It occured to me last night that I've been volunteering at a bar. To help orphans. Strange. It's not exactly clear why we have to volunteer at a bar prior to say, teaching kindergarten. The best answer that my fellow travelers and I can come up with is that it is some sort of hazing. We're either bored to tears, or having people yell at us. And in case there was any confusion, I am not a bar tender. In fact, last night I was told that I should never be a bar tender. I absolutely agree. I'm not the only misfit bartender though. Last night one of my friends, and I'm not going to say who, was drinking a Cuba Libre, then made a Cuba Libre for a customer, and then gave her Cuba Libre to said customer. That's personal service for you.

When I'm not getting in the way at the bar, I'm in the kitchen, usually washing dishes but sometimes buttering pans or making lopsided tortillas. The kitchen is actually pretty great. Chef is this round guy who wears a chef hat, looks like a muppet, and likes to say "oh my god" and "I'm sorry" in English and cracks up when I repeat the words back to him. He and the other guys who work in the kitchen are sweet, and it's fun to try to banter with them, although the language sometimes presents a challenge.

Tonight is our last night as volunteers at Hotel Backpacker, and I can honestly say that I am not at all sad to say goodbye. It's one more crazy night of drunk volunteers and more Gallo beers than you can shake a stick at. This has been one of the slowest weeks of my life. Not the hardest, not the longest, just the slowest.