katie goes....

Thank You

2007-02-16T12:12:00.000-08:00

Panaderias, creepy hotels, Caribbean islands...no matter where I was while writing blog entries I felt overwhelmed by your love and support. I was apprehensive at first about shooting intimate stories into the mania of web world, but I found that it encouraged me to more intentionally reflect on my experiences.

The world is a thrilling, interesting place, but it is empty without people to share it with.

Thank you for being a part of my life.

Big Decisions

2007-02-13T14:19:00.000-08:00

In San Jose, during a layover on my journey north to Guatemala I decided that it was time to go all the way...north that is. My journey met expectations I could not have anticipated, and for the time being my appetite for backpacking was satiated. It was time to go home: where the sheets smell like flowers, the refrigerator takes the place of menus that beg for money, where I can shuffle around in slippers, drink cocoa by the fire, and I can ask for hugs without worrying about potential consequences.

Sarah, who was already home at this point, agreed to help me surprise my family...an added thrill to coming home early. I landed in Portland on Tuesday night and caught the MAX to my sister's studio. Once I got off the train I was skipping and making strange squealing noises...when I finally made it to her door and knocked, she opened it and just stared at me. Normally she is queen of strange surprises so for me to pull it off was quite exciting. We drove home to Silverton to be with my ripped baby brother, who will be heading to college in the fall, my absolutely loving parents and freshly baked heart shaped cookies for Valentine's Day. Oh to be home.

After soaking up the luxuries in Silverton I am heading back to Portland, the city I love. My canvas is blank and I have yet another opportunity to pick out the paint, glue, glitter and woodchips that will piece my life together.

K for kaleidoscope

2007-02-12T11:47:00.000-08:00

The left side of my face was numb from being pressed up against the bus window; my eyes were glazed over, and I was having trouble determining whether I was asleep or awake after spending over 60 hours on the bus. However, pulling through the Guatemalan border at 6am I was jolted to consciousness by the glaringly bright flowers covering all of the trees. The orange, purple, and yellow buds were a new addition to the landscape I left in October when the rain was turning everything, including my clothes, green.

While I was exploring neighboring countries Guatemala didn't stop: the trees were busily producing their masterpieces, the women continued to clap tortillas over warm stoves, and the busses kept roaring through the countryside at life threatening speeds. The creeks I've stepped in, the people I've laughed with, the fountains I've photographed...they all continue to see the sun rise and set. How easy it is to forget; I have been obsessed with trying to track the change and growth within myself that I forgot that the rest of the world was blossoming too.

We're living in a giant, breathing kaleidoscope!

a 180 in my brown bag skirt

2007-02-07T16:36:00.000-08:00

The time has come for me to turn around: the Panama canal was my cue, the green light on the cash machine has turned to yellow, and I feel home whispering in my bones.

The days of my Central American journey are numbered and as I head north my hours on the bus will provide me with ample time to bid farewell to the places that have filled my soul with an energy that smells like sweat, tastes like pineapple, and sounds like the wind (in La Palma, El Salvador - in case it´s not quite clear which type of wind the energy in my soul reminds me of).

Rough Riders

2007-01-31T15:09:00.001-08:00

"4.5 minutes...and then death. Entrapment will kill you. If you don´t want to die, push up. If you can reach your head above the rapids for even a second, do it...or else death. Do you want to die?" Ika had his arm wrapped around Henrietta who had tears in her eyes; Kerry looked at his son, the new college graduate, and smiled at him weakly; Sarah and I rolled our eyes. Kevin´s pep talk before our white water rafting excursion was excruciating. He admitted that he was trying to intimidate us so that we took the river seriously, but he failed to mention that it was going to be fun and falling out of the raft was not a guaranteed trip to the morgue in pieces.

Sarah and I were the only two people who had been rafting before so we volunteered to go alone with Freddy, the 23 year old guide and Julio, who was a guide in training. Once our helmets, booties, and life vests were on and Kevin´s hour long sermon of doom was over we pushed off into the river for our 4 hour trip. The water was warm and fast, and the rocks formed canyon walls where tree roots squirmed through in order to give life to the dangling vines. "All forward!" Freddy yelled and we slapped our paddles into the water and rowed our way into the rapids smiling.

After about 10 minutes we reached a calm pool and Freddy instructed Sarah and I to stand up in our places at the front of the boat. With Kevin´s warnings of death fresh in my mind I thought that maybe we were practicing a safety technique...wrong. Before I had time to stabilize myself Freddy and Julio charged to the front of the boat and tackled us Super Bowl style sending Sarah and I flying into the water. "Woohoo!" Freddy yelled, and that was the beginning of our rafting battle: Sarah and Katie vs. Freddy and Julio. In the rapids we were a team whooping and paddling together, but once we reached the pools it was a race to see who could get the others in the water first. Goodbye safety, hello thrills!

Towards the end of the day Freddy asked (in Spanish) if we wanted to flip the boat in the next rapids. Sarah and I made sure we translated correctly and then shrugged, ¿Como no? (Why not?) "All forward!" My last memory is my body flying over the opposite end of the boat and into the foaming rapids.

"Katie!" It was Sarah...we were both in the bubble under the boat, but I had no time to chat, my panicked lungs wanted air. When we surfaced the river carried us along like debris after a New Year´s party: bright yellow, red, and blue helmets, paddles, and medical kits bobbing along. What a rush!

2007-01-31T15:09:00.000-08:00

Panama's flag as we arrive on Isla Taboga
A gardener in Boquete; his house and children are behind him, and the river flows right next to their land. He was quiet and kind as we strolled through. We were hoping to really hit it off so we could do a little photo documentary of his family, but the tranquility of the place would have been sucked away by the invasion of the camera.
SUPER BOWL! Avocado sandwiches and ESPN in Spanish...just because we were exploring rich, diverse cultures didn't mean we could abandon our own.

Boquete

2007-01-30T14:55:00.000-08:00

Our little room has a balcony that looks out over the Caldera river as it loudly swooshes over rocks and under an old, yellow suspension bride. Across the river is a flower nursery, and since this is the blooming season everything is bursting with color: pink, white, yellow, purple, and then there´s green...the green climbs up into the hillside and the lush mountains surround the entire village. Nestled...the word describes nothing better than Boquete itself.

Our first adventure: horseback riding! Eduardo was our guide and we had two lovely horses to ride. The first hour and a half was amazing trotting along the river and then up into the moutnains where we had views of the twon and nearby Volcan Bareu. The last half hour was truly hell... the pain between my legs from sitting on that saddles destroyed my fantasy of riding alongside the bold and beautiful Augustus (Lonesome Dove - recommended read). By the time we got off the horses I felt...no analogies needed...

Not to worry because our second adventure was Loz Pozos de Caldera (hot springs!). We hiked in to find an elf-like cottage amongst vines, bushes, and criss crossing streams. There were two pristine hot springs surrounded by a simple stone wall and trees with exposed roots twisting down into the water. Small bubbles came up from the dirt and filled the quiet pool with hot (obviously), healing (apparently) water. (Note: parantheses influenced by Chuck Klosterman). Before plunging into the springs we went down to the southern portion of the Caldera River. The surrounding pines and blue sky resemble Oregon, but the hippo like rocks and feeling in my bones gave some of the "beauty" credit to Pnaama. The cold water was refreshing and I found a mossy rock just below the rippling surface to plop down on. Mmm: a rock, a river rushing around me, birds, butterflies, the sun and a breeze...yes, the perfect ingredients for thought pie. I felt I could have sat there and saild away with my thoughts, but there was more to do and see so we headed back to the hot springs.

Submerged in the hot water I could feel the bubbles dancing all over my skin and I am convinced that I was experiencing some sort of thermal therapy. After feeling rejuvinated Sarah and I posed for our bikini calendar 2008. The highlight was the self timer shot: Sarah set the camera up on a rock and on her way back into the picture she slipped on one of the mossy rocks. "Hurry!" I yelled, the model in me oblivious to any pain she may have been experiencing, "smile!" Well, the picture is quite telling with poor Sarah lying in the water while I´m posing...what have I become? In truth, the situation was a refreshing reminder of laughter from the gut.

On our way back to Boquete Sarah flagged down a pick-up truck: cheaper than the buses and thrilling wind exposure. The little girl in the front of the truck set up her nude dollsi n the back window and their plastic eyes watched us while we watched the rainbow stretched across the valley and let the sprinkles splat against our sun-kissed cheeks.

oh joy!

2007-01-27T14:50:00.000-08:00

I stepped into the air conditioned airport five hours early, butterflies of excitement in my belly, and an unripe papaya under my arm, which was my gift to welcome Sarah when she got off her plane from Oregon. She had vacation time built up and decided to join me for 2 weeks in Panama. The thought of seeing a dear and familiar face was refreshing, exciting, but at the same time hard to fathom. My trip has not only sent me into new geographical realms of the planet, but into new dimensions of myself as a human being. What would it be like to merge my current reality with a friend from a life that feels galaxies away?

I pondered this question as I sat at the arrival gate in Panama City watching people from all over the world pour off of the planes. Despite the diversity in the crowed there were only two types of people: the greeters (me) and the greetees. Us greeters stood facing a blue wall out of which the luggage totting greetees would emerge. Both parties were wide eyed as they eagerly searched for their match. I saw a mother welcomed by her husband and two young children, the daughter clicking her pink, princess slippers as she ran into her mother´s glowing embrace. An exotic young couple kissed as if he had just returned from a trip to the moon, and two middle aged businessmen shared a pat on the back and a handshake before rolling their efficiently packed suitcase out to the car. Others on my greeter team waved signs displaying the names of people, hotels, and cab companies, and although the union with their respective greetees didn´t involve much passion they exchanged looks of relief now that the hunt for each other had ended. Then, as always, there are those on both sides of the blue wall who are left hanging - the search has ended unsuccessfully and they resort to plan B.

For my papaya and I waiting for Sarah was an incredible reminder of the significance of friendship and love in one´s life. I watched people of all shapes, colors, and fashion pass by, but it was only one face I was searching for, and no other face, no matter how similar, could substitute. (future Internet search: facial recognition)

I let a squeal when I saw Sarah´s face, and on the bus ride to the hostal I was oblivious to the city passing us by as I emptied stories onto my exhausted friend.

INCOMPLete thoughts

2007-01-27T14:48:00.000-08:00

In this life of travel I have only one fear: incomplete thoughts. My mind feels like an ant farm...little creatures crawling up, around and over the gyri in my brain: scooping, shoveling, burying, transfering, squeezing, and molding the thoughts that race in and out. The trouble is there´s often too much external stimuli for the brain-ants to follow through with each thought to its completion...and then what? Where does that intricate detail of my experience in this world disappear too? Will it ever be retrieved? Ideally once a thought is complete I can journal about it, form an opinion about it, talk to others about their opinion about it, etc. Travelling on my own has given me the luxury to ponder the smallest nitions on my mind before they surface into reality. What I´m finding is this so called luxury is inhibiting my social life.

Sarah and I were walking through Boquete (more on this lovely town to come) and I found myself saying to her, midsentence, "sorry, that thought´s incomplete." Before my trip I could ramble on and one until the thought finished, but now my thoughts are like small boats navigating through a choppy sea. (Fortunately, Sarah has patience and we share past experiences so communicating is possible despite my social hiccups).

Part II

2007-01-18T18:09:00.000-08:00

As I sat on the boat waiting to leave Puerto Jimenez I watched other tourists snapping photos of the dolphins and mourned the loss of my camera. A fishing boat pulled in next to us and ¨American Pie¨ began to play on their radio...by the time the depressing yet peppy tune was over my mood lifted and I decided that everything was going to be fine.

When our boat engine began to rumble the captain made a last call hoping to fill his 20 passenger speed boat to make the trip worthwhile. Before pulling away two more people jumped on: it was the teenagers from the hotel! They took the last open seats and one of them (we´ll call him boy #1) took the seat directly in front of me. I stared at the back of his well groomed head, sure that behind those sunglasses were the eyes that were staring at me in the dorm room. "Excuse me," I said as I tapped his right shoulder, "Do you have my camera?" "I don´t speak English," was his response. "I´m speaking Spanish..." (I was) "...and I believe you have my money and camera." He was silent and at this point everyone in the boat was turned our way. He stumbled a bit over his words but assured me he didn´t have my camera or money. The photo snapping tourist (who turned out to have residency in Panama) said that I should call the coast guard and have them meet our boat on the opposite shore.

The lovely woman next to me knew the coast guard´s phone number and the couple next to her loaned me their cell phone. I tried to explain my situation over the phone while the teenager sat stiffly in his seat. After hanging up I felt doubtful that this would lead to anything, but hoped that the boy felt bad about what he had done. To make sure my call went through the owner of the cell phone asked the captain to call the police...yikes, now I was getting nervous.

The boat raced along and the boy set down his bag and went to whisper something to his accomplice (boy #2)....all heads looked around...the boys´ nervous behavior had everyone convinced that something fishy was going on. About 200 meters from the shore our boat slowed and another speed boat pulled up next to us and five police officers jumped on....Mission Impossible action now! My heart was racing and I can´t imagine how the boys were feeling - none of us knew that this was how our day would end up. Everyone on the boat was silent and the captain told me to come to the front...thump, thump. The police officer asked me to tell him what happened so I did, and my Spanish skills and shaky voice echoed through the boat. Then he announced that everyone on the boat was going to have their bags searched until they found my things....the passengers groaned and fumbled about...they had places to be and this would take forever. It was then that boy #2 called the officer over and told him that his friend/brother had the camera in his bag....and that he did. When he pulled it out and handed it to the officer everyone in the back of the boat started clapping...I took a photo....yes, just like a cheesy Hollywood film.

Author´s Note: I must tell my dad, the mediator, that while riding in the police car with my "offender" I told him that I was sad to lose my camera because it had all the pictures from my trip. He nodded and said that he was sorry...and you know what, that was almost as good as getting the camera and money back. A part of me wishes we could have talked more...I´m sure he´s a fine kid. Hopefully a bird will poop on him tomorrow...he could use some better luck.

Erotica, Thieves, & Bird Poop

2007-01-18T17:56:00.000-08:00

Watch out Thelma and Louise, here comes Katie!

While waiting to board my 8-hour bus ride I went into a closet sized shop where I met an older man sitting next to one small bookshelf. ¿Tiene libros en ingles? I asked. He scratched his head and went to the back of the room and dug through a box...he could only find one english read and said he wanted to give it to me as a gift...how kind. So as the bus swerved its way through the Costa Rican mountains I read, ¨Confessions of an English Maid,¨ and hoped that the people standing in the aisle looking over my should couldn´t read english...scandalous.

We arrived in Puerto Jimenez around 11pm and I got off the bus with Susanna, a fellow traveler, and we decided to hunt for a hotel together. The place we found had one large, mosquito netted bed left in the dorm so we took it. When I woke up I could see two, well-dressed teenage boys staring at me through the mesh...get a life, I thought to myself, but still managed to squeak out a buenos dias. I went for a run and when I came back the boys were chatting with Susanna and in her German accent she said, ¨these guys are odd.¨ Well they have serious staring problems that´s for sure. It wasn´t until later that I realized they were staring while thinking about what they could buy with my money, and who they could sell my camera to after looking through all of my beautiful pictures. While Susanna was in the shower and I was out on my run they managed to dig through my bag and take whatever valuables they could find. Would they carelessly toss my weathered Guatemalan coin purse on the ground as they tottled away? Those punks (blog sensored). What would Louise say? Or do for that matter?

The irony of the morning is that while on my run, as the boys scrummaged through my bag, a speckled green splat fell onto my forearm...birdpoop! ¨Well,¨ I thought, ¨this is going to be a lucky day.¨

(to be continued....)

photo fun

2007-01-16T10:53:00.000-08:00

On the beach in San Juan del Sur with Carlos and Jesus from Spain...mullets can be sexy.
After parting from the Irish I managed to find myself a delicious Guiness...finalmente cerveza oscura!
Johannes and Lindsey modeling cow underpants...can you guess who owns these knickers?

French Tipped Toenails

2007-01-15T10:52:00.000-08:00

Costa Rica was like walking into a magazine catalog: beautiful people, beautiful clothes, high prices. And then there was Johannes and I: shaggy, backpacker, grunge. Fortunately I had recently washed my clothes in a crusty bathroom sink, which improved the smell factor, but not much else. Santa Cruz is a small, cowboy town and it was having its annual rodeo with beer, dancing, attractive people trotting around on horses, and driving SUV´s...am I in Central America? We rushed to the bus and bought tickets to San Jose, the capital...ah, escape...

Now that I am in a big city the life size magazine people blend in with rockers wearing dog collars, elderly women with purple hair neatly pinned under scarves, town squares filled with the fat and thin, the black and the orange, and of course the shaggy backpacker grunge motiv only adds to the bouquet.

The Inauguration

2007-01-12T10:34:00.000-08:00

Daniel Ortega was sworn in as Nicaragua´s president for the second time. His last stint as the Sandinista leader was from 85-90, and he is back promising changes, more jobs, free education (so many children are not attending school because it is unaffordable), etc. The inauguration was held in Managua and Johannes, Gabe (new yorker), and I arrived in the not so central plaza at 2pm where black and red Sandinista flags flew and thousands of people gathered. The energy in the crowd was contagious and the music blared songs that kept us all swaying until 7pm, when the event finally began.

Hugo Chavez (Venezuelan president) and Evo Morales (Bolivian president) pumped up the crowd: socialism or death, nationalizing corporations, and lots of fist flying, pride pumping cheers. And then the microphone was given to Ortega...he basically sucked out all the thrill and energy in the crowd. Five minutes into his speech and everyone began dwindling away...quite sad - all he needed to do was scream, ¨Viva Nicaragua!¨ and they would have loved him...oh well. The political shifts in Central and South America right now are exciting because nearly every country (excluding Paraguay, Colombia, El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras) are now goverened by the left, and many of the presidents are making drastic changes.

My favorite part of the evening was when a version of the Chilean protest song came on: El pueblo unido jamas sera vencido (The people united will never be defeated). Johannes had printed out the lyrics that morning, and I think we might have been the only people in the crowd belting out all the words as the fireworks exploded over the plaza. (Please note that the majority of my political insights have been patiently explained to me by Johannes...to get the accurate, detailed version of these events you can go to his much less mushy blog: www.johanneswilm.org).

la alma

2007-01-11T10:18:00.000-08:00

I surrendered my pride long ago and admitted that my trip is not unique in any way. I am not the shark venturing through the sea of travel alone, I am in a school with thousands of others. The irony is that all of us fish feel like sharks with our own insights, thoughts, and ideas about life, the world, etc. So every day as I meet these delightful, independent, fish-like-shark humans the conversations are present and genuine as we reveal our guts.

The fragility of life has been a running theme over the last few days. For me it started on the way to Leon, Nicaragua when we passed a man covered in a tarp and the scene of the accident that took his life. My first thought was what he had for breakfast...did he prepare it or did someone make it for him? Was it the typical gallopinto (rice and beans), platinos and eggs? As he shoveled it into his mouth was he thinking about work, family, lovers, bees? Did he die instantly or did he have time to say something? What would I say? (i hope i won´t need to say anything). Now that man is buried, there was probably a service, and everyone continues on....

What if there´s a group of souls that we are meant to encounter during the course of our life/lives? I met Lukas on the beach and over Christmas goodies his mom sent to him from Spain we fantasized about this soul posse. The thought of my soul floating in a small crowd of other souls while our mortal bodies subconsciously search for each other made my heart thump. I feel I have already met a few of these beings - those people that I secretly fall in love with ....before my attraction was somewhat inexplicable but the idea of our souls being connected is absolutely thrilling.

I first met S in the internet cafe in Leon, and then I saw him again in Managua while he was being mauled by a group of men trying to persuade him to take their perspective taxi or bus...so when we both ended up in the same hotel in Liberia, Costa Rica it was time for a getting-to-know-you-better conversation. Unfortunately, S was on the vacation from hell...everything was going wrong and two days before he was going home he was in a horribly traumatic car accident. A near death experience while traveling alone is worthy of some serious empathy so while he sipped rum I listened to him re-work the priorities in his life. To avoid any nightmares we stayed up until the wee morning hours chatting and he left me with a book he recently bought at (drum roll please...) Powell´s!! A Powell´s bookmark and everything...oh the pleasures of home.

2007 and still kicking

2007-01-06T10:38:00.000-08:00

I am settled in Leon Nicaragua and I don´t think it´s by accident....there must have been magnetic forces pulling my Central American backpacker family together. I arrived to this activist town with Lindsey and Derek where we were coincidentally placed in the same bunk room as Johannes. Later that day Markus, also from San Salvador days, appeared...same hostal, and as I strolled through town I found my long lost dears Allie and Colin from Maya Pedal in Guatemala. Experiencing the world together...what a lovely thing.

My days have been filled with ¨self-enhancement¨ activities and the evenings are alive with fun people, good food, and local rum...I am truly enjoying this time of my life.

New Traditions

2006-12-24T12:30:00.000-08:00

On Christmas Eve Johannes and I arrived on the island to find Lindsey and Derek lounging on a rock at the edge of the lake. The air was humid and the slight breeze made our body odor all encompassing, but I was relieved to have found friends and a place to settle in for the holiday. We ate spaghetti for dinner and washed it down with two bottles of rum...exactly like home.

After dinner we wanted to play a game so Brandon, the Canadian, tied a napkin over the top of a plastic cup, placed a coin in the middle and with a cigarette we took turns burning holes in the napkin until the coin fell in...exactly like home.

After finishing the game we trotted down the dirt road, dodging the heaping piles of ox scat, to a little village where the town was busily dancing to reggatone and love songs from the 80´s. I found myself a qualified dancing partner and we danced right into Christmas day. The heat on the 25th made it difficult to find that cozy holiday feeling so we decided to come up with some new, unique holiday traditions to match our present experience. Carmel, a lovely lass from Israel arrived on the island just in time to partake in the craziness.

Our tradition began with a bucket of blood, which would be collected from everyone in our camp by slicing and draining a finger or larger appendage...depending on how much each person wanted to contribute. Then we would select one of the gigantic oxen (I chose the white one with an enormous hump and jagged horns), smear the blood onto the beast and onto our own flesh, mount, and slowly lead the herd into the lake. The leader of the group, which was up for debate, and his or her ox would be floating atop a wooden raft structure adorned with palms and he or she would be holidng the backpacker´s bible (aka Lonely Planet guide) up to the sky. As we all proceeded into the lake the bull sharks (yes, they really are living in the lake), attracted by the scent of the blood, would begin swimming figure eights around the procession....exactly like home.

Creating traditions ended up being the tradition itself and it filled mealtimes and lounging times with laughter and fantasy.

Holiday Cheer

2006-12-23T20:24:00.000-08:00

To my phenomenal family and beautiful friends: Merry Christmas! Thank you so much for your love and support. I hope that you are surrounded by warmth, love, and wonderful people...not just this week...in general.

I will be on a tiny island in Lake Nicaragua with a delightful mix of people. Johannes, the Norwegian, is quick to laugh and chalk full of political history... he was called ´the foreign agitator´ by a newspaper columnist in Oaxaca during the occupation. I have been traveling with him for the last couple of days and it has been truly entertaining. We will be joining up with Lindsey and Derek, the Irish couple who enjoy getting pissed on the local beverage and are planning to cook up a delicious Christmas meal. They are honest and lighthearted at the same time...beautiful! I feel so fortunate to be experiencing the joy of the holidays in this little corner of the world.

Feliz Navidad dear ones...you are on my mind!

San Salvador Backpacker Style

2006-12-21T20:16:00.000-08:00

Down the street from my hostal Wendy had a little metal cart that she would open up every night, and so I would head down there for a cheap and delicious veggie torta for dinner. Sitting at her plastic table I met a 13 member band, Ember and Carlos, the local security guards, and other torta fans. This evening ritual was one of the first routines I have had in months and gave me a comforting sense of security.

La Estancia, the hostal, was filled with travelers from all over the world: 2 American flight attendants, a German man, a Swedish woman, a Norwegian man, an American guy, an Irish couple and a handful of Peace Corps volunteers. Aside from the latter two groups everyone else stayed in the dorm room where smelly clothes and Lonely Planet books covered every nook and cranny.

We shared travel stories, stayed out late chatting on the patio, headed into to town for dancing and drinking with the locals, woke up to share free coffee and stale rolls, and strolled through the mall to admire the holiday decor. It was truly delightful living with so many amazing, interesting people.

San Salvador

2006-12-17T20:03:00.000-08:00

In 1986, during the civil war, my dad was here as a Catholic chaplain working for the Los Angeles archdiocese...20 years later I walked into the city hoping to retrace his inspiring footprints. My first stop was the chapel where Archbishop Ocscar Romero was shot and killed while saying Mass. Sitting in the chapel I was waiting for some powerful emotion and nothing came, but I began thinking about people like Romero who risk their lives in order to spread a message.

Romero encouraged the poor to stand up against the government, but in doing so he made himself a target. Where does this courage come from...the courage to fly a message into the sky knowing that the hungers are below watching? Faith. In his words and actions it was clear that the human fear he felt was overpowered by his faith. It acted as a cloak allowing him to continue advocating for the poor despite the danger he faced.

I was able to visit the cottage where he lived the last year of his life, and a wonderful woman named Lydia shared stories of his life and showed me gruesome pictures of his assassination. When he was killed he died instantly, but it was the pain in the faces of those around him that got caught in my throat. He represented courage and love, and with his death the Salvadoranians took the torch into their own hands. In their eyes there was fear and sadness, but also determination...they placed his body in the back of a truck, but his message stayed with them.

When my dad was here he spent time with Ignacio ¨Nacho¨ Martin-Baro, a Jesuit priest who worked closely with the left during the war. He told the group my dad was with that he knew he would be killed doing the work he believed in, and 3 years later he, along with 5 other priests, their housekeeper and her daughter were all killed by military officials.

The peace treaty that ended the war was signed in 1991, but problems still remain, and the poor are still suffering under the ARENA government. Knowing that my dad was here, reading the history, and talking to people who lived through it have made my visit to El Salvador an extremely rich experience.

Bouncing through El Salvador...

2006-12-15T19:48:00.000-08:00

Lago de Coatepeque: pristine lake surrounded by volcanoes and nearly untouched by human beings...

Juayua: weekend food fest...watch out belly. Chocolate covered strawberries dipped in peanuts, music, break dancing, and of course pupusas (beans and cheese cooked into the middle of a thick tortilla).

Santa Ana: So if the room is .50 cents an hour that means it is $6 for an entire night? I´ll take it! Walking up to the hotel I noticed that the scantily dressed women leaning against the building had excessive make-up on....I spent that night sleeping on the floor wondering what life is like for the women who spend time in the bed.

Ruta de Flores: A long bus ride that passes through mountain villages where yellow, purple and pink flowers sprout up in green vines all along the road.

Apeneca: When I got into this small town I found myself walking down the middle of the main street, alone with the wind and whisps of dust around my ankles. As the dust cleared the townspeople who lined the sides of the street silently stared as I made my way through the town center...silent...absolute silence. It was the first John Wayne moment of my life.

Playa El Zonte: The beach...wow! I spent my first day there with a Norwegian couple, and while we lounged in the sand and rolled through the waves I squeezed their brains about the local politics...those scandinavians are so well educated. My second day was spent with a lifeguard from Huntington beach; needless to say, I felt safe y contenta as we explored under water rock channels and tunnels along the coast. The brown pelicans, my favorite bird at the moment, would fly in groups along the crest of the waves before the water spilled over and crashed into the sand. I didn´t surf, but I am gearing up...no matter how hard a wave tosses or smashes me, the ocean always gives me respite before slamming me into the ground again (I will avoid the enormous analogy temptation here...).

Suchitoto

2006-12-12T19:31:00.000-08:00

I arrived in Suchitoto during their 10-day celebration of their patron saint, Lucia. The town was bustling as they prepared for the evenings events: a parade, concert, and fireworks...what luck to stumble upon such an event!

I spent the day journaling about my frustrations with my lack of knowledge regarding US involvement in the war here. We contributed over $6 billion to the government´s military...money which was spent on weapons that killed guerilla groups as well as defenseless civilians. For example, in December of 1991, El Mozote, a southern town of 900 people was completely massacred by the Atlactl Battalion. The entire battalion was trained and organized by the United States in an effort to stop the communist movement. Only one woman survived - she watched them slaughter her children and could do nothing in response to their cries. She still lives in the Mozote region. It wasn´t until 4 US women were killed that the Carter administration pulled military funding; however, Reagan resumed the US´contribution to the war, which further prolonged it.

That night I stood in the middle of the town plaza surrounded by Salvadoranians from all over the country clad in t-shirts of Oscar Romero and Che ; a Hugo Chavez banner hung from the stage, and a small boy on his dad´s shoulders held up the nation´s flag that swayed in front of the band. The entire crowd sang along with the songs, laughed at the jokes, and danced. Although a lot of the Spanish blurred together in my mind, the energy was contagious.

The lyrics were political and when they sang that the US doesn´t know that there are graves in every home I suddenly stopped swaing and felt chills in my spine. It´s true, we don´t know...or at least I didn´t know. Being blind to these issues has in turn made me mute....and to think about everything that is going on now...

(This year the United States will be spending more money on the war in Iraq than they have spent any year since WWII...and to think that the war exists on false pretenses and the money being spent could be put towards social issues in our own country...).

El Salvador

2006-12-09T19:21:00.000-08:00

The homicide rate in San Salvador is 18 people per day; gang violence is present and growing throughout the country; travel guides and other backpackers encourage travelers to use extreme caution in the cities as well as small villages, and there is an after taste from the civil war that left 75,000 people dead. With all of this fresh in my mind I had to fight my dark imagination as I prepared to enter the densely populated country of El Salvador.

First stop: La Palma, a tiny village resting in the lush mountain range of eastern El Salvador. I got off the bus and the crisp wind brushed across my face, combed through my hair, cloaked my body, and filled my lungs with a high that nearly lifted me into the cloudless sky. The sun sparkled down onto the pine tress and bounced off the walls of brightly painted shops where artisians busily carved and painted. In the cafes women spooned beans and cream into freshly made tortillas; roosters clucked about eating kernals that had been left behind, and puppies rolled around in the dirt.

The home I stayed in was owned by an older couple, both adorned in woolen scarves and hats to comfort them against the bite of the wind as it whistled through the cracks of their beautifully tiled home. Their quiet mannerisms and gentle smiles made me feel as if I had entered a holy space. Later that day I sat in the park surrounded by a group of curious boys who asked about what it´s like to fly in an airplane and told me about the fireworks they bought for Christmas.

Is this really El Salvador? The spirit in the wind that I first felt in la Palma has followed me through every town and village providing me with glimpses of the culture and insights into my own being.

On the Bus

2006-12-08T06:23:00.000-08:00

Hungry? Thirsty? Sick? Bored? Tired? Spiritually deprived? Bus rides here are ready to please. Whether I have been riding for 6 hours or 15 minutes men, children, and women holding baskets and pots climb onto the bus shouting out their merchandise: watches, popcorn, apples, pens, chicken platters, fruit juice, pastries, pop, cold medicine, tapeworm medicine, and recently santa hats. Some people juggle, sing, or read from the Bible while others who have an obvious physical impairment just walk down the isle with their palm stretched out.

The other day I had the honor of sitting next to theman who had just finished selling potato chips. I was intrigued by the whole process and asked him about his work. he starts at 6am and finishes around 5pm spending the day hopping on and off buses between San Pedro Sula and La Entrada. He restocks his huge basket of homemade chips in a little shop along the road. The most shocking thing was that he began selling papitas when he was 9, and 12 years later this intelligent 21 year old is still shouting "papitas, papitas!"

The rest of the day I watched the children and wondered how long they would be getting on and off buses, and looking at the older men I wondered when they started. Did their parents sell things this same way? What do most of the children do at 12? Questions like these have been plaguing me since the beginning of my trip. Should third world countries become "Westernized?" Should education be made mandatory (if this were to happen the families would need an external source of income)? The conclusion in my mind at this point is that everyone deserves an opportunity...how to arrive at that is where the work begins. Work for who? When? What overall impact would it have on the culture?

Goodmorning Moments

2006-12-02T15:23:00.000-08:00

Me and the Sea:
The hotel I was staying in loaned kayaks for free so after sunrise I pushed one off the dock and set off into the Caribbean Sea. The sun's warmth on my skin and the paddling made me feel so alive. The water was a patchwork of dark blue and turquoise, and I could see the coral and fish peacefully going about their lives below me. I stopped near one of the cayes and laid in my kayak letting the lapping waves rock me to sleep. Yes, I felt like Anne (of Green Gables) except I woke up to a speedboat full of fishermen instead of a sinking canoe and a handsome suitor.

Coffee in Copan:
A dog at my feet, a warm cup of coffee on the wooden table, a good book accompained by a background of instrumental music, raindrops plopping onto bright green leaves in the garden, and a kitchen full of women sharing stories and laughing. Yes, it was a picture perfect morning.