One of my most harrowing experience was in Haiti.  Fred Thompson and I were
collecting at a large limestone hillock called Pignon.  We had become
separated an hour earlier.  I was collecting along the hillside looking
down and raking leaf litter.  Very content.  As my field of vision moved
slightly to the left the first thing I saw was the bad end of a rifle
barrel pointed toward my left temple.  The uniformed man motioned for me to
follow him.  I did.  We later ran into Thompson who had his very own
escort, also armed.  We were not allowed to drive our vehicle to town.  We
had to walk with our guides, about 1 mile, fording a small river about 3
feet deep.  I remember getting to the police station and being confronted
by a large man behind a very small desk adorned a huge silver and
pearl-handled revolver.  Obviously this firearm was his pride and joy and
he wanted it in view to show it off and for effect.  It was indeed a very
handsome pistol and the desired effect was acheived.  He had our rapt
attention.  He began yelling at us in Creole.  We didn't know Creole, but
his meaning was clear.  After about a half an hour a young American Peace
Corps volunteer arrived.  He lived in the village and had seen us being
hauled in.  After 2 more hours of loud and sometimes intense negotiation
this young man was able to obtain our release. I, to this day, like Peace
Corps volunteers very much.
 
Snails....sometimes I wonder if they are worth it.  But not for long.
 
Kurt