Journal Entry 32 - Zen and the Art of Slinging Cement

Journal Entry # 32

Zen and the

Art of Slinging Cement

01 September 2002 - John (Matt's brother)

Hey, this is Matt's brother, John. I've been contracted (for a ridiculously high amount of money) to write a few lines about the trip while I was there. First, the three weeks I was in Costa Rica, were and will be the best time Matt and Laurie have on their trip. I could go on, but what's the point in overstating the obvious.

Okay, I'll try to settle down a little and actually write about some of the cool stuff that we did. The first on the list would have to be the Habitat work - the whole reason for the trip. Originally, I was to go down for a week of scuba diving, but then the inevitable happened. Matt sent me an email saying I should go down two weeks early to join them with the Habitat work, and for some fun outings.

Mas Mescla, Por Favor! (More cement, please!)

Laurie and John gettin' rid of the stones Ernesto mixin' up a batch

The houses in Costa Rica are concrete. The walls, the floor, the beds - okay, not the beds. I've worked with cement before but not like this. Because money is not exactly flowing down there, one doesn't have the luxury of things like bags of pre-sifted dirt, or a cement mixer. In order to get the dirt "clean" there is basically a frame set up with a big sifter on top. You dump a few shovels of dirt on it, and start sifting. The dirt falls through, and the rocks get dumped to the side. When there is a sufficient pile of dirt, our "cement mixer," Ernesto, gets to work. Ernesto was the brother/brother-in-law of the family whose house we working on. His job - put dirt, cement, water, and cement conditioner on a wheel-barrow, and mix.

Tirar Mescla (Throwing Cement)

The way the concrete is put on the walls is by slinging it. You have a plancha (a wooden trowel) and a cuchara (literally translates to spoon, but is really a large putty knife). You get a pile of mescla (means mix - it's the concrete) on your plancha, then get a bit on your cuchara and sling it at the wall. Sounds easy, right? Not so much. The technique takes at least a day to get a hang of, and usually you end up with concrete all over your face, clothes, and the occasional shot in the eye - a good feeling, no doubt. You know you got it right when it makes a thud and lands in a nice tight glob on the wall. You know you got it wrong when it splatters all over the wall, you, the poor sap next to you, the dog, the people next door - oh hell, you get the idea. At times the mescla would be a tad too wet and would start to pull away from the wall when it got thicker.

John building up a wall with cement

The ticos (nickname for the locals) called it barracho which translates literally to drunk...I still think they were talking about me, not the mescla. Re-enter Ernesto. Whenever you ran out of mescla you could just holler "necesito mescla" and Ernesto would holler "voy" simply meaning "I'm coming" I guess this is one of those you had to be there things, but it got to be quite funny.


A primed wall, ready to be covered	Matt slingin' mescla

Pasar Codal y Llenar Los Huecos (Pass the Codal and Fill the Holes)

In order to achieve a uniform, level wall maestros (guides) were made. After one has slung a goodly amount on the wall. (Goodly? Who talks like that?) Anyway, the next step is pasar codal. The codal is a one by four that is very straight, you set in on two maestros and push it up the wall. This knocks off any excess mescla, and lets you know where the huecos (holes) are. Then it's back to slinging mud, to fill in the holes, then the codal. On and on until you have a wall.


You can never pass the codal too much	Laurie fillin' in the huecos (holes)

Afinar (Finishing)

The last step is the finishing. You take your plancha, squirt some water on it, and start smoothing the mescla. Or so you think. Inevitably, you would catch a small rock under the plancha at some point which would put a nice thick line in your wall. After cussing vehemently and removing the rock, you get back to finishing.


Smooth like buttah, baby	The finished product

More than all of that, though, the most memorable part of the Habitat work was all the cool people I got to meet and work with. Don Jose was our maestro, and he was awesome to work with. Anytime you got something right, or he just liked what you were doing, you would hear his gravely voice "Que Barbaro". Which translates literally to "how barbaric". I think it's sort of the equivalent of us saying something is bad, but his sounded much cooler. I think Laurie and Matt have add'l entries about all of the cool Ticos and Ticas we met, so I'll let them expound.