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My Apologies, Arequipa

APRIL 27, 2019 BY CASSANDRA JOHNSON

My apologies, Arequipa. The memory of you is etched in my mind but not as much as it should be. I’m sorry. Although I do remember exploring and going to sacred sites, I don’t recall the details as much as I would like.

I believe you threw me off initially with how you were oh so touristy. I hadn’t yet been to such a touristy Peruvian city. I was fresh from a city that was much more affected by us volunteers than tourists and while I could see the definite effects that we outsiders had on the inside; I wasn’t ready for how you; Arequipa could be so tourist centric. So, there I had it, going from being a voluntaria (volunteer), navigating the city as one of many driven helpers to suddenly bus-voyaging it to a place that primarily welcomed me as an extranjera-foreigner, albeit not the everyday American one. The label came out morena and it made for some intriguing twists.

Here we were. One of the co-volunteers from Pisco had taken the bus trip with me. We had decided to leave from there together. This was actually my first long experience pairing up with someone for my international travel venture. So far, I had been going it alone on my major preparations and although my destinations would be to networks of people, I had depended mainly on me for prep and logistics. That is how I would later continue. My current fellow traveler coincidentally happened to be one of the few American PSF volunteers. (Most of our new PSF friends were from Europe, but that varied a little as well).

I rather liked having a travel partner. He had prompted me to pull myself out of my second to last bout of Pisco belly. This would have been my last experience with it, except that I was gifted with it again, a few months ago as I was revisiting the city. However, a little illness was more than worth all the goodness that came with revisiting my old volunteer stomping ground and Pisqueño friends. The recent trip would have been absolutely perfect save for me lackadaisically eating or drinking the something that had made me ill.

When my travel-buddy-to-be suggested that we leave for Arequipa together, he double checked to see if I might want to wait until I was feeling better, but I told him Nah. I suspected that it didn’t make much difference and like him I was ready to see some more Peruvian sites since I had now let myself get pretty curious from the descriptions I continued to hear. The guide books had nothing on what was relayed in person. I previously had planned to spend the majority of my time volunteering and only visit Machu Picchu and nearby areas. However, I was now drawn towards the ruins, magnificent nature, and additional sites now within a country’s reach. Though Huacachina was touristy and just a few visits away, while in Pisco, it didn’t have the feel of Arequipa. Now, imagine how it suddenly startled my system and you can easily imagine how the feel of tourism in Cusco’s main square blew me away. Fortunately, I had many opportunities to get off that beaten track.

As far as me only partially remembering the Arequipa region – I do especially recall touring Colca Canyon with my new travel friend. We had also been taken on a deeper tour that acquainted us with the little Incan girl, now deemed the Frozen Ice Maiden. She had been one of the young child sacrifices. She was raised for this. She needed to be a virgin, treated nobly, and following her uphill journey to pacify the Gods, she would be given her last portions of coca leaves and other intoxicants, with the intent of dulling her final moments. Her body had been discovered by an anthropologist. With the melting of her ice tomb (via a nearby erupting volcano), she became another microscope to the history of a premiere civilization.

We watched a short film, before viewing the maiden. (Her body is usually displayed in the Museo Santuarios Andinos but sometimes others sit in her place). There are the additional mummies to be seen there as well. My mind wondered and wandered about her because with all these adornments around her resting place and the accompanying rituals, I knew that her community had not anticipated that she would appear anywhere else other than where they had placed her. Yet, I knew this was a huge piece of what connects us all. I wondered about the ritual itself – what her community wanted versus what she would have wanted. There is a lot to think about, relating to how we all move about the world, now as well, and I would know little, if anything, had she not been discovered. Coming to occupy a space that shares infinite energy and stories serves to rock me from time to time. It could be in the hometowns of my sweet departed parents or somewhere like this, only just hearing a story.

I took an additional city tour by myself one day. I was taking this abbreviated one since my friend would be taking a longer one that involved hiking the canyon. (Suddenly I’m recalling he and I also wandering through the intricate structure of a former monastery – but then again there’s that vagueness creeping in). I chose the additional half-day city tour to facilitate my stopover in Arequipa since I didn’t have much time. I would be staying in my next destination of Cusco for a couple of months, where I would be volunteering and taking in an even more picturesque environment that meant unique animals, ruins, city tours, live music, and gracious and mutually curious encounters.

My expedited half-day venture began with the bus just seemingly materializing outside my hostel in the early morning hours. (It is quite nice, however, that these tour groups typically include a pick up at every purchaser’s various hostel or hotel and I’m intrigued by how patient the drivers seem as they get out and knock at the doors of delayed trip goers). I was ready already. This was probably because I had some unhealthy paranoia of being left.

I had quietly left my temporary travel partner who would be venturing out later. He was still asleep and talking in it. It was quite fascinating that he did have full unconscious conversations (He had forewarned me.) Every time I tried to get involved in one, it was quite clear that him suddenly thinking I was within his dream wasn’t how that worked at all. Darn.

Here, I end my somewhat vague Arequipa-stay with some final apologies. Sorry for just an acquaintanceship. Though I want to think a part of you is etched in my mind, I fear that sometimes when I picture your Plaza de las Armas (your main square), I am actually inserting pictures of my life in Cusco, (understandably so, since it came to be more of a temporary home to me). Yet, I pause here to thank you for indulging me for one of my New Year’s Eve’s and giving me the chance to pass some extended time with a PSF friend. I appreciate you being the place that dissipated some lasting ill feelings and showing me my first rental hostels where I could chillax. I’m glad I came to pass the time with even more people who shifted from being strangers in a matter of minutes to being adventurous partners and kindred spirits. Indeed, I am grateful you gave me one more life chapter to write.

Returning to Pisco, Peru: The Conclusion

 APRIL 19, 2019 BY CASSANDRA JOHNSON

My preferred route to recovering from my latest bout of Pisco belly continued to be fasting rather than laying around. My next priority was spending time with my friend, Cris and succumbing to sickness would never do. He was finally free from the work that had held him up the first two days. We share a special bond that was cemented by our now dearly departed friend who first connected us. The same is true for our friend, Chela, making us a forever trio.

Cris had sent me an update while I was still in Tupac Amaru. This was after Felipe and I had finished lunch with Iris and her family and said our goodbyes. We thought we might be back to the district again, possibly the next day, but thank goodness we had done our loving hugs and see-you-laters to them then. A third day wasn’t in the cards so our lovingly extended visit had grown my gratitude even more. Leaving their house and walking towards the district square, I could pick up a publicly accessible Wi-Fi signal. It seemed to cover a small area but had a strong signal and this is where I had picked up Cris’ incoming update.

Thank goodness for Felipe. I don’t know that I would have additionally made it to the park after leaving Iris’s place, before we worked to get a collectivo back. I definitely had to sit down for a bit, before I could take that ride. I was dizzy from the sun and my new sickness. Still I was determined. I would make it back and meet up with Cris for the rest of the day. The original plan was to connect in Pisco’s Plaza de las Armas (the main square) but he was so kind. He would end up waiting downstairs in my hostel lobby, just a little later that day. This meant he was actually sitting sort of diagonal from Felipe who was sitting, resting downstairs after we returned. I was back upstairs, refreshing and working not to keep either of my friends waiting too long. Felipe was dozing when I returned. That made total sense. Our morning and afternoon had been fruitful with bustling activity that was also delicately peaceful.

My intention had been not to keep my latest visitor and old-time friend waiting at all but I really did need to take some extra time because of the looming stomach issues. Like Felipe, Cris looked the same to me. I had to think and mention how we were all just aging like fine wine. I introduced the two of them and we walked out together. We invited Felipe along on our journey (our program) but he mentioned needing to meet up with a friend. He parted ways with us outside and us two, Cris and I, were just primarily in awe of the passage of time and the surrealness that we friends were back here together again.

We are close in age and have a lot in common. We would spend the next several hours walking, chatting and reviewing the city of Pisco. We started at our dear friend’s resting place. It was so hard to believe that he wouldn’t be walking about with us this time. He would have been laughing, teasing and endlessly making sure we were fed at his home with his wife and 2 boys. Cris and I reflected in the cemetery. We stood there, reminiscing, loving, thinking. I felt a peace and a pain. He had been such an integral help to all the volunteers and treated my roommate (at the time) and me to some additional special times. This is family. Cris and I know this, and we decided that he is still here. Energy never disappears, only transforms.

We walked to the new mall area, where I was treated to his favorite ice cream, flavored lucuma, and I wondered if my dessert taste buds existed before this. We sat chatting, savoring and then walked back towards the main square.  We would then visit the newly refinished Malecón (waterfront) but first I needed to make a pit stop at the hostel, because as I noted, I am sick. I am very happy but my body knows it is still not ok. I was teasing Cris along the way because it seemed like someone knew him at every turn and knowing now that he is a huge Beyoncé fan, I teased him that he is the one that is actually a pop star. Then I thought, wait, and posed the question whether he would actually be her or Jay Z. He confirmed that it would be the both of them, combined.

Clever that my illness which had momentarily brought me back to my hostel, would put us back outside just in time to unexpectedly see our friend Chela walking up the street towards us. It’s a small world, but life is also more magical than coincidental. She was able to join us as we headed towards the water. We stopped at a store along the way, but I filled her in that I shouldn’t and couldn’t be ingesting anything more that day. It was the safest bet. We reached the beach. The boardwalk was the only mainstay of my time there. Cris confirmed this when I wondered out loud and he cautioned me to watch my step. There were gaps in the wood that you could step into, some quite large. The other walkers were enjoying but minding their steps just the same. We looked for a convenient spot to step off. The boardwalk extended over the ground and then further over the water. There were no step like structures off the sides but we watched as a young guy stepped down into a fallen broken side that dipped back to the land. It was both hard wood and reed like. It was perfect. Cris went first and we all had to jump a little to get back to the flat surface. He held his arms up in case we needed a hand down, but we made it smoothly.

They had built so much commercial activity out here now. My! I can only imagine what more interesting moments that us volunteers could have cooked up here had all of this been in place 9 or so years ago. We had entertainment, both existing and self-produced, at the time, but having this and the mall area would have opened up all kinds of new possibilities.

The three of us chatted back towards the square. We came upon the large elevated Pisco sign as the night enveloped us. Chela would depart from here, right after we said our goodbyes and took our last group pictures for now. Cris walked me back to my door. How sweet it is to be taken from point A all around back to point A again. My healthcare-app pedometer put me at well over 15,000 lovely steps that day.

I spent the next day and a half not eating (still being considerably sick) and wrapping up tasks. I had one outstanding translation assignment that was to be due shortly. I would submit it from Pisco, making me officially a digital nomad in my mind (though I still have a full-time day job).

Felipe and I had actually been invited back to Villa Tupac Amaru for a third day for the community celebration, but I realized that I really needed the day to let myself continue healing while I simultaneously took care of business. One special errand was for another local friend who I only got to see a little and who wasn’t doing so well. I also needed to organize my possessions, both old and new, and finally, I wanted to pick up some quality Pisco liquor to bring back to my dear friend in the DMV (DC/Maryland/Virginia). Cris had given me the name of two high-level brands. I recall that I had my first Pisco Sour when I lived in Pisco (per it being the city of its origin despite Chile’s protest) and I had my best Pisco Sours there. I wondered if they were made with Portón or Biondi.

  • My go to stop didn’t have the proper brands, but the cashier here directed me to an alternative stop

My last day was successful with task completion although sickness was still threatening to overtake me. There was the heat, the dizziness, and the lack of food (because I didn’t want to risk eating). Still I needed to persevere, and I had faith that I’d be normal again soon. At first, I felt like I wasn’t going to make it through the local bank line (I stepped out twice.) The standing for so long was getting the better of me but I kept thinking of this other local friend who was unlike the ones who had been treating me over the last few days. I made it through. Mission complete.

Though I hadn’t been able to see everyone, I thought how I had reconnected under the very eyes of some very dear friends. I had visited the former area of the Pisco Sin Fronteras house and walked by the doors of our former home. I had seen our spot when I wasn’t sure I would. I walked along much of the city, much of our old stomping grounds. I was here and there and feeling complete. A life full circle was reminding me more of my goals. I was finally there again when I knew there was no way I couldn’t be.

Pisco, Peru. I love you dearly. I hold you closely and I’ll see you later. You made me more of who I am and who I plan to be. Thank you, reader, for sharing it with me.

Returning to Pisco, Peru: Part 1                 Returning to Pisco, Peru: Part 2

Returning to Pisco, Peru: Part 3                 Returning to Pisco, Peru: Part 4

Returning to Pisco, Peru: Part 4

MARCH 31, 2019 BY CASSANDRA JOHNSON

I continued on with my mission the next day. I didn’t know if it would be completed but knew it was possible. The objective was to follow up on a fellow volunteer’s request to revisit a dear project of his and a dear family. The goal was easily placed upon my heart. At the same time, I came to remember that this was also coincidentally the family that had introduced me among their relatives as “sobrina de Obama”. The only problem was that I did not realize that I had the last name switched up on the first day, so Felipe and I initially embarked to the correct location with incorrect data. However, this allowed us the interesting experiences we had at the Vlla Tupac Amaru police station in addition to friending one of this district’s administrator. This was also the day I walked the second highest number of steps since I started noting them on my healthcare app.

My dear retired Felipe was true to his word when he said the program was mine to make. We found ourselves in the central area across from the police station once the collectivo driver dropped us off. We were also near one of many parks. We would eventually visit the one especially constructed for the community by a group of volunteers. I had been there twice during my time there, to see the park and the family. The family was indeed delightful and resilient.

Finding ourselves now across from the Tupac Amaru police station, I noticed that the gentleman standing outside of it was holding a rifle. I was tempted to have this be an addition to my photo gallery but was also thinking me aiming my camera phone at him and perhaps him aiming something else at me wasn’t ideal. He wasn’t standing outside for an extended period of time when we were there. We headed inside the station and Felipe broke the ice, set it up, giving my background about our volunteer group and the project. My Spanish was measured, charismatic and flawless with each officer as they shuffled us into their back office. They told me to make myself comfortable, pointing to a seat in the office to which they guided us. I sat. Felipe stood beside me. There was something to the militaristic feel of the moment that made me feel I needed to behave formally. Yet, what came across the most was their willingness to find an answer to the location of both the family and the park question. One by one, various officers would enter the office trying to recall the park or the name I had given them, which at this point was still incorrect. Some generally recalled the park that had been built by the Pisco Sin Fronteras volunteers. They nodded knowingly towards a distant memory.

(I would not discover the right name until I was back at my hostel later that night.) Here, we were encircled by 4 to 5 officers at a time. The gentleman that occupied the office sat diagonal, searching the database for us. The gentleman that ushered us in sat across from me now. The message of our purpose would get relayed to all the guys entering and exiting and I appreciate how considerately they would try to recall and find information. The Afro Peruvian ones would seem to do it with a familial nod. I’m glad everyone was nice, and I decided to continue going along with their substantial assistance for as long as it lasted, rather than call attention to the idea that I may be wasting their time. I’m getting wiser and learning that dismissing myself can be dismissive to others. We have to give help and we have to accept it. We are here for each other, in whatever form that may prove to take.

We thanked them and walked towards an area that was a good lead. So many steps taken that day. (My Rally healthcare pedometer app concurred.) We asked more details of a few people along the way and we had some increasing success. One such instance was when a family directed us to the district director, Maritza. (She and I are Facebook friends now and her tagline reads FULL OF LOVE – which is true.) As busy as she was, she threw herself into helping us find the family and the park. I tell you it will be wonderful what she can accomplish the next day when I actually have the correct name for her.

Maritza’s continued busyness: The next day she would be preparing for a huge community gathering, all about providing resources and improving the local conditions. She would personally be going to Pisco’s main square early in the morning to pick up groceries. She and her team would later be cutting up vegetables and preparing a large dinner to go along with the event. She said we could return to her office here in Tupac Amaru around 10:00 a.m. the next day. It had been late when we began this first day’s visit. Felipe had added something to the story of me doing something like a follow up interview, but I think the generosity was forthcoming enough with the recognition of me being a former PSF volunteer. Still it was endearing, when I’d hear him chime in and add something on my behalf.

We returned not promptly the next day. I knew it was unusual for Felipe to be running late so I walked along the plaza not far from my hostel, sending Maritza a message that we were still on our way. I knew very strongly that she would be the key to me finding the family that wasn’t really missing. Plus, I now had more information for her. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner, but the Iris we sought had to be a Facebook connection to my friend who had made the request. She was. He had just made a minor typo in the last name he had sent me. My choices were reduced to two people now and I was confident that Maritza would be a big help. When she failed to recognize the mistaken Facebook contacts I had shown her the day before, it was actually a reassurance that she was truly familiar with who did and didn’t live there. More specifically, the prior confusion came with me only having the right first name correct the day before and it had been 9 years too long for me to be certain if Iris in pictures was the same woman I had met just twice.

Martiza’s eyes immediately lit up with recognition when I showed her the new photos. She directed Felipe and I to Iris’s sister’s office and appealed to her to reach out to Iris’s children. She had given her the background information about me and my hope to reconnect. Her sister relayed this from her desk phone and Iris’ son and daughter excitedly came to retrieve us. They would ride back over with us in a tuk tuk to where they now lived with their mom, this sister and the extended family. We had located them! I was banking on this working out eventually if we asked enough questions. The children’s excitement mirrored ours. They were full of life, full of smiles.

I was imagining that Sam, who was a lead volunteer on this project, would be pleased. I was honored to say hi on his behalf and likewise I was personally thrilled to see the family I knew to tag me as sobrina de Obama.

There was actually an update from Sam’s visit about two years prior. It was dear. The children had been outspoken in their questions and ideas for him. From what I could see, they were equally energetic. They were mindful and well behaved as well. Before riding back over to their home, they had hugged us. We chatted a little. I asked about their new little hermanita and then, Vamos. We were soon in the main room with them and their mom, Iris.

We pulled up and she was in a chair feeding and bonding with the newest little sibling, who happened to be just 9 days old. Mother and child seemed one instead of two. Our conversation was like being home, comfortable laced with humor (everything in Spanish). Relaxing. We caught up on lives ongoing, where were particular volunteers now, which ones were still a couple, who was married, etc. We laughed fondly of my back in the day intro to the family. I was touched she remembered. I had been there just twice, visiting and for the fundraising dinners. I was on several projects and a project manager for some time, but this was not one of mine. I was fortunate I got to meet them.

Felipe and I flew past several hours there. He now had a new connection in Villa Tupac Amaru, thanks to this visit. He quickly bonded with Iris’ older relatives. We had moved our conversation from the main room with just him, Iris and her children to outside where the older relatives and two teenage nephews were preparing lunch. The nephews were cutting up potatoes to be added in and later playing on their phones. We were now in a fortress while what made up the cooking area could be seen on the other side through the sheer covering that surrounded us. We sat near the dining table and it felt like we were a part of the garden. We were encircled by nature, chatting about all things under the sun. A pet cat played with the oldest but young daughter. She grabbed two mangoes for Felipe and I to take with us later on. Lunch was ready and in true Peruvian style, we were automatically included. The places at the table were counted out with us as additions. This was not even a second thought.

I now, unfortunately, had to come to terms with the fact that I was getting sick. I felt I could pretty much pinpoint the cause. I had made a very rookie mistake and let myself enjoy a little side salad during my lunch out on my second day in Pisco. It was a quality one, sitting there all small and unassuming, next to my pollo milanesa. I was even venturing off my now mostly vegetarian diet with the pollo, but this was rare. I had not done red meat for decades but still would have some chicken, fish, turkey and some other seafood. Yet, for the last year I wasn’t even doing chicken and turkey, and this was truly a preferential development to the taste, feel and love of delectable non-meat products. (I could honestly eat vegetables, veggie burgers, veggie chicken, biscuits plus all types of bread and dessert and I would be happy for the rest of my days).

Back with this salad as the culprit: It had avocado, tomato, lettuce, cucumber and a tasty sauce. It was little next to my chicken and rice and potatoes. It occurs to me the water the rice was cooked in could have also been the offender. It could have either been that the salad was washed in regular water or the rice water wasn’t boiled enough. It is just that you simply do not partake of it directly from the plumbing. You take a chance because the food is wonderful, and food is necessary, and it could have been okay. Fortunately, there are massive amounts of bottle water sold everywhere as well but you are not always in control of the source, prep or end product. I know that living there, we could also get careless in our own precautions. That was my story at least one of the three times I had Pisco belly 9 years ago. I joked with friends that I guess I was trying to relive most everything this time around and so I stayed sick for my last couple of days in Pisco.

Being sick was not at all something that I was going to let interfere with my fun and happiness. It may have been slowing me down and periodically sitting me down from bench to bench, but I was planning on powering through. I felt, from experience, that food would exacerbate the problem, so I was left with fasting and eventually introducing some light food back into my diet a day later, a day after the stomach issues first began. I had every intention of completing my final objectives.

Returning to Pisco, Peru: Conclusion

Continuing Soon

Returning to Pisco, Peru: Part 3

MARCH 28, 2019 BY CASSANDRA JOHNSON

I opted for the driver who was the most proactive and right away I was shocked by the shopping center, which was sprawling for the area that welcomes you to Pisco. If this was just entering the city, I could only imagine how the Plaza de Armas (the main square) must have developed. It was the area that seemed the most commercial when we were there. While I was in Lima my first day, my Pisqueño friend had prepared me for this, but of course seeing it still struck me. I had met up with him during my one day in Lima and amazingly met another PSF volunteer, who also happened to be traveling to Pisco the next day. It was a reminder that life is more mystical than coincidental. He was from Scotland. His stint in Pisco had happened to be after mine so how nice that I got the chance to add another volunteer to our big but familial network. Cool that we would also end up hanging out the next night with the organization’s cofounder/local amazing friend.

Felipe, another local friend from Pisco and now retiree, had agreed to meet up with me early on, following my bus arrival to Pisco. The 7:30 a.m. bus ride from Lima had got me there around 11:30 a.m. Felipe remembered me even more fondly than I realized, and interestingly, not from one of our construction projects, but from the additional English classes that some of us taught. He would end up sticking by me for a majority of this trip, making navigating back through Pisco even more comfortable. Indeed, the bus had delivered me so promptly to Pisco that my room wasn’t ready yet. It turns out that as I took this time to re-associate myself with the square, I missed Felipe’s initial visit to my hostel. He was early.

The hostel employee, Melissa (Meli) filled me in when I got back around 1:00 p.m. She let me know he would be returning soon. I had taken a general inventory of the Plaza, including lunch. I sent Felipe an update on messenger (we had been corresponding about logistics for several days now leading up to my arrival). We would meet at 1:45 p.m. How sweet that he had arrived earlier! I ran upstairs to prepare quickly.

He returned. He was sitting in the hostel’s cozy lobby area. I could see his profile as I passed from upstairs through the kitchen area towards him. (Meli had just called up to let me know he was back). I gave him the most interminable momentary hug possible. We were delighted. He handed me a bag with 3 mangos, that he had gotten in Ica, a city with an abundance of quality agricultural spaces. We chatted. He looked the same to me, as if it were 9 years ago. I checked the time. We had tentative plans to meet another friend of mine around 2:00 p.m. but this friend had been delayed. Felipe and I strolled outside. While we caught up and waited, I asked what he’d like to do to which he essentially answered – whatever I wanted, the world was my oyster.* The program was mine to make, he reminded me throughout my trip, and this is very symbolic of the journey I’ve decided to continue following.

I was still picking up the hostel’s Wi-Fi in the part of the plaza we were in and got an update that my other friend, Cris would be about an hour or so more. My thinking was that for the time being it would be nice to continue hanging out over some natural not overpriced organic juice while continuing to check out the city’s more modern digs. I noticed that there was quite a bit of construction going on and I’m going to say this is a sign of constant progress for both the community and the workers. I can see the improvements, but I can also see the portions with limited resources and I know someone currently who I wish I could be helping out even more. Yet all the other people that I had the opportunity to chill with do not have such issues to contend with, fortunately.

Felipe and I stepped into an open store front that housed some restaurants and I believe a pharmacy. The building wasn’t as large as much as it was tall. There were about 4 levels. We rode the elevator up and were immediately greeted by a sweet girl who I believe to be of Venezuelan descent. (Many people have moved from Venezuela to various parts of Peru because of the difficulties in their home country). She is offering a menu but I fill her in on my simple juice hankering. She was on board with this and I was excited because I saw maracuya on the menu. She returned to me, however, to say they were out. I feel like maracuya is out everywhere in DC too. Orange juice was a good substitute for me and Felipe as well as we sat, talking. We left and nearing the plaza and picking up Wi-Fi again I saw that Cris had updated me. Work was keeping him extra long and it would do the same the following day. I knew that could happen since I had arrived during mainly weekdays, but I had hope. I was correct with my aspirations. We would more than make up for it two days later. We would catch up, visit various sites and even coincidentally run into another mutual friend we had been hoping to see.

Felipe and I continued our hangout for most of the first half of the day when I received an update from the co-founder of our group to see if I was available to meet her later that night. I invited him along. She is local, born and raised, and the one who managed it all along with the Director that she and her brother had selected. This was along with additional administrative staff. Her message included that she was going to be meeting with another volunteer, Gordon who happened to be in town. Funny that I had just met him the evening before in Lima. It was unexpected that I would add another PSF volunteer to my mental rolodex and equally unexpected was that the 3 of us would come to share a nice evening (the following day), sipping beer and catching up by the new and improved Malecón (the waterfront). We had chosen there after humorously and unsuccessfully getting something to drink at a pizza place. The pizza place would have been frequented and full with us volunteers had it existed during our life there. It is now situated in the midst of our former, very familiar old stomping grounds.

The tuk tuk driver, that delivered Felipe and I there that night, started a mini argument with him before letting us go and shortly before we would see Gordon. The driver wanted a sol or so more because he had initially drove us to the wrong gas station, where we all planned to meet. This proved to be just about 30 seconds in the wrong direction so I could see why Felipe disagreed with the mistaken destination costing us so much more. I offered to pay the difference after letting them “discuss” but Felipe was treating me for my birthday. He handed the driver some more money and we were peacefully on to the next thing, standing outside, waiting. As Gordon approached, not knowing we would be there (in the spot the cofounder arranged), I softly greeted him with a “There he is.” I introduced him to Felipe. As we chatted, it was again strange but magical being back here. Standing here, across the street from the old volunteer house. It was comforting to lay my eyes on this structure once again. Yet it was odd to imagine how many of us lived in that space. It was likewise interesting to imagine all the activity that went on inside, how it was now quiet but still contained our stories.

All the dozens of exchanges and activities so far in my current visit, (like preparing myself very early for the bus ride, sweet random entertaining conversations, and some exchanges with strangers – not so sweet) had caused me to continually forget that this second day in Peru was actually my birthday. That is something I could previously not imagine ever forgetting, whether the day proved to be horrible, enjoyable or uneventful. This one was enjoyable and eventful, but I would mostly only be inadvertently reminded by my friends’ well wishes. I was taken in by a flurry of happenings and thoughts, although I had purposely planned to arrive here on this day.

The day was darkening as Felipe, Gordon and I stood. It was about 7:30, as we took it all in, filling up on the past and the now.  It was again surreal to see our local mutual friend, and PSF cofounder as she at last headed our way. I started cheering before she reached our sides. We were all smiles. I believe Gordon mentioned that he had actually been there a couple years prior and he goes back regularly when work finds him in the capital city.

Felipe excused himself early on in our walk. Before we reached our first stop, he explained that he would be heading back home. This was not before leaving me with 10 soles, for what he thought I might spend for the rest of the night. I didn’t need anything but it was my birthday, I remembered again, so I think it was an additional treat for the night and to make sure I was taken care of.

Our first stop was to the aforementioned pizza place. Had it been there before, it would have been overrun by us but also had it been there, it would have definitely been out of place and out of time. It didn’t match the circumstances of our life then. As much as our surroundings had to offer us then, it was the necessities available, the vacancy of some things you realize you don’t need or miss, and the surprising availability of other items that made that time special for what it was. Yet, let me divulge as amazing as Peruvian cuisine is and always will be, it was in Pisco in 2010-2011, that pizza had not yet been perfected.

Very briefly, as a little sidestep side note here: I still suffer from a pizza deficiency from my stay in Pisco. It’s not that pizza in Peru isn’t good. I had tasty pizza there. It is just that in Pisco, at the time, where we were, as amazing as the food is, there were some ma and pa shops that got the recipe turned around. I am so impressed by the pizza shops that are there now and my friend informed me that the one in which we were chatting was good. I believe her but when we sat down and when we were handed a menu, an involuntarily voice inside me asked aloud, “Is it good?!” She smiled knowingly and again I believe her but it so happens that we weren’t hungry or wanting for anything currently but something to drink and the time and stories we had to share.

Beer was not served there (the waiter, a friend, was perhaps going to bring some back) but the lack of anything there was no matter. We were enthralled, catching up, and then we had the good excuse for a walk to our final venue, the Malecón. We would pass numerous wild dogs along the way. That was normal. I felt very at home and oddly always felt instantly at home with these dogs. I can’t explain it except that some natural part of me is wired that way. These dogs felt as natural as the birds that glide around me in DC, though they can be very dangerous.

This night proved such a peaceful one in the present moment, with our collective distinctive memories as we teased each other. As it was time for us to part, our dear local friend took special care to ensure that our respective rides to our next destinations would be safe. I had purposely gone backpackless for this night journey for I knew that it would be dark, and I may possibly find myself riding back by myself as a mere consequence of us each retreating to our respective home bases. I was correct about that, you see because, you recall, Felipe had left earlier. He and I would continue our “program” tomorrow.

Gordon was departing to the city of Paracas, Peru. Our friend pinpointed a car for him for his longer trip and a safe compact tuk tuk to deliver me back to the main plaza. She double checked that the price was okay with me. It was no problem. I blew my kisses and we made tentative plans to meet later on in my stay. Returning to the main square felt super secure. She knew the driver and his girlfriend (yes, his girlfriend was there, perfectly nestled into the space beside him with her arm resting around his waist). As we toddled along, I knew I had gotten an ideal arrangement. I leaned back, had my exact payment in my pocket ready and there was nothing I had to worry about leaving behind or hanging precariously from me. There were certain signs to look out for when traveling around, certain circumstances to avoid and I will put together the comprehensive collection but for now what stands out most is that two tuk tuk drivers (not a couple) riding up front is one ride that we were always told to avoid. Typically, you can expect there to just be one driver. Rarely did I see the former.

It was not a long ride and I bounced out in front of my hostel, pretty much like I had been back in Pisco for months instead of days. Meli asked if had my key to my room. When any guests returned, they had to unlock the main door and I think especially because she didn’t see me holding on to the big circular key chain, she wanted to make sure I hadn’t lost it or left it inside. In addition to temporarily not carrying my backpack, I had especially slipped my key off the large but cute chain. Otherwise I would have been holding a very big thing in my hand that named my hostel and room number.

Continuing on, I still had a mission I was looking forward to completing over the next few days in Pisco. I was looking forward to it although I wasn’t completely sure it was possible:

Returning to Pisco, Peru Part 4

Continuing Soon

*Spanish conversations translated to English

Returning to Pisco, Peru: Part 2

MARCH 18, 2019 BY CASSANDRA JOHNSON

I knew Elijah was going to be intriguing when he appeared around the airplane aisle, before he and his mom sat next to me. He took the middle seat. He had questions. He had answers. He had observations and some immediate bonding was about to commence. Primarily, he broke the non-existent ice by talking about our individual TVs located on the back of the seats in front of us.

He asked his mom and me if I was going to Peru. I said yes. He wanted to know why and how about all kinds of things in addition to what he would be able to watch and play on the screen before him. He wondered if the plane had taken off yet and if not, when would that be. His mom was trying to reel him in, but she was smiling at the same time, seeing that I was answering him honestly and at the same time engaging him in a playful way. I answered his why-destination-Peru-question and when I told him some of the first names of some friends I was going to see, he said the names weren’t real. (In retrospect, was he telling me that I didn’t have friends? I’m laughing more now, thinking about it.) I let him know that I was then going to tell my friends that their names weren’t real.

He and his mom were speaking only in English as we took this flight from New York to Lima, Peru. I had connected here from Washington DC (where I live now). It turns out his mom had moved from Peru to the States when she was 5 and this was her first time back. Elijah is 5 now. As his mom and I were chatting, I told her I would actually be heading to the city of Pisco the following day and this would just be a leisure trip following the volunteer one there, years ago. Her mom lived in the US as well and it was her grandmother who still lived in Peru. Her mom had traveled in advance of them and they would visit a nice small city in which her grandmother also had a second home. I was excited for them.

Elijah did not want to sleep. He played some coloring game on the TV for a while and I do promise you that while I also watch and read what is serious and thought-provoking, I had decided that I needed to watch Teen Titans Go and also half let it watch me. This is so I could keep my mind relaxed and positive. With all the intellectually stimulating material that I read and watch, I too like to have this healthy well-rounded entertainment diet of light-hearted sitcoms and cartoons in my life. At this point, my little buddy had begun watching what I admittedly didn’t realize then was Masha and the Bear. He had some commentary on Teen Titans Go so I asked what was that on his screen. He said I knew. He laughed so I told him it was Goldilocks. We both fell asleep hard. His mom told me she didn’t. She thought because it was her first time traveling alone with him. She was preoccupied, being an attentive, concerned mother. Yet, it cracked me up, in all her consistent part chatting, part pleading, part explaining to him, she would periodically say Dude, because this or Dude because that and so it strikes me that I may or may not be ready to be a mom though I would enjoy being one. Thus, we were coming to the end of our chilled exchange. Elijah’s final question to his mom: Was I her cousin? She and I smiled at each other in wonder. My maybe conclusion: He had accepted me so early on in his familial space that I must be family.

Getting through Peruvian customs in Lima didn’t seem to take as long as before, which is what I expected. The appearance is that things are always progressing. In some ways that’s true but not in every aspect as I would soon come to see in Pisco. I waited at baggage claim for my pink backpacker’s bag. I surveyed the surroundings, figuring I would go to the money exchange first. I wanted to get enough in local currency but not too much, just enough to reduce lone visits to the ATM. The older I get and more experience I gain, the more I work on making my efforts as seamless as possible. In fact, I had requested a taxi pickup from the airport to my hotel in Miraflores, to save on price-negotiating time. I was now one of those people, for the moment, whose driver had a handwritten sign with my name on it. It was just $22 to add it to my online itinerary. I walked up to the gentleman holding my name and another driver with a different sign for a different traveler smiled saying “Ahh. Cassandra. Cassandra” (for some unknown reason). I smiled and followed my driver (Luis) out.

Primarily, Luis was more matter of fact then friendly. He became more engaging as he asked if I had already prepared a return trip from downtown Lima to the International Airport. When he realized I wasn’t staying in Lima and also needed a ride early in the morning to the bus terminal (destination Pisco) he offered service for that as well. I think that’s a pretty standard experience I have found when I’m riding from the airport to my lodging area abroad and across states. I usually accept their card or contact information and say I will call on them for a return trip to the airport or somewhere else. This is not a promise and not without first gauging my instincts. Occasionally, if the person is overly flirtatious, I keep my distance. The same stands for any other seemingly unprofessional behavior. My advice is to take a card or contact info when it is offered but do not feel obligated to use their services. You can always negotiate better fares and services by working within the recommendations from your lodging’s staff or other fellow travelers.

I did actually find Luis to be ideal for the next day because of the original connection to him through the online booking service. I also liked that I already would have an early morning ride secured. He and I had conjectured that about 6:20 a.m. would be a good pick up time to head over from the hotel to the bus station. He did not show up the next morning. For all those times that a plan has not quite come together, I had already decided to give him just a few minutes before conferring with the lady adjacent to the small hotel desk. There were plenty of taxis outside yelling out presumed destinations to people. Still, whenever I have limited time and I’m not traveling with a companion, I like to go with something as official as the concierge in a hotel or hostel abroad because the price they secure will be reasonable and standard, and you most likely don’t have to guess whether the transportation company is official or not.

In this recent case of staying in Lima’s safely recommended neighborhood of Miraflores, I will additionally recommend the Ibis Lima Larco Miraflores hotel. My room was immaculate, and the location was convenient for food and shopping needs. Depending on weather preferences, however, one should note that Lima, Peru is extremely hot right now. The US is opposite of South America. South America’s February is in the summer and I would soon find out that while Pisco was going to be a scorcher too (as my friends there had been preparing me), there would at least be some helpful breezes and it would cool off in the evenings (typical of desert nights). Rain in Pisco is rare. When we were there, it would come so lightly and quickly that you would be left questioning if it ever really happened. The more northern and mountainous areas of Peru are different. When I reached Cusco, Machu Picchu especially, and later Bolivia, it was cold with the rainy season and I naturally developed an incessant cough, from only gradually adjusting my wardrobe to the elements. Adding a side note here that I will get into later when recalling my volunteer time in northern Peru and Bolivia: Plan for wardrobe changes along the way. Almost hacking up a lung while clubbing in Cusco’s Plaza de las Armas is not cute (though the Chilean and Argentinian guys there on holiday never seemed to mind).

Returning to my recent internal country travel, I did end up making it to the bus station in plenty of time. (I would hear from the Luis much later via WhatsApp.) Reaching the terminal, I was greeted with the familiarity of the Soyuz bus company. It is a good bus company and I took its main service on many an occasion. From what I could tell with all the activity around me, it still appears to be reliable and efficient, but I can more so recently speak to its PeruBús VIP element. The cleanliness and punctuality was enough for me to decide the name was well earned. The smoothest ride was on my way from Lima to Pisco. There were just a few of us. More people joined at various stops along the way though there are just 4 main bus terminal city stops on this route. Two guys got on at a lesser traveled stop. They immediately sat in front of me and reclined their seats. I told myself, “it’s okay, you still got some space” although I was apparently too presumptuously enjoying the previous amount. I thought about moving to one of the still considerably large number of empty seats, but I think they were assigned (in theory) and I know from experience that you never know what discomfort and awkwardness you may be pre-sitting next to. I had made the right decision. The bus filled up quickly. The lady who sat next to me was with two other people that sat across the aisle. I only saw one other foreigner (yep, that’s in addition to me) get on the bus and unlike me, she was blond. She moved towards the rear.

I kept my curtain pushed open, watching developed Peru trail by, watching nature-made Peru flow by, saw undeveloped areas portioned in. I got a real reminder about what I missed about this part of the country. The area was getting closer and closer to the former earthquake-affected area where I had volunteered 9 years ago. My heart was wrenched, dazzled, filled with an affection and peace. I was returning to a different home now.

I fell deep asleep for a while. Part of the bus trip from Lima back to Pisco had evaporated into my sleep. It was dreamless for all I knew. The surrealness of being back was dream enough. I was now returning as I had been meaning to do so, for so long now. I was returning to a time that seemed lucid in the way that we had organized ourselves and diligently made things happen. How intriguing that we had all come together from various countries to physically help one country and worked so hard and played so well together, even with the mistakes and rough patches. The experience was special with its random traditions and systems that were so well put together. Now, I had arrived. I was in Pisco before I knew it and also right on time. 4 hours later. Once again at Cruce Pisco. Pisco Crossroads. Welcome to Terminal Terrastre!

At this point, I knew I would need a car, a carro, a coche, a taxi to get to the main plaza, where I would be staying in a hostel (un hospedaje). I had chosen among several hostels available and wow – how different would it be to be in Pisco and not directing drivers to take me back to the shared volunteer house on Avenida America. It made me a little sad in a way that didn’t make complete sense, but I guess it completely does. It’s the nostalgia that hits you squarely when you are physically transported back to a specific space. The energy that molded me from here and the energy that I expended here, now in the space that I occupied. Fully immersed in memories (some I realized now that I had even forgot to remember), I was simultaneously hit with former emotions. Not every day as a volunteer was easy while the whole of it was wonderful. It was not meant for us to be there forever. The country’s work was meant to live on with the people of the country and so it has. Life is bittersweet.

Returning to Pisco, Peru Part 3 : Continuing Soon

Returning to Pisco, Peru: Part 1

FEBRUARY 25, 2019 BY CASSANDRA JOHNSON

I am so excited about heading back to Peru this evening, well tomorrow morning after a transfer in New York. All my gear is in tow in a backpack and my oxymoronish Calvin Klein pink duffel bag. A backpacker’s backpack of some sort is the way to go if you’re doing anything remotely close to backpacking, as in hiking, trekking, traveling across cities, countries, and taking buses, taxis, collectivos (shared taxis) along the way. This will prove most efficient for lugging things around quickly and for those “stuff it in your bag and go quickly” moments. (You will also want to take a smaller backpack that you will mostly not carry on your back but on your front – I will put together a comprehensive guide for traveling safely so you will have everything together in one place). The smaller bag is the one you will have on hand for the much smaller ventures while you’re walking around or even taking some local transportation. Duffle will be chilling back at the hostel or hotel.

The plan today is heading from work to the DC National Airport, which is just two stops away. I decided that this was the easiest stress-free quickest way to get me back to the small city of Pisco, after I do one overnight in the capital city of Lima. I’m already guessing there will be some considerable changes to Pisco from the years ago when we were rebuilding as volunteers, performing earthquake recovery. I’m already impressed that there is more than a few hostals available. Although we got around Pisco and the surrounding areas for fun and relaxation during downtime, it did not have the touristy feel I would come to encounter in other South American cities. Still, there are attractions in and around Pisco, like Paracas, the Ballestas Islands specifically and Huacachina. There are lots of opportunities to see some diverse animal life in Paracas, do some dune buggy riding and sand boarding in Huacachina and of course have amazing cuisine everywhere. Pisco, itself is a place to have amazing food. I had many a meal from restaurants, semi restaurants, and not to mention some delicious home cooking.

My first night will be in Miraflores, the recommended nice neighborhood to stay in while you are in Lima. This is where I stayed for one night before heading to Pisco during 2010 and Miraflores is also where I stayed for my last week in Peru in 2011, before heading back to DC. I went back there from Cochabamba, Bolivia. I spent time in a few other Lima neighborhoods but was never without planned company.

I’m being cautious of myself today because I’m prone to working hard and I like to help, so I don’t want to accidentally be late leaving for the airport, because I’m helping.

I’ve made general plans to meet with several of the people in Pisco who have permanent residence in my soul. We’ll work out the details that come with travel and catching up.

I’m doing last minute mental preparations as I feel the excitement bubbling.

En Camino

FEBRUARY 19, 2019 BY CASSANDRA JOHNSON

  • Pisco, Peru (2010)
  • Pisco by the ocean = walks, talks and volunteer downtime (2010)

I am excited to be just a bit away from my way back to Lima and Pisco, Peru. Again, I’m a little late for the planned reunion but I hope to chat and chill with all the folks from there that I have hoped to see for about 8 years now.

  • Working together on a modular home (2010)
  • Prep, clean up and rebuild (2010)

I have travel hacked my way a little (to the best of my knowledge) to a $538.06 flight. Taxes and fees included. I can shout out momondo.com for that. They are right to brag about their cheap flights (and an added cool feature, if you’re feeling adventurous): You can search the site’s Explore Anywhere option with just your departure airport and your budget. The answer back will be a multitude of low-rate venues in the US and abroad. I owe this tip to a travel hacking YouTube video that was suggested to me and it’s a definite note to my future self.

  • A group weekend getaway from Pisco: Camping on the Beach in Paracas (2010)
  • Earthbag project – earthquake resilient structure courtesy of a strong project leader (2010)

I wonder how much will have changed since I’ve been to Pisco. I wonder how it will be the same. I’m looking forward to sharing this in pictures and words. My first night will be in Lima and a mirror to my past. The other reflection will be the 4-hour bus ride to the city of Pisco, where we helped with earthquake recovery. However, the image will divert from there as the volunteer house is no longer operating and the organization lives online in our co-volunteer history. Yet, my affection will be amplified as communications relegated to the Internet come to share a face-to-face space again. (For the same reason: Thank goodness for the Internet!)I have more than a few reasons to look forward to my birthday.

  • Taskboard (2010)

View more photos: Facebook Albums

Meet Us at a Place Called Progress

FEBRUARY 12, 2019 BY CASSANDRA JOHNSON

8106 Georgia Avenue, Silver Spring, Maryland. The facility is called Progress Place and I spent this past Thursday evening volunteering there. For most of my time in the DMV (DC, Maryland, Virginia area), my heart strings have been tugged at on the first Thursday of each month. This is where I stop on my way from working in Virginia. This is where I help and then head back home to DC. I’ve missed numerous times when I was in South America and some times when I was here and my schedule wouldn’t permit it, but fortunately, I am fortunate to regularly serve the homeless community.

Along with my literacy volunteer aspiration and my images of doing some natural disaster recovery, I wanted there to be a day, some time, somewhere, where I was periodically helping out in a soup kitchen. Somehow that got etched into my visions. Perhaps my knowledge of the possibility was then cemented in by some special holiday sitcom or movie moment.

One security officer along with the chef and dishwasher and other staff are there, when we are volunteering. To paint a complete picture, I volunteer one day a month with several other people from my church. It is open to everyone. The other 29, 30 or in this case 27 days are completed by other community groups such as churches, independent altruistic individuals and people fulfilling community service.

Progress Place is the larger package of two community service programs for people with limited resources and we volunteer specifically with the program called Shepherd’s Table. This past Thursday, there would be a special group from a high school volunteering plus some additional employees and other volunteers. Our regular group had the night off and just my friend (who directs our team) and I would be there to help train the new ones.

I’m glad my friend asked me. It was a kind of reset to see the mission through a few new eyes. I always feel good but sometimes my energy is still with the first half of my day, so there was something in particular about the excitement of these youth that brought back my second wind a little quicker than usual. It’s cliché but true to say that there is a good feeling that comes with giving. The high schoolers provided a peaceful reminder as they were open to every task, including the more thankless parts of sweeping and mopping after all our very gracious patrons had gone. My friend and I and the regular Shepherd’s Table employees we’re excited to let them know how nice it was to have them.

It is nice to be a small part of a huge picture. It sweetens it when you feel appreciated. Something that put me in awe when I began volunteering here is the fact that it is open 365 (or 366) days a year. There is so much hope directed at what could simply be deemed “the homeless problem” from afar. A place like this, with its sometimes difficulties, is inspiring in its final mission. Here we have a chef preparing a variety of food that fills the hot food section, where patrons first enter. One volunteer dishes out a main dish such as baked chicken or eggplant parmesan. The volunteer to his or right adds the sides and the diners always have the opportunity to select among everything, including the breads and desserts that will be served up at the next station. Local businesses donate most of the baked goods.

The combined tea and coffee station complements the bread and dessert area, which can get quite busy during the winters that especially call for a time of warming up.

On this particularly Thursday, I finished helping our new volunteers at the coffee and tea station and connected with another new volunteer who was bussing the tables. Though not easy, this task has become simpler in our new building. Cleaning tables and breaking down the dishes for the wash team has made efficiency out of what was formerly excessive work.

I am happy that the First-Thursdays night crew gets the job done but lately, we have been short of help. More volunteers are always welcome. If you find yourself in the area, feel free to inquire here and keep in mind: Dinner is served daily and perhaps we will cross paths on one of my Thursdays!

Shepherd’s Table Newsletters and Events

Visit the archives above. Monthly newsletter updates are soon to come.

Progress Place, Silver Spring, MD

Days in the Life

FEBRUARY 5, 2019 BY CASSANDRA JOHNSON

Saturday was a half day of volunteering and my premiere introduction to the system. Weekday volunteer shifts were from 9:00 a.m. to about 5:30 p.m. or later but we tried to get home in time for dinner. We’d go on excursions on Saturday afternoon through Sunday night, including camping, sand boarding or dune buggy riding or stay in or go to the local bars and venues. We’d hang out in the yard on weekday evenings, maybe go out, maybe sleep. At times, we’d go to the nearby major city of Ica for the movies or similarly citified life but the Pisco market was actually surprisingly big. (I’m mad I brought so much stuff! I didn’t need half of all the extra bug repellent and sunscreen among other things, but it left me plenty to leave to the volunteers to come.) Incidentally, the market is also where I bought my makeshift Halloween costume along with other needed celebratory things.

We would have morning announcements from Monday through Saturday, while sitting down to breakfast. The Director was usually the one to do the announcements before each project leader would speak but we tried to mix that up as well. (I would become a project leader a little later).

Let me mention that unlike lunch, breakfast and dinner were projects that were assigned in addition to construction projects so preparing each of these meals got rotated amongst us as well. There were some pretty interesting rituals that went on during the morning breakfast meeting and in our house in general. (I missed them terribly when I first left). Each day’s meeting began with “Good Morning PSF!” Come to it late at your own risk. This is how you ended up getting volunteered for bathroom duty, rather than nobly selecting it for yourself. Next, I must say that an interesting feeling is evoked when yelling out your own name, which is what you had to do to get added to a project.

Project leaders were listed at the top of the project on our large white board, followed by the people that had worked along with them during the previous day. After that, it was first come, first serve – the calling out of one’s own name until the 3, 4, 5 or so slots had been filled for each one. The leader would lay out the background and the instructions and then the shouting. These projects were ones that had undergone site assessments and ones in which we had enough resources and man and woman power to complete. The site assessments were generated from the requests of residents. This could be from applications they completed or info we had obtained from interviewing them as a follow up.

In addition to the construction jobs, we would trade off housekeeping duties. The house manager led the way, including cleaning the kitchen, the communal rooms and (especially the bathrooms and 3 showers). I feel like the biodiesel shed was a part of this cleanup as well but I’m afraid my memory fails me a little here. Cleanup generally followed our respective work projects and was created so that no one person had it too often but could if he or she would like.

Breakfast duty, like housekeeping, was additional to the day’s work. Dinner was a full day’s project, including a team of about 4 or 5 volunteers getting the necessary ingredients at the Pisco market. It took a lot to prep and cook an evening meal for a range of about 30 to 70 people. Diners assisted the volunteer dish crew by clearing their plates in a prewash multi-step process. It had to be detailed to best avoid what was deemed Pisco belly. The water in Pisco (specifically) was not to be ingested directly so we had to be extra careful to avoid getting sick. We would get sick. It happened on various levels. Some people would feel it slightly and others got the extreme hit. I had it about 3 times. I was able to function but fasted for about one day each of those times and gradually worked my way from bread back to regular meals. You couldn’t readily tell the source. Some great meals were prepared for us outside of the house. Could it be tasty rice in perfect looking water that may just not have been boiled enough? The warning was not to brush your teeth with it and maybe don’t sing in the shower and to think a casually rinsed dish or pot could maybe be the culprit.  On one occasion, one of my roommates, my future novio and I shared a most delicious salad appetizer. It was only later that I thought, I hope that was washed… I hope that wasn’t washed. Wait. What? Still, we volunteers were always with bottled water. We could buy it just about everywhere. It was important for the heat as well.

Since my first day was a half Saturday, I filled in for a special day of English instruction. We had a side door to our communal room that faced the street and we opened that up to a dedicated group of local students, who were free to come there on weekends. We needed about 8 teachers to provide the most quality attention. We turned this area, that was also like a living room, into a temporary classroom with separate tables according to the language level. Afterwards, we turned it back into the communal room A.k.a living room (There was a TV – but only capable of playing videos. We watched movies occasionally).

Our organization’s central mission was reconstruction following the devastating 2007 earthquake and my first construction project would be working on a modular home, just a couple of days later. We took down the remnants of what had actually been destroyed in a fire. We removed the rubble of the former elderly resident’s home and began rebuilding his new house.

I also helped interpret and I was learning more about rebuilding as I went. I had worked with my hands and put items together before but had no formal construction experience. It’s nice that we had a few carpenters in our camp as well. As we cleaned out the old, there was the mixed debris along with a couple of uninvited critters escorting themselves out. Over that next week and a half, it was nice to work and see the pallets go up and end with a nice coat of paint. I was on this project for several days and then moved to another. Still, I would go back to look at the progress. It went up so quickly. That was the beauty of the modular home. We worked on other structures but this one was especially meant to go up quickly and efficiently. We’d break for lunch on some of those initial days and a couple of the guys invited the future homeowner to join us. His tab would be on them. He had been through so much and it was nice to see him smile and come along.

Lunch during projects was usually on our own, so we would pretty regularly go somewhere as various groups. If the work was near home, our options included “the green house” or “the orange house”. It was delicious. This was definitely some people who were informally and very entrepreneurially cooking and serving meals to us in their home restaurants. The multi-purpose gas station across the street from our house also had a restaurant inside and was more internet cafe meets 7-Eleven. There were European, American and Peruvian convenient store snacks and drinks and about 6 public computers. When we were feeling fancy, we’d go up the street to the big restaurant, Diana’s or to restaurant row in the Plaza de Armas (the city square). We’d venture to all of the above on off days as well.

Speaking to the overall condition of Pisco at this time is to imagine a city with some successes but still recovering. There was the notable infrastructure and commerce, but the devastation of the 8.0 earthquake still meant a great number of people without indoor plumbing or proper housing. This extended into El Molino where many had set up temporary makeshift housing. We worked on recovery assistance in Pisco and some surrounding areas. We gained some second families.

Our activities seemed so varied. When I think of my journal, I am surprised how many events could transpire in one day including water and electricity shortages. There were soccer and basketball evenings. We offered some tech instruction, and one volunteer even provided a boxing course. What I loved about this organization was its grass roots continuum. It was what you made it. You could execute any worthy endeavor you were willing to lead. Affiliated with Burners without Borders, PSF was exactly what it was designed to be. Very self-sustaining. We paid for food and lodging and time and time again, my co-volunteers would develop some exciting fundraisers.

My first week ended, and I already had visions of what a weekend could bring. I didn’t read Eckhart Tolle’s Power of Now until 2015, but PSF downtime (as well as the immersion into the physical work) had an intrinsic way of settling me peacefully into the moment. Once I got used to Pisco being my current home and I was able to be wholesome and/or ratchet, I became very comfortable. I was comfortable around people who were passionate about helping the community, passionate about taking some risks and passionate about their respective kinships within the group.

Chatter flowed through the yard in the evenings. It was even more heightened on Saturday. The prime seating near the fire was usually occupied. An iPod would be playing loud enough for everyone. A few people were in the small office or nearby on computers, skyping and otherwise catching up with friends and family. Teasing, laughing, playing games and people waiting until very late to ask was this or that person ready to go out. The crawl space under the second set of stairs was set with empty beer bottles that one could grab and take back to the shop to be refilled. On one such night, I was nursing a bottle of rum and 2 liters of Coke until I was offered some soles in exchange – soles that could now or later get me a delicious pastry from Fabiola around the corner. She was an excellent baker and another entrepreneur. Her little shop was also a laundry haven for us when we wanted to splurge instead of hand washing. She felt like an aunt, one whom I am still fortunate enough to follow.

I am feeling grateful that I just received my old passport back in the mail this past week (following the renewal one that arrived the week prior). I have the memento of this old one being the one I carried around Peru and Bolivia all these years ago. I thank you State Department for your nostalgic protocol and I thank you, dear reader for spending another weekly post with me.

Part 2: Pleasantly Confused

JANUARY 29, 2019 BY CASSANDRA JOHNSON

This continues Part 2 of my first two days in Peru. Parting from the quite intriguing response of the Peruvian customs agent, I headed towards the taxi area that said legitimate (as my 2010 travel search results had suggested).  The recommendation meant to look out for the registered ones and not to venture out in any unofficial looking cars. The directness of the sign threw me a little. Still it proved true and the other drivers could be avoided by their unmarked cars. This recommendation became invaluable to me in Cusco as well and when I later returned to Lima.

Despite internet connectivity issues and a dying computer, my first hours were a success. I was squared away in my hotel and the obstacles were not changing my plans.

The next day brought back normal possibilities. The sun echoed that. I was easily able to get to the now open store and arm myself with backup devices like a phone from a local company. I now had the added option of texting internationally. (I had assumed I would be on my charged computer with a working hotspot, so I didn’t feel the need for an international package on my phone plan at the time.) Ultimately, I wouldn’t need much. Between the volunteer house and the multipurpose gas station across the street, I was set to connect with everyone.

My friend and I had both stayed overnight in the highly recommended Miraflores district. She was in a nearby hostel. We connected on Skype once I was up and running and planned to meet and taxi over to the bus terminal. There was nothing daunting about the bus from Lima to Pisco, as local travelers came to have our back. They called attention to our stop to make certain we didn’t lose our way. We were okay but welcomed the confirmation. It was equal to the way some DC metro riders will look out for visitors whose unfamiliarity with the train system and their surroundings is apparent on their uneasy faces. 

Four hours done. We got off the bus onto a dirt road with some street vendors and colectivos (shared taxis). It was dusk now. Colectivos were extremely apparent in and around Pisco due to their standard car size. The other rides that we came to pay for locally would be in the beetle sized tuk tuks. Our driver packed our bags into the back. It was noted on the organization’s website that drivers would instantly know if we said the house with the blue doors, the volunteer house, or some similar description. I told my new friend I was glad she was there with me (I would have been uncertain alone) and she stated that she was similarly glad for my company and that I could explain our objectives to the driver and others in Spanish. We relaxed into the vehicle. He smiled knowingly. We smiled and off we were, just a bit away from our new home.

At last, we were in front of the blue doors. Our car pulled up about the same time that several other US volunteers arrived. That was actually a rarity. Many volunteers were from Europe and the organization welcomed volunteers on any day. There was a good deal of people from the States during my stay, but never were we a majority. Australia, New Zealand, Mexico, Costa Rica, Brazil, Canada and Peru were present in addition to the influences from France, England, Scotland and Ireland. The diversity preceded and followed me until the organization was disbanded. Volunteering abroad had become even more interesting. I hadn’t realized we would bring together so much diversity.

I was still taking in the scene after just arriving. I stood just a few feet in the door. My heavy suitcase was nothing to the volunteer coordinator that lifted it onto one shoulder and ran upstairs. He returned immediately as there was no vacancy. Someone even playfully tickled his stomach as he walked upstairs. His response was just a chuckle, a mild protest and no danger whatsoever in dropping it. My friend and I would temporarily stay at a neighboring hostel that was closely affiliated with our group.

Before I retired for the night, one of my future best friends walked over to me. We talked briefly. I was still visually reconciling the volunteer video, that I’d seen a few months earlier, with what was now a leisure Friday. This was a time for volunteer socializing and regrouping, and I loved the duality of it! There was still one more half day of volunteering on Saturdays, but Friday has its place. iPods playing, laughing, talking, various games and a fire burning the chilly desert night air away.

I was intrigued to be joining the others soon but knew I needed some rest mentally and physically. My travel companion and I left for the neighboring hostel. We were able to move into the main house the next day and I realized that perspectives can change quickly. Ours related to space. We compared notes. She was now in one of the multiple occupant rooms and I was in a four-bunk bed one with just 3 other people. Just 3?! I very much appreciated this space following the limited room we were in the night before. She seemed settled as well.

My 4-person room included the close friend I had chatted with the night before. Various roommates stayed there and traveled on. My good friend left. (We would meet up later). Then, it was my turn to leave for a new journey. I sometimes forget about being wonderfully thrown off. Routines are necessary to a point but sharing this here is a reminder that I should likewise take on the disruptions. My renewal passport arrived just this past Tuesday and I’ve got some work to do.