Category: travel

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.

Pleasantly Confused

January 21, 2019 by Cassandra Johnson

Since it has been a while since I landed in Lima, I plan on being a little confused, but not as nervously confused as I was when I got off the plane initially. I won’t be as turned around as I was when I got to my one overnight stay in the capital and affection alone will replace the pleasing confusion of everything I saw in the volunteer organization yard my first Friday night.

Prior to my arrival, I took care to take notes from my guide book on what to expect when traveling around Peru. I smiled through sections on the lovely cuisines, read about animal diversity, history and culture. I pictured myself there while looking up additional online resources and altogether I paired this with tips from my organization on how I should prepare for living in Pisco and helping with earthquake recovery.

Volunteering and philanthropy have captured my attention for a while. As a little girl, I was intrigued by the sound bite Literacy Volunteer commercials. I lent some assistance to a similar organization in college. I decided to also become one of my school’s conversation language partners. The program helped international college students adjust to English and US culture. I moved to DC and taught English one day a week after work, although I didn’t know I would be comfortable leading a classroom. (Truly, some days were much better than others.)

In the various forms of connection, I realized, as it is true with everyone, it’s difficult for anyone to live their goals when faced with a lack of necessities. We all need help. Moving forward, I have been excited to be in a number of places but admittedly, I was uncertain about navigating a four-hour bus ride from the major Peruvian city. With a friend’s crafty suggestion, I went to my new organization’s Facebook page to ask if anyone would be traveling from Lima to Pisco on my dates. It was right away that my friend-to-be from Spain responded, but unfortunately ended up having to postpone his arrival a bit. A second response followed soon after and another future friend and I soon synchronized our schedules. She would be traveling from Rhode Island and it seemed now that my preplanning at home (vaccinations, discussions, readings, etc.) were falling into place with my plans abroad.

Hiccups would still come, and they are not to be unexpected, but I think the planning efforts and mental preparation are helpful when it comes to powering through and you actually already get a sense during those not-so-smooth moments that you are going to look back on them and laugh. You find yourself even laughing a little at the time, as in “Is this for real?” and “You gotta be kidding me right now.” Powering through comes to serve you as you become more confident about your ability to figure things out. The more you start down that road, the more you get into the thick of things and the further you move away from the start line, you kinda already know you most likely are going to cross it. No matter that it’s not a photo finish.

I had begun with one travel inconvenience at DC’s National Airport. My luggage had been over the weight restrictions. I was shifting things around and this could have been pretty standard save for the fact that it was a little intimidating trying to sift through what was regulation appropriate to carry on in a limited amount of time. I was additionally internalizing the serious look on the airline agent’s face. She had read my future return date in a tone and it was as though I felt she held my security checkpoint fate in her hands. This could have proved all too much for a newbie international volunteer.

Amazingly, however, a gentleman offered to buy me an extra airline bag as he simultaneously made the purchase. Such unexpected generosity from a stranger! Now that I had another spacious piece of luggage to play around in, I thanked him profusely. He smiled and said, “Maybe she will pay it forward.” The airline agent smiled at me for what I’m fairly certain was the first time. She echoed how nice it was and said that I was already paying it forward. Since I had previously shared my travel purposes, she shared them with him. I was still on my wow, thank you and seeing that starting out all twisted at the ticket counter wasn’t an omen after all.

My flight and layover were smooth. Customs through Lima’s airport took what I expected to be a considerable but standard amount of time. When I reached the customs official in Lima, I readily answered the length of stay question for the maximum number of days. He looked up from what I guessed was usually a pretty mundane question. He seemed intrigued but somehow still robotic. I had chosen the 183 days that I was permitted to stay continuously. I knew I would actually stay longer. I would just need to extend my stay by leaving Peru and returning within the time limit and Bolivia would be my destination for this. Coincidentally, some wonderful friends ended up being there during that time as well. I had looked forward to traveling to Bolivia in general and additionally relaying my experience to my ex back home who also happened to be from there. Having some volunteer friends (my second family) there made it that much sweeter.

The customs official final response that day? A 183-day passport stamp and the prediction, “You’ll fall in love.” I was wondering if he meant with a person or the country. It could have been both.

continues next week

Introducing Obama’s Niece

January 14, 2019 by Cassandra Johnson

I’ve revived my knowledge of the Soyuz bus terminal from which I can select a bus company to take me across 4 cities to reach Pisco. Lima is the closest major city with an airport and Pisco will be the fourth stop on the four-hour trip from the Peruvian capital. Another note I recalled recently is that certain countries require that your passport be 6 months out following the time of your visit. Seeing that would be exactly a few days after my plans, I submitted everything I would need for a renewal this past Saturday.

Several entrepreneurs I have been following on YouTube have been saying – Be afraid and do it anyway. They have been saying it’s okay to fail as long as you fail forward. You are always learning something about yourself and others and the varying degrees of adrenaline and exhilaration that you receive reminds you what matters or perhaps what doesn’t.

Therefore, when faced with everything that continues to show up as a burning option, I find it best to try on some level even if those tries are seemingly delayed (weeks or even years later). Success is inevitable in the very attempt itself, in schooling us on how to prepare, what to do, what not to do, and what gives us life. This has been true for me in all aspects, even if the reality doesn’t exactly match the perceived goal.

I believe now that because I took some chances (that may have seemed unnecessary at the time and perhaps some were), I was inadvertently encouraged to keep taking them. This encouragement showed its way through during my first stay in Pisco. I thought volunteering abroad during high school and college was a little too daunting, so I surprised myself that I later picked an organization that would primarily require me to get 3/4ths of the way there on my own.

As I was now settled in, (as much as one can be when she is far from her traditional creature comforts) and as I was comfortably immersed with my large volunteer family, I see I still needed some encouraging reminders here and there. I think everybody can give to anyone and I think everyone that has helped me or shot me an encouraging word or smile has been just as helpful to me as hours spent rebuilding, donating or having a heartfelt conversation. This visit we paid to a wonderful family provided me with some welcome encouragement.

It was a typical hot day in the desert, characterized by a soon to be typically chilly evening. It was on this night that this family had especially singled me out and I was in the awe to the extent that it went on. I heard them ask about me, ask the Director to have me sit with them and while they were affectionate with the entire team, they were intent on all I had to share about my simple likes and dislikes. It became so endearing to the point that it seemed we shared a previous kinship though I was very aware that their particular building project was one on which I had not worked.

In true, admirable, resilient, and enterprising form, the family had prepared and was selling a fundraising dinner to which we showed up to support and enjoy. Throughout my stay in Pisco, I had been working steadily on other rebuilding projects, (and yes, getting a nice feeling that comes from trying to help anywhere in any capacity), but as we ventured over, I was imagining engaging just a bit here and there especially since I had not been a part of this one and my group was kind of a crowd.

The volunteers that knew them well (since they had built a nice recreational area there) laughed, joked and showed their love right away. The other volunteers immediately showed their love as well. We were gathered around, dishes were being served up, soles (the currency, plural) were being exchanged. People were play wrestling, playing soccer with the children and the moments spoke to the roots now implanted in both our own hearts and those of our now extended Pisqueño families.

I was used to being involved, working, playing, defending others leading when necessary but, at that age especially, I was oh so ready to continue my role off the radar. Our hosts disagreed. As I was singled out from the multitude of other traveled volunteers from a variety of countries. . . as the family celeb-styled interviewed me and when I thought one was just hypothetically inquiring about what I like to eat – yet returned with that specific dish, . . . I was in awe.

Every day meant that I was enjoying myself, feeling rejuvenated, feeling tired, homesick, intermittingly ill, loved and loving and perhaps they sensed it. (It had taken me a while to get to this point.) My heart fluttered at the endearing purposely incorrect experience of them introducing me to additional family members as “sobrina de Obama”, Obama’s niece (as they knew that I was no relation.) I answered in Spanish: “I wish! Then I’d be rich.” We laughed and although I was super proud of the affiliation for a number of reasons, I thought it would be light hearted and very true to mention this would also mean that I would have no financial concerns.

I could make it about being underrepresented, when there just happened to not to be a lot of people like me there at the time. Yet, when we returned a few months later, others similar to me did not share my specific experience. I could make it about this or that and the only reason I would even momentarily search to make it about anything was because of the propensity to explain things away. Altogether, it was a sweet loving appreciation given to the team as a whole as well as individualized exchanges. When we had barely returned a second time, and the smiles widened, and my name was called out, I simply appreciated it being something I could not easily dismiss.