Stop straining.  Don’t talk and calm your heart…down, down, down…along the spine between the shoulder blades and then upwards, into the chest.

Destroyed buildings in remote parts of the world were better than five-star hotels. I was here to scout for a narrow stretch of the river suitable to construct a footbridge. The old bridge had been cut by the military and the rusty cables were dragging in the current of clear mountain water.  The banks had been eroded by the rains and on the other side I could see a few Indian huts and a line of smoke in the trees.  I was just north of the Ixil Triangle in Guatemala.  The war was sputtering to an end, but try telling that to landmines or people disappeared by the military or potshot by some grim band of the EGP.

Breathe evenly; otherwise the hyperventilation will start.

My masterpiece, the…