The Plantation Diaries

Looking back

I lost Gracie a few months ago. A scorpion or spider wandered in her cage. She screamed suddenly and by the time I reached her, she was hanging upside down, one claw desperately hanging from her perch. I reached in and gently took her out. I held her close to my face and a few minutes later, she died.

My son had bought Gracie for my birthday, so it was even harder to say goodbye to her. Just a common green parrot, but she was a great friend. She loved to play on my desk disturbing everything in her path, and shaking her head up and down in satisfaction when I scolded her.

I kept her in a shoebox for a few days and finally let Vigil bury her far away on the finca so the dogs would never find her. I'm such a sentimentalist, and it is sometimes hard to be tough in the cycle of life that comes and goes here on the finca.

Ever's little girl Wendy celebrated her third birthday a few weeks ago. Evers asked if he could borrow my camera to take pictures at their house during the party. I didn't really feel comfortable letting him take the camera, so I offered to stop by and take the photos myself. When I arrived, he immediately came outside and I sensed he didn't want me to come inside. That's when I noticed while moving my way to the entrance, that the floor was dirt and they had no furniture other than a rickety wooden table. I pretended as though I didn't see any of it and just concentrated on taking pictures of Wendy while she batted at her pinata, and blew out her candles. I stayed for cake and coffee and then drove home. Evers told me last week, they are expecting another child in January. With any luck, I will be here to bring them home from the hospital as I did with Wendy.

This Sunday, I rode Nino around the finca. I found out the other day, that no one had ridden him in almost two months. Where did the time go? Evers escorted me and we spent an hour visiting with all the families that grow corn. Most of them have bent their corn stalks in half now to finish the drying process. The beans are almost all planted and if you look closely, you can see the first leaves emerging from the ground.

Seeing the corn so close to harvest, I realize it is coming up on a year since I came down here. Three seasons have passed with the busiest one just ahead. My previous trips down here were always for a few weeks at a time, so I missed a lot. It seems ages ago when I first walked on this land during a visit with my mother and sister in 1994. I remember feeling this strange pull, but quickly dismissed it as a silly daydream. At the time, I was married with a very conventional life in Chicago.

When my mother first approached me about running the finca, I initially laughed at such a far-fetched notion. It seemed impossible. How could I suddenly change gears, move to a foreign country, learn a new language, grow coffee, and live on an abandoned plantation alone? I guess my mother knew me well. I remember saying the words, "okay, I'll do it," to her and within moments, my life had shifted. I didn't know if I would succeed, but I had to try.

I asked myself, "What's it's going to be Steph? Stay safe, go back to your job, date, marry again, be conventional...or, maybe, just maybe, take a risk and see what you are made of." I really didn't want to admit that I had already made up my mind.

Initially, this seemed like a romantic adventure. Go live on the side of a volcano and whip 200 acres into shape. Five years later, it has become so much more than I ever imagined. The land romanced me as though I had been here before sometime in the past. I never felt I had to get to know the place like you do a new neighborhood. I put one foot in front of the other and never questioned it. The answers will come, and they have. Help has come from many sources. People have been generous and have gone out of their way to clear my path. For every challenge, there has been at least one person who eased the burden so that I might continue.

The initial and still important goal of turning a piece of land around, and allowing it yield a profitable bounty once more, has been eclipsed by the changes in the lives of a few. This really is a little speck on the globe that nobody would know about if I didn't write my thoughts down every now and then. In the big picture, it's minuscule compared to what's going in the rest of world.

But it is amazing to me when I look around at the people whose livelihood depends on this land now. Bringing it back to life has given at least 30 families a sense of well-being and security. Someone is running the show again, and the days of my great grandfather weave their way through tomorrow. I will always be grateful for this sobering time in my life when I was able to strip away the fluff to what matters the most, those human connections we make while we are here. I shall also be glad to pass on the baton one day. If there are any younger members of our clan out there interested in getting their feet wet, come on down.

Cabañas

Every week, or most weeks, I make the drive from the finca to the capital for meetings. I get through the two hour drive by passing certain landmarks along the way. The Esso station where I fill up and get a latte and pan dulce, the River Lempa, Zacatecaluca, the big Western Union sign hanging from the overpass, the camel-back volcano off to my right, the Texaco station for a quick pit-stop, the recycled glass factory, and finally the last bend in the road when the capital reveals itself.

The River Lempa divided the country during the civil war, with the Eastern side occupied by the Guerrillas. I've been told, it was their goal divide the country in two permanently. The finca would have belonged to East El Salvador. What a thought. The country is small enough as it is.

A bridge was built before the war spanning the river which spills out to the Pacific Ocean. The bridge was an exact replica of the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, right down to the orange paint. It was blown up during the conflict and a new bridge was built, but not a replica. The only memory of the miniature Golden Gate is a torn chunk of metal with traces of orange paint at the base of the northern end.

I was late yesterday and rushing to my meeting. I knew the Lempa was coming up in a few minutes, checking it off my mental list of being one-fifth of the way to the capital. Arriving at the small town before the bridge, the traffic was at a halt. I immediately assumed an accident. No one seemed to know what the trouble was until a bus driver went to investigate. When he returned, he told me is was a political disturbance. A few minutes later, several police trucks showed up. I couldn't see a thing as the cars, trucks, cows, and oxen were blocking my view. Forty minutes later, we started moving. When I finally crossed the bridge, I found several hundred people standing peacefully in protest carrying signs and sheet banners. One young man threw a handout in my car as the police whistled at him to get out of the way.

The paper said something about Cabanas and had photos of people that looked like they had been killed. I stuffed it away thinking I would try to see if anyone knew what it was about. I remember feeling very annoyed at the delay, but after seeing all those faces in quiet protest, I wished them luck.

Throughout the day, I showed the paper to people. I found it a little odd that no one took much interest and had very little to say about it. Well, those people on the bridge certainly had something on their minds, I thought.

This afternoon, I did a little research and did not like what I found. Cabanas refers to one of the fourteen departments (or states) in this country. It is in the northern region and suffers from extreme poverty. There is no tourism or industry. In fact, when looking for hotels or restaurants to promote for my website, Gateway El Salvador, Cabanas drew a big blank. A good friend said they are in the process of building a new highway that will run parallel to the other two highways in the northern region in an attempt to bring life to this part of the country. Someone else mentioned they were only building the road to give access to the gold mine.

I was vaguely aware that there is a gold mine here in El Salvador (El Dorado). Only last week an acquaintance in the U.S. asked for my help as he has stocks with The Pacific Rim Mining Company, that is trying to go forth with operations. After a few inquiries, I was told to tell my friend to sell his stocks. Apparently the mine is a hot subject that might never get off the ground. The process of extracting the gold destroys the environment for at least two hundred years and contaminates the water table by cyanide leaching.

The local citizens concerned about their environment and drinking water have banded together in protest. They are regularly threatened and only last week, a very vocal individual was found shot and dumped in the bottom of a well. The crimes are attributed by officials as gang squabbles and unrelated to the mine.

The prior administration who initially was banking on a lucrative arrangement, suddenly backed away from issuing the needed permits just prior to the presidential election. Pacific Rim who has lost millions of dollars in exploration costs, has filed a 77$ million dollar arbitration claim in the CAFTA courts against El Salvador. The new administration reportedly has little to say so far on the subject, but they have only been in office a few months.

It was a troubling discovery that I would never had known about had these people not took a stand on the Lempa bridge yesterday. It was not comforting to know that only an hour away, people are being attacked, threatened, and shot, with very little being done about it. I make it a rule to stay away from politics as there are so many sides to a story, but just one death is one too many in a country that has already suffered such losses.

Not to be dismissive, but it was a strange sight today to see the boys come back this afternoon with ripe coffee. They picked about 50lbs. in cherry and Beto warned it will be like this from here on out. Don Mario was sitting on the ground rolling a short piece of wide bamboo over the cherries like a rolling pin. Back and forth, back and forth as the beans separated themselves from the fruit. Vigil, never one to over exert himself, put his cherries in a large wide bucket and walked on them just like stomping on grapes. It was amusing at first, but I could see that these laborious methods will never do with my limited staff.

I am meeting with the new beneficio tomorrow morning to see what arrangements can be made for getting the beans washed. A beneficio will normally wash and dry your beans for a set price. I only want to wash and then bring our beans and the pulp back to the finca, so it will require a little haggling to come up with a price both sides can agree on.

Funny, I used to dream about things like a remodeled kitchen, a new computer, those designer shoes I saw in the window, a new sofa, or a dress. Now...I just think about things like coffee mill machines, a small earth mover, a paved road, and water, water, water.

El Nino

Just when I thought I had mastered the basics of growing coffee, El Nino has walked into my life leaving me a bit bamboozled. We normally begin harvesting in December. A trickle at first with a dozen women from town that spikes mid-month with 35 to 40 pickers. They are harried days and everyone is excited and exhausted.

A few days ago, Don Beto came to me to say that there are ripe coffee cherries that need to be picked. It didn't sink in at first and I brushed it off to my recent illness. Don Beto confirmed his statement saying that it happens sometimes. I don't think he has ever heard of the El Nino effect. Later that afternoon, I saw a blurb online which is how I became aware of Senor Nino's presence. I never paid much attention at home, but farming coffee sheds a whole new light on the subject.

It started a few months ago and is expected to last through the first quarter of 2010. With it comes warmer Pacific waters, excessive rainfall along the Caribbean coast of Latin America, and irregular drought episodes along the Pacific coast. I was vaguely aware that there had been dry periods, but being my first time here for the entire rainy season, I did not have any past references on what is considered normal.

I was aware the harvest will be slightly less this year. It rained early, the flowers bloomed, and the rain stopped for several weeks. Many of the blooms withered while the others struggled to transform themselves to coffee cherries. The beans are strong and beautiful, but I have noticed that almost every tree is showing signs of ripening.

There is a lot to do this year as we will be processing all the coffee in-house. I thought I still had months to prepare and suddenly Beto and I are spending our night-times thoughts on the logistics ahead of us. We need to expand the sun patio and that work will begin next week. Drying 15,000lbs. of coffee takes up a lot of space even if it's not all at once.

With the rainy season not officially over until the end of October (but who knows, that may end early this year), drying the coffee becomes a major concern. It means bringing the beans in every afternoon or at the first sign of rain and then putting it back out in the morning. Hopefully, if the coffee ripens at a slow pace, we will be able to manage this additional daily task.

The beneficio just down the road where I was planning to take the beans to separate the pulp does not open until December. I am meeting with another one next week as an alternate. He is twice the distance, but the only other game in town. I hope one day, we can have our own beneficio in-house. The new generation of coffee processing machines require less water, but come at a hefty price of $10,000. It's on the wish list.

The silver lining...I can begin exporting sooner. My buyer in Chicago wants fabric bags for the coffee. I visited the town of San Sebastion a few weeks ago where men in their 70's weave cloth on giant looms. There are only a dozen or so left and it has been difficult to pass the trade to the younger generation. I brought home some sample fabric and had a local woman sew up a bag yesterday. It was perfectly made and she wants .20 a bag for her labor. Sold. She is now working on her first one hundred bags.

Back

I'm afraid to even look at the date of the last blog. I know it's been a long time. Even here, so far away from everything, it is easy to get caught up with daily life. The quiet moments to reflect are few and far between these days, and once the rhythm of writing about ones day is broken, it is so hard to get back again.

When I left off, I was in the throes of paperwork madness in an effort to export coffee to Chicago. There were two more days of nightmares to wade through including a perky drug-sniffing Cocker Spaniel named Bingo at the airport. When the clerk at the TACA freight office stamped my air-bill and handed me the final and last document, it was hard to believe it was all over. The boxes flew the next day and arrived in Chicago on the 4th of July. The coffee has all but sold out, and I have another order.

I was spent after a month of learning the ropes of exporting which probably had something to do with the silence these past weeks. That, and a very nasty cold which has had me down for three weeks. Yesterday, for the first time, I recognized myself. This is not a rabbit hole I wish to fall down into again.

Does anyone remember those electric fly swatters that looks like a tennis racket? I used to have one when I lived in Chicago and they were great during the summer for frying up loads of mosquitos. I found one down here last year, used it for a while, and then forgot about it. I pulled it out yesterday to see if it still worked and then left it by my desk. Well...my $3.50 purchase sort of saved my life tonight.

I was going through my closet while hunting down a particular black dress to wear tomorrow for my cacao meeting. I have about 8 black dresses and I was flipping through them, I noticed a grayish spot on one of the dresses. I went back to it and was about to rub my finger on it when I realized it wasn't a spot at all, but a very large black scorpion. I grabbed a flashlight and my handy-dandy electric tennis racket/bug fryer and yelled out for Vigil and Evers in case I wasn't successful. If I got bit, I really wasn't sure if I could drive myself to the hospital before whatever was going happen to me would begin. I nudged the scorpion and he fell onto the racket with my finger pushing the "on" button. He danced and sparked, his nasty little tail swinging around madly, and then he was still. Evers and Vigil were so amused by it all, they wanted to look for another one, just like kids. I gave the racket and jerking scorpion to them to get rid of outside. I told Evers and he, Juana, and I are going to take everything out of the closet and give it a good shake tomorrow afternoon.

There has been an influx of critters, but only because I bought a shop-vac and had Evers vacuum the attic and then spray. The critters fled their cozy quarters and headed downstairs. I had not thought to check the closet for new tenants until tonight.

Coffee Woes

Today was just as mortifying as all previous journeys to the capital in my effort to obtain my export license. The only difference was that I fully expected road blocks at every turn, and I was not disappointed. Our first stop was the "Hacienda" (equivalent of the IRS) to get my EVA registration card so I can dutifully pay my share of taxes. We were told it was a simple process and should be in and out in ten minutes. We were handed a pre-printed form listing all the requirements which were impressive. Copies of phone, water, and electric bills, bank statements, my NIT (a simpler form of the DUI which I actually have), and the all elusive DUI. In the end, after consulting with three different associates, we were told that I would have to obtain a power-of-attorney from my mother in San Francisco stating she will authorize me to act as an exporter since I do not have my DUI.

We immediately phoned the Consulate General in San Francisco who was expecting her that morning to take care of her name issue (Concha vs. Concepcion) and politely asked him if he would also create this new document. He agreed.

Next, we drove to the coffee council and there waiting for us, was my temporary export license for Saturday's shipment of coffee to Chicago. A big victory, but the issue of the previous stop was weighing on our minds. The coffee council told us we should head over the Central Reserve Bank to pay the export duty of $19. They said this should only take a few minutes and I did not need a DUI.

The clerk was borderline unfriendly and right off the bat, told me that I had the wrong kind of NIT. I needed a NIT that had "Importer/Exporter" stamped on it. The NIT office was three blocks away. The NIT office was closed for lunch when we arrived and had to wait 45 minutes. That actually went quite smoothly, but the fee was $.46 and we would need to pay it at a bank and bring back the receipt first. Not again! My uncle pleaded, and the administrator took pity on us accepting my change.

We flew back to the Central Reserve Bank with my new NIT ready to pay the duty. The clerk then pulled out three forms. We made it through the first two and then came the next brick wall. Form three required me to have a bill of sale printed by a recognized registered printing company. I think it was at that moment, my uncle and I temporarily lost our momentum and simultaneously sagged in our chairs. Will this ever stop?

We picked up our new stack of forms and left in search of a printer. Fortunately, a friend knew just the person. For $20, he will print up 50 "Bill of Sale" forms in triplicate with his official registry number and have them ready Friday morning as soon as I have my EVA from the Hacienda. My uncle said we should head back the Hacienda to make sure we had everything covered. This time, we actually had a extremely helpful young lady take care of us, presenting us with yet another form and a addendum to the power-of-attorney. For once, the timing was on our side as just at that moment, my mother was sitting with the Consulate General in San Francisco. We made a quick call and he agreed to make the changes.

If anyone is confused, join the club. I was constantly asking my uncle where we were in the process as I had lost track early in the morning. Just like the day I went to the cargo terminal a few months ago to pick up a simple package that was mailed to me, I felt that zombie-like state coming on. Just spin me, point me in the right direction, and tell me where to sign.

We left the Hacienda, ran some errands and made the long drive back here to the finca. It's now 10pm. Tomorrow we are boxing up the coffee and driving it to the airport on Friday morning after we run around the capital to pick up the last of the documents. Evers is coming along to guard the coffee. I haven't told him yet and he is going to be thrilled. He has never seen the capital. I just hope he remembers to watch the coffee.

What's in a Name?

For all new parents, let this be a lesson on filling out your child's birth certificate!

My mother was born "Concepcion Gracelia Samayoa Quiros". For some reason which she has conveniently blamed on my deceased father, she wrote her name as "Concha Samayoa" on my birth certificate. A name she hated and only used by her brothers to tease her when she was a child.

My father who was born in Denmark, was christened Benth, the Danish version of "Ben." So his birth certificate along with my mother's do not match what is on mine. Ben and Concha do not sync with Ben and Concepcion.

In order to get my export license to sell coffee stateside, I must first obtain my Salvadoran identity which is available to me as a matter-of-course because my mother is Salvadoran. The document is called a DUI, not to be confused with the other form of DUI (drinking under the influence), equally nightmarish.

My uncle and I drove to DUI Central in San Salvador last week, only to be told of the obvious name discrepancy which I secretly hoped they would not notice. They told us we could get my mother's birth certificate amended at the local town hall back in Santiago de Maria and bring it back. That proved fruitless. The city hall told us we needed an attorney to add "Concha" to her list of names. None were willing and those that were, wanted close to $300 for their seal of approval. We found out later, that would not have worked anyway.

In the meantime, we headed over the Coffee Council to see what steps are needed to obtain an export permit. It's endless. The folks at the council were very helpful, especially Senor Tomas Bonilla who has taken great steps to make it happen for me.

We explained the problem getting my DUI, and Senor Bonilla said they could possibly issue a one-time permit for my shipment leaving this Saturday bound for Chicago. We would need to register the name of the coffee first at the Registry of Names. We headed over there where they would not accept my application without my DUI. I finally put it in my uncle's name and can change it later. The fee was $20, but you have to go to a bank to pay the fee and then return to the office with your receipt. Who thought of this one? It took two and half hours, and we were presented with a one-inch stack of stapled documents.

We made several other stops in the city and our last was to pick up some papaya trees for the finca. The Taiwanese government is sponsoring a special program with papayas. I signed up and they gave me 25 free trees to try out to be followed by several hundred if they adapt to the area.

Nuve who recently had puppies has not been the best mother. Less than attentive, 2 of the 6 puppies expired, one disappeared, and one was given to Samuel (son of Juanita). I was told about the dead puppies on Friday morning by Vigil, but Beto said they had been given away. A lot of double talk. The puppies were in a frightful state as Carlito was convinced they had fleas, and had doused them in a powder turning them bright purple. I had a home for the two remaining pups and before anything else happened to them, I told Beto to deliver them to their new homes right away. I suggested he use the large blue plastic box in the greenhouse that the papaya trees had come in to transport the puppies. I had told Juana to put the box in the first greenhouse near the house until I could find time to have them planted. She put them in the second greenhouse near the animal pens. When I went with Beto to retrieve the box which was sitting on the ground, something looked out of place. I did a double take and realized I had 25 black bags with soil and no papaya trees. My three remaining rabbits which I have been asking the guys to sell for the past two months had papaya for breakfast. I was mortified as I had signed for the trees and how would I explain they were gobbled up overnight. I yelled at Beto to fetch a corn sack, round up the rabbits, and get rid of them that instant. Don't sell them, set them free, or keep them around for dinner. Take them to the restaurant in town and fill all the rabbit tunnels with rocks. It took all five guys to round up the rabbits and Beto finally took off. The puppies were crying and the corn sack was jumping around in the back of the truck as he pulled away.

After Beto returned, my uncle and I headed back to San Salvador which is 75 miles each way. We were headed to Ministry of Foreign Affairs in hopes of getting some help with my DUI. The first clerk took a cursory glance and told us we had to go to court where I could present my case before a judge to testify that my mother is also known as "Concha." My uncle kept pushing and got the attention of Senora Genoveva who immediately took an interest in my case. She spoke perfect English and ushered us to their in-house attorney. After an hour of examining all my documents, he declared that the Consulate General in San Francisco would have to create an Apostille stating that my mother is known to the world as "Concha", attach it to my birth certificate, and have it sent to him. Since my father is dead, my uncle and I can swear under oath, that "Benth" is also known as "Ben."

We called my mother in SF and told her what she needed to do. She would have to obtain a fresh copy of my birth certificate as the attorney told me my copy was too worn. I gave her the number of the Consulate General and told her to arrange a time to meet with him. He told her in addition to my birth certificate, she would need to present her birth certificate, her passport, and two Spanish speaking witnesses with proper ID's, not related, to swear to her "Concha" identity. This set my mother a bit over the edge as she does not know any Spanish speaking people in SF that are not family. We set the SF relatives on alert to find two people post haste and headed back to the coffee council.

The coffee council told me I would need to write a letter of appeal first for their in-house attorney to decide if they would issue me the temporary export permit. We had to wait until today for their decision.

This morning, Monday, we made the drive once again in high spirits as they called and said they were working on the papers. When we arrived, they presented a pile of forms that needed to be completed and then emailed to them, but could not be done in their office. We headed to a mall with a cyber cafe, completed the forms, and waited until 2pm when we were told to call them back. In the meantime, my mother called to say she could not find her birth certificate. I had a copy which we had scanned and sent to the Consulate General in SF as a pdf attachment. They never got it, and later that day, we ended up faxing it. We checked in with my mother again, who had not yet found the two witnesses who are supposed to present themselves tomorrow morning. I couldn't' believe she didn't know anyone and found myself near tears as we headed back to Tecapan. I browsed through my phone book and suddenly came across the name of an acquaintance in SF that I had not spoken to in over a year. Could I do it? With no shame, I called him up and asked him for the big favor. Would he pick up my mother, be a witness, and bring along another one? Fortunately, he knows the Consulate General, understood my predicament, and was more than willing to help out.

On the way home, the Consulate General called me and said he had not used an Apostille in over 20 years. My mother would have to take the documents that he was going to create to the U.S. courthouse in SF to have them authenticated. Oh boy, I thought, Mom will freeze up at this one. My uncle, always so quick to come up with solutions, called Genoveva at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. She told us not to worry. She would call the Consulate General herself and get it straightened out. As far as I know, everyone is meeting there on Wednesday at 1pm for the Concha pow-wow. A close friend of mine is arriving here on Friday and will be bringing the precious documents. We've hired a guard.

Tomorrow, my uncle and I are headed back to the capital. Fingers crossed, angels hovering, we will return home having registered with the tax board, Ministry of Agriculture, and have the temporary export license in our hands. Nothing so far has gone as planned, and I doubt tomorrow will be an exception. I don't really care at this point how many more hoops we need to jump through, as long as we succeed.

If anyone has read this far, I should like to say that this is not normally how I would have handled this shipment of goods. In other words, finalizing a sale before having my ducks in a row. I can only defend myself by saying that I was promised the use of an export permit by a close friend which proved to have been revoked pending some past due payments, and I had no idea of how difficult it would be to get my DUI. You live and learn. The upside, once I have all the documents, it should only take another two weeks.

In the shipment of coffee headed for Chicago are 75lbs. of green coffee. They have been pre-sold by my buyer and I would like the end user to know that they boys here on La Finca have been sorting them bean by bean for the past two days. This is normally handled by a sorting machine. The one locally available, is down for repairs. There are always broken bits, a few darker beans, and some whitish ones that must be removed to ensure uniformity in high quality coffee. It's tedious work and I made sure Juana kept the boys supplied with endless cups of coffee and pastries. They seemed quite happy to take a break from the fields.

So that's it for now. Wish me luck again!

The Learning Curve

Coffee errands

My uncle and I drove to San Salvador today with such a busy agenda, that I have to go back through my calender book to remember where we went. I have been making the two-hour drive to San Salvador every Thursday for the cacao meetings, so when my uncle showed up this morning, I was more than happy to hand him the keys.

We stopped in to see a cousin who is semi-retired having spent his career in the coffee business. He spelled out the steps I need to take in order to obtain my export license. I will my DUI (very much like our Social Security number back in the states) which I have been putting off for months. It's a like a visit to the DMV, you really don't want to go until absolutely necessary. Perhaps, if I buy a roll of red tape and stick a little piece on every form I fill out before I hand it back to a clerk, it will make me feel better.

After I have my precious DUI, I need to register a name for the coffee. It has to be a name that is easily recognized in the U.S., El Salvador, and elsewhere in the world. Alex (my uncle) and I amused ourselves most of the day dreaming up silly names. I finally decided on the perfect name which will remain a secret until it's registered! From there, I need to apply for a tax license, and if everything goes somewhat smoothly, I will get my export license.

License in hand, I must apply with the FDA which can be done online. There is also a step to complete with the U.S. Customs and Border Patrol. After the initial paperwork is finished, it's a matter of an annual renewal fee. I have been told the entire process will take anywhere from a day to a month. Anyone want to place a bet?

My cousin mentioned that right next door at The United Nations, their banking investment division was beginning a study to develop coffee tourism with fincas throughout the country. He suggested we stop by, and we did. We met several helpful people, but did not quite make it to the top of the food chain. I did get all the phone numbers and a request to return next week.

A friend just contacted me from the west coast who wanted to buy some coffee, but at a heavily discounted price. After a dozen phone calls, I was able to track down some available green beans. We met up with the seller today as I had requested a sample. I was planning to stop by the Salvadoran Coffee Council and hoped to get an opinion on the beans. Louis Rodriguez, president of the council was very helpful in demystifying the export process and provided me with a good contact at Exporta, an agency that assists in exporting goods from El Salvador.

I met their cupping technician and asked if he could tell me anything about the sample I had. He went one step further, and said he would roast and cup it for me. Thirty minutes later, he called us back to his lab. He immediately told me the coffee had defects. The sample had several broken and dark colored beans. He had made two sample cups. The one with the defects fermented within minutes. The second cup, he had removed the inferior beans before brewing. While it was passable coffee, he said it was of average grade for the commercial market. It meant I would have to hire people to go through all the sacks to remove the bad beans.

I was grateful for his opinion and have since called the seller and declined the offer. My friend was disappointed, but understands you can't make good coffee if you don't have good beans to begin with. I told him I would keep looking. Before leaving the coffee council, the technician told me they have cupping and roasting courses that I might be interested in. I signed for the next class which is the last week of July.

My uncle and I grabbed a quick lunch and stopped by a pharmacy. With rainy season in full swing, I have to admit, I am being bitten by tiny invisible insects called Zancudos. They are a relative of the mosquito. Mosquitoes do not bother me, but these Zancudos leave large red welts that itch and last for weeks. The pharmacist sold me an antibiotic cream which I have nick-named Zanstop. Sounds better than Bacitracina.

Our last stop was to the Taiwanese Embassy who are promoting a program to grow Papayas. My uncle has been pushing me to consider it. I kept telling him that I think I have enough on my hands as it is, but I agreed to at least talk the people running the program. The papayas are a special species called Red Lady that after 8 months produce their first crop, followed by three more within the year. They are not very tall, making them easy to harvest as opposed to the indigenous Papaya trees here that can grow to 15 feet.

They are willing to give me 30 trees free of charge just to try them out. They will deliver them, recommend a planting site, and offer technical assistance throughout the year. If I like them, I can then purchase more trees at .50 a piece. They can also be inter-planted with the corn. I agreed to the free trees as I have an empty spot very close to the hacienda. With any luck, we will be enjoying a healthy crop of Papayas by February.

The finca has a reserve of special green beans which is going to be sold in the U.S. next week. The finca's first export! A close friend has agreed to let me use his export license until I have my own. I am taking the beans to the roaster in Juycupa tomorrow. I am having a medium and French roast done to my specs. and it should be ready by Tuesday. The beans will fly on TACA/United. The buyer already has a list of customers anxiously waiting. A story is being written in a well-known newspaper to announce the arrival. The beans will sell at a premium and the men on the finca can hardly believe it.

It was a full day and I owe a great deal of gratitude to my uncle. He maneuvered his way through the maze of streets like a veteran taxi driver. On my own, I might have managed only a few of the many stops we made today. Thanks Uncle.

　

Coffee and Cacao

  I took more time off than I expected from blogging, and I have heard about it. I have received nearly 80 emails from people wondering what happened to me. I am asking myself that same question. No, I didn't get kidnapped, although that would have made for a good read...

During my trip to the states and since my return, I have literally been swamped with managing the property and ensuring its future. Help has arrived, in a mysterious way, from several places, so I can breathe a little easier, at least for now!

I learned so much on my trip to San Francisco. I met with Alex Mason at Royal Coffee in Oakland, CA. who spent several hours teaching me about the world of coffee brokering. What an interesting world it is. When I arrived at the their office, a roaster had stopped by cup some beans from Nicaragua, so I was just in time to participate. I have never cupped before, and I paid close attention. Alex set out four glasses with dry grounds. Hot water was poured to the brim and they began sniffing while waiting for the coffee reach just the right tasting temperature. Then with a large spoon, they quickly broke the surface emitting a variety of new aromas.  They could discern quite a bit just by the smell, to which I just nodded my head whenever they asked my opinion. Having rinsed the spoons, they took a spoonful of coffee and sucked it in all at once with a loud slurp, swished, and then spit the sampling into an empty glass. They finally decided on two that the roaster was interested in purchasing. Alex then made me a cup of each sample and took me through the process, only I didn't suck and slurp. Just couldn't quite bring myself to do it. I did end up trying my hand at it a few days later at a big cupping event where I participated in judging coffee from the Dominican Republic.

I can expect to export to someone like Royal at market prices, plus a small premium for the specialty coffee market. After all, they have their mark-up too. What I really want, Alex told me, are the roasters to take an interest. They are the ones who will pay an even higher premium. So with that in mind, I contacted as many roasters as time allowed, and have now lined up several who are looking forward to "cupping" my green beans come December.

I also made time to meet with my friends at Tcho, manufacturers of fine chocolate in San Francisco. It is always a delight to see John Kehoe, Timothy Childs, and Nina Luttinger. With a background in hi-tech, the company has embraced the latest technology to produce quality cacao products, raising the bar once again. Their name, "Tcho" spells it out. "T" for technology and "cho" for chocolate. Their new packaging is like a box from Tiffany's, but better as you are rewarded with 6 4" squares of individually wrapped offerings from around the world.

Their factory is right out of Willy Wonka located in the heart of San Francisco's Embarcadero. You can sample and purchase their cache at their storefront located at Pier 17, or order online at http://tcho.com/store. Their number is: 415-981-0189. Tell them Nina Stephanie from El Salvador sent you!

I extended my stay in San Francisco when my friends and family were no longer speaking to me because I had no time to socialize. It was still difficult, but I managed to enjoy a few days of quality time before flying back to La Finca. As soon I returned, Evers accidentally sprayed herbicide in his left eye. It was red, and almost swollen shut. We took him to the local hospital who referred us to the larger town of Usulutan. They were not equipped to handle something that serious, which made me very nervous.

We ended up in the hands of a fine ophthalmologist who flushed his eye, administered a shot, and filled out prescriptions for antibiotics and pain killers. She patched his eye and told me he was to remain absolutely still in a dark room for 8 days. We paid the doctor, bought his medication and took him home. I checked on him every few days and I am happy to say, he is fully recovered. The doctor told me that she sees cases like this often, but many people cannot afford treatment. They usually lose their eyesight, so Evers is quite the lucky fellow.

The next day, Vigil managed to cut his foot on a piece of iron that resulted in a nasty gash. Another trip to the doctor, more medicine, and a few days to recuperate. What's the saying....everything happens in three's? Later that afternoon, Carlito showed up with a deep cut to his thumb. His machete slipped. This one we treated on the finca with iodine, and bandages. He worked corn cleaning detail for a few days instead of pruning the cacao trees. I reminded everyone to take their time and be mindful of what they were doing. 　

Today, I had a visit from Dr. Wilberth Philips who is the recipient of the 2008 Cocoa Sustainability Award for his work to obtain improved, disease-resistant varieties of cacao. As Cacao is so susceptible to certain fatal diseases, the work of Dr. Philips is invaluable for the future of chocolate. I was introduced to Dr. Philips by Ed Sequine who is one of the leaders in the industry. Ed is the master of cacao and has taught me much. I credit him as my mentor.

Dr. Philips was invited to El Salvador by the new organization, ES-CACAO to present a seminar on disease control and prevention, seed germination, grafting, and a quick tour of cacao producing fincas. Dr. Philips was interviewed this morning on a local radio station before his tour to the eastern part of the country. He gave me some great tips to improve my production which will be closely followed.  

The blog is about to undergo a big change. I have decided to create a blog/website. There will be a redirect with a new address when it's ready to launch. The website will have much more content, better photos, and an online store. I will start selling coffee from right here on the finca. I will offer the coffee at $7.00lb. The only drawback is the shipping which is by air with tracking, but will run $9.50! Yet, some of the well-known coffee companies stateside sell their coffee at nearly the same price. La Finca's coffee is direct from the farm and picked by Evers, Carlito, Vigil, Mario, Beto, and 30 women from the village. The bags will be packaged in burlap sacks made here from a 100 year old burlap factory in the next town.

The best part, is that $1 of every pound sold will go to the local school. A month ago, someone broke into the school in the middle of the night and stole all the food for the children's lunch program. The guard was apparently asleep when it happened. To make matters worse, it happened again last night. This time, the thieves pinched two computers and three bags of powdered milk. Perhaps they need a new guard, or two in case one falls asleep.

I have also been extremely busy trying to raise funds to work the coffee this year so it is free to export to the U.S. come January. Thus, my reference in the above second paragraph about help arriving in mysterious ways. That story, I will save for another post.

　

　

　

　

　

Heading North

I am heading to San Francisco in the morning, and it feels a little like Christmas. Don Beto, Vigil, and I are leaving at 5am for the airport. Vigil asked to ride along as he has never seen an airplane before. I am meeting with several coffee and cacao companies next week. Keep your fingers crossed everyone. La Finca will have 15,000 pounds of coffee this December and would love to send it up North so everyone can try it. Will send updates when I can.