Journal, July 1, 1976 PM

San Miguel, pearl of the orient, and here we are, Jaime {Olson} & I getting ready to take a shower and be ready to hit the road at about 7 AM. Tom Morgan finally made it out to AnamorĂ³s at 10 AM for a meeting of ganaderos {cattle farmers}. (He had promised to be there by 8:30.) He had only had an hour’s sleep this morning & we had to feed him breakfast before he was ready to function. Tom’s a ‘good old boy’ from Rhode Island, and a red haired drinkin’ Irishman, don’t you see!

The meeting went well and we hit the road for San Miguel about 12:30. I’ll never see AnamorĂ³s again, another glimpse of campo {rural} life in El Salvador - good people stick out. I retain a picture taken of the barbwire fenced central park & the ancient-looking church.

San Miguel, we are spending the night with Mark & Holly Roddy, the indomitable Al Whiteneck and Dan Walters; Tom is staying too. Jaime & I met Mike {Staigers}, Diego {Cox} & Fred {Tracy} downtown for beer and talk in the afternoon. My training group, the survivors, are all so self-effacing & introspective, it is pleasant to just hang around in their company, but I feel like time’s-a-wasting. “Antsy”, we {my siblings and I} called it in Dad. I need to be involved in purposeful activity. I feel it even more here tonight. Our hosts are card players, beer drinkers, dope smokers, time passers. I don’t know if my dissatisfaction with that approach to life is rational. Perhaps I’m a self-righteous stiff going briskly nowhere. I’m just restless & vaguely dissatisfied, but they have recent Times {magazines} & tomorrow begins another pilgrimage to Costa Rica.

No comments: