El Salvador, One Week In: Jungle Birds and Phil Collins (or, "He Wouldn't Talk To Me Like That If I Possessed a Monocle")

One of my favorite things about El Salvador is the birds. Savannah calls them "jungle birds." They wake up really, really early in the morning and they sing songs entirely different than those of birds with which I'm familiar. Jungle bird songs are loud and melodic and sort of exotic, and you can't really escape them because they're everywhere. So, sort of like INXS circa 1986-87. Sometimes when I'm at work walking outside, I'll stop and watch the jungle birds soar and squawk, and I admire their brightly colored plumage. It makes me feel British somehow, like I should possess a monocle. And then my boss is like, "Hey! Get back to work!" And I'm thinking, he wouldn't talk to me like that if I possessed a monocle.
Raining down. San Salvador. 2015.

I love the rain that falls in torrents some days in the afternoon or evening. The days start out clear and blue, but you can feel the humidity build through the morning hours. Then, it's like there comes a point that the air just can't hold the moisture anymore, and it all falls as quickly and as violently as it can. I have stood a time or two on our hotel balcony watching the rain rush down, and this Phil Collins song from when I was a kid plays in my mind, "I Wish It Would Rain Down." And I feel like that's pretty much as good as it gets in this life: watching the rain, thinking about Phil Collins wearing a monocle.