Category: travel

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.

Travel to be continued…

January 7, 2019 by Cassandra Johnson

I am still trying to work out the logistics for my trip back to Peru. I was particularly intense about this while at the gym on Christmas Eve and I recall tossing reality around with nostalgia while working out a little harder than usual. The gym would be closed for Christmas and I was hard at work because I wanted to be particularly chill and comfortable with feasting delightfully the next day.

I have known for a while that I need to reignite my personally designed humanitarian tour that began in 2010. During that time span, I volunteered with an earthquake disaster relief organization in Pisco, Peru. I later volunteered at a school in Cusco, Peru and finally ended up in the adorable daycare section at Proyecto Horizonte in Cochabamba, Bolivia.

I am returning late for the Pisco Sin Fronteras (PSF) 10ish year reunion (planned for December) but I’m still planning on visiting my friends of Pisco and reconnecting in person. We’ve been communicating over the years with the promise of seeing each other again but I was more than a little afraid that our salutations were turning into simple expressions.

Returning is one of those things in my life that I know is happening but I don’t have the organization completely laid out yet. It’s one of my travel plans that starts out as an interestingly muddled outline that eventually becomes an almost complete straight path, from my apartment to the airport to the country to the cities to the cathedrals to the museums to the dance clubs. It is a path that becomes delightfully jumbled (just ask Cuba).

I see it happening. I know I will . . . and soon too, because February is on the the horizon! I plan on being under the Peruvian sun on my birthday.