First you must understand that coffee, when made well, is a great joy and solace to Emily. In fact, a few weeks ago we spent 250 quetzales (about 4 days’ wages) on a French-press coffee maker, a sort of fancy manual coffee maker that doesn’t use electricity and is about the size of a large mug.

Today I was washing out her beloved French press at our dishwashing station: a grassy spot next to a narrow, fast-flowing stream. Being new, the press is tough to get apart to clean. I pulled and pulled at it, and suddenly it came loose, the top half spinning through the air and landing in the river with a splash.

Yikes! I drew in a sharp breath, my eyes the size of silver dollars. I was frozen for a second, watching the top of the press tumble away in the current at a high rate of speed, thinking of what Emily would say when i told her I’d lost her pride and joy. In a flash, I was off. The river bends a few meters downstream, and I knew it was possible to intercept the runaway cookware before it was down the mountainside. The overland route took me barrelling through a cornfield, and I emerged at the other side and launched myself into a straddling position over the stream. Scant seconds later, the coffee press came bobbing into view, and I was able to snatch it from the water, saving it and my domestic tranquility in one grab.