In the Mexico MTC, we had regular earthquake drills, but I never felt any real quakes. On the other hand, in El Salvador, we frequently felt little, not-quite-earthquakes that we called temblores. They were never anything to journal about, except for one time in October:
It was about 10 pm in Cojutepeque. Hna Merrell and I had finished eating and planning and were almost ready for bed. I was standing at the sink washing dishes; my companion was sitting at her desk writing in her journal. Suddenly I became aware that the earth was rocking beneath my feet and called to Hna Merrell, "Hermana, do you feel it temblando...?"
Every other time, the temblores I experienced had only lasted for a second. My pulse quickened when I realized this quake was stronger and longer. I stumbled to the front room, where Hna Merrell was already on her feet with the keys.
"We'd better wait it out outside," Hna Merrell said, and together we walked to the door. Hna Merrell's hands were shaking as she struggled to fit the key in the lock. Less than a minute later, we stepped out into the warm night. Our neighbors, who had done the same thing, called to us to make sure the gringas were okay. The earth stopped shaking less than a minute later, we bade each another good night and disappeared back into our respective homes.
I wrote about it briefly in my journal and prayed fervently that night in my personal prayer that Hna Merrell and I would wake up and be able to get out should a stronger aftershock arrive in the middle of the night. But by the time Monday morning rolled around, I'd forgotten enough about it that I didn't even mention it in my weekly email home.
My journal entry reads:
"We just felt an honest-to-goodness earthquake. It lasted between 10 to 20 seconds (hard to tell when your heart's beating fast) and was the strongest I've ever felt here in El Salvador. We left our house quickly and stood in front while things normalized. Our vecinos had done the same thing." (Journal 3, 13 Oct 2014)
