteers go their entire two years of service without so much as one visitor—from stateside or otherwise, nor a visit home to see their loved ones. Others, it seems, can’t go a month without at least one trip to Compala Airport to pick up yet another guest or fellow volunteers just stopping by for a visit. Though I would love to share my PC experience first hand, up close and personal more of you, I understand trips to visit me in one of the farthest corners of a tiny, developing country just aren’t in the cards. I have, however, been fortunate enough to have visits from my sister, Dana, this past March, and my parents this month. It was really great for them to get a little peak into my work, to see the reality of my Peace Corps life and why I’m still here, fighting the good fight, regardless of the gamut of challenges and emotions I face on a daily basis. Hopefully my rundown of these visits will convince more of you to strap on your flip-flops, lather up with sunscreen and head on down to see me. Dan and Rose Do El SalvadorA little over two weeks ago, my parents, Dan (AKA Captain America) and Rose, packed their bags, filled two suitcases with 78 pounds of surprises for me, and headed south to brave the heat and humidity of El Salvador. Over the course of their rapidly passing seven days spent with me in The Savior, my parents and I had a fun filled adventure, rivaled only by our Ecuadoran escapade three years ago. I arrived at the airport fifteen minutes before their flight was scheduled to land overly anxious, dripping in sweat and with a pounding heart. After pacing a few minutes, checking the arrival board, tracking their flight status on my blackberry, I decided a trip to the bathroom would be a wise decision. I am my mother’s daughter after all, and I wasn’t quite sure how excited I’d get, if you know what I mean. (Oh, come on. Don’t pretend like that’s not funny.) When I stepped out of the bathroom, I noticed another gringo waiting anxiously in khaki shorts and a baby blue v-neck tee, tapping his well-worn Keen hiking shoes. My first thought was, “How embarrassing! We’re wearing the same outfit! Salvadorans must think we gringos have a uniform.” Then I immediately realized it was my fellow PCV, Daniel, which explains the same wardrobe selections. I went up to him teasingly saying, “You knew it was my day to wear blue,” we hugged and then tapped our feet in unison while waiting. Daniel’s travelers, his sister and her friend, arrived first, while I was left straining to catch site of my beloved Big Boy and Rosie Baby. My parents finally emerged from indoors, decked out in their best retiree travel wear (Dan with his nerd necklace travel organizer, Rose with her red passport cover and toenails painted to match), and glistening from the paralyzing Salvadoran midday heat. I sprinted to meet them as they exited the customs and immigrations corrals and nearly knocked them over with the force of my hugs. It’s been a little over seven months since I have been home with them, and though we talk pretty much daily, it’s the longest I’ve ever gone without actually seeing and touching them. Reunited and it feeeeels soooo gooooood. With little delay we dragged the three rolling suitcases, two filled with my birthday treasures, and lugged my dad’s duffle to fill the trunk of our trusty little Jeep Patriot rental. We began the near four-hour drive up to my site and passed the time catching up on the details of life back at home. The ride was extremely uneventful except for the three dead horses on the side of the road and a dead armadillo for sale. I still think we could have made a tasty lunch out of them, but instead we stopped for a quick lunch at the BK Lounge in Santa Rosa before making the last push up to my site. We finally arrived at around 4:30PM to the front of my house. Now, I’ll be honest, the façade of mi casa is certainly nothing to write home about, and I could tell both of my parents were a little tentative of staying there their first night. But, once we finally unloaded all the equipaje from the car into the front room that I never use and made our way up to my room, I knew they felt much better. The gleaming tile, soothing wall color, ceiling fan and shiny bathroom always trump first impressions. After settling in a bit and bathroom breaks, it was time for me to quickly open my birthday suitcases. We had a dinner date with my adopted family, the Alfaros, to get to, so I had to hurry along. I was ecstatic to find new sheets from The Edmonds; towels, candy and baking mixes from Janet; a US map and muffin mixes from Vi; the Lady Gaga CD and photos from my aunts Debbie and Trisha respectively; and a mountain of goodies from my parents including Rosie’s famous zucchini bread and Cheerio Bars (though both recipes were stolen, the bread from Mrs. Miller and the Cherrio Bars from Aunt Imo), running shoes, boondoggle, new business cards, a portable hard drive, and back issues of Newsweek to name a few things. The three of us went on a bit of a gringo parade as we walked the two and a half blocks to the Alfaros. Out front, the pupusa venta was in full swing and the whole family was waiting outside for our arrival. Now, Dan and Rose don’t speak more than ten words of Spanish, so this whole evening was an hysterical Spanglish filled event with lots of gesturing and expressive faces. Ana and I got straight to work making pizza dough for half of our big family dinner, while Dan and Rose were escorted to their seats of honor and given Fanta and Fresca to sip on. My parents’ arrival attracted some attention, and more family members than normal flooded the Alfaro’s house. The little boys were enchanted by my father’s nearly two meter stature, while Ana quickly fell in love with my mother. As the pizza dough was rising, my dad was having a ball with the boys taking pictures and my mom and I stepped outside for a lesson in pupusa making. The heat, though normally unbearable, was made even more so by the hot plancha where the pupusas are cooked to crispy perfection. As I began teaching Rosie the art of pupusa patting and translating as fast as I could the rapid fire words that kept flying out of my mother’s mouth and the equally as fast responses from my Salvadoran tias, Ana ran out and tied a traditional apron around my waist. Everyone cracked up at this site. Once the pupusas were finally crisped, I served my parents their first authentic taste of El Salvador: pupusas filled with bean and cheese, served with curtido, onions pickled in pinapple vinagar Abuela Maria makes, tomato sauce, and the East’s famous salsa negra. To say the least, after burning their fingers and mouths just enough to make the experience authentic, I think they really enjoyed them. While Dan and Rose feasted on The Savior’s signature dish, Ana and I got busy making our pizza. I let Ana get her hands a little dough filled and spread the crust out on the trusty twelve-inch plancha that is good not only for pizza baking, but also cookies. (I have a lack of kitchen instruments. You have to be creative.) The first pizza we made was my and Ana’s favorite, pineapple and black forest ham. Of course the pizza took longer to bake than I anticipated, so my dad entertained himself playing canchita, basically game board soccer, with the boys (and surprisingly kicked all three little boys’ butts) while my mom and Ana continued to bond as Ana tried to teach her Spanish. By the end of the night, we were all sufficiently stuffed with pizza and pupusas, thoroughly hydrated with sugary Salvadoran soda and bolsas de agua, and utterly exhausted. My two families hugged goodnight as a flood of Spanish and English tried to express gratitude to one another. Dan, Rose and I walked back to my house where we slung up my hammock, all got ready for bed and had a little sleepover. Just as we were laying down to rest, the rains started to fall, adding a calming ending to our first day together. The next day, our real adventure began. We fueled up with the true breakfast of champions: fresh, warm tortillas topped with peanut butter and banana, before making the final rounds in my site and heading west. The obligatory visit to the mayor’s office was made, we stopped by my cooperative to say hello, and passed by the Alfaro’s to say goodbye. Like most kids, Ana completely fell in love with my mother and started crying as they were saying goodbye. The outpour of questions, why can’t you stay, why can’t you move here, started flowing. Mom tried to comfort Ana as best as she could, they hugged once more and we were on our way. The ride to Suchitoto was overcast, and the skies looked downright ominous at certain points. But, as soon as we arrived in Suchitoto, the original capital of El Salvador and charming colonial town, the skies opened up and the sun was shining. We attempted to make a quick stop at the turicentro for some information on Suchi (as it is affectionately called), but silly me, I didn’t realize we arrived within the hours of noon and two, so naturally the office was closed for lunch. We were able to easily locate our hotel, Los Almendros de San Lorenzo, which Lonely Planet writes up as one of the best hotels in the entire country. Lonely Planet I have found can sometimes be off base, especially in El Salvador, but this time they were spot on. Marcos, our charming waiter, bartender, bellboy, butler, receptionist, jack-of-all-trades, unloaded the car and quickly got us settled into our beautiful two-floor suite, complete with a stunning view of Lago Suchitlan from the balcony. A bit famished and parched, our trio decided to almorzar before heading out to explore Suchi. We took full advantage of the hotel and its accommodations, including a stellar bar list and menu. I had my first gin and tonic since probably my birthday last year, as did Mom, while Dad decided to try a Cuban rum mojito. The mojito was so good, and the rum so tastey, Dad had to have another taste of the Cuban blend on the rocks. From the first taste he was enchanted and said, “I may have to start drinking rum.” Lunch itself was fantastic as well. It didn’t include corn, rice, eggs or beans, so for me it was a real treat. Soon after, we ventured out to explore the colonial charm of Suchi. Being a Wednesday, the town was very quiet with not a lot of other visitors or activity going on. Of course we visited the famous Catholic church of Santa Lucia. Much to Rosie’s dismay, there was no mass scheduled so we just did a bit of a self-guided tour. From there, we explored the little shops and art galleries. We also got the opportunity to visit the turicentro that was finally reopened after lunch. The worker there was extremely helpful, but I must say, travel in El Salvador is not conducive to those who are not minimally proficient in Spanish. The rest of the day we spent relaxing at the hotel, catching up on the last eight months of life, and discussing the finer details of development, Peace Corps and government. The hotel also had cable, which meant CNN in English! and internet, so I was in heaven. Dan managed to finish David McCullough’s book on the Brooklyn Bridge while Rosie and I gabbed. Dan and I finished the night off with a few Pilseners and Rose a banana smoothie, followed by Anderson Cooper in bed. Day Three in The Savior finally brought a bit of adventure. We had an enjoyable breakfast at Los Almendros, attentively cared for by Marcos who appeared to have never left the premises. The novelty of foreign foods was still fresh and exciting for both of my parents and they thoroughly enjoyed the fresh chorizo and traditional Salvadoran breakfast of eggs, crema, casamiento (beans and rice), cheese, platano frito, and bread. The highlight for me, by far, was the coffee. For a country that is such a large coffee exporter, one would be lead to believe the best coffee is drunk here. On the contrary, all the good stuff is exported and we usually sip on Nestle’s Café Listo instant coffee. With full bellies we drove down to La Puerta de San Juan about ten minutes from Suchi, to visit the Lago de Suchitan, the largest lake in the nation, if my memory serves me well. The thing to do there is go on a boat ride around the lake, but as to be expected, my mom was a bit tentative at first. These boats weren’t brand new, but they were certainly seaworthy (well, lake-worthy), and cared for. The US government actually paid for some of them as part of their FOMILENIO initiative in the northern region of the country. The intent is to improve tourism, as well as education, transportation access, to name a few themes. After walking around the nearly empty port (again, we were visiting during the week) my dad and I were able to convince my mom to a forty-five minute boat ride as long as life vests were involved. You’ve got yourself a deal, Rosie Baby! We went over to the boat dock, met our tour guide and captain, Ramon, strapped on the life vests, and boarded our lovely lake cruiser. The ride was quite enjoyable, cool, and smooth. Naturally my father had a laundry list of questions to be answered, and of course Ramon didn’t speak the English, so I did my best to translate the overly complex inquiries. After the boat ride, we had pretty much done all that there is to do in Suchi, so we headed back to our lovely hotel that Rose and I both agreed would be a great place for an extended family reunion/vacation, if only we could get our family members to leave the country. Los Almendros is small and quaint, with just eight rooms. We packed our bags and had one more fantastic meal before saying goodbye to Marcos, June and all the other wonderful staff. By the time we arrived in Santa Ana, we were all exhausted from the four-hour drive, so internet time, cable TV in English and nightcaps sufficed. Friday the 13th, dun dun dun, and my 23rd birthday, which officially makes me a senior citizen. We started off the day in Santa Ana at my favorite Central American coffee shop for breakfast, The Coffee Cup. From there, we headed to the best bakery MetroCentro has to offer, Ban Ban, to buy a couple cakes to share with my original host family, the Perezes, back in San Luis. Without delay, we left Santa Ana and headed up to San Luis down the rocky roads and through the endless fields of sugar cane. When we arrived at my old house and poured out of the rental car, I found Mama Chila where I always used to find her, washing away at the pila. She was very excited to see me, and I was very excited to see her. I introduced her to my parents whom she had heard so much about over the course of our nine months living together. Just then, Mama Chila surprised me with what she said next; “¡Mira! ¡Tus padres son tan chiquitos como tu!” Aw, Mama Chila made a sarcastic joke: “Look! Your parents are so small just like you.” She was full of one-liners that day, including my favorite after looking at a photo just taken of her and my mom, “I look so thin next to your mom!” Oh, Salvadoran left-handed complements and tactless comments. Most of the family was around, as well as some of my favorite kids, and they all passed by the house to say hello. I gave my parents the grand tour of my former home, including my outdoor bathing area that my sister, Dana, knows all too well, and the latrine. Eventually, we made our way to the school to check out if my maps were still intact from March, and though a little dirty from normal wear and tear and weather, they were still standing. Rose and the kindergarten teacher got into a conversation about education that I was stuck translating as quickly and accurately as I could, while my dad walked around the school with my favorite little boys, Ronald and Yefri, taking photos. After visiting a few more friends, we headed back to the house to cut the cakes and enjoy each other’s company before heading out. Unfortunately we only had about two hours to spend with the Perezes, and all of my host family wasn’t present, but I enjoyed the time we did have together, and for certain I will be making my way back west for a visit. From San Luis, we headed to my friend, Axel’s, site of El Congo for our monthly Peace Corps soccer match. This month, we were the main event at Axel’s community’s fiestas patronales. As usual, the ladies’ team was first on the field, so I did a quick wardrobe change, and without delay we hit the field. Our lineup, as always, was completely different than how we’ve played before, but it proved to be one of the best lineups we’ve had yet. As Rosie so kindly put it, “You guys looked like you were going to have your butts handed to you in the beginning, but you played well! It was defeat, but defeat with honor!” Oh, Mom. In the end, we only lost 3-2, which turned out to be a much better result than the boys, who should have had the mercy rule applied. We left the boys game at halftime, but not before they could serenade me with a lovely rendition of “Feliz Cumpleaños/Happy Birthday”, and headed for our rental beach house in El Sunzal. The previous month another volunteer and her family stayed for a week at the same place, and their reviews were mixed. Of course, this ignited a bit of worry and anxiety about whether the accommodations would be up to par, or even close to what the website advertised. Upon our arrival, all my worries flew away. The perfectly laid out plan, the gorgeous chlorine pool, the absolutely breathtaking saltwater pool (though I didn’t spend too much time in it. The ocean’s dirty. Ew.), the fantastic two-story outdoor patio, and the rooms were pretty great, too. Sure, the kitchen wasn’t exactly gourmet, but the view, my goodnesss the view, certainly made up for it. Two of the three days we spent at Los Farallones spectacular beach house were lazy ones by the pool, enjoying the sound of the waves crashing into the cliffs below. During our second day, party prep from Ros-a-Palooza, my big birthday party began. Rose and I wisely left Dan at home as we headed out for supplies. Super Selectos, AKA part central, provided us with all that we needed, including ten pounds of ground beef super especial, hot dogs, rolls, ingredients for salsa, beer, and the Salvadoran equivalent of Smirnoff Ice for Rosie Baby. One more stop at the bakery for a cake, and we were good to go. Ros-a-Palooza day had finally arrived and I was up before the sun because there was no sun. It was rainy and I was ready to lose it. The weather had been absolutely gorgeous the entire week, and now, on the day of my party, it decides to rain? Apparently I was a very bad girl this past year. I remained busy doing as much preparation as I could, cleaning the surfaces that didn’t need to be cleaned because our caretaker, Jorge, had already cleaned, making my killer salsa, a mean pasta salad and making sure my costume was ready to go. Oh, yeah. Ros-a-Palooza was a costume party. Around 11AM when my guests called for directions from the “party micro” the sun decided to make an appearance, and Rosie started singing and dancing, “Grey skies are gonna clear up! Put on a happy face!” and put on a happy face I did. In little over thirty minutes my guests had arrived, all eighteen of them, and the party began. After lunch, hanging out and a nice long saltwater pool session, it was time for the main event: the costume runway show. With Lady Gaga blasting in the background, Dan and Rose positioned at the judges table and everyone lined up in alphabetical order by last name, except for me, the show started. I kicked off the runway show as Rosie the Rivetter, and was immediately disqualified in the competition for best costume because my parents couldn’t be objective. Oh, well. The show continued with all the “R” themed costumes and included The Riddler, Little Red Riding Hood, Rafel of the Ninja Turtles, a Rook, Robin Hood, Rosellen (me), Raiden, Rambo, Rednecks, Rodeo, a Road Biker, Rainbow Bright, a Retiree, to name a few. The top three prizes went to Isabel who dressed up as Rafael, Helen who creatively made a Rook costume, and Axel as the Riddler, who went so far as to have a jumpsuit and gloves made by members of his community. My friends really outdid themselves in the costume department and certainly dressed to impress! The rest of the night, we feasted on burgers, dogs and pasta salad, until it was time for cake. In true Salvadoran fashion, I had a paper crown on my head, my face was painted with frosting and then I was asked to give a speech. Like usual when I speak publicly, I have an Old School-esque moment in which I give a brilliant response but have no recollection of what I said. Oh, well. I think it was good. Right when I finished, someone perfectly cued “Stand By Me” and a ridiculous circle group singing session began. This indeed will be a birthday I won’t soon forget. Monday was Dan and Rose’s last day, so after the party crew finally cleared out, we packed up and headed to the capital, San Salvador. We arrived at the oasis, The Sheraton Presidente, and checked in before returning the rental car. Rosie and I then, smartly leaving Dan to putz around on the internet, headed to the artisan market to buy recuerdos of their time in El Salvador. Being the mean negotiator that I am, I got Rosie some real steals on a nativity scene, tablecloth, and more. Weighed down with her treasures, Rosie and I headed back to the Sheraton to drop off them off before heading back out to the grocery store to buy some Salvadoran goodies. Finally we were back at the Sheraton and shared one final, wonderful dinner together. It was hard to believe that a week had already passed and the next morning I would be putting them in a cab, though thankfully Axel would be with them (he was on their flight to Atlanta) to help with the Spanish. Tuesday morning, I enjoyed one final, indulgent meal, eggs Benedict with bacon and hash browns, with my parents before back to a diet of corn, beans and eggs (I’m being facetious. Sometimes I eat pasta, too.) The thought of getting on a bus to travel all the way back to site after the ease of travel in a vehicle was aweful. The thought of having to go back alone was dreadful. I didn’t want to say goodbye. Not yet, at least. But, as I reminded my mom as we were hugging goodbye, both choking back tears, I will be home in less than four months, this time for three weeks, this holiday season. And, like the past year, the four months will fly by. The final hugs and kisses given, the final adioses said, and they were gone in Don Marcelo’s van with all their luggage, including two suitcases full of treasures. I am grateful my parents even made the investment and were adventurous enough to come down and visit me. It was just one more way of illustrating their love and support for me and this Peace Corps experience. I know so many volunteers whose parents refuse to make the effort to come down, or even worse, outwardly hate it when they are down here. For this, I can never repay my parents. I hope this recount of my parent’s visit wasn’t too boring, or repetitive, seeing as you probably have heard most of it from Rose already. Also, I hope it convinces, maybe even just one of, you to come down and visit, too. Be sure to check out our photos on Facebook. The albums are named “Dan and Rose Do El Salvador” and “Ros-a-Palooza”. Special thank yous go out to Aunt Debbie, Aunt Trisha, Aunt Gail, Dana, Vi, Marsha and Reggie, Janet, Caitlin, Aunt Lynn and Uncle Randy for remembering my birthday. I loved all the cards and appreciate your gifts. I look forward to sharing them with my friends in site, especially the baking mixes, candy and Lady Gaga. We love us some Lady Gaga here. Please keep me in your thoughts, and if you get a chance drop me a line, whether it be email, G-chat, or snail mail. Any news to me is good news. Best of luck with the beginning of the new school year, and keep on rocking on!

I won’t bother boring you with the day-to-day details of my work life here in El Salvador. Instead I will provide you with a synopsis of the best of my life as of late. A Beauty Pageant Like most nations in Central and South America, El Salvador is a very heavily Catholic, otherwise Evangelical Christian, country that manages to infuse religion into even the most seemingly secular activities. If there is a chance to acknowledge God, it’s done. (My favorite is when I say, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” and the response is “Si Dios permite.” If God allows it.) Accordingly, each municipality has a patron saint and annually fiestas patronales, or patron saint celebrations, are held to honor their respective patrons. Here in my municipality, we are cuidar-ed by Santiago, or Saint James, and every year during the third week of July (coincidentally the same time frame as Canal Fest) there is a seven-day long celebration. The resemblance to Canal Fest is uncanny: the crappy carney rides (they literally are the same rides from the original Canal Fest circa 1982), artery clogging gastronomic goodness, and after dark bolos bailosos. Just like Canal Fest, we, too, have a beauty pageant to elect the queen of the Fiestas. About three weeks before the Fiestas began and when my friends at the mayor’s office were well into their planning stages and searching for pageant contestants, I was approached by a committee member, affectionately known as Pumba. “Rosellen, venga, venga,” come here, come here. Jokingly, I said, “¿Qué hice?” What did I do? Pumba’s response: It’s not something you’ve done; it’s something you’re going to do, ha ha ha. My immediate thought: Uh oh, what am I getting hoodwinked into now? Now, try to contain your laughter, because I wasn’t able to. Pumba proceeded to ask me to be a candidate in the pageant for reina of Lislque’s fiestas pastronales. At first I thought he was kidding, but on the contrary he was more serious than I had ever seen him. He explained how the purpose of the invitation was not to draw more people to the Baile de Elección or an attempt to raise more money, but rather because I was member of the community and a good potential candidate. Still trying not to crack up, I told Pumba that I would need a few days to consider it. I promised a response by the coming Monday, which seemed to satisfy him for the time being. On my way home I thought about the absurdity of it all. Me, a 22 years old, 5’6’’, blonde haired, blue eyed, gringa competing in a beauty pageant against a group of 16-18 year olds, 5’1’’, ebony haired, with eyes the color of rich espresso. I’ve never competed in a beauty pageant in my entire life. I always violently refused my mother’s suggestions to compete in the Canal Fest Pageant, why am I even entertaining the possibility now? I had heard of other volunteers being invited to participate as reina candidates in their municipalities, that it’s a great community integration tool, and, heck, who doesn’t love getting dressed up? Though I knew deep down in my heart, I simply couldn’t compete, (it just wasn’t right to steal that crown away) I was scheming of how my mom could get my prom dress from 2004 shipped down to me in time. Heck, I only wore it once, it was a teal, tacky and bedazzled cupcake doll dress. In a word, PERFECT for a Salvadoran pageant. I called my four main sources of support for advice: Dana, Katheryn, Isabel and Emily. Dana gave me the response I expected. It started with hysterical laughter and ended in a, “Well, if you really want to, do it.” Katheryn also gave me a predictable response, which also began with laughter and an ultimate, “It’s your decision, but you’d hate it if you really did it.” Isabel surprised me the most, being the most likeminded to me. She rather excitedly said, “Do it! It’s like a dressing up for a theme party!” Much to my surprise, she had just agreed to be a candidate for a beauty pageant in her own community and had her baby chick yellow dress picked out, so she was already aboard the Pageant Express. The last phone call I made was to seasoned veteran, Emily. Though she got a little chuckle out of my situation, she gave the only sound, sensible advice. “You definitely can’t do it. The other girls are 2/3 your age. Say you’ll be a judge so your committee is not offended and you’ll still get to participate.” So, that’s exactly what I did. I went to Pumba, and dropped the ever-useful f-bomb, “Fijese que…” and he willingly accepted my suggestion to sit as one of the judges. I guess I’ll have to save my teal prom dress for a costume party. The next week I received my official invitation to serve as a member of the jurado for the “Elección de la Reina de las Fiestas Patronales del Municipio de Lislique.” I quickly gave my affirmative response that I was ready and willing to judge. I asked who else would be sitting on the panel with me, and the response was, “Specialists. From Santa Rosa and San Miguel. They really know how to pick a good reina.” Wow. Specialists. I was going to have to be super discerning if I was going to be judging with specialists. As word spread that I was going to be a judge, people coincidentally started getting friendlier with me. One young girl, Magdalena, just so happened to be working on a project about illnesses and cultural beliefs about them, and wanted my help. Oh, and by the way she was the candidata representing her cantón. While talking with the cooperative’s secretary, Milagro, about my new celebrity status, she threw in a plug for her niece who was also a candidate, then proceeded to grill me on my ensemble for the big event. I didn’t even consider a special outfit. Maybe I’d not wear a baseball hat and I’d but on a polo instead of a t-shirt, why, I asked. Wrong answer, Rosellen. Milagro so kindly informed that I really should wear a suit, or in the very least, a dress. When I packed for El Salvador, how silly was I not to pack my blue seersucker or cream linen pant suits? (I miss you both dearly, my beloved summer suits.) Something about living in a third world country just didn’t scream, “Pack sportswear!” I gave my outfit some thought, and went back to Milagro for approval. Yes, my black swearing-in dress was acceptable, but heels were a requirement; no flats allowed. Finally the big day arrived, I primped and prepped, zipped up my dress and slipped on my pointy-toed red stilettos, and walked the fifty yards from my house to the alcaldia where the event was taking place. (A side note: stilettos and cobbled roads don’t really jive.) I was told the judges panel was to meet over dinner at 7PM, so being time-obsessed since kindergarten, I showed up right on the dot. Mistake. I ended up dining alone, as none of the other judges had shown up yet and it was unheard of that I would wait to the others arrived to eat my cena. As I was enjoying my usual, lettuce and tomato salad, rice, slab of beef, and rice, the rains started falling something furious, which could only mean one thing: delay in the evening’s events. When it rains up here in Northern La Union, our dirt and gravel roads turn into precarious, muddy slip and slides, making quick transport a challenge. After I finished eating, I was escorted into the mayor’s office to sit and wait until the beginning of the big event. It was already 7:30PM and only one reina candidata of six had arrived. Right then, I knew I was in for a long, wait-filled night. So, I passed the time chatting it up with the candidate that was there with her mom, waiting nervously. It was very interesting for me to see even in a developing country, this family had so obviously invested a tremendous amount of money in a young girl’s dress, money they certainly could have been put to different (perhaps smarter) use, to participate in a pageant. Showbiz dreams and stage mothers know no boundaries, cultural or geographic. Finally by 9PM three of the other five candidates had arrived, we received word that one candidate was en camino and the other would not be making the evening’s events. The pageant specialists arrived as well. It turned out these “specialists” weren’t pageant experts, I can’t believe I was so gullible as to think they were, were really just the TV personalities of Northern La Union’s cable television station Canal 17. While we were waiting for the final contestant to arrive to explain the event procedures, we held a photo shoot. I really should have charged per picture taken, the amount of photos I appeared in. As usual, the novelty of taking a picture with a gringa was in full effect. Finally the last contestant arrived (of course it was none other than the cheeky Magdalena), we explained the order of events and outlined the criteria by which we would be electing the 2010 reina. By the time all this was done, it was 9:30PM, well past my campo bedtime. Darwin, the event organizer and nephew of the mayor, escorted the candidates out to the casa comunal where the pageant and baile were taking place to greet their audience. The Canal 17 guys and I sat around for, what I thought would be mere moments, another hour until 10:30PM when we were paraded out to the judges table. The whole pageant was very simple and consisted of a strut and question and answer session. From the strut session it was easy to identify the girls that were most confident and comfortable, which served as a good benchmark for the question and answer session. Of course, the election couldn’t take place in one straight shot, we had to delay, build the drama. So between the strut and question portions of the event, we had an hour-long break. By this point, I was absolutely exhausted, yearning for the comfort of my scrub pants and bed. At midnight, we began the question and answer session, which of course was followed by one last prance. The “specialists” and I made a quick decision. It was simple to see who was the crowd favorite, who was most at ease, and the best spoken. The unanimous winner was Andrea, Milagro’s niece, and the representative of the casco urbano of Lislique. As soon as Andrea said her words of thanks primero a Dios, and then to her family and friends, I quickly, yet gracefully said congratulations, thank yous and goodbyes on my way out. After six hours of pageant festivities I was exhausted, yet pleased to have participated in such a big community event. Clowning Around By now I am sure most of you have seen and been appalled by my clown costume photos, and I will admit, I was pretty frightening. Believe it or not, I didn’t just dress up like that for the pure fun of it. I did it to help out my friend and colleague, Brian, who is a youth development volunteer and also part of the NLU crew. One lazy Sunday afternoon during the beginning of July, I perked up hearing my $20 Nokia cell phone chime away that I had received a text message. This particular text message turned out to be the length of a novel, which could mean only one thing: that it was from Brian. The message went on about his school’s Dia de los Alumnos celebration, his great school directora, and about how all of us NLUers better get our clown pants on to help out. Also, we’d be having a little post-clowning party. At that point, after being in my site for over two weeks straight, I needed some serious gringo time, and this seemed like just what the doctor ordered. As the date neared, it looked more and more like my schedule wouldn’t allow my little audition for the circus. But, I did commit to helping out, and nothing is worse than a bunch of disappointed kids with no clowns, or a disappointed Brian. So, being the Tim Gunn protégé that I am, I made it work. This meant an early departure the morning of the event and no post-clown party. Finally the date arrived, EmBo and I woke up at an ungodly hour to make the 5:50AM bus up to Brian’s site (even closer to Honduras than I am) and two hours later from Emily’s (which means three and a half hours from my site), we arrived at the school. On the bus ride up, we encountered Tyler, the volunteer that lives the farthest away from San Salvador and the absolute nearest to Honduras, hiking towards Brian’s site. (He doesn’t even get Salvadoran cell reception. He has a Honduran telephone number!) Brian greeted us with his usual optimistic grin and hugs, but it was quite obvious that everything was not well. As it turns out, Brian spent the better part of the previous night and the morning making love to the toilet in the throws of his first bout of giardia. I remember my first giardia experience. A complete No Fun Zone. Regardless, Brian still had more energy and pep than the Energizer Bunny, and a killer agenda with all the details of the day’s event broken down literally to the last minute. We got to work right away at the school, organizing our props for our clown act. While we were busy at work, Niña Mari, the school’s directora introduced herself, we had a small conversation, and based solely on those few minutes it was easy to see she was indeed a mover and a shaker, the best school principal I have met in El Salvador. As we were finishing up our preparation work, Niña Mari even arranged for us to have the true breakfast of champions, pupusas and coffee. Back at Brian’s, as he was purging his little bacterial friends, Tyler, Emily and I finished the final items on Brian’s to do list. We divided candy, elected our instruments for our grand arrival, and chose our clown outfits. Somehow, Brian was also able to teach us how to make balloon animal dogs. Now if any of you ever need a dog balloon animal-making clown, you know whom to call. We all vested up, I in some killer clown pants and Tyler’s Holland soccer jersey, and then helped each other with the makeup art. Brian reassured us from the beginning that he’d be providing the clown makeup, no worries. Said clown makeup turned out to be three paint sets: acrylic, oil and water based. For those of you who have never experienced such variations of paint on your face, allow me to explain. Acrylic is the most washable and easiest to remove, but be sure to not use it to cover large surfaces of your face. It dries, hurts terribly, cracks and then chips off. Oil based paints are the most comfortable on the skin, but be sure not to touch a thing. They’ll smear if the wind blows on your face the wrong way, and good luck getting them out of your clothes. Removal is a challenge, but a mixture of rubbing alcohol and Dr. Bronner’s 18 in 1 Castile Soap does the trick. Last but not least, water based paints are simple, but provide little coverage. My recommendation, buy or have REAL clown makeup shipped from the States along with peanut butter, Sour Patch Kids, Clif Bars and dark chocolate. (Why, yes, I’d love a care package with those items!) Finally the appointed departure time from Brian’s house to the school arrived. We held a photo shoot on the way, as well as encountered many community members. Brian felt it necessary to explain to everyone why we were dressed as insanely as we were, and I was content with just embracing our freak status. About 100 yards from the school, the four of us started blasting our musical instruments. Brian and I had florescent colored records, Emily manned the maracas and Tyler played the hell out of the sports whistled. The exact moment the kids heard us approaching was easy to identify. They were shrieking and cheering. Once as the porton of the school, we performed our shtick of asking permission to enter, getting the kids riled up, and then throwing candy. Once the candy came out, the kids went ape nutty. All four of us were surrounded by little rascals literally clawing and grabbing at us for a piece of candy. “Please and thank you” was out of the question, and finally I got to flustered after a kid started scrounging through my candy bag that was attached to my body, I just threw the candy as far away as I could so I would have a moment to collect myself and pull up my pants whose suspenders had come undone in the fray. Sidewalk chalk time followed candy time and the same chaos ensued. There was no controlling these zoo animals. The kids drew for a few minutes on the basketball court (fancy, I know), while the four of us were introduced officially to the crowd. Tyler, Wakeforest graduate and former frat boy, was by far the best and most popular clown. The kids just flocked to his 6’2’’ stature topped in a rainbow mullet wig. Emily was the most patient with the little rascals, Brian the most beloved and I, well I just tried to survive. It is a well-known fact that I am not the greatest fan of children in large numbers. I do much better in small ratios with structure, and there was anything but structure that morning. Eventually the balloons came out, and you would have thought we were giving out gold. The kids’ grabbing and clawing got so intense that passing out the balloons became impossible and I threw them away in the same way I threw the candy, as though I were throwing them to save my life. The kids soon figured out that we could make animals and the flocking to the clowns began again. I swear, I have never been so popular in my life. And to think, I was a terrifying clown. Finally the events wound down, The NLU Clown Crew said our goodbyes to the school and ran to quickly wash our faces. Tyler, Emily and I wanted to catch the last bus back down. Taking off my makeup was quite the challenge seeing as I had three variants of paint on my face. Emily took a great photo, which is now up on Facebook where it looks like my makeup is literally melting off my face. After a quick wardrobe change and a quick lunch scarfed and washed down with Salva Cola, we were on a bus on our way south. By far, that two hour ride was the best bus experience I have had, with the best playlist, my entire time in country. My Adopted Family I will honestly say the hardest part about my site relocation has been assimilating into my new community. My counterpart at the cooperative does not live in the pueblo like I do, nor am I living with a host family. What that translates to is that I lack someone to walk me around town, drag me to random events and introduce me to community members. Also, walking around the pueblo alone, introducing myself and trying to make friends it pretty challenging. But, as of late, I have been very lucky to be essentially adopted by a loving family. On my first day in site, arriving exhausted and dehydrated while battling a case of giardia, I left my cooperative’s office in search of Gatorade. The first place I stumbled upon was a house that posted a Gatorade sign out front, so I went asking if they happened to have any. Of course they did, graciously got me a ponche de frutas and inquired as to why I was in their town and what exactly I was doing there. I quickly gave my PC equivalent of an elevator pitch to an audience of four older women, one older man, and three kids before returning to the office. From then on, they always kindly said hello, and about once or twice a week I passed by in the evenings for pupusas that they sell. The most friendly from the get go was Anita, who is fifteen but looks about twelve and would always pass by the cooperative just to say hello. One day she even asked me to purchase votes in support of her to be elected reina of the church. (Some beauty pageants are decided based on who sells the most votes.) Everyday I’d pass by, say hello, and continue on my way to or from the cooperative. One day, though, as I was waving hello, Anita was seated at a table with three other girls diligently working. Something in my pulled me to the house where I found the girls working on math, quadratic equations, and not having a clue of what they were doing. Mustering up my algebra skills from Mrs. Petersen’s and Mr. Magaris’ classes took a few minutes, but I managed to help them along just fine. When their homework was finished, I said goodbye and was on my way out the door. Anita stopped me short and asked if I could come again the next day to help with the rest of their assignment. Seeing as I had nothing planned, I said of course. Our date was set. The next evening I headed over to Anita’s at 5:30PM, just like we planned. I helped her and the other girls with their assignment, and was then quickly fed by Anita’s aunt a meal of pupusas and pop. I left that evening thinking how fun that was, and figuring that I’d come to help only when asked. On my way out, Anita asked again, ¿Va a venir mañana? Sure, I’ll come tomorrow. Eventually the math homework ran out, but the pupusas and friendship hasn’t. Nearly every evening I head over to the Alfaro’s, play math flashcards, make paper airplanes and eat. Anita, and her family consisting of her brother, Melkin; cousin, Jonathan; Aunt Golla; Aunt Marta; Grandma Maria; and many more have taken me in as their own. It has gotten to the point that if I don’t come over everyday and if I don’t eat pupusas, something must be seriously wrong. Honestly, I am going to turn into a pupusa, so Anita and I have begun to cook other things together, as well. So far, we have made homemade pizza and cookies. It’s my goal to introduce Anita, as well as the rest of the family, to food they haven’t tried and teach them different ways to prepare foods they know. So far, it’s been pretty fun. Believe it or not, Anita’s favorite pizza is pineapple and ham. I can’t begin to express how utterly ecstatic I am to be able to share my Peace Corps experience with my parents this week! The short seven days they have here are going to be filled with a mountain of memories and special events, including the celebration of my 23rd birthday. Remember, you are all welcome and I’d love to have visitors! (I do have a toilet and shower now, so no roughing it!) Special thank yous go out to Vi and Janet for their pieces of mail. As you know, I love to receive letters, and, Janet, I absolutely love the photos. Also, thanks to Marsha, Debbie, Janet, Trisha, and Vi for my birthday surprises that I cannot wait to open on Tuesday! Also, a special Congratulations! goes out to my best friend Caitlin on beginning medical school! Last but not least, Happy Anniversary goes out to all my Rochester loves. Believe it or not, it’s been five years since we met during Freshmen Orientation. I hope all is well with you back home. I love you!

So, this isn't your typical blog update from me. It's something I have been working on for submission in the coming issue of PCES's magazine, El Camino. Let me know what you think. Thoughts and criticisms are welcome. Enjoy!

Lost and Found Prior to my arrival here in the land of the Savior, I prided myself on never having lost anything. Really, I’m being completely serious. I never so much as lost a house key or misplaced a homework assignment. I’m one of those obsessive compulsive, anal-retentive people with a superhuman memory for silly, insignificant details. I can even tell you where exactly in my parents’ house my high school graduation dress is stored and that the shoes I originally wore with it have since been donated to Catholic Charities. But, since I have changed my country code from 001 to 503, I’ve been losing things left and right. Maybe it’s because my mind is often engaged in battles with itself over whether I should have used the imperfect or subjunctive when speaking to my pueblo’s mayor; perhaps it’s because I’m distracted by the man walking a donkey down the street in town while talking on a nicer cell phone than I have; or, possibly it’s from being so mentally exhausted from just trying to get by day by day there is simply no more capacity in my brain for things like where I left my pants. Regardless of the reason, I’ve lost my touch. For someone like me, this is unnerving and infuriating. Things I Have Lost Pants: How does one lose pants in El Salvador? That’s a very good question, and though I have managed to misplace not just one, but two pairs of pants, the answer is far less risqué than you might think. The first time, the laundry gnomes at the ENA (Escuela Nacional de Agricultura) commandeered a killer pair of lightweight, sweat wicking, khaki capris. Though the laundry woman at the ENA insisted they were returned with all the other SA/EE ’09 laundry during our PST2, after many fruitless searches, I accepted that my pants were gone. Once again I succumbed to the ever unpleasant, unavoidable swamp ass. More devastatingly, though, I lost my favorite pair of jeans while changing for one of our soccer matches in Sonsonate. Now, you have to understand. These aren’t just any jeans. These are my argyle-stitched pocket Seven Jeans my Mom bought me for Valentine’s Day in 2008. As with any good piece of denim I was and still am completely in love with them and the way they complimented my curves. I had plans for these jeans. We were going to rock out together until the end of time, or at least until they turned into rags. But, this love affair, like so many of the best, wasn’t the forever kind. So, salu, my dear Argyle Sevens. Yo te amo. ipod: Normally I don’t take my ipod anywhere. Mayra, our Safety and Security Coordinator, did a sufficient job freaking me out in training to prevent me from bringing anything remotely valuable on a bus, but this was Thanksgiving with my SA/EE ’09 family. Along with my show stopping turkey recipe, we were in need of some serious tune-age for the festivities, so the Touch came along, too. Somewhere between the turkey, dessert and the midnight raid of the fridge for leftovers, the Touchster was gone. Some believe it was a large, sneaky black lab that took it for its own, others thought I carelessly dropped it somewhere. Whatever the case may be, it was gone. Much to my surprise, however, this loss didn’t really upset me. Normally I would have been frantically looking under rocks for it, but for whatever reason, I didn’t feel like my relationship with my touch was over… Memory: Besides forgetting basic English words on a daily basis, I lost my other memory, too: the trusty 16GB flash drive I always carry with me in case of a nerd emergency. One night out in San Salvador while taking in the sweet sounds of El Salvador’s very own Red Hot Chili Peppers’ cover band at La Luna and getting to know members of the RHS/COED ’10 group, my trusty geek gadget jumped ship from my wristlet. Thankfully I always have multiple backups. Weight: Since I’ve been in this country I have had more weight fluctuations than Oprah during the 90s. During my first two months I dropped a solid eight pounds acclimating to Salvador cuisine. My host mother wasn’t one for cooking (most evening meals, when I opted to eat, were either pasteles, pupusas, fried yucca, or papas fritas) and I refused to eat tortillas. Also, thanks to my fellow Molineros-ers, I was up and running five mornings a week to Verapaz, often followed up by yoga. I hadn’t yet discovered Super Selectos, the Dispensa Familiar, or the killer market in San V, so by the fourth week of training, my drawers were drooping. My weight loss has also been contributed to by intermittent bouts of giardia, amoebas, and the occasion flu. All equally unpleasant, but part of the reality of PCV life in El Salvador. Contact: Of all my losses, the loss of contact with my friends and family back in the USA is by far the most devastating. I never seem to have enough saldo for the long catch-up phone calls, and scheduling Skype dates when I have internet access and my loved ones aren’t either working, studying or out participating in (not so) cool pop cultural activities such as “Icing” is nearly impossible. Certainly those relationships most important will endure. Though I may not have daily contact, or even monthly contact, as in the past, the short emails, quick G-Chat sessions and occasional letters will sustain my insatiable hunger to be included in their lives and they in mine. I can only hope and pray that we’ll be able to fall in stride where our relationships left off, both parties drastically changed, but still genuinely dedicated to being part of each other’s lives. Myself: Now, I’m not just talking about getting lost on my way to the office in San Sal (which I did on my first three visits). More seriously, I often feel like I have lost who I truly am. Having to censor myself, my behaviors, what I wear, and even my sense of humor, I feel like a mere shadow of myself. And, don’t even get me started on the personality-altering effects of machismo. At the same time, though, I feel these losses of my Rosellen-isms, like my sarcasm, are forcing me to grow more as a person as well. I can’t hide behind my humor like I can in the States, I can’t react to unpleasant situations as volatiley as I know I am prone to doing, and it’s honing me into being a better person. Things I Have Found: ipod: Like I mentioned, I didn’t feel a devastating loss when the Touchster went missing at Lago Coatepeque in November. For those of you who are regular followers of my blog, you may remember my “Kindness of Strangers” entry. Basically what happened is that my ipod was found and a very nice stranger went out of his way to figure out to whom the ipod belonged, contact me, and return it me. Miguel Ipod, as I have come to call that friendly stranger, renewed my faith in people. Just imagine how much better off our world would be if everyone, just once in their life did something kind for someone else without personal motives or gains to be had. Weight: Remember those eight pounds I lost during training? Well, I’ve found them and about ten more of their friends. The fluctuations in my figure started when I began to eat tortillas. It turns out freshly milled corn tortillas can be rather delicious, especially with guajara and frijoles revueltos. Also, finding safe, socially acceptable ways to exercise is challenging. In the States, I was one who would eat whatever they wanted, and then just work my butt off at the gym or go for a jog to stay in decent shape. But here, dodging the bravo dogs on a jog, living an hour and a half bus ride from the nearest gym and lacking in-home exercise equipment means there is just more of me to love. Friends/Family: My oldest friend, Jessica, can attest to this: I was worried about making friends in Peace Corps. I’d classify myself as the preppiest hippy you’ll ever meet, not exactly the stereotypical PCV profile, and I was really concerned I wouldn’t be able to connect with these uber granola, tie-dye wearing hippies that I was so sure were going to be in my group. But, as Jessica reassured me, not only would I make friends, we would become close in a way none of my other friends or family will ever be able to understand. We are sharing this challenging, frustrating, liberating, limiting, amazing experience that only we will understand. No amount of sharing or explanation will ever suffice to explain this Peace Corps life we lead and how it’s forced us to grow. Through training, swearing-in, our first two months in site, PST2, IST and surviving the Sophomore Slump of one year in country and beyond, we were and are there for one another. Truthfully, we are more than friends. We have become family. Myself: In losing little pieces of my self, like I mentioned above, I feel I am really beginning to find a better, more complete self. I am learning to control my reactions, I am learning to hold my tongue, I am learning to be a kinder person and I am learning to let down my guard. Being able to relate with people in ways I never thought possible, even if we have to use hand gestures to explain things to each other, is pretty amazing. I am discovering I am stronger than I knew and more resilient than I ever thought possible. Peace Corps really is one of those things that you go into with the idea of helping others, but in the end you realize that those with who you have shared your time have helped you so much more. While I have lost quite a few things, some more valuable than others, I have found quite a few more things, that in the end are far more important than an obsolete piece of technology or clothing. My ipod won’t always work, my jeans won’t always fit (God forbid) but I will always have my Peace Corps Family, my loved ones stateside, and a once in a lifetime, nearly indescribably experience that will forever shape my life.

I don’t know if I’m getting old or what, but the time seems to be passing more quickly with each month that slips on by. (Peter, I know what you’re thinking. My perception of time is altering itself proportionately to my ever increasing age…) Regardless, I’ve been keeping super busy in my new site, working Monday through Friday 7AM to 3PM, trying to learn all there is to learn about ACOCAPAL de R.L. (my cooperative) and the organizations it partners with, such as the UN’s World Food Program. (Check out www.wfp.org for more info.) On top of this, I’ve been decking out my new pad en el estilo del pueblo chic, traveling weekends to visit fellow volunteers and to give trainings, and organizing the PC Soccer team that my friends Axel, Kallie and I have inherited upon the departure of our former captains, Missy and Matt. The move has turned out to be one of the best decisions of my service. I am exponentially happier and far more productive in terms of work. Though I miss my host family in Santa Ana, especially Mama Chila, we talk at least once a week. At my new place I have a toilet and a shower, which alters my status as a volunteer from borderline hardcore in my previous site, with limited running water, bucket baths and latrine, to Peace Corps Lite, glamorous volunteer living. There is one downside to my new site, however. It is located pretty much as far away from the capital as possible without crossing the border into Honduras (which is no longer off limits to traveling volunteers…thanks for resolving that coup issueJ) and on average five hours on bus. Needless to say I will be able to get lots of reading in on the busses while listening to the Best of the ‘70s, ‘80s and ‘90s Hits CDs and dubbed into Spanish Jackie Chan movies in the background. Again, I find myself apologizing for being so irregular in my blog updates. (In this country irregularity usually isn’t an issue, if you know what I mean.) But, frequent or not, here are a few things I’ve been up to as of late. Big Ticket Items Having been raving about my new living conditions, some of you may be thinking, “Boy, she has it easy. Aren’t volunteers supposed to rough it?” Charlie’s probably thinking, “That’s not how Peace Corps was in my day.” Don’t worry; when I first arrived in my new site, things weren’t so cushy. My boss Rolando caringly barreled down my pueblo’s dirt road with all that my life consisted of in bags and boxes in one of Peace Corps’s twin cab, white Toyota Hiluxes to drop me off at my new home. My counterpart, Santos, had arranged my living situation (that’s normal protocol) and he assured me that it was bien bonita, very nice. When we arrived at my new home, there were construction materials everywhere, electric wiring that needed to be tied off, and no lights. My landlord, Wilson, showed me to the room that Santos had elected for me and I couldn’t hide the look of horror on my face. There were no fixtures installed, the cement walls were unpainted and drab, and there was no place for me to sleep. There wasn’t even a place for me to hang my hammock. It was around noon, and my landlord promised me he’d have some light fixtures installed by the end of the day, and would work on hanging my hammock. Rolando could tell I wasn’t comfortable at all and began asking if there wasn’t another living option available. Wilson stepped in and said upstairs he had two rooms, too, but the rent was a little more expensive. A difference of $10 wasn’t an issue to me, so Wilson showed us upstairs. Even from outside, I knew this would be much better. Both rooms arriba had stained wood doors and deadbolts, which I haven’t seen since Dana and I stayed at the Sheraton (and the InterContinental). Upon opening the doors, I let out a sign of relief. The tile on the floors was so shiny I could see my own reflection, the walls were painted a calming pale peach color, there was wood trim and the bathroom, which is shared between the two rooms, was completely tiled and had it’s very own brand new white flush toilet. Wilson explained the only problem was that the plumbing was yet to be connected and the electrical work needed to be completed, as well. I asked how long until the room would be available and he said oh, about a week. Translate into Salvadoran time and that could mean up to a month. So, in order to encourage a speedy completion, I told Wilson I would not be paying rent until the room was done. I am my father’s daughter, after all. In the meantime, though, the downstairs dungeon room was mine. The room was small, about eight by fourteen feet or so, and the giant pila, cobalt blue toilet and shower (both enclosed in stalls) were located just outside the door. Thankfully Wilson got me an extension cord to power the fan my counterpart, Santos, let me borrow from the cooperative, and to connect my computer. Also, one light fixture worked outside the room, but most of my illumination came from two Virgin Mary prayer candles, just like the ones my Mom lights for my Grammary at church. Seeing as I had no bed, and Wilson didn’t figure a way to rig up my hammock, I slept on the floor on two mini gym mats doubled up for about two weeks. To be honest, it wasn’t so terrible thanks to the first season of Glee that my fellow volunteers got me hooked on. Upon my arrival back from our PCV Ultimate Frisbee Tournament, I was pleased to find Wilson and his family finishing up my big, beautiful room, and stringing up my hammock. Now that my room was finished, that meant it was time to furnish it (which I am still in the process of, by the way). I made a list of what I thought to be “the essentials” and started asking around for places to buy things. It was quite evident that I would have to make the trek to Santa Rosa de Lima, the closest large municipality with furniture stores and house wares. In chatting, I discovered that my landlord’s brother-in-law worked at a furniture store and was bound to give me a good deal. Not wanting to get screwed out of precious dollars, I did my best shopping around, wheeling in dealing just like my Dear Old Dad taught me, and sure enough I ended up finding the best price at the store with the familial connection. During my first shopping spree I bought a full size bed, extra firm (no memory foam, though) and an oven. You all know how I enjoy cooking, and after doing some cost analyses between tabletop burners, large toaster ovens and mini apartment sized ovens, and in the end the oven won. After the first of the month, and after my living allowance had been deposited into my account, the next purchase was ready to be made. I was on the prowl for a large table to be used as a desk, preferably made of durable plastic with folding legs that could be covered and beautified with a Salvadoran textile. Of course, none were to be found. I’d actually have to have the said table imported from the States. Um, no thanks. So I ended up with a nicely sized wooden table and rolling chair. Nothing quite as nice as I would have found at San’s, but nice enough. As luck would have it, my landlord’s wife informed me that they had an extra refrigerator, and if I wanted, I could borrow it for the time I’m here. Talk about the jackpot of furnishing a home. I’m not sure why, but refrigerators are out of this world expensive. A small dorm size fridge that you could easily find in the US at your local Target for under $100 runs for about $200 here. Ridiculous. Ultimately I would love to have a few more pieces of furniture, like a bed side table, a small dresser and organizing bins, but these purchases will all be made piece by piece, month by month as the money rolls in. For the time being I am living more than comfortably and enjoying my little piece of El Salvador. Tropical Storm Agatha First and foremost, a huge thanks to all the thoughts and prayers of concern that you all sent my way to El Salvador during this season’s first tropical storm. Agatha came on strong and sustained, continuing for nearly five entire days. Thankfully for us here in El Salvador, though we did endure over 170 individual landslides and a few casualties nationwide, we were barely grazed by Agatha while she mauled our neighbor, Guatemala, on top of an already dangerous climate following the eruption of Volcán Acaya. This particular weekend I, along with four other volunteers from Northern La Union were invited to our Mama Bear, Emily’s site, to participate in a monthly food festival she and her community have implemented. As you can imagine, preparation was extensive and everyone was excited for the event to get underway. My fellow PCVs and I arrived at Emily’s on Saturday to help with any last minute details that may have needed to be taken care of before the big event on Sunday morning, and to enjoy each other’s company and a few games of pool at Emily’s neighborhood pool hall. (She practically lives in America.) I arrived first to Remesaville to write up my quarterly report. I needed to borrow EmBo’s PC to complete the file because Peace Corps/US Government is not Mac compatible. The whole time, the rain just kept on coming, but I didn’t really think much of it. We are in the rainy season after all, and if there was a really threat PC staff would certainly contact us. Throughout the rest of the afternoon, more NLUers showed up. First Jenny, then Brian, and finally Missy and Erica. By the time everyone arrived, the rain was only getting stronger and Emily needed to make the decision whether or not to cancel the next day’s big event. If the rain continued, no one would show up and tons of food would go to waste. If it stopped, there would be a lot of kicking one’s self on the part of Emily. You may be thinking, why not just turn on the news and check out the forecast? Oh, silly gringos, we don’t have TVs. In the end, Em and her committee decided it was for the best to cancel the festival. The six of us spent the rest of the night playing pool, cooking an out of this world dinner (stuffed manicotti) and chatting the night away. The entire while, the rain hadn’t let up. It looked like the right decision was made to cancel the food fair. The next morning, the rain was still dumping buckets and around 9AM, Emily’s mayor’s office called the Emergency Committee to meet. With this, we all got a bit concerned, especially since we were all planning on traveling back to our respected sites, mine down a dirt road, and Erica, a member of the newest group, was scheduled to travel all the way to San Vicente to begin her second round of training. (It’s rather ironic that the last time El Salvador was hit by a natural disaster, my second training session was slated to begin, too.) Missy, our outgoing Regional Leader, made a few phone calls to PC staff, and sure enough, they were implementing our own Emergency Action Plan. All volunteers were instructed to report their whereabouts and remain where they were so long as they were safe. Travel was suspended. So, for the next twenty-four hours, the six of us were sequestered at Emily’s and spent the time cooking, eating, talking, playing card games (well, I didn’t…I prefer making spreadsheets), and watching countless episodes of Glee. (That show makes me miss Concert Chorale and musicals so much!) After a while, I started to get cabin fever, but thankfully Emily had back issues of The Economist to help maintain my sanity. Around 5PM on Sunday afternoon, the rain started to easy up and by the morning, the streets were dry. Emily was a great host of the “Gringo Shelter”, making sure we were sufficiently fed, watered, clothed and entertained. I honestly can’t think of a better way to have spent those 48 hours. Thankfully, all volunteers and staff were safe and sound. Some volunteers, however, had a much more challenging and traumatic time during the storm. My good friend Dana and her father, Alan, were traveling through Guatemala at the time, and unaware of the severity of the storm at hand (again, no CNN or Weather Channel updates) between two popular tourist towns. They were incredibly lucky, and gracias a dios, after fourteen hours of travel and spending a night on the Panamerican Highway trapped between Guatemala’s two worst landslides, they reached the city of Antigua safely.

This past week, I gave a few trainings to the New Group in San Vicente, and made the absolutely amazing chocolate peanut butter chip cookies from the mix Janet sent mer. The new group and I LOVED them! Also, Janet and Marsha, thanks for the awesome care package. Believe it or not, I still have some chocolate left. I’m rationing it.The countdown is now on until Dan and Rose make their venture on south to The Savior. In less than two months, I will be showing them around my pueblo, enjoying the historic charm of Suchitoto, introducing them to my Salvadoran family in Santa Ana, and celebrating my birthday on the beach with PCV friends, and most importantly my parents. As always, an open invitation to visitors stands. I’d love to share a bit of my Salvadoran life with you. And, I have a toilet and shower now. Please continue to send emails and letters, and if anyone is interested in sending something down but have been a little reluctant due to shipping costs, give it to my Mom to bring on down in August. She has a specific “Rosellen’s Suitcase of Random Shhtuff” all ready. Love, love, love, Ros

You may be wondering why I haven’t written in over a month, asking yourself what have I been doing that’s so much better than sitting down in front of my laptop to share my experiences so you can all live vicariously through me (more like providing more reasons why you won’t be visiting, right)? Well, the answer is as big as Volcán Chichontepeque. So, strap on your reading glasses. This is going to be a long one.

Site Selection

As a volunteer in Peace Corps El Salvador, site assignments are a lot like a game of roulette. You tell your APCD (program boss) the things that are most important to you in a site, placing your bets on things such as being a first volunteer or replacing a departing volunteer, being in a community with a large school, having a market easily accessible, and even in some cases being as remote as possible without electricity or running water Castaway style. The odds are usually stacked in your favor, and the stakes are low. The reality of the matter is, as a PCT with less than two months in country, you really have no idea what you want, and ultimately what you think is of utmost important in a site has little or no impact on your overall happiness. Your APCD, with their vast knowledge of the country and experience with hundreds of volunteers over the years, has a better idea of where to place you to enable success. That’s the case about 95% of the time.

The other 5% of the time though, when things just don’t work out in a volunteer’s site for reasons of health, questions of security, or, as in my case, programmatic reasons, volunteers take a more active role in their transfer site selection. Having had experience in a community, volunteers changing sites know what is important for them to have a fulfilling, successful service. In my case, work opportunities and the ability to successfully establish the Ag Business Program are most important to me.

My boss, Rolando, and his assistant, Carlos, took extra care in finding my new site, and included me in the entire process. Though it took far longer than I anticipate, and far longer than I would have liked, from my first few days in my new site, it seems to have been well worth it.

Rolando and Carlos began my site search by following up on a contact made by fellow Ag Biz Volunteer, Brock, by way of his counterpart organization. After his own site change, he was paired with an agricultural cooperative, which happens to be a participating cooperative in the UN’s World Food Program. When Brock started at his cooperative, he had no idea the WFP was involved, as is the case with so many relationships between counterpart and collaborating organizations. Sometimes volunteers don’t know about them until a representative shows up in their site. Anyway, the representative of WFP was very interested in Brock’s participation in the cooperative and was even more interested in involving other PCVs with other WFP cooperatives. So, contact was made between the PC powers that be and the WFP representative, several meetings were held to establish Peace Corps ES’ relationship with WFP ES, how they would work together, and eventually three WFP partnering cooperatives were identified as potential PCV sites.

Carlos, who is generally responsible for site development, took on the task of checking out these three sites, one of which I would eventually call home. The search began at a cooperative in the Western Region, very near the site of my good friend, Axel, and near one of El Salvador’s three national parks. Both Rolando and Carlos thought this would be a great option because I would be able to stay in the Western Region, and would be near a trusted friend, making this difficult transition a little easier. I was unable to go with Carlos on this particular site visit because I was attending my, then current, region’s safety and security conference, so I would be trusting Carlos’ judgment on this one.

After the visit, Carlos gave me a call (saving me precious saldo) to give me the run down. He went on an on about acres upon acres of cafetales (coffee land), coffee commercialization and export opportunities, a restaurant with a scenic outlook, tourism potential… My mind was racing about all the potential projects, and just as I opened my mouth to say, “Awesome! When I can visit? Should I start packing my bags?” Carlos dropped the f-bomb. No, no. Not that f-bomb. One much worse: “Fijáte.” The Salvador, “Well…you see…”. Nothing good ever follows the f-bomb.

Part of the site development process, along with gauging the interest of the potential counterpart organization, living conditions and the like, a security check is done. Carlos paid a little visit to the local PNC, Policia Naciónal Civil, to get their assessment of safety in the zone. As it turn out, because the site was located on the road to the national park and because it was so scenic and a bit off the beaten path, the police recommended the site for a male volunteer. Point being, this site was out of the question for the tall, blonde haired, blue-eyed, chele gringita. Of course, hearing this from Carlos was a hard pill to swallow. There is nothing more frustrating than being told you can’t do something based purely on your gender and outward appearance. But, swallow the pill I did, realizing that this decision was for my own safety and well-being.

So, instead of dwelling on what could have been, the next words out of my mouth were, “¿Y ahora? ¿Donde vamos?” Where to now? Carlos’ answer was less than enthusiastic. One of the cooperatives identified by WFP was out East in La Union, quite literally on the opposite side of the country and pretty much as far away from my original site as I could possibly get. Instead of being 25 kilometers from Guatemala, I would be 25 kilometers from Honduras. Rolando and Carlos were a little reluctant to even look out East because they really wanted me to stay in the Western Region in order to maintain contacts that I had made during my first ten months of service. With that being said, I explained to both my bosses that location didn’t matter to me. I am going to maintain the relationships I have made and that are important to me regardless of where I am placed. What matters most now is the work. They were both reassured at how certain I was about a potential transnational move and scheduled the visit.

Because this next potential site is so far away it would have been nearly impossible for me to travel from my original site to the capital, meet up with Carlos and then drive another five hours eastward to La Union to properly site develop in one day. Naturally, Carlos and I devised a master plan. During the week, Carlos lives in the capital, but on the weekends he returns to his family and home in the department of Morazan, a mere two hour drive from where we will be visiting. My friend and Regional Leader, Matt, also happened to live in the same municipality as Carlos and his family. (Matt has since returned to the States and our PC Men’s soccer team will never be the same.) With our visit scheduled for Monday morning, I travelled on Sunday to Mafia Territory, yet again, spent the night at Matt’s along with our fellow PCV Karl, who had just returned from the States, and was up, ready and rearing to go early Monday morning.

Regional Leaders’ houses serve as cushy crash pads for traveling volunteers, so crash we did... As well as feast, chat, and aprovechar the internet connection. RLs, generally third year extended service volunteers, live in centrally located pueblos, in very nice housing conditions. And by nice, I mean Matt’s house had high speed internet, a side-by-side refrigerator, living room with multiple couches, and the holy grail of holy grails, an oven. Karl, fresh off the boat (uh, plane) from the States and re-acclimated to delicious cuisine not consisting of beans or corn, I, wanting to take full advantage of this Salvadoran Martha Stewart’s Dream Kitchen, and Matt, who was simply used to Peace Corps Light pueblo living, decided to make a feast. Karl had a craving for Italian and something meaty, so we decided Karl would make the meat sauce, and I would throw together an improvised, Salvadoran version of my Aunt Debbie’s famous lasagna. Matt would contribute the appetizer—homemade humus. Not exactly perfect complements, but they are both from the Mediterranean, right?

Dairy here in El Salvador is a little lackluster, so I had to get creative with the cheeses. Instead of ricotta cheese, I used requeson, instead of melty cheddar quesillo fit the bill, but I did splurge and buy the processed mozerella. In the end, with Karl’s manly, meaty red sauce, the lasagna turned out as well as I could have hoped: bubbly, cheesy and delicious.

The meal itself was extravagant enough, but it didn’t end with the humus and lasagna. All the way back in January, I received a surprise package from my, well I don’t exactly know how to describe our relationship other than surrogate aunt, Janet. Inside I was ecstatic to find bars of dark chocolate, a card including photos (which I love…please send more!), and a box of Ghiaradelli Dark Chocolate Brownie Mix. Because I had no oven at my original site, I had literally been toting around this box of brownie mix for three months in my backpack, just waiting to stumble across an oven and have the chance to bake. Finally, opportunity came knocking and we ended an awesome meal with mind blowing brownies. All I have to say is THANKS, JANET! The brownies were well worth the wait.

Monday morning, after waking from humus-lasagna-brownie induced food coma, Carlos and I were off. We arrived at Cooperativa ACOCACPAL de R.L., a really long acronym that basically means Cooperative Association of Savings and Credit for Agriculturalists. We were greeted by ten members of the cooperative and began the meeting right away. We all introduced ourselves, Carlos explained what Peace Corps is from his perspective, he had me describe the role of a volunteer, and then the representatives of the cooperative shared about themselves, their cooperative, their understanding of Peace Corps, and why they wanted a volunteer. From everything that was being said, this cooperative seemed like a perfect fit. Being part of the WFP, they had a system of loans already in place, had many plans for future projects and income generating initiatives, they just expressed a great need to assistance in executing these projects, organization, and help locating additional funding and NGOs to continue moving forward. How perfect! The overall vibe and energy level of the members was great as well. They were all very energetic, vocal, and not full of the usual Salvadoran pena. To boot, half of their directive consists of women. AWESOME.

Carlos, Santos, the head of the cooperative, and I walked around the pueblo where the cooperative is located and talked to the PNC regarding security. The pueblo is an extremely safe community of about 10,000 people, a little bit off the beaten path, and generally pleasant. Carlos and I wrapped up our visit, and the last thing Santos said to me was, “¿Cuando puede empezar?” When can you start? This is my kind of place.

In the car ride back, Carlos and I were talking and reflecting on the visit. I told him that I really couldn’t explain it, but this site felt right. The people were welcoming, it didn’t matter to them that I was a female, and they have the ganas, the will, to work hard and get ‘er done. Carlos agreed, but before he would say ok to the move out east, he wanted to be sure I was making the right decision and for us to visit one more cooperative the following week.

Though I was nearly positive the next site visit was unnecessary, I agreed with Carlos that this move was a big decision to make and there is no reason not to be 100% sure I was making the right decision. So, the following week Carlos and I headed to the last potential site identified by WFP. From the start of the meeting, both Carlos and I looked at each other, and we could tell this was not only a wrong fit for me, but a wrong fit for any volunteer. Only two members of the directive were present, the president left fifteen minutes into the meeting, and generally speaking I didn’t feel welcomed. Carlos and I followed up with the local delegation of the PNC and determined that though the site itself is very safe, the road that leads to it is questionable and unsuitable for a volunteer.

Carlos and I headed back to the San Salvador office to discuss the next steps with Rolando. As can be expected we discussed the pros and cons of moving east, and as Rolando said—a little too much like my own father would have said, “You know, Rosellen, it’s hot. Damn hot.” In the end, regardless of the heat, I would be moving east. Once it was officially decided, the only emotion I can describe feeling is complete and utter relief. This whole move, leaving a community that I had committed myself to for two years, breaking that commitment, feeling as a failure for being unable to make it where I was assigned really placed a tremendous weight on my shoulders and left me feeling weak and helpless. With the decision made to move to a new site where I was actually wanted, where people were excited for me to come and work, and where there was work in relation to my program, I finally felt reanimated and rejuvenated.

Needless to say, I was ready to move the very next day, but of course that wasn’t even an option. Rolando wanted to call the cooperative personally, expound on a few more details of having a volunteer and to give them enough time to prepare for my arrival. Ok, fair enough. But, what this meant is that I would have to wait another entire two weeks to move. Why you ask? After the given week long grace period, our In Service Training was to be held. As Rolando saw it, and I had to agree, it would be silly to move me to my new site, be there for two days, and then need to return to the western part of the country for IST.

So, the move was scheduled for Tuesday, May 11th. Finally.

Editing and Dando Charlas

The prospect of waiting another two weeks to move seemed absolutely unbearable at first glance. It meant more living out of my backpack, more chicken bus travelling, but as Rolando and Carlos pointed out to me, the time would fly by. It always does. To boot, I had three days of editing my second issue of El Camino on the horizon, as well as needing to finish preparation for the first round of trainings Brock and I would be giving at our IST.

I went back to my site, explained to my host family and counterpart that my departure was imminent, and dealt with all the emotions involved with a break-up. Except unlike breaking up with a significant other, I was breaking up with an entire community, and as they saw it, it was anything but an amiable ending. I had to explain to them the situation, how I needed specific opportunities to successfully start the Ag Biz program. I pulled the classic “it’s not you it’s me”, trying to ease the blow as much as I could. The hardest person to tell for me, though, was my host grandma and best friend, Mama Chila. She naturally started to cry, began asking if my counterpart couldn’t make a phone call to my boss to change his mind, and whether there was anything I could do to stay. Of course I felt terribly guilty, leaving these people and these wonderful relationship, but as I tried to reassure Mama Chila, I would be back to visit. I will go back to visit the people. But for me, right now, I need move to be able to be successful in my work. Certainly, a huge part of Peace Corps is the relationships you make with other people, but for me that’s not the biggest part of what I want my service to be. I want to successfully develop the Ag Business program here in El Salvador, and have meaningful relationships.

After that series of very difficult explanations and washing a mountain of laundry, I packed my bag and headed to the capital to edit. There, I spent three days barred up in the PCV Lounge at our main office in San Sal revising the awesome submissions from members of my program and putting together the layout. Fueled by soy covered peanuts and countless Coke Zeros (there are no Sugar Free Red Bulls or wasabi peas to be had), I am proud to say this issue is even better than the last. If anyone is interested, let me know and I’d be more than happy to email you the PDF of this May’s issue of El Camino.

While in the capital, I happened upon a large group of fellow volunteers, all in the capital for various reasons from celebrating the completion of service to celebrating surviving their first month in site. As always, great company was shared, great times were had and we took full advantage of the plethora of food option, including sushi.

After another quick trip back to site to repack my backpack will clean clothes, it was off the La Escual Nacional de Agricultura, the ENA, for our In Service Training. We all arrived by lunchtime, and enjoyed our meal catching up with one another, some fellow volunteers whom we hadn’t seen since PST2 all the way back in November. Gosh, the time sure does fly by. Right after lunch, we got down to business beginning with a quick introduction about IST, a charla from Rolando on grant writing, and then it was show time: my turn! My charla was an hour-long training on funding and financing products, and basically how to convince people to want to give you money. (Thanks to my time at LIFT, formely NSP, as Bake Face’s protégé, I was more than prepared to give this training.) I was a little concerned that this training wouldn’t exactly excite fellow volunteers, but much to my pleasant surprise, it struck a perfect chord or resonance with my fellow PCVs. Everyone was extremely interested and very participative as well. Phew! My first training went off without a hitch and no one fell asleep.

The rest of IST seemed to float on by with nothing terribly remarkable happening, but we did learn some awesome ideas of potential projects to do in our sites including chicken farming, shampoo making and marmalade making. The highlight of training, though, had to be the Old Group vs. New Group Men’s Basketball Tournament where the New Group (my class of volunteers) dominated, and bowling the night of our last day of training. Be sure to check out my photos of bowling on Facebook. You won’t be able to decipher the lanes of San Sal from the lanes at TBC.

The Ambassador, The President and a New Home

Finally! It was time for the big move. On Monday morning, May 10th, I met my friendly Peace Corps Driver, Gerardo, in Chalchuapa to head up to my site to throw my things in the truck and head on eastbound. Much to my surprise, the ride that usually takes 45 minutes by bus up to my original site took a mere 12 in a Toyota Prado (the ultimate fútbol mom vehicle). With me being big old case of emotions, Gerardo helped me throw my things in the SUV while I choked back tears to say goodbye to my host family. Mama Chila was bawling, Niña Juana was tearful and Yefri was just plain mad at me. I really hate goodbyes.

Within two hours, Gerardo was helping me unload the truck at the Peace Corps office in San Sal. It was decided that I would spend Monday night in San Sal so Rolando and I could get an early start to La Union Tuesday morning. After clogging the entrance way to the APCDs’ offices, much like I used to dump all my belongings on the kitchen floor at my parents’ house and come to think of it still do when I visit, I headed up to chat with Rolando. He was on the phone when I knocked on his door, so he flagged me in. Once he hung up, he informed me that on the way to La Union tomorrow, we would be stopping at an event in La Paz and that the US Ambassador would be in attendance. Rolando couldn’t really tell me much about the event other than it started at 10AM and that fellow PCVs and married couple Matt and Helen would be attending, as well. Though we did have this slight detour, Rolando made certain to reassure me that there would be plenty of time to get to my new site. Bueno, está bien.

The following morning, Rolando and I packed up the truck with my all that my life consisted of in bags and boxes, picked up his wife and were on our way. Once we arrived in the pueblo where the event was to take place, we realized this event was far bigger than what we anticipated. Not only was the US Ambassador going to be in attendance, but so was the President of El Salvador himself, Mauricio Funes. Talk about a once in a service experience!

We met up with Matt and Helen and then made our way to the event. Being associated with the US Embassy, Rolando just flashed his Embassy ID and we were escorted to prime seating. Soon, the Ambassador arrived, along with the head of public affairs and the head of USAID El Salvador. Matt, Helen and I were very lucky to have the opportunity to chat with all three US officials, as well as several Salvadoran officials while we waited for the arrival of President Funes. The President has begun to get a reputation of being notoriously late, and this day was no different. One hour and forty minutes after the event was scheduled to begin, President Funes’ helicopter landed and he and his wife arrived.

This event was held to recognize the successes of FISDL, the Salvadoran Foundation for Local Development, and the additional $27 million dollars given by USAID to FISDL to counteract the destruction caused by November’s landslides brought on by Hurricane Ida. The Ambassador spoke, but the main attraction was President Funes’ speech. He focused on the importance of nonpartisan governing and focusing on the needs of rural citizens as the nation works towards further development. It was truly a wonderful opportunity listen to the President speak. Matt, Helen and I tried to get our photo with the President, and even asked the help of the Ambassador, but unfortunately the press swallowed up Mr. Funes before the Ambassador could ask him the favor. Oh, well. Maybe next time…

By the time the event wrapped up, it was nearly 1PM and Rolando and I still had at least three hours of driving ahead of us. My new counterpart told Rolando he could wait until 4PM for us to arrive, but any later than that and he’d have to begin his ride home. Unfortunately, there was no way we’d make it in time, so Rolando called my new counterpart, told them we’d arrive the next day, and we stayed the night in San Miguel. At this point in the game, what’s waiting 18 more hours? Especially when I got to see the President.

Wednesday, May 12th I finally arrived in my new site. We dropped my things off in my new home, which is still under construction in true Salvadoran style, but will be absolutely beautiful once complete, and met with my counterpart organization. Rolando got to know the cooperative a little better as well as the pueblo. When he left me, he thanked me profusely for my patients in the matter of my site change, gave me a hug and told me he felt like he was leaving his own daughter. We both laughed and he was on his way.

In the last few days, I have been getting to know the cooperative and learning as much as I can. It’s definitely going to be a long process, adjusting to a new place and getting to know people, making friends, but in the end it will be worth it. I have already been but to work making Excel documents and determining our current rate of return on loans made in the past twelve months. As you can imagine, I am feeling pretty good and feeling a little productive.

Weekends are going to be quiet, seeing as my cooperative isn’t open on Saturdays or Sundays, but I am lucky to have a good group of four other volunteers relatively close to me, and with whom I can meet easily. This past Sunday, Brian, Emily, Missy and I (Tyler couldn’t climb donw the mountain) met up in Santa Rosa at, wait for it, Burger King! for a welcome lunch. As I was patiently awaiting their arrival at the BK Lounge, I couldn’t help but question myself whether I had made the right decision. Life out east is extremely different than life out west. For starters, it’s hotter than Lucifer’s paradise out here, things are more expensive, and the tortillas are the size of Frisbees. Sure, the work out here for me is better and I will definitely feel satisfied with that aspect of my life, but will I ever feel like I belong out east? Will I ever feel like part of a family?

I got the answer to my query faster than I would have imagined. As soon as Emily, Brian and Missy walked through the door, their smiles grew, they threw out their arms embracing me in a huge hug and said, “Welcome Home.” Sure, I might not have a host family like I did out west (and honestly, I still have them…I’m already planning my first visit back), but I have a great living situation, an awesome counterpart, and tons of work. If nothing else, I will have my PCV family, and my fellow NLUers (Northern La Union) reassured me of that. I am wanted. I am welcome. And I am home.

As many of you know, or may have been able to decipher from my blog entries, though I have been busy having a wonderful experience in my current site, completing projects such as the world and El Salvador maps in our Centro Escolar and efficient stoves with our women’s group, my work hasn’t been focused in my program area of Agricultural Business. Being the goal and results oriented (some may say OCD, anal retentive) person that I am, fulfilling my role as an Agricultural Business Volunteer and meeting my programmatic goals, not to mention my own expectations of myself (however outlandish they may be), are extremely important to me. So, after much contemplation, self-reflection, conversations with peers, and guidance from my bosses, I have made the very difficult choice to relocate to another site within El Salvador. Daunting Decisions Peace Corps service is all about peaks and troughs, successes and failures, acting upon the needs of your community, beyond the realm of your program area, and definitely beyond the realm of your expertise. Believe me, I realize this fully: the highs of having people enthusiastically show up to your meetings, the lows of heartbreak when your girls’ soccer team tells you they would rather not play, the joys of the relationships with those who have welcomed you into their community, and the sobering realization that the work you are engaging in is in no way related to what you’re “supposed” to be doing. The work I am charged with and privileged to have is being one of the first three Agricultural Business volunteers of Peace Corps El Salvador. The realm of agricultural business is having a growing importance in the development of El Salvador, especially as the country begins to progress through the steps of the development, transitioning from subsistence farming to income generating cash cropping and beyond. My fellow ag business volunteers’ and my responsibilities are to support our counterpart farmers and communities as they transition into the business aspect of agriculture, as well as to develop trainings and resource materials for fellow volunteers to use in their communities. I have been able to put forth my best effort in creating resource guides and trainings for my fellow volunteers, but I have been unsuccessful in applying these techniques at my own site. As I mentioned before, there are specific steps on the path to development. In relation to agriculture, in order to transition from subsistence farming (beans and corn here in El Salvador) to income generation, any given farmer must improve his farming techniques in order to produce a surplus crop, beyond what is needed to feed himself and his family, which can later be sold in the market. The profits from the sale can then be used to invest in planting new crops, beyond the beans and corn, to crops like tomatoes, cucumber and peppers, to name a few. In my current community, farmers are exclusively planting beans and corn to feed their families and have very little surplus for sale. There is no farmland at their disposal that can be used to plant a cash crop. The risk of planting a cash crop, with the increased input costs and potential of failing, is far too high for the average subsistence farmer; they need to be sure they and their families can eat in the coming year. As you know, I am not an agronomist; I am a nerd with an economics degree. Need help doing a cost benefit analysis, I’m your girl, but when it comes to soil and seed science and increasing crop yields, I can’t tell a seed from the hole in the ground in which I’m supposed to plant it. In addition to my misaligned work initiatives, the interest of my community members in new techniques and projects is stagnant at best. When it comes to sitting and chatting over some Salva Cola, my community members are always down. But, beginning projects and sustaining interest can be like pulling teeth. Sure, I am the first volunteer in site, and I realize being the first is all about encouraging your community to get excited about potential positive change. I did what I thought was best to pump the community up, but apparently it wasn’t enough. I was ramming my head against a brick wall, especially in terms of ag business. So, about half way through the month of February, I became more and more aware of my dissatisfaction with my work. Surely I was occupying my time and participating in my community, but it was not the work I came to El Salvador to do. I was using the skills I had developed as a swim lesson instructor to participate with the kids. I was not using the knowledge and skills I gained from my very expensive college degree (thanks, Mom and Dad for footing the bill on that one) and internship experience in Ecuador. I was growing increasingly frustrated, I felt like I was being a bad volunteer, and even my friends noticed a difference in my disposition. I was unfulfilled with my level, quantity and area of work. For a while, I tried to muscle through. This is Peace Corps, not a cakewalk. Sure, we have specific program areas, but we all know we dabble in every program. Finally, though, my better judgment kicked in and I sought advice: advice from my fellow PCVs, my APCD, and other PC staff, (not to mention the awesome support of my Mom and Dad who always get the brunt of it). In the end, I realized it’s supposed to be hard, but it’s not supposed to be this hard. Yes, we have to push, but we shouldn’t be the ones doing all the heaving. We are the catalyst, not the entire chemical reaction. (That one was for you, Peter. That’s about all I remember from chemistry.) After my initial conversation with my APCD, Rolando, who was nothing but supportive, it was decided I would give it another go in my community for one more month, just to make sure this really wasn’t just a temporary funk and we weren’t making any rash decisions. But, by the end of my month trial period, things hadn’t changed much. My relationships with people were great, my agricultural business projects continued to be non-existent, and exploring the possibility of a site change was necessary. It’s hard to make that decision: that you’re going to leave your site for a new one. First of all, I have invested over six months into this site. I’ve made friends and have integrated into a family. I don’t want to leave these people and I don’t want to go through the stress of relocating, reestablishing myself and making friends all over again. And, more strongly than any other worry, I didn’t want to feel like I failed. The questions that ran through my head were: am I really so weak I can’t stick it out? Why aren’t I trying harder? What am I doing wrong? In the end though, my strength and determination, had nothing to do with it. Based on the needs of my community and my abilities, we were a wrong fit from the start. I am a dedicated, determined and intense worker. I am far happier busy than having hammock time. I need to be working with a community or organization that needs help in my realm of expertise. But, as far as people and relationships go, my community is wonderful. I love my little girls, find my little boys hilarious, and don’t know what I would do without the daily hugs from my Mama Chila. That’s why it was so hard to admit, ok, this isn’t right. We need to make a change. The decision was finally made towards the end of March, and my boss, Rolando, with the help of my CTS, Carlos, and I are undergoing a site search. This Monday, I will be visiting a potential new site and, primero a Dios, if the work situation is ideal, I will be moving within the week. If, though, for some reason things don’t seem 100% right, we will continue the search for the right site. I’ll be sure to let you know as soon as it happens, so stayed tuned. You can’t imagine the range of emotions that are involved in a site change. The fear (what if this isn’t the right choice), the sadness (who’s going to hug me before bed every night), the guilt (“I feel like the world is falling on my head now that you are leaving”) and the excitement (Wow! This is what it feels like to be a productive volunteer). I just keep reminding myself that everything happens for a reason, this challenge with my first site placement will make me a better volunteer in my new site, and the volunteer who is being sent to replace me in September, a male (there is an extreme amount of machismo) agricultural volunteer, will be better able to serve the community. I have no other choice but to chalk it up to experience, strap on my Chaco’s, and continue forward. A Visit to Mafia TerritoryHere in El Salvador, there are over 140 Peace Corps volunteers serving nationwide. We are divided into three main regions: western, central and eastern. Currently, I am a member of the West is Best Crew, though I may soon be sadly departing, which encompasses the departments of Santa Ana, Ahuachapan and Sonsonate (sometimes affectionately called Cincinnati). Though our numbers are strong, we are far outnumbered by the quantity of volunteers out east. In the Eastern Region, the strongest showing of volunteers, and by far the strongest regional pride, resides in the department of Morazan. This posse of volunteers is known by all as none other than the Morazan Mafia. They are incredibly united, exceptionally proud, meet regularly, and even have Mafia swag. Because I am undergoing a site change, and have recently wrapped up the body of work I was engaged in at my current site, my boss gave me permission to travel to visit my friend and fellow ag business volunteer, Brock, to see what his service is like since his site change three months prior (in addition to a series of murders, his site wasn’t conducive to our area of work, either). In identifying my new site, we are working closely with a few partnering organizations of Brock’s, including the UN’s World Food Program. The UN’s World Food Program is striving toward global food security, and here in El Salvador works with cooperatives, like Brock’s, to improve farming practices, business opportunities in order to guarantee sustenance for all. Just because El Salvador is slightly smaller than the state of Massachusetts, that doesn’t mean that getting from place to place is quick. Sure, my Mom, Dad and Sister can drive from Buffalo to Boston to move Dana for the 47th time in three years, complete with pit stop, in about seven and a half hours, but for me to get into Mafia Territory, I need to travel for over eight hours. My journey started at 7:50AM on my community’s bus to our municipality: 45 minutes. From there, I took the next available bus into the capital of my department, Santa Ana: 20 minutes. Once in Santa Ana, I waited about thirty minutes for the soonest bus to the capital: 1 hour and 20 minutes. From the Western Bus Terminal, I needed to cross town to the Eastern Bus Terminal: 40 minutes. At the Eastern Terminal I was lucky enough to catch the directo bus to San Francisco Gotera, all the way in Morazan: 2 hours and 45 minutes. The last leg of the trip, por fin: 1 hour and 15 minutes. Though I was pretty exhausted from travel and sitting all day, my feelings of fatigue quickly subsided once Brock began showing me around his pueblo. I’m not quite sure how to describe it, but it had a great feel. From the very clean central park, to Brock’s adorable 91-year-old neighbors, this site was great. The next day, we went to visit Brock’s cooperative, and I had the opportunity to sit in on a few meetings, including one with the cooperative’s consultant, hired by the World Food Program. The consultant did a complete survey of the cooperative including diagnostic tests to see where its strengths and weaknesses lay. From this survey, the consultant, hand in hand with the directive of the cooperative and Brock, have begun to write several plans of actions. It is Brock’s job to help execute these plans, improving the cooperative, and most specifically, improving its profit making operations. Based on my observations of the work that Brock is doing, I became more and more excited about my own site change. These are the types of things we should be doing as ag business volunteers: really engaging in and assisting in agricultural business practices. From this visit, I was more than reassured that the huge change I am about to undertake is in fact the right one. I am certain. In addition to the work end of my visit to Morazan, I also headed east to participate in this month’s PC soccer game. Luckily for me, the soccer game happened to be in Brock’s site, though he wasn’t the host. David, another PCV, was hosting the game on literally his last day of service. We played on Friday and he left the country on Saturday, officially an RPCV. Because Morazan is pretty far away, our PCV showing wasn’t as strong as in some more central locations, but we still had some gringo power. As usual, the women played first, in the peak of midday heat at 12:30PM. Because we didn’t have enough gringas, we had to borrow a few players from the other team. I started out at center midfield, and to say the least I ran my butt off. These girls were a little more physical than the last team we played, and I found myself rolling on the ground more than once after being taken out by a 15-year-old girl half my size. But, in the end, a little bruised, a little bloodied and drenched in sweat, we were victorious. The men’s team tied. Pues, that’s about all that’s new and exciting here. Be sure to check back soon. I hope I will be able to tell you all about my new site in my next update! Of course, I miss you all very much. Please hold off on the mail for a while until I get my new address. Until then, emails are very much so appreciated!

I’m not quite sure how it happened, but another month has passed, I’ve now been in El Salvador three quarters of a year, have completed one quarter of my tour of service, and my group members and I are no longer “the newbies”. I continue to have tremendous once-in-a-lifetime experiences, and was finally able to share them directly with my first visitor, my sister Dana, these past two weeks.

My First Visitor

By no means is Salvadoran campo living an easy transition to make, especially from the go, go, go lifestyle so many of us are accustomed to stateside. Thankfully, though, along with her hairdryer, hair products and hiking boots, Dana packed her sense of humor, sense of adventure, and flexibility, and on the whole had a great fourteen-day visit.

Within Dana’s first forty eight hours in ES, she had already visited one of the country’s most notable Mayan archeological sites, been hit by the brick that is Salvadoran stagnant summer heat, and experienced the challenges that arise when a community that is used to having running water for four hours every three days goes nearly a week without. For me, I began to relive my own culture shock I went through during my first few nights in site. How to use the bathroom that in reality is a latrine, garbage management (or lack there of), teeth brushing, even sleeping (cue claustrophobia by mosquito net), are all a 180˙ turn from the same activities in America. To me, these learned behaviors are second nature by now, and seeing as I figured out how to adapt myself relatively easily, I wrongfully assumed Dana would be able to do the same. She was my guest and it was my job to help her along. She was just here on a visit; this wasn’t her reality like it is mine. I shouldn’t have expected so much from her. So, after a few tips (kick the latrine at least three times to dislodge the cockroaches), answering some questions (where do I wash my hands when there’s no sink), and a lot of laughs, Dana started to get the hang of campo living.

As I mentioned, Dana arrived to my site on the heels of five consecutive days without running water. Trucks, each weighed down by over twenty tons of sugarcane, brought on the lack of water as they headed to our neighborhood sugar refinery. Our water mains, that are in reality four inch diameter PVC piping, commonly break under the weight of the trucks as they thunder down the dirt roads. By Thursday, Dana’s first full day in El Salvador and in my site, our pila (large water basin) was bone dry and our other water retainers desiccated, as well. (Don’t worry; I made sure to have a stockpile of clean drinking water.) This lack of water didn’t really affect us in the morning while we sketched the world map at the school, but in the afternoon when the water should have been running and we really needed to bathe no water was to be had. Dana and I had plans to head into the pueblo to use the internet (you know my sister, constant connectivity is essential and she doesn’t know how to not do work) at my host father’s office. Showing up unclean and smelling rather unpleasantly wasn’t exactly an option.

My host grandmother knew our plans, and the one who always encourages me to bathe twice, and sometimes even three times, daily (I never knew I smelled so bad) had a contingency plan in place. Chio, whose real name is Rosario and her connection to my host family is too confusing to even begin to explain, would walk with us down to la posa, or spring, where water was apparently flowing. I had actually never been there before, so explaining things to Dana, who doesn’t exactly speak much Spanish, was harder than normal. Mama Chila assured me it would be great, maybe even a little fun. So, Dana and I changed into some culturally appropriate bathing clothes (Dana’s hot yoga shorts didn’t quite fit the bill), packed one of my market bags with our towels and shower products, grabbed a couple guacales (small plastic buckets) and headed out with Chio and my one year old host nephew, Rolvin.

Not exactly knowing where we were going, Dana and I followed Chio down our main road. On the walk, much to my surprise and the utter shock of Dana, a freshly mud-rolled pig trotted up behind us. I have gotten used to having random animals roam around and simply to get out of their way. Dana, on the other hand, not knowing what was scampering up behind her instinctively started to run. The pig, equally startled by Dana’s reaction, ran after her. Trying to contain my laughter, I attempted to tell Dana to simply side step out of the way. Ever so deftly, amidst some “Why didn’t you tell me there were pigs that chase you?!?!,” Dana dodged the pig, regained her composure, and then cracked up hysterically. Only in the campo can you run the risk of being plowed over by a pig while walking twenty minutes to a spring in the woods to bathe.

Ten minutes into the walk to the spring, Dana started to get the concerned, where are we goings, meaning she was asking where were we going are we there yet every minute. All I could say was, “I don’t know. We’re following Chio.” I can understand why this would be nerve racking, following someone to an unknown location. But, for me I was following one of my host family members to bathe; nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary. If I never followed anyone to unknown places, I would never be able to find my own way around. After about ten minutes up our main road followed by ten more minutes of walking through the trees down a well beaten path, Chio announced that we had arrived. There was water flowing from a pipe that must have been linked to a spring somewhere and collected in a large man made pila. The pila was overflowing and created a miniature stream. Chio, assuring us that it was okay to take off our shirts (no worries, we had sports bras on, too), no men would come around (they have their own bathing hole) and said, “Aquí estamos. Vayan,” which basically means, “Here we are. Go ahead.”

I could tell Dana was a more than a little hesitant, taking in all the sights and sounds, including the three other women standing shirtless washing clothes and bathing, the beauty of the surrounding forest, and the symphony of animal sounds. But, she took a deep breath, stepped up to the pila and got right on down to business. Remembering my first bucket bath way back in San Vicente during training, I couldn’t help but chuckle. Dana did a great job, and wound up smelling fresh as a daisy.

Now, those of you who know Dana are certainly getting a kick out of this and probably wishing you could have been one of the frogs hanging out near the stream to see this whole event. Don’t worry, though, we have photographic evidence. Just ask her, I am sure Dana will be willing to share her experience. J

Dana and I spent five entire days in site. During four of these days, we dedicated our time to working on my Maps Project. Over the course of our topography time, we were able to complete drawing the world map, and let me tell you, that was no easy task. 1568 squares of drawing is a lot to do, and feels much harder when done in 90˙ heat. Also, drawing on a base of oil paint isn’t so easy, either. During these four days, we successfully mixed all the colors for painting countries and departments including pink, purple, orange, teal, and a lovely light green. The finished El Salvador map is pretty impressive, if I do say so myself. Please be sure to check out photos of the finished product on my Facebook account under the “Map Project” photo album. Dana and I weren’t unable to finish the world map, but no worries. I have spent my days painting away, and it’s nearly complete. I’ll be sure to share photos of the final product once it’s all done.

Also while Dana was here, my host nephew, Yefri, celebrated his fourth birthday on March 27th. Yefri’s mother works as a private cook in Guatemala and was unable to be home for his birthday. Before Dana and I had left for the new group’s Swearing-In, I asked Soyla, Yefri’s aunt and caretaker, if there was anything special planned for his birthday. Soyla told me that, no, there wouldn’t be anything until at least the Wednesday afterwards when Yefri’s mother, Berta, would be able to bring home her salary. Dana and I were traveling on our way back from San Salvador on Yefri’s birthday and decided we wanted to help Yefri celebrate his big day. He had been talking about it for weeks, and we couldn’t imagine how sad it would be if his birthday went uncelebrated. We stopped at our local bakery, Roxanna’s, and purchased a small cake. Yefri’s excitement and appreciation could be seen oozing from his eyeballs. The photos from his cake cutting are a must see. He’s such a sweetheart (as long as you aren’t telling him to get ready for school).

On Dana’s final day in my site, we participated in a garbage clean up. My women’s group, that is now successfully holding events after reestablishing itself for the third time (just goes to show you that the third time really is a charm), organized the event as an effort to mejorar, improve, our community and help in the fight against the spread of Dengue Fever. (Here in El Salvador, the entire country is facing an endemic of the mosquito-transmitted illness.) Sunday’s cleanup, much to my pleasant surprise, turned out to be a great success. Of course our helpers showed up forty-five minutes late (a cultural nuance that Dana will never be able to get used to), but nonetheless we had strong numbers with five women and around fifteen kids. First we tackled the disaster that was the school grounds, and then later battled the trash monster on the main road. We separated the plastic bottles that can be sold and recycled from the other types of garbage. Unfortunately, our community does not have any sort of trash management program, which means that all trash is either botar-ed, buried, or burned. Obviously all of the options create environmental contamination, but from my analysis of the situation, burning the trash had the least hazardous effect on health. With throwing the trash, the animals my community members later slaughter for food eat the garbage and with burying, the food that is grown in nearby land is contaminated, along with ground water that is later drunk. Without a doubt, polluting the air is awful, but to me the lesser of the evils, especially when done away from many people. What we are working on regarding trash management is promoting the separation of garbage into organic waste that can be used to make compost from inorganic waste that obviously has no value. Changing habits is challenging, but starting with the kids is the best way to tackle the beast.

Of the activities I participated in with my sister, I think my favorite would have to be hiking Volcán Santa Ana. Not only was I able to share this experience with my blood sister, my host sisters Xenia and Leslie also joined us. Dana and I were up bright and early to walk down to the bus stop near the sugar refinery, catch a bus into my municipality where we met up with the girls. My host father, Rene, was kind enough to drive the four of us into the city of Santa Ana where we caught the bus up to Parque Nacional de Cerro Verde. The bus ride up to the park was a little over an hour and a half, and Dana’s first experience on a “chicken bus”. For those of you who don’t know what a chicken bus is, it is often an old school bus, painted, decorated, usually equipped with a bumpin’ sound system and along with human passengers, chickens share the ride, too. Dana really isn’t one to sit still for long without something to read or emails to respond to on her iphone, but that’s not how things work here. Our bus rides became a lesson in idleness and relaxation for my sister, teaching her it’s okay to sit and ponder every once in a while.

Finally we had reached the park, and the view to say the least is gorgeous. Atop Cerro Verde, Volcán Izalco and Volcán Santa Ana are visible, along with Lago Coatepeque, and on a very clear day you can even see the ocean. We signed up for the daily 11AM hike up Santa Ana, fueled up, and were soon on our way. The hike itself was four hours long, about two hours up, a half hour rest at the top, and about one and a half hours back down. Though at times the hike was strenuous, it was well worth the effort for the view from the top, and the breathtaking site of Volcán Santa Ana’s sulfur lake in its crater. The color of the lake was the most beautiful color of green I have seen in nature and can only best be described as jade. Be sure to check out the photos on Facebook, but they certainly don’t do the lake justice.

I have to admit, I put my sister through a lot that she wasn’t used to, and she survived it all like a trooper. It was great to have her visit, and I appreciate her patience and understanding of my very unconventional lifestyle and career. There is a reason that not everyone does Peace Corps and it has the reputation of being the toughest job you’ll ever love.

An International Tournament

As some of you may already be aware, other first world countries, including England and Japan, have similar programs to Peace Corps where they send volunteers to third world countries to work in the realm of development. Here in El Salvador, Japanese volunteers, or members of JICA, are serving along side us in an effort to catalyze development. We’ve been working in parallel for years, and in an effort to work more in tandem, JICA and PC El Salvador organized a soccer tournament followed by a meet and greet session so we volunteers had the opportunity to get to know one another and spark some great working relationships.

But, this was no ordinary soccer tournament to be played at your local soccer cancha out in the campo. The JICA volunteers rented out El Salvador’s national stadium, Estadio Cuscatlan, where ES’s national team plays and Guns ‘N Roses will be performing next week, for us to play in. As one volunteer put it, we got the opportunity to play soccer in El Salvador’s Soccer Mecca. Many futbolistas dream of merely sitting in the stadium let alone lacing up their cleats and running the field. No doubt was this a once-in-a-lifetime chance.

So, bright and early on Sunday, March 21st after a great night’s sleep and being completely spoiled by staying at the Sheraton, Dana and I met up with the rest of the PC El Salvador Men’s and Women’s Soccer teams. Finally, after over six months without my very own jersey, my good old number 13 was in. On our soccer teams, instead of putting our last names on the backs of our jerseys, we choose to put a Spanish nickname people have consistently called us during our service. My jersey name is CHAPUDITA, which means “little red-faced one”. For those of you who have ever worked out with me, or seen me after a glass of wine (I’m genetically deficient, right, Cait?), know that this name is more than appropriate. I always come off the field the same color as my jersey: bright red.

Stepping onto the field in the stadium was nothing short of amazing. For starters, I haven’t seen grass that green or well manicured since my Dad’s lawn on the Fourth of July. Secondly, I’ve always wondered what goes through athletes’ minds and what they feel when they play in such a huge venue. Granted our fan base was nothing like the Selecta, but I got a pretty good sense of it all. We jogged a bit, warmed up and did drills, and for the first time in all the PC Women’s games that I have played in, we not only had enough girls to field an entire team, we even had subs. Things were looking good for us.

Taking advantage of the stadium, and the international showing, both the United States Peace Corps and the Japan JICA paraded out of our respective underground tunnels with our nation’s banner flying as we processed out. Here’s a funny side story. Of course we needed our own full size Star Spangled Banner for the game, and much to my surprise and the surprise of my fellow PCVs, we don’t have our own flag at the PC office. One of our administrators then contacted the Embassy to borrow one flag from their arsenal of Old Glories. As is turns out, in order to borrow an American flag from the Embassy, even if it’s the country’s Peace Corps post, a mound of paperwork has to be completed and processed. There simply wasn’t enough time. We’d still be waiting for the flag today. In the end, our Country Director borrowed the flag from the Sheraton. Pretty hilarious if you ask me.

The two teams paraded out, lined up, shook hands, and listened to each other’s national anthems, including the national anthem of our host country, El Salvador. Before we got down and dirty on the field, though, we had some great opening words from the Salvador Sports Commission President. He shared his excitement to have our organizations helping in the country and suggested having a triangular tournament in the future with a Salvadoran team as well. You don’t have to ask me twice, I’d love to play.

Finally, after what seemed like thousands of photos were taken, we got down to business with the games. Each game lasted thirty straight minutes, and the game schedule was as follows: JICA Men vs. PC Men, JICA Men’s Staff vs. JICA Men, JICA Women, vs. PC Women, Westerners 1 vs. Easterners 1, Westerners 2 vs. Easterners 2. (The West vs. East Games were coed, mixed PC/JICA, and were determined by one’s geographical location here in El Salvador.) In the Men’s game, our boys put up a good fight, but not good enough to defeat the JICA men. The JICA team dominated the field with swift passing and fancy footwork and ended victoriously 4-2. Based on the men’s game, I was a little nervous for the women’s game. If the women were even remotely good as the men, we were in for a tough match. But, within the first minute, with my sister Dana playing midfield and myself at forward, we were able to make a good push up the field, passed well and handed the ball off our captain, Missy, for our first goal. Nearly the entire game was played in front of JICA’s goal. I am used to playing physically against the Salvadoran women’s teams that aren’t afraid to hip check and like to throw ‘bows, but the JICA women didn’t have the same style of play. The highlight of the game for me was when I managed to exaggerate a fall (a la style of Mexican men’s soccer) I sustained after a far-too-rough go for a ball and avoided a yellow card. In the end PC Women were victorious 6-0.

The remaining games were a blast as well. This tournament truly was a great way to get to meet and know our Japanese counterparts. After all the games, we headed over to our PC office for a meet and greet with the JICA volunteers, and there we finally got a real opportunity to talk. What was interesting, though, was that we all had to communicate in Spanish, as neither party knew the other party’s native language. There were points when both sides would struggle with explaining an idea in Spanish, but experiencing the same language difficulties, we were still successful in communicating. Pretty remarkable. Be sure to check out the photos on Facebook. They are pretty sick.

The Newbies

As silly as it may sound, I was counting down the arrival of the next PC training class since the day after my own Swearing-In. On that particular day, September 5, 2009, I stopped at one of San Salvador’s malls for lunch before making my way to site. There, I ran into a volunteer who had been from the group before me. Here in El Salvador there are over 140 volunteers serving, so the chances of not knowing all volunteers is pretty high. This particular volunteer, who I hadn’t met, came up to me and said, “Peace Corps, right? Good luck on your first day in site.” I was astonished, how did he know I was new? I asked him just that, and he said, “You’re too clean, your clothes are too new, and you look pretty scared.”

To be honest, I was a little offended. I had put in my time in training. I’d been in country for two months. I wasn’t new. And, hey, I wasn’t scared. (Ha, yeah right.) But, even into the month of March, as I would meet fellow volunteers, they’d give the, “Oh, you’re a newbie,” line, raise their eyebrow a bit and smirk. I’m not sure why, but this really bothered me. Heck, I am a volunteer, too. Why do you think you’re so much better than I am because you’ve been here six months longer than me? Why does it seem like you’re keeping a secret from me about serving?

I didn’t get it until I caught site of the “newbies”. They really were clean. Their clothes were really shiny, and in new cool styles I didn’t even know about. And, they definitely looked scared and like they were going to poop their pants. (Maybe it was just a case of amoebas, I don’t know.) But, I tried my best not to do the “newbie” routine like was done to me. Instead of the “you’ll see, newbie” treatment, I tried to give them some sound advice that I wished the veterans had given me back when I was a baby volunteer. Of the new volunteers that I had the chance to speak with, I didn’t find a bad one in the bunch, and I am sure they will do a great job in their two years of service.

Thirty-six of them arrived on February 3rd, and thirty-six swore in on March 26th. They are a big group and a strong group, and one I look forward to working with. So, on Friday after all the pomp of their ceremony at the Embassy, we fellow volunteers, about one hundred of us in all, met up at one of our favorite haunts for a party. It was a great way to celebrate the success of completing training and sending them off the next day in style. And by in style I mean really “tired” from a late night of celebrating and dancing.

As always, thanks for reading, and I will try to do better in the coming days to update more regularly. Some exciting events that I have coming up are another PC Soccer game—this time out East, a Safety and Security conference, and training that I will be directing.

Please keep me updated with your lives as well. I hope you all had a wonderful Easter and Passover season. Of course I missed eye dying on Saturday night terribly, and missing Sunday’s meal brought a tear to my eye.

And, a very special Happy Belated Birthday goes out to my dear friend and former roommate, Eric! The next time we are in DC together, we’ll hit up Rosa Mexicano for dinner (pomegranate margaritas?), do an Adams Morgan Bar Crawl, maybe some late night Five Guys, and a sunrise visit to Honest Abe. It’ll be a Marzellen/Tark-a-Palooza. Miss you.

Love, love, love,

Ros

For me, the beginning of March has been a very challenging time in site, filled with letdowns, trials, and difficulties, even with the simplest tasks. I’ve experienced several evenings without electricity (during this time of year when the sugar cane is being burned, it’s common that the power lines get burned as well), gone five days without running water (let me tell you, with 90˙ heat, daily bathing is necessary), and even was charged by one of my community members with not accomplishing anything in my six months here in site (regardless that I know I have successfully executed projects, that indictment pierced my heart and made me question myself). But, as with all things in life, there are ups and downs, successes and failures, and regardless of how frustrating times may become, the tension always breaks, things get easier, and you learn to laugh, even if it’s at yourself. In Peace Corps, though, these emotions seem to be amplified. Maybe it’s because we volunteers are out here alone, maybe it’s because we struggle daily to express ourselves in a foreign language and to be understood, and maybe, just maybe, we need to be pushed to the limit to fully recognize our successes (no matter how small) and to appreciate this unique time in our lives. No offense you all you back at home in your offices, but my job kicks your job’s butt. Stove Delivery

For those of you who religiously read my blog (who I think are pretty exclusively my mother, father, Marsha, and Janet) you know I have been yapping on about Stove Team International for the last two months. In short, it’s a tremendous NGO based in Oregon with factories in several Central American countries that sell efficient, wood burning stoves that use significantly less fire wood and produce around 70% less smoke than traditional open fires. These stoves are even so efficient, and bien calientita, that you can boil a quart of water in just eight minutes. (In case you aren’t sure, that’s pretty impressive for campo cooking standards.) Back in February, Stove Team came to my community, as my boss Rolando describes it, tucked up in the western corner of the country near Guatemala, to perform a demonstration. The demonstration itself was sort of well attended by eighteen women, not counting the three who walked out when they found out the stoves weren’t free. (I blame the remesa mentality for that, but that’s a topic for another day.) Of the eighteen attendees, fifteen ended up placing an order, making a deposit, and making a big investment. I ended up selling two other stoves to my extended host family members, making our first order a solid seventeen stoves. After allowing two weeks for the interested people to provide me with a 50% deposit, I arranged free transport from the cooperative in our canton and we set the date of March 2nd to pick them up. (Getting free transport is made easier when a volunteer from a neighboring community has successfully received it before you. It’s hard to say no when you come in saying “I know you did this for Tim, can you please do the same for me?”) The night before I was set to head out all the way to Sonsonate to pick up my community’s stoves with my friendly cooperative driver, I went to confirm we were all squared away for a 7:30AM departure, you know, just to be sure. Lucky for me I went to check, because the cooperative had completely forgotten they had donated the services of one of their pickups and a driver for me the following day. In the end it all worked out, but only after several phone calls and a personal visit (not quite) begging a driver to work on his day off. So, 7:30AM, we were off. The ride to Sonsonate is about two hours from where I live, and in order to prevent getting stuck in city traffic in the city of Sonsonate, we took the long way around Lake Coatepeque up and over the mountains. It was a gorgeous drive. Finally, after asking quite a few people for directions and passing the most western looking Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints complete with plush green grass and a basketball court (the Mormons have mucho dinero and build churches like these, extremely out of place and protected like fortresses, all over the country), we arrived at Stove Team International’s El Salvador head quarters. As I paid the minimum 50% deposit on the seventeen stoves, two Stove Team workers loaded up our truck, tied everything down, and before we knew it we were back on the road again. Once in San Luis, it didn’t take long for word to spread that the stoves had arrived and that they were sitting in my house, waiting to be picked up. Many women excitedly came by, proud with the rest of their payment and with sons and husbands in tow, to pick up their new prized possession. Each stove, though “portable”, weighs about 75 pounds. I was impressed by the men, throwing the stoves on their backs and carrying them al lomo, with faces contorted back to their homes. The women, on the other hand sauntered home to fire up their new stove. I am pleased to report that all the women I have spoken to (notice they are all women, men don’t cook here) love the new addition to their kitchens. They are always pleased to remark how quickly it heats up, how little smoke it produces, and how little wood is needed to cook the daily pot of beans. Stove Team doesn’t lie. Un Baile

My friend and municipality mate, Bri, is a Youth Development volunteer (a special breed of their own, really; Yorda in Morocco can attest to that) and has been working with an amazingly active and motivated youth group in her community for the last three months. In addition to selling a local delicacy known as pasteles (think little fried dumplings made of corn dough and stuffed with peppers and potatoes) weekly to raise money to provide food packets to shut-ins of their community, they decided they wanted to undertake the challenging of putting on a dance. So, after two months of planning, hiring the best mobile DJ in the western part of the country—Discomovil High Power, flyering all the busses in the Chalchuapa terminal and pre-selling tickets, the big day finally arrived. Myself and two other PCVs went into Bri’s community early last Saturday to help her youth group and her set up for the main event. But, these kids, whose group name translates to “Youth Working to Serve Their Community”, had everything under control. Be sure to check out my pictures on Facebook to get a real sense of the grandiosity of this event, especially out in the rural campo of El Salvador. With the mountain of 24 speakers piled high, the strobe lights and disco ball strung, and the dance area partitioned off, Bri, Marissa, Liliana and I were free to head out and eat our pre-dance energy meal of pupusas and curtido before getting all “Salvied” up in our dance outfits. Bri and I both put on our Salvadoran best, though we skipped the makeup; her host sisters tried pretty hard to paint our faces, though. The dance started at 8PM, and like most dances, no one was grooving as of 8:15PM, and we were wasting precious DJ time. Bri asked Marissa, Liliana and myself to kick off the dancing and get the party started, so, being the gringas as we are, completely accustomed to being constantly stared at and watched, we strutted on out there and busted a move. By the time Black Eye Peas “Tonight’s Gonna Be a Good Night” came on (I’m pretty sure the DJ put it on for our benefit) the baile was officially under way. My dancing energy maxed out after over an hour and a half of straight dancing. At this point, I switched with Bri on door duty and let her go enjoy the fruits of her labor. Door duty meant that I got to hold all the money (which of course I love) and though there was a huge crowd, I felt safe knowing that there were four national policemen with huge guns in their hands and handguns on their hips behind protecting me. (Bri’s site underwent a tragedy last month involving a murder of one of their community members. The police were there as a preventative measure.) By midnight, Marissa, Liliana and I were spent. Bri gave us leave and let us head back to her host family’s house to hit the hay. Of course, Bri held out until the bitter end, helped make sure everything was squared away, and I was barely aware of when she finally came in to go to bed at 3:30AM. All I have to say to Bri is congratulations on a job well done. Her community was extremely participative and appreciative of the efforts of the youth group and of Bri herself. Based on Bri’s experience, I think a baile would be a great idea to get people involved in their community and have a night to just enjoy themselves. Too bad my community is over 75% evangelical Christian, a religion in which dancing is a big no no. I’m just glad I got to experience the success and unity of Bri’s community. Map Making

OK, so I admit I’m not a topographer and I’m definitely not an artist, but really, how hard can painting a world map be? Huge numbers of Peace Corps Volunteers, around the world, not just here in El Salvador complete a world map project during their two years of service as something tangible to leave behind. Heck, there is even a globally used manual on how to go about painting a world map, the materials you need, and how much it should cost. Easy as pie, right? Not so much. First and foremost, a huge thank you to all who have contributed to making this project possible. Without you, the students of Centro Escolar Caserío San Luis would still be studying in a school without maps. So, to tell the story from the beginning, I was considering some projects that I could begin to work on during my sister Dana’s visit these last two weeks of March. I needed something fun, something we could get the kids involved in, something that could be completed within two weeks, and something flexible enough to allow us to see a bit of El Salvador as well. After scouring my handy tech CD (PC resource tool with mountains of already successfully complete projects) I decided that not only a World Map Project, but also El Salvador Map Project, too, would be perfect. From all the materials I read, this should take no more than six days total. Perfect! Right away, I headed to my school director and asked him permission to use two walls to paint a world map and a map of El Salvador. He thought the request was a bit strange, but agreed nonetheless. We selected the two walls, one above the outdoor student sink, and one on the face of the school. Because the school is made of brick, that meant I would have to add one more step to my map project process. I would have to cement over the brick to make a flat surface. No big deal, my Dad taught me how to use power tools, I can definitely cement a wall. Haha. That’s funny. Before getting started, I dutifully made my shopping list, asked for help from two parents who help me with everything, Don Mercedes and Niña Morena, to cement the wall, and got down to business. Don Mercedes let me know that the ADESCO had a half bag of cement open from a project they hadn’t yet finished and that I could have it to smooth out the wall. Awesome. Saving pisto. I then made my first of many trips to the pueblo and hardware store and made my first purchases of paint scrapers, a level, tape measure, and cement trowl. On Sunday, having absolutely no clue of what I was doing, I headed to the school with Don Mercedes and Niña Morena. The wall that we needed to cement over was brick and painted over with oil-based paint, which meant that there was nothing for the cement to latch onto. It would simple fall off. So, what we needed to do was chip the paint off the wall. That sounds simple enough, doesn’t it? Easier said than done. The three of us ended up literally taking a machete to the wall and chipped off all the paint. After about an hour, the wall was sufficiently defaced and ready to be cemented. Believe it or not, though we were making a hug racket and literally destroying government property (though of course we also repaired it) not one person stopped by to ask what we were doing. Strange, don’t you think? I helped mix the sand, cement and water, which as it turns out is an art, not a formula. Again, I’m learning. Morena taught me how to repellar and within another hour, the wall was cemented, smoothed, and looked great. Without the help of Morena and Mercedes, this project would have been down the toilet. I then spent two days scraping paint off the wall where I will be painting the world map. The paint on the wall was water based, layered, and peeling terribly. My thoughts were (purely a Dan train of thought) if we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. Sure, I may be swearing along the way (it’s a good thing the kids don’t understand English), but it will be amazing when it’s done. Finally, after the scraping was done, I was more than ready to get down to business priming the wall. So, with my white oil-based paint and four-inch brush, I started stoking away. It looked absolutely awful. The instruction packet didn’t mention anything like this. What am I doing wrong? Besides, Dan taught me to paint; there was no way the quality of this job would be acceptable. I’m painting a map for these kids. It’s got to be done right. Frustrated beyond belief I packed up my supplies, cleaned my tools (which is a total paint in the butt with oil paints) changed my clothes and headed back to the hardware store, for literally the fourth time in a week. Once finally in the pueblo after a forty-minute bus ride, I was greeted by my friends at the hardware store, they chuckled and asked, “¿Que necesita hoy, Rosellen?” To clean up the mess that was my first attempt at priming, I needed some sandpaper and a paint roller kit. $4.80 later, I had what I needed and was ready to get back to work. Of course by the time I got back, the school gate had been locked and it was starting to get dark, so the work was left to the next day. Finally, after sanding down my first attempt, I poured some well-stirred paint into my tray and got rolling. Success. The roller was just the tool I needed to get nice, even coverage. Granted it took two coats, but it was a huge improvement. I left the primer to dry the rest of the morning, then returned in the afternoon with my measurements, level, tape measure, ruler, pencil and tape to mark off the area that will become the map. The level proved to be my best investment so far in the project, making drawing the lines simple. I taped off my lines and painted the base ocean blue on which we will eventually be painting the map itself. Now only five days until my sister’s arrival, one of my map areas in prepped and ready to go, and the other will be easier to do having learned from experience. By the time Dana and I are back in my site, we will be good to go to complete this map project. Be sure to check out a step-by-step walk through of my map project in photos on Facebook. So far the pictures aren’t too dynamic, but I promise they will get better with time.

So, here I am, now six months into my time in site. Everyday I continue to learn new things, new words, new foods, things about myself and things I can improve on as a person. My experience with the stoves has taught me that a little strong and sustained interest is better than none. Bri’s dance has taught me something as seemingly insignificant as a dance can really unite a community and rejuvenate spirits after a neighborhood tragedy. The map is teaching me, like so many things here, to slow down and have patients. There is time, no need to rush. Things will get done in their own time. I can’t wait to see what the coming eighteen months have in store for me, but I need to remember to let them come, as they will. If I don’t slow down and relax a bit, I just might let my whole PC experience fly by without really appreciating it. Tranquila, chica. Tranquila. A special thanks goes out to all those who are helping to make my Map Project possible. Also, thanks to Marsha for a great surprise letter. Mail really has the ability to brighten an entire day.

February is such a teaser month. It arrives sluggishly on the heels of January, is more than pokey to start, but before you know it, it zips through its last week, and it’s over! For me, this past week has been true to end-of-February form and simply flew by, filled with countless bus rides, a visit to my neighborhood sugar mill, judging tryouts for a fellow PCV’s dance team (which is pretty hilarious seeing as I didn’t even take toddler tap dance), and rounded out with an 11k road race in the capital with quite the crew of PC runners. Sugar Mills: Ingenio La Magdalena From the very beginning of my time in site, it was impressed upon me how important the sugar mill, Ingenio La Magdalena, a mere 20 minutes walk below my community, and sugar cane were to the welfare of the people of San Luis. Those men (nearly exclusively) who are lucky enough work one of the three eight hour shifts at the mill everyday from December 15th until March 15th without rest. They rotate shift assignments every two weeks. Those who aren’t so fortunate to have an ingenio job work cutting sugar can for the local cooperative, very hard backbreaking work. I’d know. I did it. Once. The money earned in these four short months of sugar cane harvesting and processing is the vast majority of income that any family will earn in a given year. Labor laws aren’t so progressive in El Salvador, and though a minimum wage exists, it is far from a living wage. The only supplemental income that most people will earn comes from the sale of their crops of beans and corn. Because most farmers are subsistence farmers, only their surplus crops are sold. These surplus crops are sold when cash is needed, at the current market rate, rather than when prices are higher. Long term cash planning and market analysis are things I am trying to teach. So, in an effort to better understand the lives of my community members, following an invitation from the head engineer at the sugar mill, my counterpart, Don Miguel, my PCV friend, Bri, and her two host sisters went on a tour of Ingenio La Magdalena last Thursday. Our invitation was an open one by Ingeniero Arana, so we selected last Friday as our tour date. I attempted to call Ingeniero Arana well over a half dozen times, found that he had had his phone number changed, and no one was able to tell me his new phone number. A little concerned we wouldn’t be able go on a tour without a set appointment, I asked Don Miguel what he thought we should do. He said, don’t worry, we’ll go as planned and it will be fine. So, in true Salvadoran fashion the five of us arrived at the guarded gates of the ingenio, announced ourselves, and explained the intent of our visit. Also, in true Salvadoran fashion, we waited over an hour for the engineers to come collect us from the gate to start our tour. When our two engineer tour guides arrived, Bri whispered to me, “This better be worth the wait.” I was secretly saying the same thing to myself; it was my idea after all to go on this tour and to just show up. I figured, two blonde haired, blue-eyed gringas? We’re good to go. In the end we were and boy, was it worth the wait. We started our tour in a conference room in the ingenio where the head engineer Ingeniero Arana welcomed us and gave us a brief run down of what we were going to see before playing a short video on the process of sugar milling. The video, filmed in our very own Ingenio La Magdalena, featured the familiar faces of members of our own community. It was rather silly how we couldn’t help shouting out, “Pues, ¡mire! ¡Es Don Jose!” As soon as the video was over, Ingeniero Arana passes us all a bright yellow hardhat, checked our footwear to make sure we ladies weren’t wearing high heels, encouraged us to take as many photos as we liked and sent us on our way with our guides, the head engineer of processing and the head engineer of product control. Walking across the grounds of the ingenio Bri and I received catcalls galore, but quite frankly she and I have grown rather accustomed to it (we meet every week in our shared municipality to speak English and regain our sanity) and generally applaud the efforts of the creative ones. The first stop on the tour was the weight station where the huge trucks, small pickups, and, believe it or not, ox drawn carts are weighed to measure how much cane is brought in. Here, each load is given an identification number and barcode, then sent to the next step in the process: cane analysis. In this step, a roughly five pound sample of the load is taken and sent into the lab where it is determined how many pounds of sugar per ton of cane will be produced. The ingenio pays a varying price for the cane based on this data. Normally a ton of sugar cane can produced anywhere between 175 and 280 pounds of sugar. The variation can be due to soil conditions, water conditions, and how old the sugar cane is. From the lab, the cane is driven to where the milling process begins. Cranes and men transfer the cane from the trucks and carts to the mill. The sugar cane passes through a series of five mills that extract all the sugar cane juice. All the cane pulp, once all the juice is full extracted from it, is then used as a fuel for energy production for the ingenio. The water that is later extracted from the juice is also used for energy production. The ingenio is 100% energy independent. Don’t let that fool you, though. By no means does energy independence equate with energy efficiency. The sugar cane juice then travels through more processes including clarification of all the dirty and debris that is present in the juice, extreme heat processing, and eventually the miel (literally translated is honey) passed through a centrifuge where the sugar crystals and molasses are separated. The sugar then is packaged in 100-pound bags and stored on the premises. A very interesting fact is that all sugar produced in El Salvador for domestic consumption is mandated to be fortified with Vitamin A. The ingenieros explained to us that the Vitamin A is very important in eye health. Unfortunately the packaging plant was closed for the night, they only operate 8AM-6PM, but we were given an invitation back for another visit. All of us were given a two pound bag of La Magdalena sugar as a parting gift and we were sent on our way. The wait was well worth it, especially when I left the ingenio with a better understanding of the work and condition in which my community members work. I won’t go into the details, but sugar milling in a hot, dirty process. By no means is it a profession I would choose. So, next time you go to put sugar in your coffee or in the cookies you’re baking, it may have come from my ingenio. (Only if it’s raw sugar, though. All white sugar produced is for domestic consumption only.) Running Steep Hills: Yo Amo ES 11k Bri, my PCV partner in crime, and I headed to San Salvador Saturday afternoon to pick up our race packets at the InterContinental Hotel for Sunday’s Yo Amo ES (just think I © NY for El Salvador) run. In addition to our race number (I was 425), chip for timing, and free Yo © ES stickers, we got a great wicking commemorative shirt, water bottle and hat. This race had some great sponsors, and being volunteers, we took full advantage of all the free swag. We, along with two other PCV friends, indulged in our favorite half-price sushi dinner special. As always, the conversation was great (poor Alayna was just recovering from dengue fever), the food was delicious and the price was right. After our pre-race meal, we headed to the grocery store to load up on Gatorade and bananas before heading to our hotel for the night. Unlike most Saturday nights when PCVs get together, this was a quiet, early night. In the morning, bright and early at 6:30AM Bri and I, along with the pack of other PCVs jogged down to the starting line, stretched and waited for the start. I was shocked, first, to see so many volunteers running (our group was over twenty) and second to see so many runners from other countries such as Guatemala. Shockingly enough, and completely un-Salvadoran, the race began promptly at 7:30AM as scheduled. With the reggaeton blasting, we were off in a pack of roughly 1500 runners. A pretty impressive number if you ask me. The first two kilometers for me were great. Though most of the course to that point had been uphill, the grades of the hills weren’t too severe and I figured wed have to head down at some point. But, kilometer four, kilometer five, we were still going up and the grades were getting steeper and steeper. Why hadn’t I noticed how hilly San Sal was before? It was getting pretty ridiculous. Around kilometer four and a half, I realized how grossly out of shape I am (running on one rocky, dirt road back and forth isn’t the best way to maintain in form) and the fatigue started to kick in. I kept telling myself, it’s only a little over six miles, you can do this, this is nothing. Let me just say this: running the streets of Rochester and Buffalo, NY have nothing on San Sal. And, quite frankly, Heartbreak Hill’s got nothing on San Sal. Finally after kilometer six the downhill began, and didn’t end until the last, flat kilometer. Getting up those hills was tough, but the downhill was super refreshing. I finally started to feel a bit of a stride. Nowhere near my best time, I finished. That’s the point, though, isn’t it? To finish it, complete a personal goal, and enjoy yourself. With the support of my fellow PCVs as I crossed the finish line, I felt great. We all stayed and supported one another until the very last runner crossed the finish line. We had four brave souls choose to run the 21 kilometer course, kudos to them! After refueling, stretching and showering, we headed to the Sheraton to sit poolside, relax and enjoy each other’s company. On Monday, with a little bit of a limp in my step and my muscles sore, I returned back to site. It’s back to the grind, and time to get down and dirty. I have been busy writing solicitations for support for my community including sugar from the sugar mill for school lunches, transport from the cooperative to go pick up the efficient kitchens that fifteen people in my community have invested in, and monetary support to complete a world and El Salvador map project in my community’s school. I’ve also been planning my sister’s visit a mere three weeks from now! I can’t wait to show her what life here is like! Be sure to check out my photos on Facebook. The photo of my first tarantula is now featured along with a pre-race shot of myself and running buddy Bri, and more. As always, thanks for reading. I miss you all and hope to hear from you soon.

WOW! It’s hard to believe it’s been nearly a month since my last blog update, so please accept my apologies upfront for my complete lack of writing. In addition to all that, Happy Belated MLK Day, Happy Valentine’s Day, Happy Presidents’ Day, and Happy Mardi Gras/Fat Tuesday. I am sad to have missed Mom and Dad’s Valentine’s Day Chili Party (I heard there was quite the crew at 459) and I am disappointed to have misses the Fat Tuesday Dessert Supper at the Edmonds’ (I’m sure my share of artery clogging delicacies was eaten and enjoyed). Since the last time I wrote, my schedule has filled up quite a bit, and my last three weeks were pleasantly busy. So without further ado, here’s a (longwinded) rundown of what I’ve been up to… ASAPROSAR Eye Campaign I spent six rapidly passing days at the ASAPROSAR, Asociación Salvadoreña Pro Salud Rural (Salvadoran Pro-Rural Health Association), eye campaign in the city of Santa Ana, where the main complex is located. (For a complete rundown on what ASAPROSAR is, how it was started, what they do in El Salvador, and what you can do to help, check out www.asaprosar.org. After reading their descriptions of service, you will feel like you’ve been to ASAPROSAR’s campus in Santa Ana.) Every year, a team of doctors, surgeons, nurses, and volunteers, mostly from the Boston area, fly down at their own expense to provide eye services including eye exams, free eye glasses provided by the Lions Club (if you’ve ever donated glasses to the Lions Club, they actually get used at campaigns like these), free sunglasses, and surgical procedures such as terigium and cataract removal. ASAPROSAR provides these services to those who come to the campaign at little or no cost, depending on a person’s ability to pay. All services are means tested, and no one is turned away because of an inability to pay. This campaign enables those who would otherwise never be able to receive eye health services the opportunity to see. Months before, the team of volunteers pack up their equipment, surgical supplies, antibiotics, their arsenal of over 10,000 pairs of glasses from the Lions Club, and more in an enormous container that gets shipped down here to El Salvador by boat. The whole process is a perfectly timed, well-oiled machine that only 25 years of experience could have produced. The team arrives in country one day before the campaign is to start, the doctors spend hours in customs with their surgical instruments having their credentials verified, drives to ASAPROSAR in Santa Ana and gets to work setting up immediately. Days in Santa Ana are long, especially for the surgical staff. Breakfast is served at 7AM sharp with the first surgeries scheduled at 7:30AM and the last at 5:30PM. The OR staff is scheduled to be finished by 6PM, but of course things never go according to plan and a 7PM finish time is a good day. The surgeons complete an average of twenty-five surgeries a day, with the ages of patients ranging from two to ninety-two. The most common procedures are cataract removal, terigium removal, and asbithsmus (crossed eye) correction. While the operating rooms and surgical staff are always busy, the Barn and the Dispensary, where people undergo the traditional eye exams and receive glasses are even busier. The Barn, where the eye exams and refractions are conducted, really should be called the zoo. At any given time, a minimum of five patients are being seen and a line of twenty others are cued up outside. Once they are finished with their eye exams and have their prescription for glasses based on their refraction, the patients head out to the Dispensary where they receive free glasses from the Lions Club or can opt to pay for a new pair of glasses to be made at a significantly reduced rate. (If you check out my photos on Facebook, you will see why many people opt to have glasses made. Think 1980s large-framed glasses). All patients also receive a pair of sunglasses or clip-ons if they receive glasses to protect their eyes from the sun. Here in El Salvador, the sun is so much more damaging to peoples’ eyes because of the country’s geographical location close to the equator. Also, the majority of people spend their time outdoors with no eye protection, causing significant damage early in life. In the Barn and the Dispensary, an average of 200 patients are seen daily. At the eye campaign, it was my and other PCVs job to serve as translators for the team of volunteers from Boston and Arkansas. Though many of the volunteers could speak enough Spanish to get by, it was best that we be there to help understand the patients’ needs and concerns in relation to their eye health. Most of my time I spent translating in the Barn and in the Dispensary. In the Barn, most of what I was translating were the reasons why the patients decided to come in, what their complaints were, and then asking if they preferred lens A to lens B when determining the best eye prescription for them. Most of the doctors I translated for were really wonderful and caring of their patients, talking directly to them even though they spoke a different language instead to speaking to me and having me ask the patient their concerns. The amount of care and attention given to patients, regardless of the huge cue outside, just showed how much the medical team cared about what they were doing and their concern for their patients. Out in the Dispensary where people received their glasses was probably the most hectic, yet uplifting place to be. By the time patients arrived in the Dispensary, most had been at the eye campaign, traveling through the process for at least four hours. Of course, many patients’ patients were running thin, but when they were attended to and given their glasses, in many cases their first pair, their attitudes completely changed. People were seeing clearly for the first time in years, and for some the first time in their lives. It was amazing to be part of a life changing process. Sure it sounds cheesy that a pair of glasses can make that big of a difference in someone’s life, but just think of an 88 year-old grandmother who received her first pair of glasses and was able to see her grandchildren’s faces clearly for the first time. That’s a big deal. Two of my six days I was lucky enough to scrub up and translate in the operating suite. (I look pretty cute in scrubs and they are by far the most comfortable work attire, but I will not be leaving the Peace Corps to attend medical school, sorry Mom.) There I helped the team of pre-op nurses and anesthesiologists explain to patients what the procedure was going to be like, what they would feel, talk them through the neuro-block, and walk them to the operating room. The ASAPROSAR operating suite has three operating rooms, and most eye procedures only take about forty-five minutes to complete, so the pre-op process, which also takes about forty-five minutes per patient needed to run without a hitch, otherwise the schedule would be knocked out of balance. In addition to translating in the pre-op room (a photo of which you can see on my Facebook account), I got to observe a few different surgical procedures, as well. The surgeons were performing three different cataract removal techniques, two of which I got to observe. I also had the opportunity to observe a stribismus correction surgery on a fifteen year-old girl. By far, though, the best thing I had the privilege of doing over the course of my week at ASAPROSAR was to accompany one of my community members and friends, Niña Juana, through the entire process of her cataract removal surgery. Niña Juana is 68 years old and has been only able to see things two feet in front of her and closer for as long as she can remember. Both of her eyes had severe, dense cataracts preventing her from being able to see. The doctors identified her as a worthy candidate for cataract removal surgery in her right eye. Niña Juana is usually the most talkative woman, never shutting up and drawing even a simple one-word answer into a five-minute soliloquy. On the day of her surgery, though, she was as quiet as a mouse and kept all her responses to five words or less. To say the least, I was shocked. She was clearly nervous. I’m just glad I was able to be there with her, to hold her hand into the operating room, and reassure her everything would go smoothly. The surgeon who performed her operation allowed me to observe, and to say the least, the procedure was amazing. How the doctors have the ability to operate on something so delicate as the eye and improve the quality of life for so many people is tremendous. The difference made in Niña Juana’s life was proof enough that what the doctors come to do every year is not only worthwhile, but also so necessary. I could continue on for pages about all of the experiences I had with the ASAPROSAR team from making fun of them for bringing bagels from the States for breakfast to the drama of breaking the news to a 13 year-old girl that her eye is inoperable and her vision will never return, but I won’t bore you. If you want more stories, just ask, I’d love to share. The bet part of the eye campaign, though, was meeting the people who come down to El Salvador, literally year after year and improve the quality of life for pure strangers with no financial or personal gain of their own. I’m glad I got the opportunity to meet them, share meals with them, take them out for a couple nights on the town, and even act as their travel agent (it’s a long story). I look forward to next year when I get to translate for them again. Stove Team International A quick update from my last blog entry: the original date for Stove Team International’s efficient stove demonstration was canceled. Due to reasons out of my control, the demonstration team was unable to attend. Needless to say, I was extremely disappointed and felt terribly, having to tell my community the morning of the scheduled meeting, that I had been talking up so much and was so excited for, was postponed to an unknown date. Fortunately, my community members were very understanding, and by the next week we were able to reschedule the demonstration for Saturday, February 6th. To get the word out about the rescheduled demonstration, I passed out invitations to all houses, hung up fliers in all the tiendas and molinos, and talked up the event whenever I had the chance. Most of the community seemed very excited and interested in the demonstration. Efficient stoves was one of the topics I found the majority of the community had interest in during my community diagnostic survey back in October, so I figured this demonstration would be a good, simple, nearly fail proof project to undertake with my community. I am learning the hard way, or perhaps the way volunteers need to learn—through experience—that no project or program is fail proof. Much to my disappointment, only fifteen women showed up for the demonstration. I was shocked by the low turnout when so many people had expressed what I thought was genuine interest. Now I realize they were probably just being nice to the gringa and not wanting to disappoint me. But, of the fifteen women who attended the demonstration and participated more actively than I have ever witnessed, twelve have since placed an order and provided me with a down payment for the efficient fire burning stoves. I am learning more and more from each initiative I undertake, and this stove project is no different. Starting small with those who are genuinely interested is not a failure. In most cases it’s a positive thing. As always, there are successes and lessons in even the greatest disappointments and failures. So, my first stove order will be for twelve stoves. Hopefully once the stoves are in the community, the owners will begin to talk them up and interest with spread like wildfire. Check out www.stoveteaminternational.org for more information on the Econcina. It’s pretty fascinating stuff! Football: Both Kinds We PCVs are very dedicated to our sites and the people within our communities and often go through periods of what we call “site guilt” and being a “site rat” when we rarely leave our communities. When we do manage to break away, all we think about when we’re gone is what we would be doing back in our sites if we were there and how our community members must be judging us for our absence. That’s true for all PCVs at least once in their time of service when they meet up with their friends for various occasions like birthdays and swearing-in anniversaries, but true American holidays like the Fourth of July, Thanksgiving and the Super Bowl are definitely not of the guilt-inducing variety. We may be fully immersed in Salvadoran culture, but our blood still runs red, white and blue and football will always be an American institution. This Super Bowl, though I don’t know of anyone who really cared who won the big game, was no different. We all wanted to get together and celebrate our nation’s pastime. Of course I, along with another PCV Joe from our most senior group in country, became the unofficial organizers of the event. After several trips to TGIFridays to negotiate a reservation, fully booking our favorite PCV hostel in the capital, and countless text messages and phone calls later, we had plans for the big day. Unfortunately TGIFridays was not so accommodating to our group of over fifty, but regardless everyone enjoyed themselves. When it comes to the Super Bowl, the most important things are that the beverages are cold, the wings are of the Buffalo variety, and there are enough TVs. Ultimately, TGIFridays was able to give us what we needed, though I’m pretty sure they did so grudgingly. Needless to say, we won’t be going back any time soon. Once the bill was paid, we continued our American celebration at one of our favorite PCVs haunts where I finally could enjoy myself that we had celebrated the Super Bowl together without a hitch. The following weekend, we PCVs had the opportunity to meet up again, this time focusing on one of the three main goals of the Peace Corps, cultural exchange, when we played soccer out east in Usulutan in the site of one of our married couples who will be completing their service on April 6th. As always, we had a great time playing, but unfortunately this time, neither team was victorious. The Usulutan heat proved to be too much for us to handle. As my Mom would say, though, it was defeat with honor. In the weeks that come I look forward to continuing the planning of a Business Plan Competition that will be launched here in El Salvador in May. This is an initiative of the Agricultural Business group that I am one of the founding three members. Once details of the competition are solidified, I will be sure to share them with you. Also, this Sunday I will be running in the Yo Amo ES 11k race in the capital with a group of my fellow PCVs. Though I am grossly out of shape, the proceeds of the race go to benefit an anti-familial violence campaign here in El Salvador. So, around 8:30AM EDT on Sunday, think of me and send me positive energy to finish the race. Let’s hope I’ll be able to walk on Monday. A special thanks goes out to my Mom and Dad for the most amazing Valentine’s Day package they sent me including a louffa, dark chocolate and Biore strips. Trust me, it’s the simple pleasures in life. Also, my sister, Dana, gave me the best news I have received since I’ve been here in ES: she will be visiting in just one month! Dana will be my first visitor and I couldn’t be more excited. Why don’t the rest of you buy your tickets already? Oh, I have a new cell phone number here in ES seeing as my old phone was stolen on the bus this past week. No big deal, but if you want my new number, just let me know and I’ll send it your way. Lastly, a HUGE CONGRATULATIONS goes out to my best friend Caitlin on her acceptance into medical school! I am so proud of you! You never cease to amaze! I love and miss you all. Please comment and please write!

My weeks continue to be less busy than I like, leaving me plenty of time to enjoy books that have been on my reading list, like Super Freakonomics and Eat, Pray, Love, to catch up on back issues of Newsweek and Rolling Stone, and to reinitiate my letter writing campaign to my loved ones del norte. Before this journey, I never really considered myself to be a writer, but since I’ve been here in ES, writing has become one of my most frequent activities. Whether it’s keeping my journal, chicken scratchy and scribbled in pencil; writing letters penned in an array of colors depending on my mood and to whom I’m writing, scrawled on banana leaf paper; emails that are short and to the point with a “this made me think of you” sentiment; or updating my blog, mostly long winded (bear with me), my writing implements—both modern and tradition—are never far from reach. The writing allows me to vent, reflect, and share this tremendous experience, but most of all it enables me to remember.EditingBesides that new title of tenderfoot writer I have inadvertently fallen into, I have one more label to slap upon my back: Editor of the Sustainable Agriculture/Environmental Education Program’s section in El Camino, Peace Corps El Salvador’s quarterly volunteer magazine. El Camino isn’t exactly The Economist, but is a great outlet for PCVs to express themselves, share their experience, learn from the experiences of others, and have a chuckle or two. This past Monday, I left my community as early as my limited transport allows, 8AM, for Chalchuapa to catch the 202 into San Salvador to edit El Camino for the first time. My friend, Jilma who is a police officer and works in the capital, and I waited patiently for the third 202 to pass that actually had standing room for us. Being the blonde-haired gringa, the bus driver insisted that I sit on the engine compartment (you know the flat faced buses, with the engine on the inside) with my legs in the stairwell. Obviously I agreed to his insistence as it meant I didn’t have to try to keep my balance as the driver weaved in an out of traffic. I did still hold on for dear life seeing as the driver left the door open for ventilation…Trust me, the ride would have been unbearable with the door closed. Poor Jilma had to stand about thirty minutes until the great exodus that always occurs in Santa Ana until she could wrestle for a seat. At about 10:30AM, Jilma got a text message from one of her coworkers that there had been an earthquake in the department of Ahuachapan and was felt all the way in Guatemala and Mexico. Naturally we both became concerned, me especially for my friend Dana who lives in Ahuachapan. Had we been stationary, we most definitely would have felt a tremor as well, but the motion of the bus prevented us from feeling a thing. Once in the city, Jilma and I said our goodbyes and I made my way for the office. There, I got in contact with Dana almost immediately; she was on G-chat when I signed on. She told me she was bathing when the quake hit, she was very scared, it lasted about thirty seconds, and things even fell off of her walls. Thankfully no one was hurt and no structural damage occurred. With my mind at ease about my friend’s safety, I went straight to work on putting together the magazine. I was allotted twelve pages to fill, the standard number per section. (We have four program sections, and usually a letter from the head editor, so the whole revista is about fifty pages.) I began soliciting articles from my fellow SAg/EEs all the way back in December. Of course I put an early deadline, leaving enough wiggle room to extend the deadline twice, and allow the last-minute submissions to roll in. Granted I was also relentless at hounding my fellow volunteers to submit articles, recipes, poems, etc, but I was really pleased with the number and quality of the submissions I received. The previous editor left me no guidance or tips on how to play the game, so the plan was for me to come into the office at the same time as another one of the sections’ editors so he could teach me the ropes. Unfortunately, he didn’t end up arriving to the office until about thirty minutes before the security guards kick us out for the night. Luckily the publishing program we use is pretty much idiot proof, and I got a hang of it without many problems. I ended up editing for about six hours that first day and only made it about six pages into our section. The whole process is definitely more time confusing than I anticipated. Peace Corps provides lodging for us editors while we are putting together the magazine, so after a quick stop at Wendy’s for dinner (bet you didn’t think I would be eating a Spicy Baconater, now did you?), I headed to our hotel for the night. Filled with unhealthy fast food, comfortably lounging in an adorable hotel with free wireless internet and cable television, I had a very American evening. I continued my editing duties while putzing around online. I discovered how difficult it could be to edit an article, trim down the fat, clean up the language, all while maintaining the author’s style and identity. After my third article, I was starting to get the hang of it. One completely unexpected benefit of going into the capital to edit was the free internet at the hotel. In addition to my editing duties, I got to Skype my best friend, Caitlin. Not only did I get to talk to her, I also got to see her lovely face, along with her cat, Nala. It was fun to catch up, and even better to see her. I was up bright and early the next morning, got to take a HOT SHOWER (what a treat!), and headed to the office. I packed up all my belongings with the intent of heading back to site that very day. Again, due to my limited transport into my site, that meant I had to leave no later than 2PM from the office to catch the bus back to Chalchuapa. So, at the office before 8AM, I got to work right away. The office was chock full of distraction that day. My good friend Kat was in to use the computers and many members of the group about to leave were in and out all day because their COS (Close of Service) Conference, began the next day. This really was a damper on my productivity, but it’s always so fun with PCVs get together. I was pretty sure I would be able to finish, but at 12:30PM, the other editor, Gabe, told me, “Why rush? PC allots two nights per editor for editing. Also, I’ve got an interview with the new CD (Country Director) at 1PM. You should sit in, and then take your time finishing up.” I hemmed and hawed a while longer, but when 1PM rolled around, I really wanted to get to sit on the CD’s interview (he is the head of all things PC El Salvador), and I would put out a better quality section with a few more hours to edit. So, I stayed another night. Sixteen hours of editing, scrounging volunteer’s Facebook accounts for photos, and making layouts later, I have what I am proud to say is my first issue as the SAg/EE editor. The submissions are amazing, my personal favorite from my friend Katheryn—“You didn’t realize you were Salvo until…” If any of you are interested, there will be a PDF version of the magazine that I can forward your way. Just let me know. As always, the magazine is not representative of the views or intents of the US Government or Peace Corps. Neither entity is responsible and/or liable for any contents therein.Disappointment After a very difficult journey home, due entirely to my very limited transportation back to site (I ended up hiking thirty-five minutes under the midday sun weighed down with a backpack and several bags of groceries), I arrived just in time to attend both my women’s group and ADESCO directive meetings. As usual, I stopped by my friend and women’s group treasurer, Marina’s, house to pick her up on the way to the meeting. Immediately after I said, “Vamanos a la reunión,” she said the two words every volunteer hates to hear, “Fijese qué…” It doesn’t really have a good translation into English, but basically it means that anything said afterwards is an excuse not to do something. It’s the “it’s not you, it’s me” of Salvadoran Spanish, and Marina was breaking up with me. Marina went on to explain that she’s no longer going to be the treasurer of La Asociación de Mujeres en Busca del Bienestar de la Comunidad, and she had a laundry list of reason why not ranging from she gets sick from worrying, her daughters are in school, to it’s too much work. I did my best to convince her otherwise, but “fijese qué” after “fijese qué” I realized my efforts were to no avail; I had lost her. Utterly deflated, I head over to Morena’s, the vice president, house where the rest of the directive was scheduled to meet. To add insult to injury, only Morena and Elsie, the president, were present. With this I basically threw my hands up in the air and said, what now? These women and I are supposed to be hosting a demonstration of efficient stoves from Stove Team International this coming Saturday. We’re supposed to be meeting with the health promoter tomorrow to plan programs. Last week, all the women were so enthusiastic and completely ready to go. Now, I’ve lost my treasurer and I can’t convince even the directive to attend a meeting. Now I was “sick from worry”. What if people don’t show up on Saturday? Elsie tried to reassure me that people are interested in the stoves; we just need to find some different women who are more interested in being part of the women’s group. At least the invitations to the stove demonstration have been passed out. I’ve also been walking around the community, reminding people not to miss it. I can handle the logistics of the stove project myself, but this women’s group. What am I going to do? The women asked me start it. It was a project of their own volition, not mine, and I can’t even manage to keep them interested. Elsie and Morena are going to help me with Saturday’s demonstration and we are going to seek out new members for the women’s group directive. It’s just so difficult to find confident, strong, dedicated women. The best I can do is to continue to encourage and help in organizing. Let’s keep our fingers crossed.Optimism There is a long-standing Peace Corps joke that goes something like this: A pessimist sees the glass of water as half empty. An optimist sees the glass as half full. A Peace Corps Volunteer sees the glass of water and says, “I can bathe with that!” Being a volunteer means doing what you can with what you have. Often it’s not much, sometimes it’s not anything at all, but it’s a volunteers resourcefulness, creativity, enthusiasm, and, ultimately, their optimism that change can occur that accomplishes things little by little. Maintaining that ever-present smiling face, being that cheerleader, that Swiss Army Knife, that Mary Poppins with all the solutions in her bottomless bag, is exhausting. But, remembering that we PCVs have more resources—in the form of knowledge, networks of support, and innovation—than anyone in our community may ever have access to, we can make a difference, no matter how small. We just need to stop thinking how full the glass is, and see it for the potential it holds. So, as I walk around my community, reminding people left and right of the stove demonstration on Saturday, I remain optimistic that they will show up, maybe an hour late, but they will show up. And with this small step of a project, we can continue forward in more projects, like latrines and home vegetable gardens. Enthusiasm is contagious, and maybe, just maybe, if I continue forth as excited as when I first arrived, someone someday may join my parade.

Special thanks go out to Marsha, Reggie, and Janet for their very special cards. As always, Marsha and Reggie made me laugh out loud, and Janet brought incessant smiles to my face. As I learned with Marsha and Reggie’s card, los Correos de El Salvador aren’t infallible. They, too, make mistakes. My card was “misplaced”, AKA fell behind a drawer in a filing cabinet, and I didn’t realize it even existed until Marsha asked if I’d received it. So, the lesson learned here is that if you send me a piece of mail and I don’t acknowledge that I’ve received it, it’s probably because I never got it. After a month, if I still make no mention, let me know you sent something. But, in the time before a month expires, please don’t ruin the surprise. You have no idea how much it brightens my day to receive surprises from home.As always, thanks for reading. Please leave some comments, update me on your lives, I love to stay in the loop!

Since returning to site from my holiday vacation, getting back into the swing of things with my community members has taken a bit longer than I anticipated. Of course I knew I would need a few days for myself to re-acclimate, I just didn’t expect my community would need time to re-acclimate to me, too. It’s sort of like my settling in period when I first arrived in September, just abbreviated. I’m finding myself explaining, again, why I am here, why I don’t have children, and why in God’s name I’m not married yet. (I’m already an old maid at 22.) I even had one woman say flat out that she never expected me to return. A little stunned by her statement, I had to laugh it off and give her a quick and witty reply, something like she couldn’t get rid of me that easily, hardy har har. But, this time I knew the best ways to get myself an in, so I started with the skeleton key to opening the gates to all things community related: the kids. SoccerAs I am sure you recall, way back in September I started playing soccer with the girls in my community in hopes of forming a competitive team I could travel with to play against other volunteers and their teams in their sites. Much to my dismay, however, the girls lost some steam and several became disinterested come the beginning of November, and my original twenty-five girls had dwindled down to a consistent group of ten. I sort of let the idea of a travel team go, but continued to play with my fútbol posse. They enjoy playing so much, and otherwise have no positive athletic outlet. (Trying to play with the boys in the schoolyard just doesn’t cut it in my book.) These are the girls I returned to and started playing with nuevamente my first full day back in site. Led by one of my best friends, twelve year-old Nancy, fourteen girls came to our first play date on the field. I was so pleasantly surprised at the number that showed, but I was absolutely floored when they started asking about when we could start real practices again. They also were demanding to know when we could go play against “el equipo de la orta gringa”, my nearby PCV friend Bri, who is located no more than eight or nine kilometers away. So excited by their excitement, I explained to the girls that we need to get a consistent group of at least fifteen girls older than twelve to make the team work. The older girls Nancy, Jenny, Tati and Vanessa said they’d work on recruitment, and I said I’d work on uniforms. Keep your fingers crossed that my girls pull through and by next month we’ll be playing, and winning, our first official match. By reenergizing with the girls (and the boys who follow to molestar, or annoy, and throw out poropos, catcalls- my absolute favorite ever received, “Hey baby I like yo face” in English) on the soccer field, the mothers became re-interested, as well. This week’s meeting of the women’s group directiva was a complete 180˙ transformation from last week. Last week the only two present were the president and vice president, and this week, five of seven members were there and filled with ideas. As I mentioned in last week’s post, I am initiating an efficient stove project in my community with the help of Stove Team International. The women were so interested in this project, they are going to co-sponsor the initiative with me. This will be their first community-wide initiative and I’m near certain we will be extremely successful! I am still facing a bit of resistance in reanimating the ADESCO directiva. I have better luck moving a cow from the middle of the road (in case you didn’t know, that’s a very challenging task) than getting more than four of the eleven to attend the weekly meeting on Wednesdays. As my counterpart, Don Miguel, and I keep telling each other, we need to have patients as many people are out working during this time of year cutting sugar cane. Nonetheless, it’s frustrating when less than fifty percent of the leadership show up and all initiatives have been pushed back week after week. Without doubt, we will persevere through this rough patch in the road and get some excellent programs underway. For those of you interested in how my latrine project is going, let’s just say it is in the very infancy of its process. I held a meeting in December about the types of latrines available, emphasizing the positive characteristics of composting latrines, but without much convincing. The majority of people within my community would far prefer having a traditional pit latrine. Currently I am seeking advice from my fellow PCVs who have done latrine projects in their sites, pricing materials and seeking potential funding sources. So, if anyone is aware of any NGO that has a giving zone in El Salvador or a giving priority of rural sanitation, please send the info my way. Back on the topic of soccer, this past Sunday my fellow Peace Corps ladies and I were victorious, defeating the team from San Juan de Dios 5-3. This brings out record from the time I began playing in October to 2-2. Not so bad for a team that never practices and has a roster that is continually changing depending on PCV availability and travel feasibility. I actually was only able to play one half because of some miscommunication regarding bus schedules. I was informed that the bus to Juayua, a very charming tourist friendly town, left from Santa Ana every hour. Following this information, I gave myself an extra hour and fifteen minutes of travel time; you never know where a glitch may show up in travel. As it turns out, on Sundays, the bus does not leave every hour on the hour, but rather every two and a half hours. When I arrived at the bus terminal in Santa Ana, I had just missed the previous bus’s departure by less than five minutes. For those of you who are quick with the math, that’s right, I had to wait an excruciatingly long two hours and twenty-five minutes until the next bus left. I ended up missing the group of PCVs who met in Juayua and bussed up, and I mean up one mile above sea level, to the site of our game’s hostess, Lauren. Luckily two of my friends were also late in their arrival, so I had two strapping young gentlemen to head to the game with. After meeting up with Dylan and Joe, I called Lauren to ask her how she suggested we get up to her site. She said, simply ask the police, they know who she is, where she lives and they should be able to give us a lift, no problem. So, we dutifully did as instructed, went to the PNC station, asked for a ride and the PNC graciously granted our request. When the three of us were in the car, a very nice new Ford Escape, we discussed how this exact situation would most certainly never occur in the United States. Just think, three foreigners walk into a police station and ask for a ride, in rather rough language, to their soccer game in a nearby community where their friend lives. That’s like a bad joke without a punch line. Luckily, Salvadoran police are far more accommodating than their US counterparts, and I was able to make it to the second half of my game. Playing a mile above sea level with a significant wind factor made even just one half of play physically tiring. Clearly I had far too many Christmas cookies and pierogis while home. While I didn’t score a goal, I did have two really great breakaways and an assist to our team’s captain, Missy, who is by far our leading goal scorer. The boys’ PCV team went on to play after us as usual, and they, too, were victorious. We returned down to Juayua in the back of a truck filled with none other than freshly picked coffee. After cleaning up at our very charming, and very cheap, hostel my fellow PCVs and I, between both teams and spectators there were over 25 of us, headed out for dinner. We ended up spending the rest of the night at a very charming café/bar that had such delicacies as hummus and tzatziki. Talk about a culinary treat. As always, it was great to get together, chat and simply enjoy each others’ company while swapping stories. A little after midnight, my friend Dana and her visiting boyfriend, Buck, and I walked the quick block back to our hostel. There I settled in for a refreshing night’s sleep. Or so I thought… Stomach BugsSo much for that great night’s sleep. I was up at 2AM the next morning with all the tell tale symptoms of intestinal parasites. I’ll spare you all the gory details, but by 7:30AM I was ready and physically able to head into the Peace Corps office for a medical exam. As always, our medical staff was amazing in quickly checking me out, sending me for the appropriate tests and treatments. As it turns out, I had amoeba eggs in my stomach, but no active amoebas which indicates that these little guys have been hanging out for quite a while. Maybe all my holiday weight gain wasn’t from all the food I ate, but rather from my millions of little stomach friends replication. Probably not, but it makes me feel better, haha. Just like emotionally readjusting to life as a Peace Corps volunteer, my body needs to readjust as well. I need to remember to be extremely vigilant with cleaning my fruits and veggies with chlorinated bleach and sterilizing my water. Water sterilization has become infinitely simpler with one of my best Christmas gifts from Mom and Dad, a SteriPen. What this very cool contraption does is sterilizes the water, killing anything living, with a strong dose of ultraviolet light. I am unaware of the exact science behind it, but I am aware it keeps me in ample supply of clean water. No worries, I am now one third through my treatment for my stomach friends, as I like to call them. As I keep telling my Mom, stomach parasites are a part of life here in El Salvador, just like having running water once every three days. It’s a reality that the people here deal with on a daily basis, but don’t have the luxury of going into the capital to their team of doctors and limitless medical resources to take care of whatever health issue may arise, like I do. I knew that serving in Peace Corps meant fully immersing myself in a different culture, taking in all the positive and negative aspects with the experience. Heck, not everyone can say they had parasites dormant in their stomachs for over a month now, can they? That’s something worth putting on a resume.

As I write this blog, an evangelical church service, known as a culto, is taking place outside of my house. The music is blaring, tongues are being spoken, and prayers are being shouted. To say the least, I have a few distractions, so I apologize if in some parts my writing makes no sense. Also, I have to apologize for how lame my last two blog entries have been. They reflect the slow, not so overwhelming, but always exciting, life I have been living the past two weeks. In the weeks to come, I am sure to have some great new stories to share. I have some more soccer planned, my cocina demonstration with Stove Team International, and ASAPROSAR’s eyesight campaign all on tap, so something exciting in bound to develop. Please keep reading, and I will certainly keep writing.

Happy New Year to all! Here is hoping you had a fantastic holiday season and a great start to 2010! After more than two weeks hiatus including a visit home, New Years with my college friends, and return to my community in El Salvador, I sure have a lot to update you on. So, put on your reading glasses, this is going to be a long one… Home for the Holidays I cannot begin to express how absolutely, to borrow the favorite adjective of my Grammy D, wonderful my ten-day visit home truly was. Of course I enjoyed the traditions, the food (my pants are still a little snug), and amenities (namely toilets and hot showers), but most meaningful of all was getting the opportunity to share these times (expect those in the bathroom, those are cherished private times) with my beloved family and friends. In such a short period of time, I had the opportunity to see so many people; it really was the best Christmas gift I could have asked for. My visit home began late in the evening on Wednesday, December 23rd when I arrived at the Buffalo airport to a full-blown welcoming committee. Of course my parents, Dan and Rose, along with my sister, Dana, were there as expected, but much to my surprise, the self-proclaimed Three Wise (Wo)men (Janet, Marsha, and Robin), Aunt Debbie, and Darcie were there as well. As soon as I turned the corner to the exit, I caught sight of this motley crew and started crying immediately. Never before had I gone nearly six months without seeing any member of my family, and the emotions of it all just poured out through my eyeballs. We hugged, we cried, we laughed, and we took pictures. Boy, did we ever take pictures. Be sure to check them out on Facebook, they’re pretty good. And finally, to top it all off, Santa Claus showed up along with the Lancaster Show Choir to sing carols. Granted, none of this was planned exclusively for me, but it really was the icing on the cake. In the car, before we were even able to get out of the airport parking lot, I began to indulge on cutout cookies, marshmallow wreathes, and peanut butter buckeyes. Dana did a great job covering my baking duties this year, Mom was an ace cookie froster as usual, and Dad did an excellent job placing the cinnamon red hots on the wreathes. Haha. Truly a team effort this year. On the way home, we stopped to see my Grammy who, as some of you know, underwent a bit of a health scare over the summer and throughout the past few months. At first sight of each other, there were more tears and more hugs. Right then is when I realized not only how lucky I was to be able to travel home for the holidays (thanks, Mom and Dad), but also how important it is to spend these cherished times with loved ones. Aunt Lynn, Uncle Randy and the dogs joined our visit, and it was great to see them, too. We’ve been doing a great job keeping in touch, but seeing them in person took the cake. We sat around catching up until I barely could keep my eyes open any longer (I had been awake since 3:30AM). Once home at 459, of course I had to eat the homemade turkey dinner Mom had prepared for me and have a Sam Adams Winter Lager with Dad all while chatting and getting the holiday rundown. Sufficiently gorged and beyond exhausted, I made my way upstairs to my room, changed into some serious winter PJs (the cold was rather shocking to my system; it was 80˙ when I left El Salvador) and snuggled into my cozy bed with Panda. Now I’m realizing if I detail all my days home like I did my arrival, this will be the blog that never ends (think of the Sherry Lewis song from Lambchop’s Play Along). So, instead I will just list the highlights with the best details. Christmas Eve Before I came home for vacation, I was G-Chatting with one of my good friends about how I thought I was going to feel like a guest in my own (parents’) house, not being left any baked goods to make or allowed to help prepare the holiday meals. But, much to my pleasant surprise, Mom and Dana left me the Mushroom and Barely Soup, that we have been having since Aunt Trish first made it 14 years ago, to make for our traditional Polish meatless Christmas Eve dinner. Grant it the recipe is simple, but it made me feel involved and useful. Later in the afternoon, I also was charged with preparing the salmon and tziki. Two recipes are not exactly my usual holiday workload, but I still got to help out and feel (somewhat) useful. In addition to my kitchen duties, Rosie Baby treated Dana and myself to pedicures. We both have notoriously gross feet. Too much running in Dana’s case and my excuse is that I live in the campo. I think we were the only people in Western New York having cosmetic procedures done on our feet only to be then draped in wool socks and shoved carelessly into Uggs. Regardless, we enjoyed ourselves and had great conversation, mostly catching me up on political developments including health care reform and environmental policy. Yes, we are nerds. Christmas Eve dinner at home with Mom, Dad, Dana, Grammy, Peter and Ruth was exactly as it has been year after year: absolutely perfect. Upon returning from 4:30 mass (standing room only, children’s choir) we began the eating, drinking and merriment. The soup was as good as ever, the salmon perfectly cooked, the hand-made pierogis (from the Ukrainian ladies, we don’t make them ourselves) crisped to perfection were all the flavors I had been craving for weeks. Then, to wash it all down with a lovely sauvignon blanc and some cheesecake Rosie made (Grammary’s recipe, of course) was quite a treat, indeed. After Grammy, Peter and Ruth headed off to their church service, the four of us retired to the porch to open gifts. Mom, as usual, outdid herself with incredible presents. I think I did an OK job with the gifts I brought back, too, considering they accounted for nine tenths of the luggage I brought home. Rosie seemed smitten with her table runner, placemats and wooden nativity scene (I broke the clay one. Sorry Baby Jesus and company.). The gift, though, that took the cake this year was the Blackberry that now puts Rosie in constant contact with both of her daughters, husband, the internet and Facebook. She’s gotten really good at updating her status via Blackberry- she does more than Dana and I do combined. As always, Mom threw in some humorous gifts, though nothing quite tops the pug purse from two years ago. When the gift opening was done, Dana, Mom and I got straight to work on the breakfast casseroles for brunch at Grammy’s the next morning while Dad continued to play on his new Blackberry. As usual, the three of us had some great laughs making a mess of the kitchen and making the same casseroles we’ve been having as far back as my memory goes. Tradition (In the bellowing style of Fiddler on the Roof). My first full day at home was all that I hoped it would be and completed itself in the best way possible. With a full belly, completely content and with my family, Dana, Mom and I all changed into our matching Christmas pajamas (cheesy- maybe, adorable-yes), and said goodnight. Christmas Day Though I was definitely dreaming of a white Christmas, it didn’t come to fruition. Instead, Christmas morning was grey and not so chilly. But, as in years past, we all got ready, Dana and I dressed in our matching sweaters, and headed to Grammy’s. Sure, you may think it’s a bit ridiculous that two sisters, 27 and 22, still wear matching sweaters purchased by their mother on Christmas and, well, it is, but check out our photo. You have to admit, we’re pretty cute. Brunch at Grammy’s went down without a hitch. Any morning that starts out with Bloody Marys (a little sacrilegious?) is bound to be a good one. By the time I arrived, Mom, Dad, Aunt Lynn and Uncle Randy had everything set up and ready to go. I had some good conversation with Uncle Alvin, Aunt Gerilyn, Aunt Laura, Tim, Kelly, Doug and Jenna before starting brunch. Being only my second day back at home, it became clear to me that eating was going to be the main activity of this trip. Everyone seemed to think I don’t eat in El Salvador, so gorging myself on the food that my family kept insisting I eat because I “won’t get this in El Salvador”. Feeling like a Christmas Puff-a-lump, I plopped onto the living room floor to open gifts. This year, Doug had my name in the gift draw, and he gave me one of the most thoughtful gifts I have ever received. He donated a very generous gift in my honor to Aid El Salvador to help those affected by the landslides of November, those families that Peace Corps Volunteers have lived during countless training cycles. I couldn’t have been more appreciative. I got some pretty good Secret Santas, joke gifts given anonymously, as well including toilet paper. Good one, Secret Santa, too bad you couldn’t have given me a toilet. After a lot of ripping and tearing and a full garbage bag full of gift-wrap later (I certainly hope we recycled that!) we finished up and cleaned up. The usual photos were taken, the food was Tupperwared away, and dishes were washed. The morning passed quicker than I could have imagined. A quick trip home and we were on to the next activity. By 3PM we had made it over the river and through the woods to our next destination: dinner at the Hanitzs’. Not 30 seconds after removing layer upon layer of coats, scarves and boots (I’m not used to this weather!) Darcie had an infamous chrysanthemum, AKA poinsettia, in our hands and the fun began. We opened gifts straight away, and as usual Aunt Debbie manages to find the cutest things! The “Cousins” picture frame she gave me is absolutely adorable. I can’t wait to have a real dwelling place where I can display one of the countless photos I have with Dar, Dev and D-Rock. The highlight of gift opening for me, though, was when Darcie opened her Salvo gift. Of course there was the obligatory shot glass for her collection, but the gift that took the cake was the Salvo lady apron that I got her. I wish I had taken a photo because the apron is absolutely hilarious, complete with multiple pockets and lace detailing. Darcie, being the Betty Crocker reincarnate that she is, loved it. Soon after it was time to eat, AGAIN. And, as usual I continued to gorge myself on Polish sausage, pigs in a blanket (I don’t know how to spell the Polish word), pierogis, ham, just to name a few things. Sufficiently stuffed, we all cleaned up and started game time. Game time with my family never fails to produce serious bouts of laughter, deep competition and a bit of friendly yelling. This year’s game was Buzz Word and based on the initial team drafts, I thought that my team would surely be defeated. I was on a team with my mother and aunt, and if you know them at all, they get easily distracted in conversation with each other and often don’t pain attention. Surely we would end up losing to the younger, more agile team of Dana, Devin and Darcie. On the contrary, however, Debbie and Rosie pulled through and we were victorious. Game hour provided sufficient time for a bit of digestion to allow for the next round of food: coffee and desserts. Darcie, like I mentioned before, is an amazing baker and truly outdid herself making all my favorites, including Hello Dollies and her signature pistachio, cranberry, white chocolate shortbread cookies. As much as I am embarrassed to say this, I literally ate so much I had to unbutton my pants! My family practically had to roll me to the car. I don’t think this day could have been topped! Some Other Highlights On December 26, 2009, Dana M. Marohn made history by becoming the first female, and first Marohn in over a decade, to win the Cousins’ Bowling Classic. With a whopping 171, Dana defeated the repeat champion Josh Haacker. Be sure to view photos documenting this historic event on Facebook, including the passing of the Trophy complete with Dana gloating in triumph as Josh “Haacker pouts” while he begrudgingly handed over glory.A relatively new tradition, the girls’ night dinner at Kyoto was as enjoyable as ever. I still manage to be the only one able to catch food in my mouth that the hibachi chef tosses. Keep up the good effort, ladies. Maybe next year.We celebrated Grammy’s 91st birthday, grant it a little early, with all her children and three quarters of her grandchildren (we deeply missed you Jenna, Doug and Oscar). The meal really was a joint effort on behalf of Dan, Rose, Dana and myself. Naturally Rose orchestrated and decorated, Dan took care of the meat, and Dana and I shared the hors d'oeuvre and side dish load. Having the family together to celebrate Grammy was long overdue.Brunch with the Koch’s on December 28th was delicious, as usual. Vi never ceases to amaze me with her youthful spirit, limitless energy, and spunk. You would never guess she’s 94 years old, especially with her weekly workout regimen and love of experimenting in the kitchen with new recipes. Vi still makes the absolute best cut out cookies, hands down. Karen’s stories still crack me up! Happy __th Birthday Karen! (I left out the number; I know how much you abhor it.) You definitely don’t look your age!Pour House Sports Trivia…well, what can be said about that? The only answer I knew was about the Erie Canal, but regardless it was great to see David, Kevin and Claire and actually be allowed into a bar in DC. (I was 20 until the day before I left when I lived in DC, not so fun.)Hanging in DC with Eric was great. Not much beats hanging out with one of my old roommates, drinking some red wine (that we didn’t spill on beige carpet for a change), listening to music, eating cashews and peanut butter fill pretzels while chatting.Nothing beats hanging in DC and spending New Years with my college friends. Seeing Caitlin, Casey, Eric, Ben, Meghan and most of the Theta Chi boys was an awesome way to usher in the New Year. I absolutely loved walking the monuments and checking out Julie Child’s kitchen at the Smithsonian. Though I didn’t get quite enough one-on-one Cait time, it was so great to attempt to share Eric’s couch and ring in the New Year together.New Years Day, after almost missing my flight back to Buffalo due to an abbreviated train schedule to BWI (honestly, who would have thought?), at the Hanitzs’ was as much fun as ever. Throw the Boninas and their new puppy, Mason, into the mix and you get a superfun time. I had great conversation with Aunt Trish and Uncle John, fun times with the John and Nick, and some great family game time with the whole crew. If you ever want to play Buzz Word with the women in my family, you can’t win. We are unbeatable. As usual, competition between teams spiked and the laughter was uncontrollable. My best ab workout in quite some time was a result of our family game time.The last family event of my vacation was Peter and Ruth’s End of Holiday Event. Ruth was as gracious a hostess as ever, and Peter never failed behind the bar. Only one other person I know could possibly stump Peter’s expertise in mixology; the battle of whisky wits would surely be a sight to see.Seeing my baby cousins who in six months have transformed into toddling, talking little people was amazing. Julianna, Sylvie and Oscar sure have grown a ton and have developed such adorable, truly individual personalities. I look forward to seeing them again (soon, hopefully) and seeing their development. Also, congratulations to Jenna and Doug on the news of their second pregnancy. I can’t wait to see Oscar’s little sibling come May. Back in El Salvador On Sunday I ventured back to El Salvador, a little sooner than I would have liked, but as my Dad always says, it’s better to leave wishing you could have stayed rather than to have stayed wishing you had left. Now back in site I am finding myself readjusting to volunteer life. The days are a little slower, but enjoyable nonetheless. It was so much fun to give my gifts to my host family who were all extremely appreciative of the gesture from my family del norte. My host nephews Yefri and Rolvin were the most adorable, completely loving the playdoh I brought them, and the books that Aunt Debbie sent were certainly a hit as well. I am starting to plan a few more programs including an efficient stove campaign with Stove Team International, check out their website at www.stoveteam.org. They make efficient stoves that use less firewood and produce less smoke, helping to reduce lung illnesses. I will also be translating for a team of American doctors that the NGO ASAPROSAR will be bringing in for an eyesight campaign January 30th-February 4th. As usual, too, I have a PC soccer game this coming Sunday in Juayua and will have a chance to meet up with all my PCV friends I haven’t seen in over a month. For anyone who is interested, the Women and Youth in Development committee of Peace Corps El Salvador has made calendars featuring photography from volunteers for $10. If anyone is interested in purchasing one and supporting scholarships for girls to attend high school and college, please let me know. I can’t begin to tell you how great it was to see so many of you over my visit back to the States. Know that I think of you often and love you all very much. We are all so truly fortunate in our lives, don’t ever forget that, and don’t forget to share your good fortune with others as well. Please continue to send me emails, photos, updates and letters. I thrive off of contact with you. Peace, Love, and Prosperity in 2010!

Though I have managed to remain fairly busy these last few days until my departure from El Salvador, I can’t remember another point my life where time seemed to drag on so slowly, yet pass ever rapidly all the same (well, maybe senior year of high school where I counted down the days until graduation with a paper chain). Certainly it’s due to my undeniable excitement to return home to my family and friends for the holidays. Whenever I talk with my Mom, Dad or sister (who for the first time in probably a decade has beaten me home for the holidays), I am left feeling as though I am missing out on key holiday activities like cookie baking and decorating with Mom and Dana while reminiscing about Grammary, complaining of the smell while Dad pickles herring, and lounging in front of the fireplace to warm my buns and admire the Christmas tree. (This year we have three trees! Why? That’s a good question…)

Yes, I will admit I have been overly antsy and have been counting down the days until the 23rd when I fly home, but I have still managed to enjoy my experiences here in San Luis. And as always, they never fail to keep on coming, to keep me on my toes and to continue educating me.

Alacran!

As I have mentioned in a previous blog entry, my dear Janet sent me a very thoughtful package including all the fixings to make two batches of real, traditional Rice Krispie Treats. I made the first batch with my host sister Leslie the night before I went coffee cutting for the first time, and I was saving the remaining ingredients for another occasion to make the second batch. Well, no real occasion arose in which to make the second batch, but I needed to use the ingredients before heading home. If I didn’t I’d risk my second bag of marshmallows going stale.

So, on Friday after getting off the phone with Mom, Dad and Dana, I was feeling a little home sick and sad I wasn’t at 459 to help make cutout cookies (my famous recipe, of course). Seeing as I don’t have an oven here, baking a batch of my own cookies was out of the question, but Rice Krispie treats were just the taste of home that I needed. Ah, you gotta love emotional eating. I collected the three necessary ingredients-- Rice Krispies, marshmallows and margarine-- and headed to the kitchen to get busy on the gas stove top. I had the marshmallows and cereal measured out on the counter, the margarine was melting in the pan on the stove when I reached over the counter to get a wooden spoon to mix it all up. As I reached, I stopped dead in my tracks at the sight of a two-and-a-half inch long scorpion that was just hanging out in one of my guacals (multipurpose plastic tubs that come in varying sizes). Startled, I stepped back ever so slowly, ran to Mama Chila like a little child to tell her what I found (Alacran! Alacran!) and then ran to grab my camera to take my little kitchen-intruder’s picture. After I was done with the photo shoot, Mama Chila simply took the guacal with scorpion outside and disposed of our little friend. NBD.

I continued my little baking event, then of course gorged myself on Rice Krispie Treats along with Yefri, Rolvin and our dog Snoopy. You may be wondering why Mama Chila nor I freaked out too much about the scorpion, but fortunately aqui in El Salvador, the deadly species of scorpion cannot survive, so the species of scorpion that stings here will simply induce a temporary sensation of numbness and a severe allergic reaction, both alleviated by Benadryl and time. Regardless, I double check my bed every night to make sure that I’m not sharing my sleeping quarters with such an unpleasant bedfellow.

An Evangelical Fiesta Rosa

When I returned to San Luis earlier this past week after having been away for my PC soccer game in Metapan, I came home to find an invitation to a Fiesta Rosa, a fifteen year-old girl’s birthday celebration. In Latin American culture, turning fifteen is a huge occasion and celebrated accordingly. This particular invitation was for the daughter, Tatiana, of one of my favorite ladies in my community, Marina. Never wanting to decline an invitation, I decided to go and purchased a gift while in town last Thursday. This fiesta rosa I was told, was going to be algo diferente than I have experienced because Marina’s family is evangelical. The main implication was that there would be no dancing (dancing is against evangelical beliefs), which traditionally is a large part of the celebration.

So, 2PM Saturday afternoon, the appointed start time of the culto (evangelical mass), came and went, and in true Salvadoran fashion the event started promptly one hour later at 3PM. I sat towards the back with the members of my host family, not wanting to draw attention to myself, but really, who was I kidding? I was, as I always am, the tall, chelita (little white girl) gringa. Even though I have been in the community for nearly four months, the staring hasn’t subsided. I’ve accepted the fact that it very well may never abate.

For those of you who have never been to an evangelical culto, I would advise you to bring your patience along (especially if you are accustomed to the 45 minute Cadillac Special). The service itself was over two and a half hours long, filled with singing, loud praying and the speaking of tongues. I merely sat quietly with a pleasant smile plastered upon my face and saludared when others joined the culto later in the service. About two thirds of the way through the service, after the mother and father of the quinceanera said their prayers and aspirations for their daughter, it was time for everyone who brought gifts to file forward, present them to Tatiana and hug her. When it was finally my turn to present Tatiana with her gift (it was quite the wait as the majority of the community was present), I think she was surprised to see me there, let alone with a gift. I caught sight of Marina, Tatiana’s mother, when I was filing back to my seat, and she looked genuinely grateful I was there. That was the first time I really felt like I was part of the community, that people cared I was there participating, not just acting as a mere observer of foreign events.

When the service was complete we ate, of course. Every guest was served two panes rellenos, which literally translated means stuffed breads, and soda. The bread, like a hoagie roll, was stuffed with chicken, cucumber, tomato, some leafy greens, and then saturated in a special chicken broth sauce. I ate one of my panes with my host family while we chatted with other community members. After a while, it began to get dark and my host mom, Lilian, decided we should head back home.

The rest of the evening I spent enjoying the company of my host family, I had a wonderful conversation with my host sister Xenia and even made plans to go Christmas shopping with her before I leave. Just as I was about to head to my room to read before turning in for the night, Mario, Marina’s son, stopped by the house to bring me a huge piece of birthday cake, sent especially for me from Marina. I was so incredibly touched that the family would think to send me cake, I was bursting with gratitude. A piece of cake may seem like a simple gesture, not worthy of such gushing on my part, but that really solidified me as part of the community, at least in the eyes of Marina. That night I went to bed full of cake and full of Marina’s friendship.

Latrine Lecture

I may sound like a broken record when talking about the needs of latrines within my community, but the truth is they are the number one necessity, especially in terms of community health. As such, my ADESCO directive and I made the decision to pursue a project in latrines. Being the eco-friendly, environmentally conscious Peace Corps Volunteer that I am, I am extremely interested in making sure the latrines we build are composting latrines instead of the traditional pit latrines that are most commonly used in these parts.

What is a composting latrine and why are they so much better than pit latrines, you may ask. Well, in the simplest terms, composting latrines are more sustainable than pits and you can literally turn shit into something extremely useful with very little work. Composting latrines are constructed above the ground, eliminating the possibility for ground water and soil contamination, and have two compartments with two toilet seats. At any given time, only one side is in use. After each use ash, calcium or other dry organic material such as dried leaves are put on top of the waste to aid in drying and to eliminate smells. Once one side is filled, the other side is put into use while the waste on the other side is left to dry for anywhere between six and twelve months depending upon the climate conditions where the latrine is located. After the drying period, you are left with very rich organic fertilizer for use on fruit trees, flowers and other foliage. I realize how gross this may sound, but when the fertilizer is ready, it is decomposed and dried to such an extent that is bears no resemblance to human feces. Besides, people pick up animal poop and clean up baby poop without a second thought; using your own waste in a productive manner shouldn’t be that foreign of an idea either. These latrines are also more sustainable because they, with correct usage, never fill up unlike other latrines that llenar after a period of roughly five years and are rendered useless.

So you’re not so convinced composting latrines are the best option? My community members aren’t either. Even after a meeting yesterday afternoon where I explained all the benefits of aboneras (that’s the Spanish name), many people still had doubts. Only about ten percent of the people who showed up said that they would prefer an abonera to a traditional latrine. I guess if I want to pursue this composting latrine project, I have a bit more convincing to do. But, even if we do end up constructing the traditional pit latrines, the community will still benefit greatly in improved health and sanitary conditions. The way I see it, though, is if you’re going to work to make a place to put your poop, you should make your poop work for you, too. Now, though, it’s time for me to start seeking support and funds to turn this shitty idea into reality. Saber cual tipa de latrina haremos.

So I’m down to a mere two days until I am back in the 716 undoubtedly freezing my butt off. Just imagine this: I have been sitting writing this blog entry while sweating and listening to Christmas carols. Christmas in a warm climate just isn’t right. I am dreaming of a white Christmas, and thanks to my parents, I’ll be home for it. Just as exciting, I will be spending New Years with my beloved ROC loves. I absolutely cannot wait! I have so much to look forward to and so much to be thankful for this year, especially all of you and your continued love and support.

Merry Christmas!

I never really listened, nor believed, the veteran PCVs when they told me during Pre-Service Training that my two years of service would fly by quicker than I would realize. I was excited and too busy worry about so many things-- my site assignment, counting down the days until swearing-in, meeting my counterparts and host community-- I never gave their words much weight. But, now over three months in site and nearly a half year in country, their words hold such truths. Where has the time gone?

Well, I can tell you the time has gone into many challenges, many firsts, many new friends, and many once-in-a-lifetime experiences that will continue until my completion of service and return to the States.

Speaking of returning to the States, a mere six days from today I will be en route back to Buffalo for the holidays, with stops in Houston and Cleveland along the way, for my first vacation from El Salvador. The weather change is sure to bring a big shock seeing as it’s still 80 degrees and sunny nearly every day, but don’t worry, my Mom has been briefed with a list of necessities for my airport pickup including wool socks and my boots (with the fur).

Though it is true I have been counting down the days until Christmas, with the help of a chocolate filled advent calendar with love from Rosie, of course, I have been keeping very busy working. No matter how filled or wide open my calendar appears, there is never a dull moment in ES.

Coffee Cutting

As most people do when I ask if I can tagalong and help in their daily labors, my host mother, Lilian, and particularly my thirteen year old host sister, Leslie, found it hilarious that I wanted to learn how to and go cut coffee with them. Behind a few chuckles and smiles, they said of course I could join them in their labors later that week. On the morning of December 4th, I was up well before the roosters (a feat in and of itself) to head out to my host family’s finca (land where coffee is grown) to participate in the first of two rounds of coffee harvesting.

A one hour ride in the back of a very full pick-up with nine others later, we finally arrived at the finca, just as the sun was coming up. Before we could get started, though, we needed a hearty breakfast of beans, chicken, tortilla and coffee.

With a full belly and full of energy, Lilian helped me get outfitted with a basket where all the beans I would soon pick were to go. The basket was a little larger than a half bushel apple basket that you can easily find at a farmers’ market and was also finely hand woven. The basket then had a belt attached to it that went around my waist and rested on the small of my back to affix the basket securely against my panza (tummy, stomach area). Leslie then gave me an old fifty pound fertilizer bag to put my coffee beans in when my basket got filled. We all then ventured over to the coffee trees, filled with the red fruits that house what we know as coffee beans. Leslie quickly demonstrated the most efficient cutting technique of encircling the top of a bean-filled branch with your forefinger and thumb, then stripping the beans off. Easy enough.

An hour later when all the trees in this particular parcel will stripped of their fruits, we returned to the clearing where we ate breakfast to clean the beans of any excess leaves and fruit that hadn’t yet ripened and to weigh our labors. For my first time out, I thought I did pretty well having filled my basket nearly one and a half times, I figured I had to have picked at least thirty pounds of coffee. Not so much. My morning labors yielded a staggeringly small twelve pounds of coffee. I couldn’t believe it. I had worked so quickly and efficiently, or so I thought. The best picker of the morning in our party harvest seventy pounds of coffee. SEVENTY POUNDS! I swear this guy had to have three sets of arms.

The afternoon proved to be a little more fruitful (pun intended) and luck was definitely on my side. I escaped disturbing the nest of a species of very large, very dangerous wasps by mere inches. As I was cutting the coffee off of a neighboring branch, I saw one of these monster bees fly casually to his home where over 100 others awaited his arrival. I can’t even begin to imagine the pain that would have accompanied angering those bees. Needless to say, I left that coffee tree alone and continued picking from a neighboring tree.

While cleaning my afternoon beans, my host sister pulled out the source of my luck that afternoon, two coffee beans fused together, sort of like the Siamese twins of the finca. Leslie explained to me how rare it is to find the double bean (Cait, I am sure you can mathematically figure out the incidence of this genetic mutation) and how I needed to keep it. So, without thinking much about it I popped it into my backpack.

At around 3:30PM we finished our day’s labors and settled in for the final weigh in. After the morning’s performance, I wasn’t expecting to tip the scale at more than thirty pounds for the day, but much to my pleasant surprise, I weighed in at a whopping 45 pounds. The previous night I had spoken with my friend Dylan who lives in the most remote and impoverished site in all of Peace Corps El Slavador, making him by default the toughest PCV in El Slavador. He managed to pick 39 pounds of coffee on his first excursion out. At least I could go home with the satisfaction and bragging rights of picking more coffee than Dylan.

In addition to learning the physical aspect of one of the main sources of income for people who live in the campo, like community members in my site, I learned about the economics behind it as well. The land owners, such as my host family, hire people to pick the coffee which they then sell to an intermediary, know here as a coyote. The coyotes then sell the product to another intermediary with processing facilities and domestic and foreign contacts for sale. As you can imagine, the price land owners, such as my host family, receive for coffee is extremely low compared to what the coyotes and intermediaries receive. The most striking quantity of money received, however, is that of the coffee harvester. Because prices to the land owners are so low, what they pay their harvesters is even lower. Personally, for picking 45 pounds of coffee I would have earned $1.35, that’s roughly 75 cents for every 25 pounds harvested, had I been working for pay. Just imagine trying to support a family by harvesting coffee at a rate of 75 cents per 25 pounds. I think this experience puts the economic situations of Salvadorans into excellent perspective.

The Kindness of Strangers

After I returned back to my site from my amazing Thanksgiving at Lago Coatepeque, I discovered that my iPod Touch was no longer in my possession. Whether lost, stolen or taken mysteriously by a 150 pound black lab, it, along with all my whiny girl songs and Christmas music, was gone and I was sad.

Being the risk averse daughter of my father, I had smartly purchased property insurance before coming to this lovely country, and after three days without finding my beloved music machine, I decided it was time to file an insurance claim. Only three days of back and forth communication with the insurance company later (thanks, Dad, for tackling that beast), I had the necessary forms to fill out and fax to receive my reimbursement. Literally as I was sitting in my host father’s office, filling out the insurance forms, I received a Facebook message from a Miguel I had never met. Figuring it was just a random message, I opened it up regardless, and in English, the message read, “Did you lose an iPod Touch at Lago Coatepeque?” The luck of the coffee bean, still neatly tucked away in my backpack, was clearly powerful. Ecstatic, I messaged my new best friend, Miguel, back confirming I had lost my beloved iPod and making plans for how I could get it back in my possession. Two more Facebook messages and a phone call later, Miguel and I had plans to meet up the next day in San Salvador where I would be for a series of meetings.

The next day, I was on my way to lunch with a group of PCVs when I received a phone call from Miguel, asking where I was headed so he could come drop off my iPod. I was extremely surprised at Miguel’s willingness to drive out of his way to deliver my iPod. He ended up joining my group of friends and me for lunch, and told us how he came to have my iPod. Miguel is an engineer working on a construction project on the island in Lago Coatepeque where I spent Thanksgiving. One of the workers at the house where I stayed happened to find my iPod, which at this point had a dead battery. The worker didn’t know what to do with the dead iPod, so she passed it along to Miguel, figuring because he is educated, he would know what to do with it. So, he took my iPod home, charged it on his iPod charger, discovered it worked and searched to see if there was any identifying information on it. There wasn’t. (I seriously under-utilize the features of the iPod Touch). As a last resort, he plugged the iPod into his computer to see if information appeared, and lucky for me, some did. When my iPod is plugged into a computer it shows up as “Rosellen Marohn’s iPod”. With that information, Miguel went on Facebook and searched me. I am the only Rosellen Marohn on Facebook and I am in the Rochester network. Recognizing that Rochester is nowhere near El Salvador, Miguel checked the cities I had on my weather widget on my iPod to make sure the Rosellen on Facebook was the same Rosellen of the iPod. I don’t know about you, but I thought that was pretty smart; your average person wouldn’t have thought to cross-check weather locations. With confirmation that my iPod matched with the person he found on Facebook, he messaged me.

Later, my friend Tim asked him why he had bothered to go to so much trouble to return an iPod. Miguel, who we found out is a wealthy and educated guy, said that if he lost an iPod Touch, he would be very upset and would hope whoever found it would return it to him. His genuine kindness struck me, especially being in a country known for its petty crime and extortion.

This whole experience just goes to show you that goodness in people still exists, and when you least expect it, it’ll pop up to remind you.

As for the next six days until I return to the States, I will be preparing for a charla I will be giving on latrines and the different types available, will attend another quinecanera, hold a women’s group meeting and pack up for home. I simply can’t wait! The 13 hours I am going to spend traveling on the 23rd are sure to be the most agonizingly slow hours I will have ever spent.

Oh! If anyone has any suggestions as to where my first meal back in Buffalo should be, pass them along. There are so many things on my list that I want to eat, I don’t know where to start.

One last thing! If anyone has an old AT&T cell phone that they no longer use and uses a SIM card chip, I’d love to buy it off of you. My cell phone here is really poor quality and doesn’t get a signal very well in my site except in certain spots outside. To buy a quality phone here is rather pricey, so if you have one available, let me know! Thanks so much!

Happy Holidays!!!

First off, a very Happy Belated Thanksgiving to all! I missed spending the holidays with you and the opportunity to enjoy a gluttonous meal together. But, don’t feel quite so bad for me; I did manage to prepare and feast on a Butterball turkey on el Dia de Acciones Gracias. I’ll explain later.

So the count is officially down to a mere 20 days before I return home to Tonawanda, NY on December 23rd. It’s hard to believe that Christmas is coming upon us so quickly, and I am having an especially difficult time realizing it’s December as I continue to melt in the constant Salvadoran heat. Needless to say, however, I am more than ecstatic to spend the holidays with my family and friends, including my favorite Christmas events like traditional Polish Christmas at the Hanitzs’, Cousins’ Bowling, Scotch Eggs at Ruth and Pete’s, and reuniting with my UR loves. Above all, I look most forward to seeing my family and friends while indulging in all the delicious cuisine that I have missed. Don’t worry. My pants and I are prepared to gain 15 pounds.

In the meantime, though, I have been managing to remain busy, just completed my second round of training, celebrated Thanksgiving with my Peace Corps family on an island in a volcanic lake, and am heavily scheduled through December 22nd with preliminary latrine project events. Here’s a (not so) brief rundown of recent events in my ever-exciting, never-boring vida Salvadorena.

PST2 (Round Two)

Pre-Service Training, or PST as it’s affectionately called in PC acronymic lingo, is divided into two sections here in El Salvador. PST1 is the first two months a volunteer spends in country living with a host family in a training community, focusing mostly on language learning, as well as some technical training related to a volunteer’s program. After these two very challenging months filled with questions such as, “What am I doing here?", “What in the world was just said to me?", and my personal favorite, “How much longer do we have to sit in these white plastic chairs?", PCTs finally swear in officially as PCVs, traipse off to site for two months to begin service and community diagnostics before returning for PST2. In PST2, training is very specifically tailored to one’s program area and filled with valuable ideas and techniques to bring back to one’s community.

As those of you who have read my last blog update, the original dates of the SAg/EE (Sustainable Agriculture and Environmental Education Program) PST2 was canceled due to the landslides that devastated the department of San Vicente and most significantly the municipality of Verapaz, a mere two kilometers from my training community of Molineros. After some rescheduling and a quick request for additional training funds from PC Washington, our PST2 was rescheduled for November 16th-November 26th at the Escuela Nacional de Agricultura (ENA), the National School of Agriculture. My group of 17 SAg/EE volunteers was set to arrive Sunday, November 15th to allow for a prompt 8AM start on the 16th and we were slated to finish at 12 noon on the 26th, Thanksgiving Day, just in time to celebrate my personal favorite American holiday (besides my birthday…haha).

My boss Rolando appointed me in charge of arriving first to the ENA to collect the key to the house we would be living in on campus for nearly two weeks. The house itself was pretty nice with a fair sized backyard that the boys in my group took full advantage of by setting up a slack line, a sort of not-so-tight tightrope balancing contraption, and large dorm style bedrooms my companeros and I would be sharing for nearly two weeks. With the exception of our one married couple that had a room to themselves, the remaining 15 of us slept five to a room. To be quite honest, I was a little nervous how our living situations would turn out, especially for me, considering I have never managed well in shared space. I have only shared a room once in my life first semester of junior in college, and let’s just say that was a challenging experience (Cait, I’m still sorry for being such a crappy roommate…love you and can’t wait to see you!) But, much to my pleasant surprise, we all got along swimmingly and had an awesome time sharing stories, watching movies and playing games (thanks, Casey, for sending me the rules of The Game…it was a huge hit!)

As far as actual training goes, we got to participate in a lot of very interesting, hands-on agricultural activities ranging from tree grafting to farm diversification. For someone whose agricultural experience starts and ends with a small vegetable garden in her parents’ backyard, cutting grass, and trimming bushes (the Rech Way, obviously), I learned a tremendous amount.

Tree grafting, taking advantage of the strong root structure of a particular plant and connecting a cutting of another plant that bears favorable fruit and is disease resistant, is a common practice in the farming of fruits here in ES. There are various techniques within this practice, and let me tell you, none of them are easy. One of the instructors from the ENA taught and showed us how to perform each of them, and then provided us with the opportunity to practice. To say that our tree grafts were comical is an understatement. Of course with practice we will continue to mejorar, but I just wish I had a camera to have evidence of how silly our poor grafts looked. They looked like tattered soldiers returning from battle.

In addition to several technical classes on campus including lombriculture, composting and soil testing, we also took several jaunts to visit various places in El Salvador. (Keep in mind, the country is the size of Massachusetts and our bosses had cars making travel bien facil.) One day we took a trip to one of El Salvador’s four national parks, Cero Verde, in the west where we hiked in the refreshingly brisk and unbelievable fresh mountain air, and learned about opportunities for field trips with youth groups or environmental clubs. Be sure to check out my photos on Facebook. (Aunt Lynn and Uncle Rand, I made sure to take lots of plant photos for you guys, so check them out!)

Another day we traveled east of San Salvador to San Pedro where we visited an organic, diversified farm. The man who ran the farm, Don Otto, was an amazing speaker, dedicated to he amplification of organics in El Salvador, passionate about his work, and a definite business man taking advantage of the growing organics market. I also have some great photos of this jaunt, so check those out, too! After exploring his parcel of land where Don Otto grows bananas, plantains, pineapple, coconuts, citrus, cacao and various ornamental plant varieties, we enjoyed an enormous meal of soup, chicken, rice, and salad that was all washed down with agua de coco, coconut water, that we drank straight from the fruit. If anyone ever decides to come down and visit me, I really would like to share this rare gem with you. So, book your flights already!

Thanksgiving

My original Thanksgiving plan was to enjoy a meal at the house of one of the very generous embassy families who openly welcomed us volunteers into their homes. But, before deciding to accept the invitation of these gracious families, a group of my friends and I decided to explore the option of renting a house on Lago Coatepeque, a volcanic lake in the western part of the country, where we would share the holiday together and prepare our own Thanksgiving feast. Many thanks to the hard work and continuous research of my friends Dana and Karl, we secured the rental of an amazing home on the island, Isla Teopan, in the lake. As extravagant and this sounds, and as extravagant as the home really was, the rental price was more than reasonable and when divided amongst friends, more than affordable, even on a PCV’s budget. I’ll be honest, I needed to be convinced to join my friends on the island rather than spend Thanksgiving with an embassy family, but as I later realized, my family here in El Salvador are my friends and fellow PCVs, and it’s far more special for us to spend the holidays together than with an embassy family. It’s difficult for us all to come together being peppered across the country, some in remote mountainous spots that require a two hour hike to the nearest form of transportation, so we definitely had to aprovechar this rare opportunity to all be together.

Seeing as we weren’t going to finish up training until noon on Thanksgiving Day, my friends and I decided that we would celebrate Thanksgiving on Black Friday instead (that’s practically an official American holiday anyway, right?) By the time we would get to the island, there would simply not be enough time to roast a turkey and prepare all the other fixings.

You may be asking right now, where in the world did you find a turkey to roast for Thanksgiving? The answer is simple: Price Smart, or the Central American equivalent of Costco, complete with Kirkland Brand products. Our boss, Rolando, was clutch in our obtainment of the bird, which we later named Cessie after the lady who prepared our meals at the ENA. When discussing our Thanksgiving plans with Rolando, another PCV and I got to talking about how much we would miss cranberry sauce made from fresh Ocean Spray cranberries, when Rolando chimed in and said Price Smart would have them. Unfortunately, Price Smart is a member shopping only store, so we quickly let the idea of cranberries go. But, very generously and in the true holiday spirit, Rolando not only offered to drive us to Price Smart on our return to the Peace Corps office from the ENA, he prestared (let us borrow) his membership card. Let me just tell you, walking into Price Smart was like walking into America. All the products available for purchase, all the displays, right down to the flat screen TV area was the exact same layout as any Costco or BJ’s in the States, was mind boggling. I was thrilled to find a Butterball Young Turkey available for purchase and stunned that it was cheaper than the Salvadoran brand of Turkey. Believe it or not, the going rate of a fresh young turkey is around $2.40 per pound in your normal supermarket here in ES. We were lucky to find a 15 pound Butterball for $28, all thanks to Rolando.

After a bit more running around for groceries (there are no food stores near the island) in a tag teamed effort (Dana and I, with our assistants Axel and Karl, were shopping at separate grocery stores with hopes of finding some canned Libby’s pumpkin, but no such luck, so nearly 15 phone calls were made), our trusty PC approved driver, Don Marcelo, picked us up and we were on our way. Don Marcelo dropped us of at the ferry dock with all of our belongings and all the food and drink we purchased for our two days at the lake. We must have been quite the site to see, ten gringos completely weighed down with luggage and grocery bags, walking onto a ferry to get to our dream rental house. Once finally at Quinta Torino (that’s the name of our house) we were able to take a load off, literally and figuratively, and enjoy ourselves for two days. Many funny times ensues including a 150 pound black lab, white plastic chairs and acorns, but those are all stories for another time and place...

Thursday night the boys, led by Karl, were in charge of preparing dinner . They did an amazing job firing up the charcoal grill (yes, we brought our own charcoal) and grilling some amazing steaks which they served with homemade steak cut French fries. Karl, being the former chef and coal blaster in Argentina, grilled a perfectly seasoned steak topped it off with some traditional Argentinean sauce.

Breakfast and Thanksgiving dinner the next day were left to the girls, and if I do say so myself, I think we did a bang-up job. Dana took the helm on the breakfast effort and we feasted on a wonderful, bacon and veggie filled egg casserole, hash browned potatoes and fresh pico de gallo. Once breakfast cleanup was finished, we got straight to work on the main event.

Naturally, turkey and gravy preparation was my responsibility and I went straight to work on Martha Stewart’s traditional super fatty turkey. With careful basting every 20 minutes, I have to say that this turkey was one of my best. You definitely need to check out the photos on Facebook because how well it turned out, it looked fake. The skin was perfectly browned and crisp, the breast juicy and tender. I also prepared the cranberry sauce and was able to maintain the perfect sour and sweet balance that’s often hard to find. To round out the meal, we had mashed potatoes made by the boys, Dana’s dressing, and Katheryn’s garlic green beans. In all senses it was a traditional Thanksgiving with our non-traditional, but ever supportive and loving, PC family.

What’s Gone On Since and What’s to Come

Saturday morning came much too soon after our Thanksgiving meal, but by 7AM, my friend Kallie and I were on the ferry and on our way out east to Chinameca where our monthly PC soccer game was to be held. We were fortunate the white fluffy clouds in the sky blocked the hot afternoon sun making our two forty-five minute halves bearable, but regardless the PC Women’s Team perished. According to my veteran teammates, the Chinameca Women’s Team was the best team they have played to date, so the pill of defeat was a little easier to swallow. Though we did lose a lot to one, I can take pride in scoring our only goal. My skills as forward are being honed, and hopefully at this month’s game on December 12th I’ll continue to improve. As always it was a great time, and fortunately the boys were victorious in their match.

Since back in site, I have dived right into the swing of things. This week alone I have had two meetings with both directives of the ADESCO and my women’s group. Unfortunately it seems like some of the wind has let from their sails of excitement and I am going to have to spend some time reenergizing them. It’s difficult because with language reconnect, the natural disaster, PST2 and Thanksgiving, I had been out of site nearly the entire month of November. But, I have faith and look forward to getting the ball rolling once again.

It was decided upon by the ADESCO and myself that the main project we will be pursuing is that of latrine construction, so be sure to keep checking back for updates and to check your inboxes; I no doubt will be pediring for ayuda very soon.

Right now, it is the time of the year when both sugar cane and coffee is harvested. Believe it or not, yesterday morning I set out with my counterpart Don Miguel at 5AM and spent four hours cutting sugar cane. We were arrozaring, which means we were cutting cane to be replanted next year, not for milling. The cane that will be milled won’t be cut for another two weeks. I was also told that arrozaring is much more difficult than harvesting the cane for milling. After we finished our work, Don Miguel told me that we cut about two tons of sugar cane, each workers’ daily quota. In the parcel of land that we were cutting, there were 25 workers, so in one day 50 tons of sugar were cut. I now have a new understanding and definite appreciation of where sugar comes from and how hard the work really is. All in all it was a great experience, I only got a few scratches on my face, a couple blisters on my hands, and got to smell the sweet scent of sugar all morning. Don Miguel told me that the next time I get to go work with him won’t be until we actually harvest the cane for milling. The work we did today is usually too hard for women, but harvest for milling is a different story. Ah, machismo.

Also, tomorrow I have plans to go with my host mother, Lilian, to my family’s cafetal, or coffee land, to help cut coffee. They are currently in the process of the first of two harvests of coffee, and this year, Lilian told me there is a lot to pick and they are behind schedule in their harvest. I am curious to see if the overall supply of coffee is up as well, and if so, how it affects prices.

One last pretty exciting thing I found out this week is that I was newly appointed editor of the SAg/EE section of El Salvador’s quarterly Peace Corps magazine, El Camino. My first issue will be published in February.

Well, the countdown to my return home continues, and I’m sure the time will continue to fly up until the 23rd at 7:45AM when I hop on my first flight to Houston. I hope all is well for you back in the States, and that you know I miss you all very much. We’ll see each other so soon!!! Wahoo!!!

Millions of thanks go out to Janet who not only sent me a Thanksgiving card, but also a wonderful surprise package. (Also, thanks Mr. Dehlinger for your message on the box, what a pleasant surprise!) My host sister, Leslie, and I will be making our first batch of Rice Krispie Treats tonight to take with us as a snack while cutting coffee. The chocolate, well, that’s already been enjoyed. Thanks so much!

A very special Happy Belated Birthday goes out to my cousin Darcie! I am so sorry I wasn’t able to email or Facebook you, but as some of you know, my Blackberry was out of commission due to network issues for the last two weeks. I am reconnected now! Next, a wonderful Happy Birthday goes out to my dear Mitchy! Have an awesome time, enjoy your last birthday in college and I hope to see you while I’m home. Also, congrats on the job! Lastly, but certainly not least, a very special Happy Early Birthday goes out of my cousin Devin! I don’t want to miss your birthday, too! Be good kiddo!

First and foremost, I want to thank you all for your concern during the recent rains and landslides here in El Salvador and your willingness to mejorar (make better) the situation. As some of you already know, and as you can read below, the landslides really hit Peace Corps close to home, literally, in our training site and communities around San Vicente. Por la gracia de Dios and pure luck, all PCVs and Peace Corps staff members survived the disaster, but family members, host families, and homes unfortunately did not fair as well.

Before getting into all the details about my experience during the landslide, let me describe some recent activities that preceded my return to San Vicente.

Tamales and el Dia de los Muertos

Following my last blog update, I had four days before departing from San Luis to return to San Vicente for my language reconnect classes and the beginning of PST2, our second round of Peace Corps training more specifically geared toward our program area. As you may recall, I had had such a pretty rocking week filled with great meetings that I decided to take it easy and enjoy a relaxing weekend with my host family.

As some of you may have already learned through photos on Facebook, I spent roughly three hours hand washing my clothes, like I do every week, and relaxing reading Running With Scissors while they dried. Some volunteers pay community members to have their clothes washed (mostly male volunteers, naturally) and most others complain incessantly about the task, but besides being the best upper-body workout in the campo, I really enjoy the opportunity to get completely lost in my own thoughts. And, you wouldn’t believe the sense of accomplishment you feel after successfully getting a really bad mud stain out of a white shirt.

In Salvadoran culture when there is a death, it is tradition to have a vela, essentially a wake, the very same night at the home of the deceased. At this event, in addition to paying respects to the dead, those who call drink coffee and eat tamales into the wee hours of the morning. Tamales, for some reason that hasn’t been sufficiently explained to me, are the traditional “death food”. Seeing as Monday, November 1st was el Dia de Los Muertos (the Day of the Dead), Mama Chila wanted to make chicken tamales. When I went into town, she sent me along with the shopping list that consisted of things that I had no idea what they were to buy for the big tamale making event. Luckily, people at the market were very helpful in pointing me in the right direction for all the special ingredients. In case you weren’t aware, you can‘t just make a small batch of tamales. Mama Chila told me we would be making a minimum of 100 tamales. It’s sort of like any Rech cooking production I have every taken part of; egg dying, chowder making, no matter. Go big or go home.

That Saturday, my host mother and sister, Lilian and Leslie, came to make tamales with Mama Chila and myself. I helped clean and rip the banana leaves in which we would be rolling the tamales and watched intently as the women of my host family made the special tamale masa (dough). I did not, however, help or observe Mama Chila wring the necks of nor pluck the feathers of the chickens that were running around earlier that morning. Another interesting tradition I observed was the burning of the newly slaughtered chicken feet that were then ground into a powder-like substance and rubbed on the knees of Rolvin who is about 10 months old. When I asked why they did this, Mama Chila simply said, to help him walk. Duh, why didn’t I know that? Finally, when the masa was ready, it was time to start rolling the tamales. I watched Lilian make one first, then she walked me through my first step by step, and by the third tamale I had the hang of it. The whole process is really quite simple, just lay out a banana leaf, spoon on a bit of masa, add a piece of chicken, some chicken broth, veggies, and roll into a nice little package. Towards the end, Lilian started making special tamales grandotes (really big) for everyone in the immediate family. Let me tell you, the tamale she made me was enormous and delicious, but we couldn’t eat the tamales until the next day (duh). After being steam cooked, they need to sit over night to allow the flavors to meld together. The next day when we did finally eat them for breakfast, the tamales were amazing. Mama Chila asked me if I would be making them for my family in the States. I explained to her and said I would love to, but we don’t have banana leaves where we live. No problem, she told me, she would just pack up a bunch for me when I come home for Christmas. If I get detained at customs it George H. W. Bush airport for an agricultural violation, you’ll know why. (Just kidding Embassy people who read my blog.)

Having enjoyed the traditional food of the dead, it was time for me now to experience the great tradition of el Dia de los Muertos. Monday morning arrived, I showered and dressed before helping cut flowers to decorate the graves of family members. Mama Chila dressed up in an adorable flowered dress (flowers are the things to bring and wear on this day), we arranged the flowers and were off to the cemetery in Chalchuapa. When I say it was like Canal Fest for you Tonawandans or a street fair for all others, I am not even exaggerating the slightest. Three city blocks leading up to the cemetery entrance were blocked off to traffic and jam packed with vendors selling grave decorations and traditional foods. As we walked to the cemetery, I just took in all the sights and sounds, including mariachi bands you could hire to play three songs at your loved one’s grave for $5. The cemetery itself was busier than an amusement park on Memorial Day. There were vendors inside as well, most of whom were stationed at their loved one’s grave sites. If the site happened to be along the walkway, even better- prime vending locations. The colors of the grave decorations were remarkable. I suggest you check out my photos on Facebook to get the full effect. Vibrant reds, deep purples, and marigold orange painted the grave markers, all things that would never be seen at a Forest Lawn cemetery in the States. I helped Mama Chila decorate two graves, we sat down and rested on one in between, and ate many traditional foods including coconut candies and yucca. All in all it was a very interesting experience and a great tradition to observe. It’s so much better to celebrate the lives of the dead than mourn their losses.

Language Reconnect

Last Tuesday I left San Luis to begin the long, well over six hour trek on bus to San Vicente where I would be having my language reconnect and PST2. I stopped overnight in the capital to split up the bus ride and to have an enjoyable evening with my friends before over two weeks of training. Wednesday, after more very crowded busses, I met up in the city of San Vicente for an enjoyable night of story swapping, catching up and $1 brewskis.

Thursday morning I officially began my language reconnect classes and returned to my host community of Molineros. The classes proved to be helpful and a great refresher. We also spent a lot of time on colloquial phrases so now I actually understand what people are saying to me instead of pretending like I do.

We all returned to our training communities where we were to live during PST2. It was great to see my host family from my training community, to catch up and chat. My host siblings Kevin and Monica had both passed all their final exams and will be moving on to the next grade in January. Many of the little kids had grown taller, a strange but awesome change to see in only two months. My host mother, Loli, bought my favorite foods of Molineros for me to knosh on, including fried yucca and pasteles.

My group, being reunited (and it feels sooo goood) decided to plan a weekend beach trip to Costa del Sol. After some quick research and expert negotiations by Dana and Karl, we had reservations at an awesome hotel and a private bus all ready for a 12PM departure Saturday morning all within our PC budgets. Needless to say, we were all very excited and couldn’t wait to hit the sand and surf.

Class on Saturday dragged on and on. Halfway through out session we finally had a break, so Dana and I went to the ATM to sacar some dinero for the weekend. When we got back to the training center, much to our dismay, we had received a phone call from our training coordinator prohibiting our travel to the beach and leaving us with permission to travel only to the capital. Disappointed, frustrated and annoyed, we finished our classes and headed to the capital.

Landslide

As disappointed and frustrated as we all were that we were not allowed to go to the beach and ended up in the capital, it turns out we were luckier than we could have ever imagined. At 6AM, Dana received a text message from one of her fellow training community members, Jeff, who elected to stay in the San Vicente area instead of traveling to San Salvador with us that there had been a landslide in Verapaz, many homes had been destroyed and the number of deaths was unknown, but high. Within two hours we began piecing information together from news channels, phone calls and text messages.

I’m sure you all have read or seen a television spot on the details of the landslide, so I won’t bore you with the details. Verapaz is a pueblo a mere 2 kilometers from my training community of Molineros and the place where my fellow PCVs and I used to run daily as PCTs. Fortunately my host community only suffered mild flooding. All Peace Corps Volunteers and staff have been safely accounted for, however, most of our San Vicente staff members lost family in Verapaz and some have suffered significant property loss.

President Mauricio Funes placed the nation in a State of Emergency, and Peace Corps enacted its own emergency response plan. We were all placed on Standfast, which means that if you are safe you stay put. Seeing as we were in the capital and safe, we did just that. As we were not allowed to return to our training communities due to the level of potential danger, we all remained in the capital until Wednesday. Most of us wanted to help right away with relief effort and wanted to return to Verapaz, San Vicente as soon as possible, but even today, we are not allowed back into those communities due to potential for more natural disasters. The decisions of PC are more than understandable, but we are here to help the people of El Salvador and we feel they need our help now more than ever, specifically in the disaster areas. Also, the hardest phone call I had to make was to my host mother Loli, telling her I wouldn’t be back and asking her to pack my bag so a Peace Corps staff member could pick it up for me. With so many other things to worry about, and needing an extra pair of hands more than ever, I had to call her and tell her sorry, I wouldn’t be of help to her, and hey, make sure not to forget to pack my toothbrush. I can’t even describe how I felt during that phone call, but none of those emotions were positive.

On Wednesday I returned back to my permanent site of San Luis with mixed emotions. Glad to be back and ecstatic to be able to attend the swearing in of my community’s new ADESCO directive and kindergarten graduation, I still felt crappy that I couldn’t be helping my training community. They had given me so much during training, a home, a bed, a reason to be in El Salvador, and I am powerless in helping them when they most need it. I know in time I will have the opportunity to help them, but for now, the way I can help them most is by asking you for your assistance. Know every little bit helps, and you’re not just helping well deserving strangers, you are helping members of the Peace Corps family. If you are interested in making a monetary donation to help in the disaster relief efforts in El Salvador, please visit, aidelSalvador.org. Aid El Salvador is an NGO started by returned Peace Corps Volunteers following the earthquakes experienced in El Salvador in 2001. To aid specifically in relief efforts, please note “disaster relief” under special instructions. Thanks again for your continued love and support.

On Sunday I will be setting off for training again, so I won’t be updating the blog for a while. I hope all is well and know I miss you all. A very special Happy Birthday goes out to my big sister, Dana! I can’t wait to be home next month to celebrate with you, I love you!

Very special thank yous go out to Aunt Lynn and Uncle Randy, The Hanitzs, and Jack and Janet for the very thoughtful Halloween wishes. Also, thanks Karen for the latrine info!

Even before I applied to Peace Corps, I spoke with an array of former volunteers who all, regardless of where they served, told me that Peace Corps is what you make of it and don’t worry about being pigeon holed by your program title; you will be a jack of all trades working in a wide range of projects. I didn’t really understand what they meant by that. I simply thought, even well into my first weeks in site, that I am an agro forestry business volunteer and that’s the area in which I will be working pretty exclusively. Sure some tangential projects will come along, but ag business, that’s my domain. Haha. Not so much.

I quickly learned that the needs and wants of the community come first, no matter what. Who I am to say what is needed most in a community where I just arrived? Sure I can observe things I think they need, but my observations are made through my gringa lens, through my preconceptions of what is important. The reality of the matter is that the members of my community who were born here, who were raised here, who have lived here, and who have raised their own children here know far better than I do. During my community needs based assessment and house visits, I compiled a mountain of needs, wants, and project ideas directly from the citizens of San Luis. Among those of the highest frequency was the desire for health charlas. I have also observed the lack of dental hygiene and dental care in the community and thought that a community health fair would be a perfect way to showcase good oral hygiene techniques, basic first aid, eye sight checks, and other topics. A project such as this is sure to take a few months to plan, and one I definitely still want to pursue. But, last week when I was in a meeting with the school director (the equivalent of a principal) and discussed my potential participation in the school, he asked me if before the kids get out for their summer recess (the school calendar here runs from January to November) I could give a small charla to the entire school (we only have 120 students in grades K-6) on personal health. Of course I wasn’t about to say no, especially when I knew I had nothing major planned after my asamblea general until my second round of Peace Corps training in November, so we slated the date of October 26th for my charla.

Twenty Pounds of Toothbrushes (and Toothpaste)

When the director and I selected my charla date, he gave me two hours with the kids, some suggestions of topics to address relating to personal health, and full reign over the direction in which I could take the charla. Like I mentioned previously, a lack in dental hygiene is something I noticed right off the bat. (I blame my Grammy “D” for making me so observant of other people’s teeth.) Many of the young children have rotten teeth or have prematurely lost their teeth due to decay. Certainly this isn’t such a pressing issue as if they had their adult teeth, but habits are formed while young, and there are few other good habits like teeth brushing that need to be learned at a young age.

Every rural community has a promotor de salud (health promoter) who comes around to the community and gives education and resources relating to health from the government such as prenatal care, sex education, dengue and malaria prevention, etc. Knowing this, I gave a call to our Promotora de Salud, Edith Evelyn, hoping she would be able to hook me up with some toothbrushes for the kids. She informed me that she had a meeting at the Unidad de Salud (the government run health ministry and hospital) with all the other promotores de salud that Wednesday, she would ask for me if any such materials were available, and if I wanted I could come to the meeting, too. Unfortunately, that Wednesday was the day of my Asamblea General and both meetings happened to be at the same time, so I wouldn’t be able to attend. Evelyn told me that it wasn’t a problem and she’d be in touch. Thursday came and went and I still hadn’t heard from her, so first thing Friday morning I gave Evelyn a ring. She said, no problem about the toothbrushes, we just need to go to the Unidad de Salud together to pick them up. Seeing as my charla was the following Monday morning, that afternoon was the only opportunity we had to pick them up, so we planned on meeting up on the 2PM bus from my community to the main pueblo where the Unidad de Salud is. Everything was shaping up rather nicely.

Literally five minutes after I got off the phone, my friend Dana called with a proposition. She was going to have to stay in San Salvador Friday night due to a medical appointment and seeing as I was going to come in to San Sal the following day, why not just join her and our other friend, Lauren who was in for another meeting, for a nice girls’ night? I hemmed and hawed for a while, knowing I absolutely needed to pick up the toothbrushes, but also knowing I would already be in the pueblo and just need to hop on a bus to the capital. How heavy could toothbrushes be? I would be able to manage them no problem. I made the decision right then to head in to the capital a night early, toothbrushes and all.

Evelyn and I met on the bus without issue and once in Chalchuapa trekked our way to the Unidad de Salud. Much to my pleasant surprise, we not only got the 125 toothbrushes we requested, we got the deluxe tooth brushing packet from Colgate that included two toothbrushes and a mini tube of toothpaste. I was ecstatic with these great resources from the Unidad de Salud. It wasn’t until I picked up my very full bag that I realized 250 toothbrushes and 125 mini tubes of toothpaste sure weigh a lot. But, no matter, all for the health of children’s teeth. Evelyn and I thanked the doctor who signed off on our donation and started our trek back to where the busses are. That bag somehow gained ten pounds, I swear. Evelyn left me as I hopped on a San Salvador bound bus around 3:30PM, weighed down with my backpack and (minimum) twenty pounds of dental hygiene products. As if being a blonde haired, blued eyed gringa wasn’t enough of an attention getter, I was cargaring a dentist’s arsenal to fight the battle against tooth decay, plaque and gingivitis.

Sushi

After wrestling my oral hygiene materials off the bus in the Western Terminal in San Salvador, I hopped on a local city bus to meet up with my girlfriends for dinner. The bus ride was thankfully very quick as I was very hot and very tired, and couldn’t wait to meet my friends. When Lauren and Dana caught sight of me literally dripping in sweat and lugging my toothbrushes, they couldn’t help but laugh. Naturally they were curious as to why I brought all these charla materials with me, but after they heard my tale, they not only understood, but were surprised I was already soliciting donations and giving charlas.

Dana and Lauren decided on sushi for dinner, and thanks to the guidance of a few veteran volunteers, we were able to enjoy a fabulous meal at half price. The trick is that you need to get your order in before 6PM and if you do, all sushi rolls are half off. On a Peace Corps budget, learning that was like finding the holy grail.

To describe how delicious miso soup and a spicy tuna roll with avocado is after maintaining a diet of mainly beans, corn and eggs is nearly impossible. The three of us savored our meal as we discussed our sites, how programming was going, our Asamblea General experiences and encouraged one another. It may seem silly, but little times like these, the opportunities you have to sit and decompress, and speak in English, after days upon days of solitude and Spanish, are precious.

A Series of First

After a fabulous weekend in the capital at our favorite hostel (Lonely Planet even describes it as being a little too Peace Corps oriented) I was up and on a bus back home by 8AM Sunday morning. Once back in my community it was all dental hygiene charla prep. (Be sure to check out my photos on Facebook, there is a great one of my “Four Steps of Tooth Brushing” poster, not to mention some action shots of the charla itself.) I really had no idea I would be making so many presentation posters like I did back in high school. Sometimes I feel like I am still in Ms. Abernethy’s Spanish class, staying up late preparing to give an oral presentation (yes, Mom, because I procrastinate) when I make these posters. But, as any good presenter, or teacher (I hardly feel like I can call myself a teacher), knows, visuals help. My favorite comment came from my host grandma Mama Chila: “Nina Rosellen! El cepillo aparece como un cepillo!” (Rosellen, the toothbrush looks like a toothbrush!) I must admit I was a little shocked, too, that the poster turned out as well as it did; that just goes to show you I did learn a thing or two in Mr. Adams’ art classes.

9:30AM Monday morning rolled around and I was ready to rock and roll. I packed up my cesta (big, florescent basket) with all my materials, toothbrushes and camera and strolled on down to the school with enough time to set up for my charla’s 10AM start. Much to my surprise and dismay, the school was closed! As it turns out, the director cancelled classes for the day because he, who also teaches first grade, had to attend a meeting in the pueblo. This isn’t a rare occurrence as there is no teacher substituting and no real requirement for days of instruction that is enforced. Shocking, I know; the education system is in development and improving little by little. Needless to stay I was disappointed and a little mad that the director didn’t inform me that classes were cancelled and I was unable to give my charla, but at this point I couldn’t change what happened, and from what other volunteers have shared, meeting changes and cancellations are common place, so I better learn to suck it up and deal with it. On Tuesday I spoke with the director and we rescheduled for the next day, Wednesday.

Because of this change in my schedule on Monday, I had the opportunity to participate in one of many firsts this week. I sat down with the women of my host family and shucked three huge sacks filled with corn to later make tamales and atol (a beverage made of corn that if it is reduced enough is sort of like a pudding, otherwise is like a pudding that hasn’t settled, served warm). Mama Chila came and wrapped a traditional Salvadoran apron around my waste (I wish I had taken a photo), sat me down and showed me how to shuck the right way, saving the husks for tamale making. Two hours later we finished the mountainous task, I helped clean up while my host aunt, Chio, took the corn to the mill to make tamales. When she got back she and my other host aunt, Soyla, taught me how to tamalear (make tamales). I love how they make verbs out of nouns here! Little by little I was getting better, and by the end you could no longer tell my tamales apart from the rest, a huge accomplishment! After the tamales were steamed, I was able to try to the fruits of my labor, and they were pretty delicious. I think what makes them so good, though, is the lard, sugar and milk added to them, not just the corn.

My next first of the week came the following day in the afternoon when we held my ADESCO’s meeting of the new directive. As all meetings in El Salvador, we started thirty minutes after the appointed start time, ran much longer than we needed to, but gracias a Dios, we accomplished some things. For starters, Don Miguel, my counterpart and newly reelected president, informed us all that this meeting was the first time in his four years as president that the entire directive was present at one of their meetings. To me this was shocking, that never before had everyone fulfilled their obligation as a member of the directive, but was also pleased to see the change and to observe that these people are (hopefully ) dedicated to their posts. The ADESCO directive and I now have a symbiotic relationship in which I help them with their organization and the execution of projects, while they help me in getting the citizens of San Luis excited and involved in their community. What I was really pleased with during this meeting is that we selected a day in which we will meet every week without fail. Grant it this process took well over thirty minutes, but it was done, a check mark for an accomplishment! We also decided that this Saturday at 1PM on the school grounds we will be breaking the piñatas that the Alcaldia (mayor’s office) brought to the community during that Wednesday’s Asamblea General. They were originally meant for El Dia de los Ninos, but that was about three weeks ago, a little late. Regardless, we are going to have them for the kids, an event which they are sure to love. We had to adjourn the meetings a little early because it got dark and there are no electric lights in the school, but on the whole we had a very successful meeting! I really couldn’t have been more pleased with the outcome.

Wednesday morning at 10AM finally came around, I rolled up my sleeves and gave my first charla to a very large, very age diverse group of children, and needless to say I learned a ton. I am certain I got more out of the experience than the kids.

The director of the school suggested all 120 children be in one room together so I didn’t have to give the charla more than once. Not having any prior experience, I thought, ok there’s no problem in giving a simple tooth brushing lesson to kids K-6, ages 5-15 (yes, there are 15 year old 6th graders). Goodness was I wrong! But, just a lesson learned for the next charla. All things considered though, things went pretty well. Because the confines of the room were too restrictive, we moved outside right away. To start out, I tried to play Four Corners with the kids, a game my group in Molineros and I played with our youth group there all the time. In Molineros, our numbers were much smaller, which naturally made the game easier. Here, my numbers were too large, the little kids didn’t understand the directions, and the big kids were too cool to follow them. After about a half round of the game, I saw that things just weren’t working and I needed to change gears and move on. I then transitioned to the educational variation on Four Corners where instead of numbers each corner represents the answers yes, no, sometimes, and I don’t know. I read statements such as “I brush my teeth everyday” and had the intent of the kids each going to their appropriate corners and discussing why there were standing where they were. But, the thing I knew previously and stupidly hoped wouldn’t be an issue is pena, the ever present Salvadoran embarrassment and shame complex. No one was willing to show their true responses, so what ended up happening was everyone ran to the same corner, following the crowd.

I know this lesson sounds like a huge disaster, and really up until this point it was. I wasn’t getting the participation I hoped for, no one was really listening, but thankfully it all turned around. We returned to the classroom where my fabulous steps to tooth brushing poster was hung up, and we had a quick discussion on why it’s important to brush your teeth, at a minimum, twice a day. Much to my surprise the kids participated, listened to each other and had some very great and some very funny ideas. We then went over the four steps of tooth brushing and pretended to do the actions with our “cepillos de dedos” (finger brushes). I then passed out the Colgate “Bright Smiles, Bright Futures” packets and we all went outside. We then practiced brushing our teeth together and honestly, I have never seen kids so excited over such a simple thing- it was AWESOME! Like I said, I think I learned more than the kids, especially in effective charla giving, but they definitely had the fun and that couldn’t have made me happier.

My last first of the week happened this Wednesday afternoon. Remember how I mentioned last week being approached by a few women asking to start a women’s association? Well, I printed out flyers and invitations, passed them out and hoped that I would get five people to attend my meeting. Much to my very pleasant surprise, over thirty women were in attendance, all of varying ages from 13 to well into their 70s. During this meeting we talked about what we want from our women’s group, what we want to do with our women’s group, we elected a directive and we also chose a name for the group. I am very pleased with the results of the election and feel we have some very strong, innovative women at the helm. Also, the name that they chose is pretty creative and illustrates what I think their mission is going to become: La Asociacion de Mujeres en Busca del Bienestar de la Comunidad. The Association of Women in Pursuit of the Wellbeing of the Community. Pretty powerful, don’t you think?

On the whole I have had a pretty amazing week. I have been keeping busy, playing soccer with my girls in the afternoons and have had amazing formal meetings. I am very fortunate to have been welcomed into my community and to have people who want and are willing to work with me. During training, one of our instructors told us that when we return to PST2 after two months of service (that is our second round of training more tailored to our programs that I will be attending starting November 4th) some of us will come back tired, run down and frustrated while other will waltz in with a swagger, a confidence and a sense of accomplishment. Luckily for me, I’ve got swagger and couldn’t be happier. Don’t get me wrong, it hasn’t all been a cake walk and I’ve had some days filled with doubt, but on the whole, things are pretty good. I just can’t wait until one of you finally buys your ticket and flies your butt down here so I can show you, instead of telling you, how amazing this experience is.

Time has been flying here in western El Salvador, and somehow I have managed to keep myself sufficiently busy and escaped the first months of service Ok-I’m-Here-What-Now? Syndrome. Whether it’s been visiting as many houses as possible before my first asamblea general (general assembly community meeting), traveling to play soccer on the PC women’s team, or spending nearly three hours hand washing my clothes, I have managed to effectively fight boredom and feel (relatively) productive.

Soccer

Much to my surprise, especially since I haven’t seriously kicked a soccer ball since Tonawanda Soccer Club peewee league back in ‘92, futbol, as it is known here, has become a significant part of my life. Like I shared in my last blog entry, I have begun playing regularly with the girls in my community. Of course since we’ve begun, our numbers have dwindled and surged, but now we are holding steady with a solid group of 15 girls who are excited and eager to play four days a week, usually during the hottest part of the day. With the group of girls I have now, I have transitioned from simply playing with them and goofing around to more of a coach figure. The girls expressed interest in learning new techniques and starting drills, but for me this wasn’t so easy. Ask me for a swimming, diving, squash, softball, even basketball drill, no problem I can rattle off a list, but soccer? I have no clue. Thanks to some help from Stefan back in the B-lo, I now have some simple, fun drills to run with the girls. You can tell that they are having a great time all while learning something new, which is a really cool thing to see.

This past Monday we did probably the funniest drill/skill practice. There was a lot of pushing going on for whatever reason- heat, raging hormones, drama (who knew 10 year olds had boyfriends?)- which I tried to explain would get them booted from a game if we ever get to play in one. (I’m working on forming a league with the girls’ teams of other PCVs nearby. It’s coming along, slowly but surely, as all things do.) This, I thought rather poignant, explanation did nothing to deter the girls. I can’t remember where I saw this drill, probably in Bend it Like Beckham, but I got the idea of having the girls hold their arms behind their backs while they played so they couldn’t push. Let me just say, hilarity ensued. (Bad placement of a Tucker Max reference, I know.) Try kicking a ball without balancing yourself with your arms. It doesn’t really work. Try just running with your arms behind your back. It’s so much harder than you’d imagine. Within seconds, there were girls rolling on the ground laughing after wiping out attempting to kick the ball. These girls are so full of energy and untapped potential, both on the field and off the field, I can’t wait to see how they continue to develop over the course of the next two years. Needless to say, the drill was pretty effective in getting the point across: no pushing!

Besides just playing with my girls, I also had the opportunity to play in my first game with the Peace Corps women’s team on October 11th. Though the game was in my home department, travel still took well over three hours, which meant that I had to leave my site the night before to stay with my PCV friend Bri in her site. It was awesome to see someone else’s site, to see how they are adjusting and what their living situation is like. Bri has a really great host family with a sister who is in university like my host sister, and host parents who are 100% entrepreneurs. For example, Bri’s host mom just earned her certification in cosmetology so she could be the beautician in their community. She even gave me a hair cut while I was there. The first one, she said, was gratis (free), but there after I’d be a paying costumer. I was a little nervous as she took the first few snips, and she seemed just as nervous as I was- I was her first blonde. I figured though, what’s the big deal? It’s hair, I’m a freak in El Salvador anyway with my pale skin and blue eyes, and it’ll grow back. In the end though, she did a great trim job while we all sat around and joked. Bri’s host mom even taught us a few explicatives. The whole family was very sweet and welcoming.

The morning of the game, Bri and I were up by 6:45AM, ate the Salvadoran breakfast of champions- eggs, fried plantains, beans, bread and cheese- and were on our way to the game’s site by 7:30AM. We met up with three other PCVs on the way there and arrived, finally, a little after 11AM. Unfortunately, due to the late notice of the game and how difficult it was to get to the game’s site, only seven female PCVs were present, but we borrowed four Salvadorans for our team. When I told our captain I hadn’t played in years and that I really didn’t know what to do in any position, she placed me as forward, told me who to mark, to run like hell, and hip check as much as possible, all while trying to score a goal. OK, no problem I could do that. Surprisingly I wasn’t so bad. A full game of play later under the beating sun, the Peace Corps women’s team reined victorious with a final score of 2-1. So no, I didn’t score a goal, but I did have a really nice assist for the first goal and rocked a girl on the other team with my hip checking skills. Also, I myself got rocked by a girl half my size, literally gringa in flight. But, it was ridiculously fun and we got a penalty kick off of it; really, not such a bad deal. As if winning wasn’t icing on the cake enough, it was topped off with a big side of ice cream when we found out we also won a trophy. We won the women’s portion of the entire tournament with one game. What an awesome first experience. Our trophy now sits in the Peace Corps office in San Sal where we plan on getting (most likely making) a trophy case for all our future victories.

We are going to be ordering new PC jerseys soon and I have to choose a name to put on the back of mine. I think I am going to go with Chapudita which means “little rosie cheeked one”, which is what every Salvadoran calls me after I have been outside for more than five minutes. It’s got a nice ring to it, and if that one professional football player can have Ocho Cinco on his jersey, why can’t I put Chapudita on mine?

100 House Visits

As you all know, during my first weeks in site my main responsibility, in addition to getting to know the people in my caserio, was to conduct a community needs based assessment. I did this by going on house visits nearly every morning with my walk-around committee, a different pair of community members everyday who would accompany me. During each visit, I would tell my new neighbors a little about myself, about Peace Corps, why I am here in San Luis, and why I am sitting in their home at the present. I then conducted a very basic census and questionnaire, collecting pieces of data such as age, occupation, education level, what types of crops they grow, whether they had interest in learning about certain topics, and concluded with discussions of their perceptions of the needs of the community and their ideas for potential projects. For anyone who is familiar with Latin American culture, you know that pena- shyness, shame, embarrassment- is a common and ever-present force. People aren’t as eager or willing to express their opinions and needs as Americans and at times it was like pulling teeth for me. Accordingly, I had to cap my daily house visits at seven, because I found I grew too frustrated to take the time to pry a little, encourage a lot and cajole ideas from them. Also, the amount of machismo, male dominance over the female, is another Latin American cultural aspect that I have, and will continue, to combat here in El Salvador. During some visits, I had women tell me they weren’t able to talk with me without their husbands present, they had no ideas or were incapable of producing them. Every time I encountered a woman like this, it killed me to see all her untapped potential, her insecurities after years of being told she’s not as good as her male counterpart, and all the ideas in her head that she just has too much pena to vocalize. What killed me the most, though, was when I was conducting my questionnaire at the home of a man who had five daughters with his wife. I asked him, after he had listed off to me his ideas, whether his daughters or wife had any ideas or thoughts they would like for me to include in my data. He responded by saying something like, “If they could think they would have ideas, but they can’t.” I was so appalled I didn’t know how to respond. All I could think was that my father would never say anything like that about me, that he always encouraged me and how different and difficult life must be for these girls without the support of their fathers. (You’re probably thinking, “start a women’s group!” Don’t worry, I’ll get to that part of the story in a bit.)

This past Thursday, as lunch time was quickly approaching and I sat down to my last house visit of the day, I realized that I was about to start my 100th visit, really quite an accomplishment. It wasn’t one of my best visits filled with great conversation and strong brainstorming sessions, but it was a memorable one nonetheless and a true landmark event for me. I completed more house visits than any other volunteer had in Peace Corps El Salvador. Knowing that seven more house visits wouldn’t make any statistically significant differences in my data analysis, and also liking the nice even number (gotta keep ‘em even, Cait), I decided that I was finished. Number crunching would be easier, and I’d have one more day to do quality analysis and preparation.

After a weekend away in the capital with my friends celebrating October birthdays, I arrived back in San Luis Sunday morning relaxed, rested (well, sort of- dollar drafts at Tony Roma’s will get you every time) and dove right in to my analysis. All Sunday and Monday I spent number crunching and found out some remarkable things, such as the average household spends over three hours per week collecting firewood for cooking, which has the potential to be cut down to three hours every month if an efficient wood burning stove is used instead of traditional, open-air fires. The efficient stove project is going to be one of my first here in the community. At $30 a piece, a hefty price at first glance, they quickly pay for themselves in the amount of firewood and time saved, not to mention the added health benefits of these near-smokeless stoves. There is a whole bunch more information, but I won’t bore you all with it. Tuesday was spent making my posters and planning the structure and content of my presentation. I made four posters: Todo Sobre Yo, Cuerpo de Paz, El Programa de Agricultura Sostenible, y Nuestra Comunidad- San Luis. Translated: All About Me, Peace Corps, The Sustainable Agriculture Program, and Our Community- San Luis. Everybody loves visuals and they served as more of a guide for me during my presentation.

The Big Day

Finally Wednesday, October 21, 2009 rolled around, the day of my first Asamblea General, my first real presentation in front of my entire community, all in Spanish, all by myself (with a little help from my boss, Rolando). The day was off to a rocky start when our potable water, which is supposed to be running every other day, was cut off only about 30 minutes after it began running. This was nowhere near enough time for my host aunt, she’s more like a sister, Soyla to clean out the pila- the large water retainer- with bleach (it prevents mosquito larvae from growing and spreading malaria and dengue) and refill it. In the time the water was running, the pila was only filled about 5% of the way. This meant bathing for me was a bit more of a precarious situation with the significant lack of water. Of course wanting to be fresh and clean for my big day, I had to think quickly, Tim Gunn it and make it work. I decided a face and hair wash and thick deodorant application would have to do for the day.

Noon time rolled around, I was starting to get anxious waiting in my khakis and navy blue polo (talk about American stereotype) and I was expecting my boss Rolando between 1:30 and 2PM, so headed down to the school where my counterpart Don Miguel and I began to set up and prepare for the meeting. I had my posters hanging in no time and found myself sitting on a desk, swinging my legs and reading and rereading my notes after having swept the meeting area and finished the minimal preparations. Around 1:15PM people started to arrive, yet no Rolando. This wasn’t so surprising to me, this is Latin America and time and punctuality is more heavily dictated by the sun than actual clocks. I passed the time by eating some cucumbers with lime juice and hot sauce that one of the ladies were selling. When 2PM rolled around, I got a little nervous when Rolando still wasn’t there, so I thought it would be a good idea to eat some more, oranges this time. Finally, 2:45PM rolled around, 15 minutes after my asamblea was supposed to start and still no Rolando. I decided a phone call was in order, though I was sure he was turning up my road as I was calling. When he answered, the background was far too quiet for him to be driving and I knew then something was not right. As it turns out, he mixed up his schedule for the day and forgot that he was supposed to be in my community with me for my asamblea. Angry, frustrated and on the verge of tears, Rolando realized and apologized for his mistake and hopped right in a car to head to San Luis. Everybody makes mistakes, so I couldn't be angry with him, especially when he remedied the situation and got to my site as quickly as possible. Thankfully we were able to rearrange the order of the meeting to allow for the hour and a half necessary to arrive in my site from San Salvador. Rolando arrived apologizing profusely just as the other agenda items were being completed and we went up on stage to start my portion of the presentation. Still stressed and not feeling as comfortable or confident as I would have liked, I began my meeting. A few sentences in I abandoned my yellow legal pad filled with notes and just let it flow. By some divine intervention, my Spanish flowed beautifully, my community actually listened while I spoke, and I was even successful at making a few jokes. Rolando closed out the meeting for me, and as it all ended I was feeling great. Apparently my presentation was pretty great, everyone really did understand me, and to boot I had three women come up to me after the meeting asking if we could start a women’s group. This Wednesday we are going to have our first general interest meeting of the Women’s Group of San Luis. Even more exciting, during the election of the new directive, three new women were placed on the ADESCO directiva, bringing the total now up to four. This is a huge step for my community and a giant leap toward combating machismo and promoting gender equality.

The Next Steps

Now that my community diagnostics are complete, I officially begin my work as a Peace Corps Volunteer, that is until I have to return to San Vicente for my second round of training. Though the days are few until I head out, I’ve got quite a few things going. In addition to the women’s group meeting next Wednesday, I will be giving a health charla- talk or lecture- to the kids in the school on personal hygiene, specifically related to teeth brushing and hand washing. Dental care is really an issue here and an important problem to address at a young age. I am currently working with our community’s health promoter to get donated toothbrushes for all the kids. So far, I haven’t been so lucky, but I’ll keep you updated. Also, Tuesday I will be meeting with the new ADESCO directiva and will be able to make a plan of action for the entire community. In addition to all this, my soccer girls are keeping me busy with four days of practice a week and want to play longer every day we are on the field. They are pretty awesome.

All in all, I have to say my first months have been a success in site. And if the time keeps flying as quickly as these last two months have, I will be back in the States before I know it.

A very special Happy 23rd Birthday goes out to my BEST FRIEND Caitlin Anne McIntyre! I miss you very much and am sad I am unable to be with you on your special day. Additionally, a Happy Belated 24th Birthday goes out to Stefan- I’m sorry I couldn’t join you and all the other COTers at Squire’s last Saturday, though I did think of you while I drank a beer in San Salvador. To all my ROC loves, I missed you very much at Mel Weekend and have really enjoyed Facebook stalking all the photos. Lastly, but certainly not least, CONGRATULATIONS go out to CARLA BURNS on officially swearing in as a member of Peace Corps Senegal last Friday. Way to go girlfriend! And Yorda in Morocco, hang in there girl. We can’t wait for you to join the PC Club.

Much love to you all back in the States

Grant it September is a short one, only thirty days, it is still hard to believe that I have been in site (now over) one whole month. All things considered, I feel like I have been doing pretty well adjusting, assimilating and building confianza (trust, friendship) in my community. Below is a run down of the events and details of my life, and if there are some things I have already shared with you either via letters, emails, or phone calls, to borrow a phrase from my Grammy D, it bears repeating.

Home Life

I am lucky to have a very generous sized room, complete with tiled floor, wardrobe, and full size bed (covered by a mosquito net, naturally) all to myself. Thankfully there is a window in the room as well to keep it cool and fresco during the warm days (which are everyday), and often sweaty nights. Due to my many mosquito friends who happen to love my A+ sweet blood, I had to get crafty with screening techniques for the window. What I ended up doing was buying mosquito netting at a fabric store with the smallest screen hole size I could find, that just happened to be my favorite color, blue, and I rigged it up with two nails and a lot of packing tape. Duct tape would have been my first choice, but you make due with what you have. As for its structural soundness, to date it is still up and has only required a few minor repairs. Aren’t you so proud of me, Dad?

In the room outside of mine, I have a large desk that my host parents moved from their room of the house for me to work on. It’s a great big work space, and as any desk does, it is quickly becoming buried in my notebooks, papers, charla (lecture/workshop) supplies, and drawings the kids make with me. It’s great to have a designated workspace with room to spread out. The funniest thing on my desk, though, is the candle I have incase the electricity goes out (which it has once, for over just 48 hours). For those of you good Catholics, or even the cafeteria variety and disillusioned, just think prayer candles in the back of the church. You know, the ones that cost $3 donation to light. I bought mine at the grocery store and it has a picture of the Virgin of Guadalupe with the words “La Fe”, or Faith, on it. So, yes, it’s a little strange, but it suits its purpose rather nicely.

As far as cooking goes, my host grandmother, Mama Chila (she‘s amazing and pretty much my best friend), has done the majority, but I have begun to cook more consistently for myself. I use the table top gas burners we have and usually stir-fry up some fresh veggies that I eat with tortillas. The tortillas here aren’t what we think of in the traditional sense of thin, flat flour tortillas in the States. These tortillas are made from freshly milled corn and are about ¼ inch thick and 5 inches in diameter, cooked on an iron over a wood burning stove. When they are made with the fresh corn masa (dough) they really are delicious. A lot of my diet, though, consists of red beans and eggs. One great thing about the food is that at the market all the fresh veggies and fruits are pretty cheap. Just as an example, I bought five fresh avocados for a dollar and six large plantains for another. Pretty sweet deal, I think. And, being a person who gets on a “kick” and likes to eat the same thing for a while then change, it’s great that most crops are only around for a bit while they are in season, and then they aren’t available any more it’s on to the next crop.

This past Sunday, my younger host sister Leslie, host cousins Helen and Katy, and I made Corn Flake treats. I couldn’t find Rice Krispies in my local grocery store (and by local I mean the one in the nearest city that takes 45 minutes by bus to get to, also where the outdoor market is), so we made due with Corn Flakes; they turned out more like Christmas Wreaths (one of my favorite holiday treats) but were delicious nonetheless. We don’t have a gas oven, just a wood burning one, but we don’t have enough fire wood to heat it right now, so we had to make something that didn’t require baking. (If anyone has any good non-bake recipes, please send them my way!) The girls loved the whole thing and we ate it all up by the end of the afternoon.

As many of you know, I have a pretty strong obsession and love for toilets since arriving here in ES. I, however, don’t have a toilet at my home here, but rather a latrine. This is a fact of life in the developing world that I have come to accept: toilets aren’t that important when you need to meet other, more important needs, such as making sure there is food on the table and clean water to drink. Furthermore, I am very lucky to even have a latrine as around 30% of the homes within my community lack them. Besides, I think I would get lonely without my little lizard friend who lives in my latrine and that I have named Lorenzo who accompanies me. Accordingly to meet the needs of my community, I am planning on one of my first projects being latrine building, so if anyone is interested in coming down to visit, I sure would love if you came down during construction time. The more manpower, the betterJ

With regards to my host family, I really don’t think I could have gotten any luckier. For those of you who have lived with me, you know I love my space and like the opportunity to separate myself from others, especially while working. For my host family’s schedule, this works out perfectly. My host family has another, very modest home in a sort of suburban development outside of the city where my host father has his accounting practice, where my host sister Leslie goes to school and about 20 minutes from where my host sister Xenia attends university. They live there most of the time and come up to the house where I am living every Saturday night to Sunday evening, and occasionally one night during the week. Basically, I have a host family and people to spend time with on the weekend when I am not working and usually don’t have anything to do, and during the week when I am occupied and often look forward to quiet evenings alone, I have that luxury. Also, during the week I always have Mama Chila who is there to make me smile, give me a hug, and make sure I have eaten my daily quota of tortillas, as well as Soyla (my host cousin), Yefri, Rolvin, and Katy (my host little cousins). Yefri is three and Katy is seven and we like to color and play playdoh. Teaching the concept of playdoh was a little difficult at first as they just wanted to eat it (not really a big deal as I made Mrs. Sherman’s homemade playdoh recipe from Salem Nursery School and I am sure I ate it myself), but eventually we got a hang of it and it’s great fun. Yefri really hadn’t done much “educational play” before I got here, so it’s been really awesome to watch him learn as he plays. In these four short weeks alone, he has learned how to hold a crayon, is starting to learn colors, has improved motor skills, and his imagination is great.

Work Life

I suppose technically my entire life here is considered my “work” as I am a PCV 24/7/365, but most of it’s too much fun to really be considered work. Sure it’s challenging when I just can’t produce the word I want to use, when I have no freaking clue what is being said to me and I am up to my calves in mud and cow poop, but at the end of the day it’s all pretty funny, I remember where I am, how lucky I am to be here, and this is just all part of my life as a PCV.

So during my first two months of service, before I return to San Vicente for my second round of training in November more specifically geared toward agriculture (I am really excited for this; we get to attend the agricultural college and will receive intense practical training), I am focused on completing a community needs-based assessment and diagnostic. That’s just a really fancy way of saying I am trying to figure out what the community needs and wants in terms of projects, trainings and programs. To do this, I have been conducting house visits where I basically show up, tell a little bit about myself, try to get to know those I am visiting, and conduct a survey gauging knowledge and interest levels about various themes, such as composting and crop diversification. I also chat with my community members about their needs, the needs they perceive the community has, and other various project ideas they may have and may want to pursue while I am here. Based on the 65 visits that I have completed to date, one of the most pressing projects, as I have mentioned, is latrine building and there is significant interest in bringing computers to the school. It’s hard to imagine a school without computers, but when the amount of discretionary funding the school receives per pupil is $15 per year and only about 120 students, there are far more important things to spend that $1800 on. In addition to the ideas I have been collecting from my community members, I am also observing tons of potential project ideas that I scribble in the margins of my interview notes. I have begun to compile a list of these project ideas and have taped it up in my room, directly in my line of vision near my doorway, so I am forced to look at them everyday, multiple times a day.

In addition to my house visits, I have gone to various agencies in the main city and made some contacts for potential project collaboration and support. From the mayor’s office to the sugar mill to the police station, I have met some very great contacts and people that will help me to get things rolling. I am quickly learning that being a PCV means being a catalyst, an organizer and a jack of all trades. All the puzzle pieces of development are here and at our disposal, we just need figure out which way is up and put them all together.

On October 21st, my boss Rolando will be coming to visit my site and observe my first asemblea general that I will be leading. Here I will present a little more information about myself, give a brief explanation of the history of the Peace Corps, and present the findings of my community diagnostic. I am very excited to present my findings to the community, selecting the projects we want to pursue and getting starts on my first project with my community.

Social Life

Living in a small caserio, I have quickly reconfigured my definition of a social life from dinners and drinks with friends, to any event that gets me out of the house with people I can converse with. For me, my main social activity, and the one I enjoy the most, is playing soccer with the girls of my caserio. The first time we headed out to the cancha (field) to play, about 12 girls between the ages of 7 and 13 came out to play. By the second time we went to play, our numbers have grown to near 30, and the boys caught word of our play and wanted to join in. The thing with boys and girls playing soccer together, it ends up being a boys’ game with girls jogging back and forth, just hoping to get a chance to kick the ball once or twice. Because our numbers have grown so quickly and have remained so strong, I am starting to make a soccer schedule, where the younger girls have the field for a period of time, followed by the older girls, and lastly the boys. What I would really love to do in the long run is officially establish teams and play against other teams from other communities. I have a couple PC friends within 10km from my caserio, and I hope I can convince them to start teams in their sites as well. We would then be able to easily travel to each others’ sites and have matches with our teams. We’ll see how it goes- keep your fingers crossed it works out.

As far as friends my own age goes, my host sister Xenia is who I hang out with the most. Last weekend we went to visit the department capital of Santa Ana, had great conversation over coffee and went to a fair in the main park of the city. There I bought a lovely indigo dyed dress that I am just waiting to wear. It’s not really something I can pull off in my daily wardrobe, but is perfect for when I eventually get myself to the beach. Also, this past week I have begun running in the mornings with my new friend Jilma, who is 24. She works as a police officer with the PNC, Policia Nacional Civil, in San Salvador. It’s nice to have someone to consistently run with, seeing as it’s not really socially acceptable for me to go out running alone.

About once a week I get a chance to meet up with at least one of my PC friends, usually the ones who live closest to me, for lunch or a visit to the market. About every three weeks I get to meet up with my other friends who live farther away in the capital where we take full advantage of our pool privileges at the Sheraton and our drastically increased food options such as sushi, bagels, and believe it or not, there is a chicken wing place called Buffalo Wings ES, sort of in the style of Buffalo Wild Wings. I have yet to visit, but hope to get the opportunity the next time I am in the capital in a week or so to celebrate October birthdays.

Life in site does get lonely at times, but I am making friends, ever slowly but surely. Also, letters and emails from home continue to brighten my days. A special thanks goes out to Aunt Lynn for one of my first letters received at my new mailing address, and to Mom and Dad for my first package that I received on my one month anniversary in site. A special Happy 12th Birthday goes out to Cousin John- I can’t believe how old you are!

As always, I hope all is well back state side. I can’t wait to hear from you all soon!

First and foremost, I apologize for not having updated this blog in well over three weeks, but as I am sure you can understand, my time has been, well, hectic and my internet access sporadic. In any event, here is a run down of my life during the past three weeks:

Swearing In

On Friday, September 4th I officially swore in as a volunteer of Peace Corps El Salvador at the Ambassador’s residence at the United States Embassy in the capital city of San Salvador. Upon arrival at the Embassy, we were required to pass through a quick security check point before entering the grounds. To say the grounds of the Embassy are impressive is an understatement. The meticulously pruned shrubs, beautifully manicured laws and perfectly maintained buildings were an unfamiliar site and drastically different from the way of Salvadoran campo life I have become accustomed to over the last two months. Architecturally speaking, the buildings on the Embassy grounds reminded me of government buildings in Washington, DC. (Warning: the next statement has a high cheesy and cliché rating). While walking to the residence, I caught site of the American Flag, a sight that I hadn’t seen since leaving the country two months ago. I literally stopped in my tracks, felt a strange, yet strong feeling of pride for our country that I hadn’t before experienced, paused to take it all in, and took a photo of the massive, waving banner. Maybe it was that fact that training was finally over, maybe it was the heat, maybe it was just because I was at the Embassy, but I never before felt such an identifying connection with my country.

The Ambassador’s residence is a large, gorgeous building, clearly designed for official diplomatic events. With the baby grand piano, sitting room and massive dining room, it’s simple to imagine the important meetings and dinners that the residence hosts. For me, though, the most impressive of all the home’s features was the bathroom. Having been deprived of a bathroom in the sense of the term we use in the States for the last two months, I felt I had died and gone to bathroom heaven. The marble floor was so shiny I could see my reflection, the toilet so clean you could eat off of it (well, maybe not, that’s just gross), the fixtures polished to a perfect sheen, and, in additional to all this, I knew for a fact that I wasn’t going to be joined in the restroom by ants, scorpions, cockroaches, or frogs. Talk about amazing.

The ceremony itself was extraordinary. My group of 33 volunteers officially swore into the Peace Corps in the presence of not only all of our host families, current volunteers from other training classes, and Peace Corps staff, but in front of the US Ambassador to El Salvador- Robert Blau, the Vice President of El Salvador and Minister of Education- Salvador Sanchez Ceren, and the President of the Fondo de Inversion Social para el Desarrollo Local (Social Investment Fund for Local Development) and former mayor of San Salvador- Hector Silva. It was an honor to have these very important and influential men present and speak at our group’s swearing in. Also, after we swore in, we all received diplomas for officially completing Peace Corps training and got to shake all their hands. As you might think, this was a very newsworthy event, hosting the Vice President at the US Ambassador’s residence for such an event, and accordingly, every Salvadoran news network had a camera crew present. Here is the link to check out one of the news spots that featured our swearing in. http://www.esmitv.com/vernoticia.aspx?id=1197

After the ceremony was over, a really great reception followed. We feasted, and I mean FEASTED, on hot dogs, cheeseburgers, steak cut French fries, chili cheese dogs, chili cheese fries, fresh fruit, brownies, cookies, and the list goes on. This may seem like an odd menu choice for an event such as this, especially at the Ambassador’s residence, especially with the honorable company present, but for us, now as official volunteers, it was an amazing treat. Over the last two months, traditional American food like this was few and far between, and in the next two years I am certain its occurrence will become even rarer. Don’t get me wrong, I love beans, rice, eggs and tortillas as much as the next person, especially pureed beans (honestly one of my favorite foods here), but there is nothing quite like a cheeseburger on a toasted bun, slathered with ketchup, mustard and all the fixings.

Once the reception was finished, my friends and I quickly went back to our hotel, did a rapid wardrobe change and were off to our after party. It is tradition that the training class before the one swearing in plans an after party celebration. The class before us did not disappoint and we had an awesome night, dancing and celebrating the fact that all 33 of us who came down in our group are still here.

Sinking In

The next morning, a little “tired” from the events the night before, it was time for us all to say our goodbyes and part ways for our sites. Luckily for me, my PC best friend, Dana, is only one department away, less than two hour’s travel by bus. She and I were able to leave for our sites a bit later than others in our group who have sites farther away from the capital than ours. We split a cab with our two friends, Brock and Kat, after some very surreal goodbyes. It hardly felt possible that two months had gone by, that training was over, that we are actually PCVs, and that we won’t be seeing our group mates who we have gotten accustomed to seeing every Tuesday at the Training Center for two whole months when we return to San Vicente for our second round of training. Of course we have cell phones (some volunteers with better service than others) to keep in contact with each other, but we will be largely on our own.

Dana and I stopped off at one of the malls for one final shopping and meal excursion. A week ago when Kat and I traveled to the capital to buy shoes for swearing in (I had some pretty sassy red heels, very cute), I discovered a bagel shop at the mall. For a country that loves carbohydrates and breads, it’s remarkable that bagels aren’t more popular than they are here. In any event, Dana and I chose to have our last meal in the capital at the bagel shop. We feasted on freshly baked everything bagels, I had a club sandwich bagel, and fruit smoothies. As we ate them, the reality of what we were about to embark on sank in and hit us hard. We are going to be living in rural El Salvador, relatively secluded from other PVCs and separated from our friends who have become our support system here in country. We talked about swearing in yesterday, the oath of service that we took, and what the words really meant. Yes, we had in fact entered this service freely and without reservation, but why? What made us think that this was a good idea for us right now? Why would we choose to leave all the modern conveniences of American life to live in a developing country? As we sipped our smoothies, we discussed these things, but without ever really articulating anything concretely, we understood each other perfectly and knew what we were doing was not only going to be an amazing experience, but also where we are meant to be right now.

After the caloric overload of bagels and smoothies, we hit up a couple stores and participated in our last retail therapy (thanks, Aunt Trish, for the phrase) experience for a while. I bought a couple very practical shirts, and a pair of soccer shoes that I will undoubtedly use in the coming months. Dana had to head out before me, so we parted ways with tears in eyes. I know, I know, it sounds lame, but imagine leaving all that is comfortable and easy for a place where you know no one, have no idea of where you are going to live and nearly no idea of what to expect. A few tears where in order.

With about two hours to spare before I needed to head out, I went to a coffee shop in the mall that has free wireless internet, got a frozen coffee, definitely the last one I will be having for a while, and connected on line. I was very fortunate to have the opportunity to video Skype with Mom and Dad for well over an hour. I was so happy to be able to see their faces and watch their silly banter as they pushed each other to get in better view of the video camera, I couldn’t help but laugh. The time went by too quickly, and before I knew it I had to sign off and head on my way to my site.

I took a cab to the western bus terminal where I hopped on a bus to where I was to meet my counterparts. I wasn’t seated on the bus much more than three minutes before we took off. But, about twenty minutes in, while still in San Salvador, the tire on our bus became flat and needed to be changed. In about twenty minutes the tire was changed and we were on our way again. Needless to say, I arrived a little late to the meeting place. My counterparts were there waiting for me as I literally fought my way off the crowded bus.

There is a bus that runs from the main city where I met my counterparts to my site community, but there are only two times of service daily, one at 10:45AM and one at 4:45PM. We had a little over an hour before the bus would be heading out, so my counterparts Don Miguel and Don Chepe (Chepe is a nickname for Jose) and I went to a bakery/café to sit a while. I contacted my Peace Corps boss to let him know I had arrived with my counterparts safely. My counterparts and I chatted until it was time to hop on the bus to my new home.

The bus to my site is an old school bus, painted green and white. My counterparts introduced me to the bus driver and other community members who were also riding the bus back that evening. Everyone was very nice and welcoming. The time finally came to head out, and we began the 45 minutes ride, down mostly dirt and pebbled roads, to my host community. The whole ride my counterparts where explaining different things we were passing, such as the fish farming cooperative that sells tilapia, the sugar mill, the sugar cane that’s grown ubiquitously, and the farming cooperative that I may be working with. To be honest, there was so much to take it, and I was trying to prepare myself to meet many more people once in my site.

Forty-five minutes later we arrived in my new town and was welcomed by a group of about 15 women and children. I was trying to take it all in, remember people’s names, and figure out the layout of the community all at the same time and was very overwhelmed. Soon after our arrival I was informed that I will not be living in the house that they originally planned that I would be, but rather on the other side of the caserio (that’s the size classification of my site). Three men from the community grabbed my bags from the house I was originally going to live in and then brought them to the house where I currently live. The whole situation wasn’t really explained to me that night so I was very confused, but basically what had happened was that the house that I was supposed to live in had absolutely nothing in it, no furniture, no water hook-up and one light for the house, so last minute they moved me. When we arrived at my house, I was introduced to the house’s owner, his wife and children, and the rest of the family. The owner of the house and my host dad, Don Rene, is an accountant, and one of two college graduates from my entire community, who, with his family, during the week lives in a suburb like development outside of the main city. (I realize I have not given details of the name of my community, the city where it is near, etc. This is due to security reasons that I am not permitted to publish it on my blog.) Don Rene keeps this home because his mother’s home is attached and he and his family enjoy coming on weekends. It took me a while to figure this all out, especially when everyone was telling me tons of different things, moving my luggage around, setting up the bed and mosquito net in my room, and the like.

Eventually Mama Chila, Don Rene’s mother, fed me some dinner of beans, eggs and tortillas while I chatted some more with the family. A little girl, Helen, who I later figured out is my host cousin who only visits on weekends, quickly became my friend and guide. She showed me where the latrine was (I am very lucky to have one, around 30% of homes in my site do not have them), where the pila (sink like, all purpose wash station) is and other sorts of essential information. At this point I was completely overwhelmed, having observed the level of poverty within the community, and having the reality of my new life hit me square in the face.

In my community we have cell service, but it comes in an out, and some locations have stronger signals than others. I had to walk around a while until I found a strong enough signal to call home to Mom and Dad. I know I sounded overwhelmed, tired and that I worried my parents (sorry about that, guys). Exhausted from the long, emotional day, I decided the best thing I could do for myself would be to go to sleep and hopefully awaken with a refreshed spirit and renewed energy.

Settling In

Of course, the next day was much better. Don Chepe took me touring around the caserio to get a better feel for its layout and to get an opportunity to meet more community members. People were kind and welcoming, and I got to learn a bit more about the farming cooperative that grows sugar cane and that many of the community are members of.

When I arrived back at the house from my community tour, Don Rene and Nina Lilian’s (that’s my host mom’s name) 23 year old daughter Xenia was there. She and I had a decent conversation, my Spanish was a little shaky, but like everything, improving poco a poco. She is in her final year of college, majoring in accounting, and will graduate in November. Over the last two weeks here, Xenia and I have become better friends and this coming weekend she is going to take me on a little excursion to the department capital of Santa Ana.

The rest of my first full day in site, I spent with the family, mostly Mama Chila, Xenia and my host aunts (Don Rene and Nina Lilian were out tending to their coffee fields they also own; Don Rene is definitely a business man) learning how to make tortillas and getting to know them. My tortillas weren’t quite circular, were a little lopsided and had varying thicknesses, but Mama Chila encouraged me nonetheless and even had me convinced that they were getting better. Later in the week, Mama Chila also taught me how to make pupusas, the traditional Salvadoran food that is basically a tortilla stuffed with some form of filling, usually beans and cheese and really anything else you can think of. You have to Google a picture of one, because they look different than you’d imagine. Then, you eat them with a tomato sauce and a sort of sour cole slaw called cortida, but my host family here calls chili.

The past two weeks have been very busy and filled with appointments, meetings and house visits. About midway through my first week, after visiting the main town, meeting the mayor, meeting the police (both rural and urban units), figuring out my mailing address, and starting to form relationships with people in my community, I really started to feel much better and on my way to feeling I am at home and comfortable in El Salvador. Getting settled into my room, unpacking my bags, putting personal touches in my room, hanging window screening to keep the mosquitoes out, and talking to my other PC friends who are also running the gamut of emotions and experiences, I feel much better and more prepared than ever to really start work.

For me, what has been most exciting has been observing the community, its needs and desires and seeing all the potential there is for progress to be made. I have running lists of random ideas, some that will never be realized, and those that are simple and seem second nature to us back in the States, and can’t wait to begin sharing my projects with you. During these first two months, though, I am conducting house visits and interviews to do a needs based assessment and figure out the types of projects the community wants and needs. Then, on October 21st, my boss Rolando is coming for a visit where I will run a general meeting of the ADESCO (Asocicaion de Desarrollo Communitario, or the Association of Community Development that functions sort of as a common council would, but on a very small scale). During this meeting I will present the information I have collected an analyzed, and from here I hope to create a sort of plan of action to work from.

In the future I will try to keep you all updated much better with the events that I have going on here in Santa Ana. My host dad, Don Rene, has given me permission to use the internet at his office in the main town whenever I want. But seeing as it’s a 45 minute bus ride, I don’t foresee going into town much more often than once a week to do errands. Also, I do have a mailing address now, so if anyone is interested, let me know via email and I will email it to you. As always, I love any news with updates from home. Please send pictures, too. I love to see what’s going on! Speaking of pictures, I know I need to include more myself, and I am going to start taking more to share, I promise!

I miss you all very much and think of you often. As always, thanks for your love and support and I cannot wait to hear from you next! Anyone want to come visit? I am allowed to have visitors starting December 4th:)

Needless to say, today was the day my 32 training classmates and I have been waiting for (some of us a bit more anxiously than others): Site Assignment Day! After seven long, hard weeks of training we finally found out where we will be spending the next two years of our lives. The process in which we learn of our sites is a dramatic, anticipation raising, well-orchestrated ordeal. At the Training Center, we were all ushered out of the main training room that has air conditioning (such a HUGE treat) and one wall covered with a map of El Salvador. The chairs were lined up in three rows in front of the map. When we were finally allowed to enter the room and sit down, everyone was chattering with speculations and nerves. To kick off the event, our bosses walked around the room and placed a piece of paper on our backs with the name of our sites' departments (sort of like states, more like counties in size). We then had to walk around and sort ourselves into departments by asking questions such as "Is my department in the west?" I quickly figured out that I will be in the department of Santa Ana. Last week during my final site interview, my boss, Rolando, told me my site was "west, way west," so I had narrowed my placement down between Santa Ana and Ahuachapan. After our departmental sorting we were instructed to sit back down in our seats. One of my training classmates was instructed to reach under his seat, remove the envelope that was taped below, and read the site assignment of another one of our group members. The person whose name was called would then go up to the big map and, with their boss, locate their site and place a star where they will be located. They then had their picture taken with their star on the map and returned to their seat to call the next person up. I was about the fifth person to be called up. Rolando helped me locate my site, shook my hand and told me, "We have high expectations of you." I was a bit taken aback by his comment, but definitely flattered and challenged at the same time. You all know me, I love a good challenge and thrive under pressure, so bring it on! I CAN'T WAIT to get started. When I sat back down, I could barely focus on watching the other people place their stars as I was busy reading and re-reading my site information sheet. I learned that I will be living in a small caserio (the smallest classification of a community consisting of less than 50 families) outside of the canton (the second smallest size community) of La Magdelena. I will be working with the ADESCO, which means Asociacion de Desarrollo Comunitaria or Community Development Association, and a farming cooperative that has been in existence since the 1980s. The fact that the cooperative has been operational for so long is very promising and I think will make for an awesome experience. As far as living conditions go, I will have running water and electricity (wahoo!), a toilet isn't so probable, cell service is possible, and I will be living in my own home structure on a family compound. Sounds pretty great. My friends and I got very lucky and the majority of us are placed (relatively) near one another on the west side of the country. Unfortunately a few of my good friends were placed in the east, but we will just have to meet up in the capital at The Sheraton where we get to use the pool and workout facility as a PC perk. And, El Salvador is about the size of Massachusetts (speaking of which, RIP Senator Kennedy) and no one is really very far away. Beach Weekend

This past weekend was my training class's only opportunity to travel and sleep away from our host communities, so we took full advantage of the chance and went to Playa El Tunco in La Libertad. This particular beach boasts some of the most incredible, professional quality surf in the country. Needless to say, I did not hit up the waves as I figured they'd hit me harder, and the food options were far too good for me to direct my attention elsewhere. I definitely indulged all weekend from brick oven pizza to chicken burritos to bagels (for a country that loves carbs, it's a surprise that they don't make these in very many places) and smoothies, and beyond. We just had an awesome time getting to know one another and dancing up a storm. Dana and I made friends with a couple of PCVs from Morazan who were also at the beach this past weekend. Chatting with current PCVs really gives us trainees awesome information and perspective that our training sessions just don't. The weekend went far too quickly and it was back to reality in San Vicente before we knew it. Youth Group Wrap-Up

As part of our training, we were required to work with and develop a project with youths in our community. As I shared before, our youth group elected to do a community clean-up and recycled art project. We held a successful garbage collection, filled over 17 bags worth of garbage, and sorted out the plastics, cans and other garbage. From the two liter plastic soda bottles the kids then made and decorated planters, or masetas, in which we planted seeds in this past Wednesday. The kids were so wonderful to work with and were so excited to be active in their community. The kids of Molineros have taught me that even if you think no one wants to work with you, if you think no one cares or is interested, that the kids are always there, always anxious to help and can always lift your spirits. I am really proud of all the hard work they did and hope that the seeds they planted grow into the fruit trees they want and deserve to have. Well, that's the basic run-down of what I have been up down here in El Salvador. Please keep me updated with all that is going on back in the States. Send emails and photos, but for the time being please hold off on sending more mail until I figure out my permanent mailing address in Santa Ana. I really appreciate your cards and love, they brighten my days more than you know. I have to give a special thank you shout out to Dana and Caitlin who I received packages from this week. (I know, Mom, you wanted to send one, too, but I told you to hold off.) I now have protein and sour patch kids in my diet! Te extrano mucho y te amo,

Rosellen

Those are my friends. (I can't figure out how to rotate the photo, sorry!) Dana has sunglasses on her head, Alicea is in the purple shirt and the other girl is Katheryn. My host sister, Monica, at the quinceanera.

This is from the quinceanera I went to. It was very much so like a wedding.

That's Volcan Chicontepec.

The little village down below is where I live.

First and foremost, thank you all so very much for the birthday wishes, cards and Facebook wallposts. You can't imagine how much joy seeing 48 new Facebook updates and receiving nearly 1o pieces of mail (which made some other PCTs very envious, by the way) brought me.

I have to give a big thanks to my PC training class that bought Sarah (who's birthday is today) and me a birthday cake and sang to us during our training session on Tuesday. It was a real treat to be able to celebrate together as a group. Also, a VERY HUGE THANK YOU goes out to my friends Dana, Carol, Alicea, Kat, Adam, Dylan, Axel and Brian who all came together and threw me an amazing birthday party at Carol's host family's home (muchas gracias a Conchita). We feasted on the best macaroni and cheese with a crunchy garlic bread crumb topping (made expertly by Dana), a mouthwateringly amazing veggie stirfry, and we washed it all down with fresh sqeezed orange juice from Conchita's (Carol's host mom) homegrown oranges. We enjoyed the evening eating (and eating), drinking and talking. Of course I was missing you all at home, but my 22nd birthday is certainly one that I will remember fondly.

Sorry for the lack of pictures, but they take quite some time to upload. More to follow...

So below is my version of Letterman's Top 10 List, but instead of funny one-liners, it's chock-full-o the most surprising, most impressive and mas chivo (coolest) things that have happened so far in El Salvador. 10.) Every day I have an awesome view of Volcan Chichontepec. It never fails to impress. (Pictures to follow, I promise.)

9.) My Spanish skills are getting better all the time and I am starting to use correct verb tenses without needing to think of which to use when. Finally! It's all coming back!

8.) I went to the Fiesta of Santo Domingo with my host family. The whole event consists of a five hour procession down the Panamerican Highway carrying holy images of the Saint to the town named after him. More than 1000 people participated in the procession with more and more people joining as the procession passed various towns on its route to Santo Domingo. Once at the final destination, the fiesta commenced complete with food, music, carney rides, games and craft sales. For Tonawandans, think Canal Fest. Also, at the festival my host sister, Monica, linked arms with me as we walked around- we are starting to get closer!

7.) I made carrot cake, banana bread and corn bread with a current PCV and her women's bakery called Panaderia Yaneth, named in her honor. It was a super fun activity to get acquainted with the women and also an awesome way to empower them by selling the breads and maintaining a small business.

6.) Whenever I miss America, I get a wonderful reminder of home by the constant playing of Michael Jackson songs, Total Eclipse of the Heart, Lady in Red, and an abundance of American movies dubbed in Spanish. Also I have the option of hitting up Tony Roma's, KFC, Pizza Hut, the BK Lounge, Wendy's or Mickey D's in the capital city of San Salvador if I need my fix of artery clogging delicacies. It's just a two hour bus ride away.

5.) I never need an alarm clock. The cows, roosters and dogs make sure I am up without fail by 5:30AM. Speaking of cows, my host family celebrated the birth of a new baby cow 11 days ago. He is brown and white in color and absolutelty adorable. (I will also take his picture.)

4.) During our first full week here in our host town, we were invited to help build an altar for the town's Corpus Cristi celebration. We not only got to participate in the celebration, we helped to make it happen by spending over 5 hours constructing the very elaborate altar, complete with three tiers of draping, fresh flowers and a table with 13 placesettings representing the last supper. (I do have photos of this!)

3.) In our host town, the other PCTs and I formed a youth group with which we will be doing a few different community service projects. We consistently work with 20 very awesome kids who want to make their community a better place, mostly by focusing on littering and other environmental concerns facing the community. We will be having a community limpieza (clean-up) next week and then making recycled art out of the trash we collect.

2.) My work is going to be awesome! Having the ability to determine the direction of my program and the responsibility to begin a new program here in El Salvador is more than a thrill, it's an awesome privilege. Not to mention I will get to work closely with another PCV on this endeavor.

1.) The people I am here with are top notch. I am lucky to be in such an awesome class with 32 other very talented, ambitious and dedicated people. I have already made some awesome friends including those in my host site and those living elsewhere. I have to give a special shout out to my newly appointed PC best friend, Dana. She is a Masters International student from Montana, the person who responds most calmly to being told a scorpion is crawling on her arm, and the one who made good friends with the amoebas she contracted. Honestly, I am very lucky to be serving with all those who I am with- goodness knows I wouldn't be able to handle all these new experiences if I didn't have anyone to share poop stories with. The longer I am hear the more I realize that service in the Peace Corps is a privilege and an honor. Not everyone can leave their lives in America on hold for two years to serve others. Thanks for all your support back at home that enables and empowers me to experience all these wonderful things and to serve. I hope this post gives you a little more insight into the things I have been doing. No worries, pictures should be included by next Tuesday:) Also, I have to give a special thank you to Aunt Lynn, Uncle Randy and Aunt Gail (I LOVED the singing card) for the birthday cards and Marsha, Reggie and my parents for my second round of birthday cards. I can't help but grin ear to ear when I read them!

It's hard to believe that I have been here in El Sal for nearly a month. The time is going by rather quickly, and Swearing In is a mere 31 days away.

This past weekend I spent in the department (sort of like a state) of Sonsonate visiting a current PCV. The whole weekend was a great learning experience and an awesome insight into what life will really be like as a volunteer. From baking bread with a women's group called Panaderia Yaneth (named after Janet, the PCV I was visiting), to organizinging and playing on a girls' soccer team, to facilitating a community clean up, to making organic fertilizer, to putting on an educational musical, PC life is exciting. Peace Corps service really will be what I choose to make of it, and that is absolutely awesome.

Janet's site is a twenty minute walk down a cobble stone road from the main road, but the walk is well worth it. The town consists of about 75 families and 300 people. It has it's own school that teaches students throuhg sixth grade. After sixth grade the students travel to a larger town about 15 minutes away (after the 20 minute walk up the road, of course). The view from the town is gorgeous on a clear day, complete with views of volcanoes.

All in all the weekend was a great time and I am looking forward even more to learning my site assignment and becoming part of a community here in El Sal.

Sorry to keep the post so short, and I apologize for the lack of photos. I promise the next posts will be better, more detailed and photos will be included. This Saturday I will be goin to a quincinera, which is a girl's 15th birthday party and are huge events in Latin America. It's sort of like a sweet sixteen, coming out party even and I will be sure to take lots of photos to share.

Missing you all, and thanks for the updates!

¡Hola from San Vicente, El Salvador¡

It´s hard to believe that I have already been in El Salvador for three weeks, and believe me the time has been flying! Training keep us PCTs (Peace Corps Trainees) busy at least eight hours a day, six days a week. A typical day includes roughly four hours of language training and four hours of other various activities including community contacts (gettting to know people in the towns where we live), technical training (for me, that´s agriculture), medical, and safety sessions, etc.

I am living in a canton (a small community) named Molineros about thirty minutes by bus outside of the city of San Vicente. Most of the buses used for public transportation are retired school buses from the States that have been painted bright colors, usually florescent green, and usually have some Latin American music playing. I living in Molineros with five other PCTs. We are all living in individual host family homes. I am living with a very nice host family that consists of my madre, Dolores, sister, Monica who is 15, and brother Kevin who is 17. I also have many aunts, uncles and cousins living nearby. I am getting used to using a latrine, but definitely miss the luxury of a flush toilet; it´s amazing how you miss the simplest things.

Our canton really loves to play softball, so I have had some fun times getting to know the people of the community through the sport. Having a common interest really helps to build relationships and learn more about the people and their community. I just wish I hadn´t taken my glove off my packing list at the last moment! Once I get situatated in my sight in September, I will have my parents send it to me!

I am making some wonderful friends within my group of 32 other PCTs, especially those I am living with in Molineros. To begin with we all have so many shared interests having chosen to be part of the Peace Corps, and these shared experiences just bring us closer together. I am lucky, knock on wood, to be one of the few who haven´t yet fallen ill to either bacteria and/or amoebas, but we are all there to take care of an support one another.

As training continues, I am learning more and more about what exactly I will be doing during my time as a PCV (Peace Corps Volunteer). Brock, another PCT, and I are the two Agriculutural Business volunteers of our training class. Ag Business is a new program here in El Salvador so he and I will essentially be helping create and formulate the program. We are bound to be faced with lots of challenges, many periods of trial and error, but we are definitely in for quite the adventure. I am very excited to be charged with such an awesome task and can´t wait to get started!

Well, naturally I have so much more to share, but I am running short on time here at the internet cafe before I need to grab the bus back to Molineros. In the future I will be able to update my blog more frequently, but in the mean time please check back from time to time for updates. Just know I miss you all very much and think of you all the time. Please send updates of life back in the States, too, I love messages from home. If interested, I can email my temporary mailing address where I can receive letters and will certainly pass along my permenant mailing address here in El Salvador once settled in September.

Also, a special thanks to the Edmonds and Haackers for the birthday cards and well wished! They truly made my day and will continue to make me smile whenever I look at them! Lastly, I just want to wish my parents Dan and Rose a very Happy 30th Wedding Anniversary!

Again, I miss you all and be sure to keep me posted on life back in the States!