Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Back on the Horse

It's Tuesday evening, I've been here in Suchitoto for just over a week, and I'm once again sitting beside the pool on the terrace of the El Tejado. Maybe, just maybe, I'm finally ready to get back to this public journal. There were a dozen reasons why I kept stalling, but they have dissipated into feeble excuses. Last February, I was compulsively faithful in making an attempt to write something every day, no matter how tired or uninspired I felt. This year, the longer I avoided the keyboard, the more daunting the prospect became.

My hands are stiff and the words feels forced, but I'm hoping my over-taxed brain and calloused fingers will limber up the more I scribble down. There's no way I'm going to try to start at the beginning and go chronologically through the past eight days in El Salvador. Or the six weeks of preparation that began long before I even left Canada. I will touch on the high points, and probably some of the lows, but let's consider these first few tentative steps my way of getting back into the rhythm of writing.

If anything, Suchitoto is even more beautiful than I remembered. Thankfully, the streets are still as cobbled, the locals as friendly, the food as wonderful and inexpensive. Lunch at Villa Balanza, including a freshly made fruit drink, costs $2.50. I received sincerely warm greetings from the staff and owners of the hotel, most of whom now address me by my first name. They all seem to have great difficulty with that final hard 'd', so their version comes out musically, with two syllables, sounding like 'Tey-ah'. But their English beats the hell out of my Espanol, and anyway, their pronounciation is so much more lyrical.

I upgraded to one of the new rooms with a view, and it is stunning. Every morning I awaken just before dawn and every morning I marvel at the wonder of the fierce amber sun climbing the sky, previewing its appearance with a spectacular uplighting of the low clouds that cling to the horizon. At home in cold grey Canada, it takes several seconds of the insistent alarm clock to drive me from my nest. Here, I'm awakened as if by a gentle and loving tap on the shoulder, or some mysterious and alluring voice. No, it's not the ubiquitous roosters, as they still crow all night long and I hardly even notice them any more. The way you get used to a two am train whistle if you've heard it nightly for ages. Regardless of the amount of sleep I've managed, I'm always up before six. This bit of magic will never pack in my home-bound suitcase, but I'll relish the long days while I'm here.

There are two enormous differences between this return to paradise and my trip last year. No Frank. No Eric. I can't tell you how much I miss you two every single day. At Escuela, here at the hotel, at the watering holes and pupusa joints. Uno Amigo where there were Tres. The division of labour and talent last year, the constant and encouraging moral support, the daily sharing of the load and the laughter, made the whole undertaking in February of 2010 a virtual walk in the park.
The almost overwhelming challenges this year, at least the way I saw them last week, made me feel as if there was a stone in my shoe.

I've lightened up some now, even felt a smile creasing my sunburned cheeks several times over the past two days. There is a spring in my step, which is something powered more by what is in my heart than the strength in my legs. I am determined to get on with things with all the humour and patience and understanding I can muster, to give to the Project all that I can give. Selfishly, I know that's the easiest way for me to benefit most from this experience. Last year, I learned much more than I taught. I hope I remain open enough this time to get to chapter two of that same book.