Posts Tagged: photography

Mas Concrete

October 17, 2012

Here’s a picture of Rigoberto, whom I mentioned at the end of the last concrete email: Rigoberto shared his glove with me, so that I could cover my bandaged hand and avoid any further injury or infection. I mentioned my herniated disc  here  and here : there were several pieces to that story, though.  I would take breaks from our work so that my back could rest for a few moments.  Although I aimed for discretion, it wasn’t always a success.  Case …

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Concrete, part dos.

August 16, 2012

Some pictures to whet your appetite: The ladder being “fixed” The whole process, from start to finish. The process of moving the cement merits detailed exposition.  The workers (and John) shoveled the cement into buckets that we had lined up (about 8 of them); these were the same buckets Ana and I had used to hurl water.  I picked up a bucket, turned, handed it to Jen, who passed along to Ana, to the next and then the next, then, …

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Concrete(ly) in my body

August 15, 2012

*Disclaimer: This is MUCH longer than most of my other posts.  It will take a while to read through.  If you were to print it out, it would be about 2 pages double-spaced. I’m going to post part two separately.  Almost three weeks after the fact, about to reconstruct the day of concrete and cement, I looked in my journal today to see what I’d noted, in the hopes that it might jog my memory of the day.  What I …

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We’ve only just begun

August 14, 2012

6 a.m. was our departure from the Casa Retiros.  To work backwards, that meant that breakfast began at 5:30, and wake up, 4:30. My earliest meetings, at home in the States, start at 10 am—that’s a stretch for me.  My favorite time of day is morning, where I ease in—often with the same routine: skinny coffee and a book in my pajamas; an hour later, breakfast; then gather and prep for the day.  I had no coffee with me, and …

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Photos tell this story best

August 09, 2012

Before we ate lunch, we drove to the cemetery.  Why the cemetery? Because from the cemetery we could walk to an overlook and see the garbage dump from above– it was inside a crater-esque area.  For our bus to enter the cemetery, Juan Carlos had to pay as we drove through a gate.  We navigated to a spot far back, and he parked the bus.  All of us hustled out and followed Andres and Juan Carlos, police officer in front …

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