Since this is ostensibly a “travel” blog, I thought I’d finally write something about traveling. But, as you know, I get easily sidetracked, so it’s not really about traveling at all. It’s about killing…
Thwack!
Yes! Got one! Sting, you murdering devil! I didn’t know you had it in you, you old snake in the grass!
Thwack!
Klosterman comes down in a reign of fury, smashing another one into oblivion.
Neil and I are sitting in Alegría, El Salvador, and we are killing mosquitoes; Murdering mosquitos, actually — with books. Neil has something by Chuck Klosterman and I have the Spanish translation of the autobiography of Sting. We have been killing mosquitoes all afternoon and I suspect we will continue until our thirst for blood is satiated.
Thump!
Neil, brother, you are a marksman! Bravo! You should be defending the Queen of England from a sniper tower!
Outside the rain is pouring down and melting into the corrugated tin roof above our heads like warm cocoa-butter on cake. The small pueblo in the country’s Eastern mountains is completely dead. Not a soul stirs, and the only sound carrying across the main plaza are the cheers of angry gringos as they bang literature against sheet-rock.
This morning we went for a walk to the emerald lagoon that lies in a crater above the village. We meandered through coffee fields, past lowing cows and children coming home from school who met us with suspicious eyes. The lagoon purportedly holds a mermaid seductress that enchants handsome men into her waters before killing them, but Neil and I don’t believe it: We were there, and we’re still alive.
Our bellies full of pupusas from an earlier feast, we sit on the wool blankets of our beds and monitor the sky above us like fat toad kings looking for dessert. The mosquitoes trace ignorant pirouettes, and the books in our hands quiver. It is almost time.
Thwack! Christ, I may have pulled a hamstring but I’ve just taken one down the size of a pterodactyl! This is oh, so satisfying: I am not getting bitten tonight.
Now it’s Neil’s turn.
Thwack! He strikes and the wall shudders as if hit by an anti-aircraft missile.
Meanwhile I look down at Sting to see how he’s doing and almost jump when confronted with the bloody face staring back at me. He looks like he’s just gone seven rounds with Evander Holyfield.
Outside the rain still falls tick! tick! staccato on the roof. Inside it is cozy and warm, and Neil and I are content to be in our own little carved out section of Central American paradise, even it if means having to share with a few winged companions. Though we might not have to share for too much longer…
Thwack!
This entry was written by , posted on December 7, 2008 at 12:18 am, filed under Central America and tagged alegria, cocoa butter, el salvador, killing mosquitoes. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.