| Feb 6, 1933 | |
| San German | |
Here I am in San German sampling and surveying the Torres mine. Mucho trabajo. Anyway, only a kilometer away lives a very wearisome muchacho in a hacienda grande. But, even though I could live there like a king, have horses or anything I needed, I’m sitting in a lousy, ramshackle hotel. The moon is beautiful outside, too....Surveying mine tunnels and playing hopscotch over hundred foot shafts whilst swatting big spiders and dodging flying cockroaches literally and figuratively has driven me to drink....
Routine these days is quite without routine. Walk miles, ride kilometers, scramble over rotten logs, forget about lunch, remember at dark that one must sleep someplace. Tired and punch-drunk and goofy. What a life?!...
We’ll know within a hair of what we have here within six weeks from today. If there’s nothing to warrant development of any of this stack of options I’ve accumulated, it’s high-ho! And away we go. Manana is another day.
