The Great Migration: Go North

Okay kids, I've got less than an hour to post something before we have to leave for the airport, so I'm going to throw something together for you. Sound good?

Wilfredo and I playing around at Costa Verde. 

Monday was a catch-up day for Katrina and I. Normal people would have used the day to get ready for our departure, so, naturally, we packed nothing, planned nothing and accomplished very little, other than watching excessive amounts of the World Cup.

Tuesday we were normal people and got out of the house. We started the day with a morning run on Costa Verde with Wilfredo. Costa Verde is this nice area the borders the Pacific Ocean and runs from Callao all the way to the more touristic area of Miraflores. After about 5K, we stripped off our shoes and waded into the ocean, which was fantastic. I’d always wanted to run near the beach and it was a great way to signify finally accomplishing my goal.

Ready to dip my feet in! 

After that, we headed back to Graciela’s house so Wilfredo could cook ceviche for us one last time. Ceviche is Wilfredo’s specialty and about as Lima as you get when you talk about Peruvian cuisine. As always, the ceviche was fantastic and left me slightly depressed that I won’t be living near the ocean again anytime soon.

Wednesday was our last visit with Virgilio, one of the oldest members of the congregation in Filadelfia, and as always the night involved coffee, sandwiches and hours of conversation about how the church could make improvements. I don’t always get too into the “this is what we’re doing wrong” conversations, but it is nice to see that there are congregation members here who don’t want to just maintain the church—they want to improve it.

Enjoy the Pacific Ocean after our run.

Thursday we took Wilfredo on one more run—this time our traditional loop around the airport, then came back just in time to watch the USA v. Germany game. Katrina, like a responsible adult, spent most of the game packing, cleaning and preparing things, and Wilfredo and I spent the entire game absolutely glued to the television and yelling nonsensical and non-helpful things at it, such as, “STOP PASSING IT BACKWARDS.” But—we advanced! I’ll take it.

Thursday night we had some of the family over for one last goodbye. Our flight leaves at 2 p.m. today, thus the majority of our host family will be at work and can’t “despedirnos” at the airport—so we thought a night-before party was necessary. We had soda and cake and our host family took turns responding to three prompts for us:

1.       I suppose that…

2.       I’m grateful that…

3.       I hope that…

By far the hardest part of the night was the last person to answer the prompts—Wilfredo—because he got a little choked up. We’ve spent more time with Wilfredo than anyone in Peru and we’ve shared a mountain of experiences together—from painting the church in Monte Sion, to driving to Huánuco, to simply attending all the weekly church events. Over the last year Wilfredo has been an essential part of our existence, and I like to believe we’ve been rather important to him as well. That goodbye, in just a few minutes now, should be the most challenging of them all.

Wilfredo's famous ceviche. 

And folks—that’s where we stand. Our bags our packed (and we really hope they aren’t over the weight limit), we’ve cleared our things out of all the rooms and now we’re just helplessly watching out time in Peru run out.

Again, it’s impossible to say what this year has meant to me—partially because I’m still so close to it. I like to think this year is like a Monet painting, in that when your close, it just looks like a bunch of nonsensical blobs—but when you step away, you see something entirely beautiful. I don’t think we’ll be able to really get the idea of how the painting looks until we hang up our World Service Corps shirts for the last time.

Speaking of which—we have 33 days left as World Service Corps volunteers. Here’s the breakdown of what’s to come:

Cancha, I will miss you. 

-1 week visiting congregations in Honduras

-1 week helping with the International Youth Forum (IYF) in Honduras

-1 week helping with the International Youth Forum (IYF) in Independence, MO

-1 week helping with SPECTACULAR

-A few days of debriefing with World Service Corps

And so begins our great migration north. I think it’s pretty freaking awesome that I’ll be able to say I’ve been to South, Central and North America in 2014. But more than checking another few countries to off my list, I think it’s cool to say I’ve participated in congregations in each of those places. Lived with host families. Made lasting connections.

And, with that folks—it’s time to pack the computer back up. I’m hoping to post in Honduras, but if I can’t—I’ll see you back on the other side. 

Our Last Service: Fuzzy Llamas & General Sappiness

It’s amazing to me how, while so many people have a distaste for public speaking, when you get down to actually doing it, your time feels so limited.

Flying like eagles with my kid's class in Monte Sion. 

For example, when someone tells you, “Melissa, can you share a 10 minute testimony about your year in Peru?” it feels like an impossible feat. Oh yes—let me just cram 525,600 minutes into 600 seconds, no big deal. All the same, this was what that lay ahead of me not just once, but twice last weekend—and here’s how it went down.  

Our last night in Monte Sion was bitter-sweet. We started the night with our kid’s classes, Katrina teaching the kids under eight years old, and myself teaching the kids ages 8-13. My last few classes in Monte Sion have been nothing short of free-for-all—angry teacher voice included; however, Saturday’s class went more smoothly than any other class this month. We talked about the scripture that says, “They will soar on wings like eagles” and we spent the class making eagles out of the hand prints

of our classmates.

With Gaby and Shirley. 

When time ran out, we took some pictures to commemorate our time together and it was time to say goodbye to some of the wonderful children that give the Monte Sion congregation such life. Perhaps the most challenging goodbye was with Gaby, an 11 year old who is ridiculously helpful, sweet, patient and understanding. I was sad to see that Aner, one of my favorite boy students, couldn’t make it; class is generally easier without Aner’s mischievousness, but there’s never quite as much life without him. Luckily, I did see him for Friday’s English class—so our last memory together can be him proudly saying, “Hola LOSER!” after we learned soccer-related words.

After our goodybes with the little ones, we started the church service. Gladys, who was presiding, allowed some time for farewell testimonies from congregation members, and of course, Katrina and myself. It was touching to see how many people came out for the farewell—nearly everyone we’d met in the congregation came out to say goodbye. And it was humbling to hear some of their words—commending us for spending a year away from home and calling us “patient” (something I have perhaps never in my life been called.)

Thanks for the memories, Monte Sion! 

When it came time for Katrina and I to talk, we took different approaches. Katrina talked about some specific memories we’d shared with the congregation—namely, Día Del Niño, painting and singing in the soccer field located just outside the church. I chose to go with a metaphor (shocking, right?) talking about how one year can be such a short moment in our lives—like the 15 minute break in the middle of a World Cup soccer game—but it can change how you approach the other half of the game. Both of us ended our testimonies with a mountain of thanks—for their patience, for the attendance, for their encouragement and spirit, and then came the hugs, tears and pictures.

And—just like that—a year of Friday and Saturday nights in Monte Sion ended and what we’ve known as our weekly rituals and routines, changed. Thus, Sunday was upon us and with it our last church service in Fildadelfia. We made the event an all-day affair, heading to Prudencio’s house at 11 a.m. to make a pisco cake and watch a bit of the World Cup with the family. Around 2 p.m. we had our traditional “special event at Prudencio’s house” lunch, which includes barbecued chicken and beef, Peru’s special corn “choclo”, and potatoes drenched in Livia’s famous delicious creams and sauces. On principle, we all ate until we were miserably full.

Sharing our testimonies in Filadelfia. 

Eventually 5 p.m. was upon us and we shared in one last church service with the family. I spent most of the service really trying to enjoy some of my favorite things about church in Peru—specifically my favorite Spanish hymns. The service wrapped up quickly, then afterwards we held a separate event for our goodbyes. A few select congregation members shared testimonies, including some especially touching words from our host sister, Karen. Then Jhonny, the pastor in Filadelfia, gave us some going away presents that fantastically represented Peru—big fuzzy llamas and snow hats.

Before we knew it, it was time for Katrina and I to once more attempt to address an amazing year of our life in just ten minutes. This time around, Katrina and I both mentioned specific moments we’d loved with our Peruvian family—from watching Prudencio (who can’t swim) wade out into the deep waters of the Pacific Ocean, to our host family having nightly conversations with Tommy the cat.

With our fantastic presents. 

Then, once again, it was time for the singing, the hugging, and the pictures and like that—our last service in Filadelfia was over. We hugged and said some goodbyes, thankful that we have a going away party planned for Thursday night so that these wouldn’t have to be our very last ones.

And—with that what can I say?

I guess the best way I have to describe things is that metaphor that I used in Monte Sion. If life is a big soccer game, and my trip to Peru is my one year break in things, I can say that I don’t think I was going into the half with the lead. I went into the half tired, cramping and a little disheartened with the score board. So was Peru some big motivational speech from the coach in the locker room? Not necessarily. It was more like it was just sitting in silence with my teammates, knowing they were there with me, and taking a moment to breathe and remember what we came here for.

We simply have too many memories with Wilfredo to count.

I think if the World Cup has taught me anything, it’s that you can’t go into the World Cup honestly expecting your team to win it all—for Pete’s sake, there are more than 7 billion people in this world, and you think those nine players on the field are the absolute best of all of them? And, even if they were, is life really that predictable? No. But—what you can expect is the electricity of playing the game of being involved in something bigger than yourself. And I think we got a reminder of that during our time in Peru.

At times, I’m scared of coming home to the United States. Because in Peru, everything you do is important, because you only have one year to do it, and you’re doing it in another country. World Service Corps has been like having the chance to live like you’re dying—with the benefit of not actually having to die at the end of it (thank goodness.)

Thanks for the memories, Filadelfia! 

But more than all of that, I have to make clear that while our time in Peru was a bit of a novelty, it never felt like it was just a novelty. From day one, the people here have made us feel at home and that we’re not just these weirdos that turned up on their doorstep (which, in fact, we are.) I was talking to a friend from home the other day and he told me that the life of someone who loves to travel is hard, because you’re always somehow wishing that you’re somewhere that you’re not. I don’t know that I completely agree with that statement—but I can say that after this year I do have two sets of families. I have my American father, mother, sister, brother-in-law, etc. and I have my Peruvian version. 

And that’s the dangerous thing about going out and doing something like World Service Corps—it’s that you’ve now developed ANOTHER split in your personality and both of your multiple personalities can never be fully satisfied at once. This is particularly interesting for me, because I already have about 17 personalities.  I am now a journalist AND a teacher. I’m a Christian AND a sloppy disaster. I’m a health nut that likes to eat peanut butter in massive quantities.  I enjoy close, intimate connections with others and I’m completely horrified of romantic relationships. And now—I’m an American and a Peruvian. I don’t really understand how there is space for all of that inside of me, but maybe that’s why I’ve been gaining weight lately…or that could go back to the peanut butter thing.

Our fantastic host family: Karen, Jhonny, Graciela & Rocio. 

Regardless my friends—that is where I stand. One more personality to tally up, a year of memories and all rested up, ready to take the field for the second half. I have no better way of explaining it—at least not at the moment.

I'll try to post  again before we leave Peru, because, frankly, I don’t know if we will have time or the internet access to make blog posts from Honduras; but also because we ARE doing some cool things this week—running along the Pacific Ocean, eating ceviche, and, of course, watching the USA v. Germany game with Wilfredo. Entonces—hasta luego.

Our Last Week: Sexual Pottery and the Fish Market

Folks, Katrina and I have had our last bible study, kid’s classes and services in both Monte Sion and Filadelfia—and still, none of it feels real. I don’t know if I can fully explain why, but here’s my attempt:

Museo Larco: Funeral Headress

When you go on vacation, the new place you’re in never feels like home. It never becomes your entire life, your daily, weekly and monthly routine. You never start calling someone your “Peruvian mother” or “Peruvian cousin,” make friends with the girl down the street while buying empanadas or discover that the best Peruvian coffee comes from Chanchamayo. You never forget that you’re going home at the end of all of this—because, in fact, you’re living out of your suitcase and you’re running seriously low on clean clothes and you kind of need to go home.

But for a year, Peru has been my life. Everything I do IS Peru. My year has seriously been devoted to existing in Peru and little more than that. It’s been devoted to acclimating as best I can, being a chameleon and blending into the church here, as if I had been here all along, you just didn’t notice. So then you tell me that I’m leaving here and it’s like your mom saying, “We’re selling the house you grew up in and we’re all moving to Canada.” You’re kind of like…no.

Museo Larco: Different Club Heads

But—believe it or not, the sand runs out and in less than 75 hours, we’ll be on a plane, headed to Honduras, with no real plans to return to Peru. I feel like it’s somewhat comparable to shaving my head. My hair is a somewhat essential part of who I am that, for some reason or another, I have to completely get rid of, and see what’s there afterwards. I’m hoping there aren’t any weird scars or lumps I didn’t know about.

But—enough of those confusing similes, I will have plenty of time later to ramble on about what goodbye to Peru really feels like in a later post—let’s recap.

Our last two weeks have mainly been devoted to rushing around and doing all of the things we’ve been saying we would do for ages now. This included, Monday, going to Larco Museum. Now, a museum is a museum, so I won’t go into too much detail on this, but I DO want to say that this was one of the first times that Katrina and I decided we wanted to go somewhere and found our way there by public transit, all by ourselves, without even telling anyone we were going. I feel like we should get some kind of, “You’re almost like real people now” medal for this.

Some of the delicious selections at the Pesquero. 

The other thing I have to say is that the Incans made a lot of sexual ceramics, for ceremonial/traditional/informative purposes. A lot of these relics didn’t survive the Spanish conquistadores because they were slightly mortified to find relics of anal sex sitting in the homes of the Incas; however, some artifacts did survive the colonization and Larco Museum has two entire rooms devoted to them. If, like me, you have somehow failed to develop any maturity whatsoever in your life, this room is both interesting and hilarious.

We finished up Monday by watching the USA v. Ghana game and I can officially say I now VERY much enjoy soccer and have completely lost control of my hands while watching it. Sometimes they fly up above my head and I find myself yelling, “GOOOOAAALLLLL!!!” and in other moments they clutch my face and I watch the game through my fingers, like Chuckie on the Rugrats. It’s slightly mortifying behavior, but I seriously have no ability to stop it and I’m not about to stop watching soccer—I just started liking it.

Apparently a lot of people like to buy seaweed. 

Tuesday was a big day for Katrina and I as we checked two things off our Peru list—both fish related. We started our morning at a sunny 5:30 a.m. and headed to the “pesquero” (fish market) with our host aunt, Consuelo. Consuelo goes to the fish market every morning, buys about 50 lbs of fish, then sells it at the local market here in Callao. Being from the Midwest, I’ve never been to anything remotely close to a fish market before, and it was fascinating. Perhaps my favorite thing was seeing all the massive swordfish laid out, then hacked into reasonable amounts of food. My least favorite part is that the men in the fish market act like they are sailors on shore leave (which, for all I know, they are) and the whistling is completely overwhelming. One of them sees us, realizes that Katrina and I are white and look awkwardly out of place, and thus somehow appealing (I don’t understand this logic) and commences whistling—and what follows is a chorus of whistling and clapping from at least 50 people, that lasts a mortifying full 30 seconds, while you drag a giant bag of dead fish through the market. I think Consuelo’s favorite part of the morning was when a very old man who couldn’t really walk anymore asked us if we were single, then told us he was single too.

Consuelo and Katrina outside the Pesquero. 

After that charming experience, we washed up and headed out to sushi with Wilfredo. Wilfredo loves sushi, but nobody else in his family does. Actually—Wilfredo loves a lot of things that it seems only Katrina and I happen to love. Anyway, since most of the time he has nobody to eat sushi with, we decided it was simply necessary that we go out to sushi with him.

Peru has the second largest Japanese population in Latin America (after Brazil) and was the first Latin American country to allow Japanese immigration. For that reason, about 0.3% of Peru’s population today is Japanese-Peruvian and there are few Japanese cultural centers sprinkled throughout Lima. What else does this mean? Let’s do some math:

Port City + Japanese Influence = Fantastic Sushi.

We went to a sushi spot called K’tana that was a fantastic mix of Peru and Japan. Perhaps my favorite part of the experience was the drinks—green tea mixed with orange and passion fruit—I am a complete sucker for delicious tea and this more than satisfied.

Japanese-Peruvian Sushi--Delicious. 

After Tuesday, our week trickled away, mainly due to the World Cup. My friends, Katrina and I have about a billion things to plan—IYF classes in Honduras, being a particularly large one—yet the World Cup has come in and obliterated any hopes I ever had at being productive. I have transformed into one of those large blow up men that flap around in the wind outside of businesses all crazy like to attract attention and bring in customers—expect I just flap around for no purpose at all, cheering for any team that speaks Spanish or has a remotely endearing quality.

However, my complete lack of self-discipline and work ethic did not slow the week down, and Friday was quickly upon us. It was my last turn teaching the adult bible study in Monte Sion. This week’s topic dealt with addressing conflicts in a marriage, but I quickly modified the theme to addressing conflicts in a family, since I am probably the worst person you could consult on marital issues. The class went well and it was particularly nice to have partner discussion and the opportunity to chat with Maria about her family. Maria’s family regularly attends church in Monte Sion and I adore her children—but I’ve never got to meet her husband, so it was nice to finally hear a little about what he was like (even if it was in the context of conflict.) We finished up class and rode in silence for a bit, knowing what was coming tomorrow—our very last day in Monte Sion.

Wilfredo and I enjoying some green tea! 

And on this note—I’m going to awkwardly and abruptly end this post—because I think our goodbye weekend justifies its own entry (and this post is already absurdly long…and the Uruguay v. Itay game is on.) My friends, I enjoy writing and I like to hear myself type, but I have to say capturing the sentiments of our goodbyes is a near impossible feat. Not only because of emotion behind it, but because I also feel like a dog that’s watching its owners pack up their suitcases—I know something big is happening, but I don’t really fully understand what; but I DO know that it means change and that makes me want to make high pitch whining noises that nobody particularly enjoys.

Does that make sense? I didn’t think so. Anyway—until next time. 

Lessons Learned in Churin: Beware the Stank Eye

My friends, I think I’ve watched more professional soccer this week than I have watched in the previous 25 years of my life; I’ve never been much of a soccer fan, but the atmosphere of the World Cup in South America is contagious (and Peru isn’t even in the World Cup.) However—it’s time to focus on other things for the next thirty minutes so we can do a recap. Shall we get on with it? We shall.

The suspicious looking water of the "Iron Bath."

Last week started out with our adventure to Churin. Churin is a pueblo known for its natural hot springs (Aguas Termales) and is a little more than four hours away from Lima. It was never a place Katrina and I planned on going, but Wilfredo pitched the idea to us and…well…we aren’t hard to convince when it comes to travel.

So—bright and early on Tuesday morning, we boarded a bus alongside our host Aunt Consuelo, our host mom Graciela, our host sister, Rocio, and of course, Wilfredo. In true Peruvian fashion, we arrived fantastically late in Churin. We quickly booked a hotel, found something to eat and sought out a “baño termale” so we could get a nice soak in before the day was up. We found one just before sunset called the “Baño de Fierro.” At the time, I had interpreted that to mean “Mud Bath” because the water was completely brown and looked filthy, but now that I put that phrase in Google Translate it turns out it means “Iron Water”…so I actually have no idea what kind of pool I got into.

Little hot waterfalls! 

Regardless, our first baño termale showed me two things:

1. Everyone we were going to encounter on our trip was going to be from “the third age”; the third age is a phrase has Peru kindly uses to refer to old people. Seriously, Churin is like the Panama City Beach for elderly Spring Break crowd.

2. Baños Termales are somehow very different than hot tubs. This sounds obvious, but it wasn’t obvious for me. I realize that one of them is natural, one is not, one is rather clean and chlorinated, one is not, etc. But beyond that, they’re both just hot water, right? Wrong. There was something more potent about the natural waters and you seriously had to get out and take a break after every 10-15 minutes.

Enjoying emoliente on our first night in Churin. 

Anyway, our “iron bath” was the only spring we visited on Tuesday, but Wednesday morning we were up and at it again. This time we went to another pueblo, about an hour and a half away from Churin called Huancahuasi. In Huancahuasi we tried out four other hot springs, all of them significantly cleaner looking than the iron bath and all of them with significantly more senior citizens. Katrina and I quickly found ourselves responsible for helping a variety of elderly strangers enter the pool, cross the pool, exit the pool, put on their shoes, etc.

Perhaps my favorite moment in Huancahuasi was after visiting our second pool we visited, which was the hottest. I had been moving towards the exit when a number of elderly women struck up a conversation, and me, not wanting to be rude, stayed in the pool a few minutes longer than recommended. As soon as we left the hot spring, I went outside, sat down and realized I didn’t have the energy to get back up—and that I also might pass out. I told our group to go ahead without me, not wanting to cause a ruckus, which of course immediately caused a ruckus. Anytime anyone feels “off” in Peru, the Peruvians always have a million theories and remedies. Rocio theorized I hadn’t eaten a good breakfast. Graciela theorized all I needed was Herbal Life (a weight loss shake) and immediately made me one. Wilfredo theorized the wind outside had gotten to me. Consuelo’s theory, however was my favorite: Mal de Ojo.

Our host family is pretty much adorable. 

Mal de Ojo would be what we call “evil eye” in English, or what I like to call “stank eye” and it’s the theory that if someone looks at you strongly for a period of time, they can cause your body damage. Consuelo immediately started cracking her wrist on my head to remedy the Mal de Ojo and informed me that when the evil left my body I would have a fantastic wave of diarrhea (for the record folks, the evil has not yet left my body. I expect it to leave when we arrive in Honduras.)

Luckily the Herbal Life or the wrist cracking or simply taking some rest helped, because I was back at it after 15 minutes. We spent the rest of the day enjoying the hot springs, some of the fresh trout from the region and simply being in each other’s company. Later that night we made the journey back to Callao.

As soon as we got back from Churin, two big things happened: 1. The World Cup started and 2. Father’s Day preparations began. Unfortunately, these two things do not mesh well together and Katrina and I’s productivity suffered. I began the first World Cup match saying soccer was boring and I didn’t understand how anyone watched it for 90 full minutes; however, by the time the United States’ game rolled around tonight, I was clutching my chair thinking If this game was longer than 90 minutes I would have a freaking heart attack. A monster has been created (or my need to cheer for sports that built up during American football season has finally been released.) Somehowe, some type of productivity happened and it was off to Monte Sion for Friday’s bible study and later Saturday’s service.

The whole group in Filidelfia for our Father's Day celebration. 

Saturday didn’t go quite as planned; to make a long story short, there was an accident during kid’s class and the person presiding ended up leaving church to take care of things. Luckily, Katrina took over presiding duties, things came together, and we were still able to celebrate the two father’s in attendance, Jose Luis and Juan.

Sunday’s service ran a little more accordingly to schedule, despite the fact that Marlene and I switched service roles and I ended up having one more chance to preach in Peru. I was a bit reluctant of the scripture for the week—Genesis 1:1-2:4—because it’s the creation story and that tends to get a little touchy; however I think things went well and I can say I genuinely enjoyed my last sermon in Peru. My preaching is far from perfect, but I’ve come a long way from having to read my sermons word for word from a piece of paper.

Watching some World Cup! Go USA! 

And thus, ladies and gentlemen, we round the corner past third and head for home. We have one more bible study. One more kid’s class. One more Monte Sion service. And one final service in Filidelfia. Remember how for the last six months I’ve been saying I can’t believe how fast time is slipping by? LOOK. It’s GONE. I TOLD you. Just because I noticed it was flying by didn’t mean there was anything I could do to stop it and now, well…it’s pretty much gone. So—we’re living it up while we can (at least during the seconds I can unglue myself from the World Cup.)

...Speaking of which…the World Cup. It has clearly been thirty minutes. There are things to do, rosters to Google, goodbye parties to plan, games to watch… and thus, I bid you farewell—until next time! 

Peruvian River Rafting: At least half of us know how to swim, right?

Folks, I know I start every blog saying something to the extent of “time is flying”, and end each post with “we have so little time left." So—let’s just talk cold hard numbers, shall we? We have 17 days left in Peru. We have 31 days until we arrive in the United States. We have 50 days left as World Service Corps Volunteers. *Are you diggin’ my chili folks?

The river at Lunahuana. Not bad scenery, huh? 

With that said—let’s recap.

After all of the excitement in Paracas, Ica and Nazca, then a busy weekend of church activities, Katrina and I took a little time to relax on Monday. Tuesday, Rebecca, Zach and Karlee flew back to Lima after their trip to Cusco and we had dinner at the Peruvian fast food chain called Bembos to catch up. Rebecca and Zach flew out early Wednesday (Zach a little defeated by Montezuma’s revenge, or as we have dubbed the Peruvian version, Pachamama’s revenge) and we spent the rest day bumming around with Karlee before her red-eye flight back to the United States.

The highlight of the day was when we took Karlee souvenir shopping and experienced a decent-sized earthquake. The Peruvians running the souvenir stalls jumped to their feet, one of them screaming at the top of her lungs, Katrina said, “Oh, it’s an earthquake” and Karlee and I, the only Midwesterners present (go figure), focused very intently and tried to feel something, but felt nothing. We both argued that it was just a large truck passing by, but were later proven wrong. My friends, it’s a good thing that the earthquakes here have been so small that I can’t feel them—but I remain a little disappointed that I can’t tell the difference between the earth moving under my feet and someone walking around upstairs.

Ready to tackle the river! 

We eventually got Karlee off to her flight, got some shuteye and the next morning we were off to Lunahuana. Lunahunana is a city a little more than three hours south of Lima that's known for having tame, but fun, river rafting. Wilfredo, Rocio, Jhonny, Katrina and I made it into town around midday, strapped on helmets and life jackets and headed out to the river. Since it was my first river rafting experience, I was a little nervous that I would miss some instructions through the language barrier, but we quickly found that the river was rather calm and there wasn’t much to worry about. This was especially comforting to me because Wilfredo, Rocio and Jhonny all can’t swim and I’m fairly certain I was more worried about their safety than they were.

After rafting we grabbed lunch at a local restaurant then headed out to a relaxed city tour where we visited a winery, a pretty area near the river where Rocio did a little horseback riding and then we topped things off with a tour of a “haunted” house. Peruvians love their ghost stories, and usually I love them too, but there was something about the spray paint penises graffitied all over the house that took the spooky factor away for me (although Rocio and Wilfredo still claim they felt a “presence” on the roof.) Eventually it was time to head home, so we all bought some “tejas” (chocolates with caramel and assorted goodies inside) and headed home.

A shot from the go-cam on our raft! 

Friday it was back to business as usual, and we headed to Monte Sion for English class and bible study. This time around it was Wilfredo’s turn to teach, so Katrina and I caught a break and got to simply enjoy participating in class. Saturday I was up to the plate and presided. We had a brief phase in Monte Sion where the congregation’s attendance was desperately low, and I’m happy to say that it’s starting to perk up again. It’s unfortunate that I have no idea why people weren’t coming before but are coming now—but hey, let’s just take what we can get.

Sunday was Katrina’s last turn preaching in Peru, and she was a bit emotional when she took the pulpit. Her sermon went well and it was odd to realize that neither Katrina nor I will ever preach in Peru again (at least not anytime soon.) We’re still on the leadership schedule for a few more things, teaching kids classes, bible study, presiding, etc. but we’ve begun the series of “lasts.” Last sermon. Last time eating guinea pig. Last communion. (I don’t know why those three things go together.)

I was sitting near the river when these guys came for a drink!

It all makes me think of the first time we left Huánuco, when we didn’t know if we’d be going back again and how Katrina and I blubbered in the car for the first 15 minutes of the ride home. I’m now imagining us getting on the plane from Peru to Honduras, fresh from all of our goodbyes, just blubbering, snotty, choking disasters. Heaven help the people who have to sit next to us.

Yet all of that is still 17 days away. In the meantime, we have a trip planned for tomorrow to visit the hot water springs in Churin and we’re celebrating Father’s Day this weekend with both congregations. With that said—I should probably pack my bags for tomorrow, I’ve got some (natural) hot tubbin’ to do! Until next time.

*This phrase is copyrighted to the one and only Rebecca Bullock. 

The Gringo Trail: Paracas, Ica, Huacachina & Nazca

Me, Zach and our pelican friends. 

So—when you talk about tourism in Peru, there are a few main attractions: Cusco and Machu Picchu; Colca Canyon and Arequipa; the Amazon Basin and Iquitos; etc. However, if you’re talking about backpacking in Peru—if you have time for a full-fledged adventure, about a month to poke around the country, there is no path as popular as the “Gringo Trail.” (I don’t think it’s honestly called that, it’s just what my Lonely Planet book has labeled it, so that’s what we’ll go with.)

The Gringo Trail starts in Lima, then works its way down the Peruvian Coast, hitting Paracas, Ica, Nazca, Arequipa, Puno and finally Cusco. Unintentionally, Katrina and I had hit everything on the Gringo Trail, except the things that were closest to us: Paracas, Ica and Nazca. So, when my friends from college Rebecca, Zach, and Karlee came to Peru, our next trip was clear: hit the coastal cities and round out the Gringo Trail.

So, nice and early on Monday morning, the five of us headed to the Cruz Del Sur bus station to make the nearly three hour trip to Paracas. Our arrival in the city was slightly discouraging: we were seriously dropped off in the middle of nowhere. And let me tell you—the middle of nowhere in a desert is more discouraging than the middle of nowhere in the Midwest. Eventually we found our footing, got a cheap hostel, booked with a tour guide and found ourselves on a bus out to the National Reserve of Paracas.

A bossy sea lion in las Islas Ballestas. 

The National Reserve was a nice way to ease into our trip. We visited the natural salt mines and ate salt right out of the ground (if you know me, you know that I love this), saw the famous Cathedral—a rock shaped like a church in the Pacific Ocean and eventually made it down to Red Beach, which, indeed, is red.  The rest of our day was “tranquila” and we spent it looking over the ocean, eating fantastic seafood and having a small photo shoot with a few pelicans.

Tuesday was probably our most epic day of the trip. We started the day just off Paracas at Las Islas Ballestas, which have been dubbed “The Poor Man’s Galapagos.” Among the fresh blue water and staggering rock formations, we discovered a variety of birds, including PENGUINS, and sea lions that were happy to ham it up for the camera.

The beautiful oasis at Huacachina.

As soon as we made it back from the islands, it was off to Ica, where we took a tour of some of the local wineries. The region of Ica is known for its wine and pisco (a brandy made from grapes) and the tours were an interesting way to see how Peruvians do wine. My favorite part was that they kept the wine in these giant ceramic containers, then dipped a wooden stick in said containers to get the wine out.

From there, it was on to Huacachina, which was my favorite place. Huacachina is an oasis in the middle of a desert. Now, technically speaking a LOT of the Peruvian coast is desert, but Huacachina is the most beautiful desert I’ve seen. Lima is a desert that doesn’t have plants, just a bunch of dirt. Nazca was a desert, that didn’t have sand, just a bunch of rock. Huacachina was pure sand—it was like being on a giant beach. Never in my life did I think I would ever see gorgeous sand dunes like Huacacina has.

The view from our sand buggy. 

So, we took a giant sand buggy out on the dunes and our driver took us on a roller coaster ride, flying down the dunes and speeding up the sides of the sandy mountains. It was exhilarating and an experience even Karlee couldn’t manage to nap through. After we were good and lost in the middle of the dunes, the driver pulled over and we got to take a stab at sandboarding. I will tell you that my first attempt was shameful, but my last attempt I made it down the entire slope (then face planted at the bottom of it.) My favorite part, however, was the sand dune that was so big everyone had to go down in on their stomach—you seriously thought your sandboard was NEVER going to stop moving.

On board our Nazca Lines plane. 

After our short careers as sand boarders, we took the buggy on one last roller coaster ride back, then watched the sunset over the oasis. From there, we hopped a bus to Nazca, so we could be ready to see the famous Nazca Lines the following morning.

Wednesday, we started our day in Nazca with a brief tour of the old aqueducts (that farmers are still using today), an up close look at some of the Nazca lines and a tour of some local ruins, but I could not deny it: we were all just waiting until we could get up in the little plane that flies you over the Nazca Lines. Finally our time came and we hopped a six-person plane and began talking about safety procedures with our pilot (I very inappropriately laughed out loud when he showed us the emergency exit in case we crash.) As we prepared to take off, our pilot showed us one last thing: a handy little bag attached to each seat, in case we need to vomit. It was here, my friends, that I knew I was DOOMED.

One of the Nazca Lines: the Hummingbird.

Anyway, we take off, get over the lines and it was a pretty cool experience. I had a hard time spotting the first line, but by the time we hit the second, there it was below us—a gigantic doodle in the sand. It was also about this time that I realized there was probably no way I was getting off this plane without spilling my guts. My friends we saw 17 Nazca Lines on our tour—I started getting slightly queezy on line number two. The next 30 minutes were a battle of quick, try to take this picture of the Monkey! and don’t lean that direction, you’ll barf! By the end of the experience, I was green, and Karlee sitting next to me looked no better. When the ride was over, we toppled out of the plane, Karlee straight to her knees onto the ground, myself booking it to the bathroom. Of our rag-tag group of five, four of us were miserably sick from the plane ride. YAYYYY Nazca Lines. (A word to the wise—NEVER eat two pork tamales before taking this plane ride.)

Once we recovered ourselves a bit, we got some pollo a la brasa (rotisserie chicken) and had a pig out party on the bus back to Huacachina. We spent that night and most of the next day in Huacachina, marveling at its beauty and whining that we never wanted to leave. But, alas, the time came, and by late Thursday night, we were all back in Callao, exhausted but content with our adventures.

Until next time, Huacachina! 

And thus, we had to return to a bit of normal life. Our church activities that weekend came and went quickly. I was in charge of Friday’s bible study and a Saturday kid’s class. The person presiding on Saturday didn’t show up, and Katrina scrambled and took up the job as presider. Sunday was communion in Filidelfia and Katrina and I both had roles in the services. It wasn’t our most exemplary weekend of church involvement—in fact, my kid’s class was simply dreadful—but we survived it and we’ll be better next time around.

And—that brings us, finally, up to date. Karlee, Rebecca and Zach all returned home to the United States on Tuesday and our life is once again as normal as it gets here in Callao. Today marks our three weeks until we leave Peru, which is simply crazy to me, but starting to feel a little more real every day. The realization that we’re going back to “big kid life” is a strange mixture of excitement, anxiety, sadness and gas (nearly all of our feelings in Peru seem to be mixed with gas nowadays.) And on that note—until next time! 

Goodbye Huanuco, Hello New A Cappella Quintet

I know, I know, I’m a horrible person! I’m two, bordering on three blog posts behind. I’m fixing it now, okay?

Saying "Adios" to Carolina, our host mom.

Recap time—and I won’t skimp!

SO—when I last left you we were still in Huánuco and we’d just finished up our last church service there. So—let’s pick up where that left off, shall we?

Our last few days in Huánuco trickled away. We made some last visits around town and stopped by Fabrizio’s house, which is always fun because at any given time are at least two people constructing fireworks in the room. This time around, they were making a few dozen Papier-mâché bulls, which they would later attach explosives to, then people light them in carry them on their heads during a festival. Only in Peru.

Our hurrah in Huánuco was a campfire with the family. After about 40 minutes of trying to light chicken crates on fire, we finally got a decent flame going and sang a variety of popular Peruvian and American camp songs. Perhaps my favorite part of the campfire was when Jimmy said he wanted us all to play a popular Peruvian game, which consisted of one person pretending to be a parent, someone stealing one of their children, then the parent punishing the rest of the children. I think something had to have gotten lost in translation with this game because it sounds like more of a nightmare than childhood game—but we played it was fun nonetheless.

Leaving Huanuco in style. 

Eventually, the day we’d been dreading was upon us and it was time to start saying our goodbyes. The last time we left Huánuco, we left on a Sunday and the whole family was around to see us off; this time was a bit different. We left around one on a weekday, so we ended up saying goodbye to the family one by one as they headed out to work or school. On principal, the toughest goodbye is the host mom, and saying goodbye to Carolina certainly complied to the rule. Eventually all the goodbyes were said, our room cleared out and it was time to bid our farewell to three months of our Peruvian adventure.  

This time around we flew home, courtesy of Katrina’s dad (I elected to call him “Mr. P” but Katrina says that’s a horrible nickname.) We hitched a ride to the airport with Rollen, our neighbor and host uncle. Rollen is a pig farmer and generally uses his truck to transport the pig’s food back and forth, but this time he transported two very heavy suitcases, Katrina and I. Since the cab of his truck only held two people, Katrina and Rollen sat up front and I parked myself on a spare tire in the truck bed.

Riding down the hill of Huancachupa and out of the city of Huánuco was an amazing experience. It’s not often in life that you get to slow things down and watch as a page turns—but that’s exactly what I got to do. I go to see the house pass by, Loki the dog give up on chasing the car, the Hill of Death fade from sight, bid farewell to Bridge San Sebastian and Huánuco’s Lion statue, and smile at the cross on the hill that we hiked down during our trekking disaster Chichui. The wind blew my already crazy hair, dust flew through the air and everything slowly slipped away.

Karlee and I during children's class  in Monte Sion. 

Eventually, we made it to the smallest airport I have ever seen (with perhaps the exception of the Lamoni, IA airport), went through the most painless security process ever and we’re on our way back to Lima. As we expected, our arrival in Callao was announced by the “neblina”; the intense fog sets in over Lima every winter and refuses to leave until January.

There wasn’t much time for sweet reunions because we went straight back to work. Katrina taught bible study on Friday, I taught one of the kid’s classes on Saturday and on Sunday I preached while Katrina presided. Did I mention that in the midst of preparing for all of these things, we were also preparing for a major trip? Because the following Monday we were headed out to Paracas, Ica and Nazca with three of my friends from college, Karlee, Rebecca and Zach. And in preparation for that, they were all showing up in Callao. It was a tad busy.

Zach, Rebecca, myself and Karlee on the coast in Lima. 

All three of my friends made it to the Sunday night service in Filidelfia, which was wonderful for me to see—my two worlds, blended together. My favorite part of Sunday was when Katrina and I sneak attacked Karlee, Rebecca and Zach with the news that the five of us would be singing “Come, Holy Spirit, Come” in front of the congregation. Most of us didn’t know the words, didn’t have a particular gift for singing and it was everyone’s first experience in an acapella quintet. I told my friends afterwards that you can’t understand my experience in Peru if you haven’t embarrassed yourself in front of one of the congregations.

And THAT, is where one week ends and another adventure begins: our trip along the Peruvian coast. I’ve got another post coming at you this week—I promised!