Country Roads

“Hibiclens has antiseptic activity and persistent antimicrobial effect with rapid bactericidal activity against a wide range of microorganisms”

…reads the box of my shower contents.

Moldy clothes from weeks of rain, tiny bugs that creep through my mosquito net to spend the night at my side, a 4- hour “bush-whacking” hike across the Honduran border, open wounds from playing futbol on a tick infested and rock covered cancha, and being in El Salvador

…reads my list of possible causes.

My neck has a lump that makes me wonder if the large spider that perches above my shower is a Black Widow and my underarms look like they have hosted a small population of mosquitos for the past week. There is a hole in my foot, my right knee is, lets just say unpleasant to look at, and my ankle is not stuck between 2 boulders but at times I still find myself planning how to amputate it. I’m effing itchy.

So I finally made my way to the capital, Hibiclens’ed my body and pray that the skin infection will soon pass with the help of 2 sets of pills and lots of soapy shower time. I miss my wounds healing. Oh the things you take for granted.

I did get some time to appreciate the small things this weekend as a group of us hiked from one volunteer’s site to another in the Northern part of the county. Hagan lives in a really chill little pueblo where teenaged boys wearing Orange County Chopper shirts sit on the corners to stare you down as you pass. Even a gang full of gringos feel insignificant in the eyes of these guys. Donkeys greet you at every feeding ground and caballeros ride by the pupuserias, leaving behind a trail of their cigarette smoke in the night. It was a tough site to leave, but our hiking shoes were eagerly awaiting the scree and our lungs- the pine filled air ahead.

The walk was long but the time passed too quickly, as I sit here longing the view of the San Miguel volcano as a peak among layered mountains. Green fields to mucky soil, red land to blue swimming holes; Overgrown maguey to hidden pineapple plants, star fruit to trail mix; donkeys and mules to long-lost Cantifla. The trip was never lacking moments of precious surprises. When my face got too sweaty, there was a river to dunk my head. When Joanna got bored we stumbled upon a vertical incline. Brock prevailed over a nearly-lost maimed finger. And we were guided to salvation by Hagan’s unrelenting machete and Jim’s overflowing camel pack.

After just a few bruised elbows, burnt belly-buttons, purple midsections, wet pants and bumpy armpits, we were there. Jim lives in a cabin built on a cliff by the volunteer before him, where light comes in the form of starry nights and sun sneaking into the cracks in the wood in the morning. Maybe it was just one night for me but it made living without electricity too serene to seem difficult. His host family entertained us through pull-up contests with Broccoli and nearly more yummy plates of beans and rice than cute giggley children…but it was anyone’s game. When we knew it was time to rest our legs…we heard the waterfall crashing in the distance, so we set back out for one more conquest.

And yet now I lay here defeated. In a hotel bed with nothing to show for myself except my itchy infection. I’m closing my eyes and unsure if the music is coming from my Mom’s cassette player from her room in New York or the humming from my viajeros in northern Morazán, but its saying “Take me home…”