Catch Up: Pt. 1

At the end of August, after months of time working in site, Becca realized that she still had 13 vacation days about 30 days to use them. So she waited until Fiestas Patrias when her students and socios would also be on vacation and took nearly two weeks i the south of Peru. 

The original plan had been to explore the southern attraction (Ica, Paracas, Lima, Nazca) and then fly up to Tarapoto and Chachapoyas. But plans are hilarious in that, they’re dumb and Becca doesn’t like them. Instead, Becca started her trip in Lima where her and Jeannie went on a day long “puente-ing” adventure. 

Puente-ing is a little little bungee jumping, in that participants are hooked to bungees and jump off a bridge but it’s also like a giant swing because they jump away from the bridge and swing back and forth underneath a few times before safely coming to a jarring halt at the whim of the ropes specialist. 

Jeannie and Becca found themselves on a bus heading two hours outside of Lima at six in the morning. The most surreal part was the stop in Chaclacayo, where they’d both spent 10 weeks as Peace Corps trainees nearly two years before, to get snacks. Now it felt like a different world. Luckily, they didn’t have much time to ponder it and after another long haul in the van filled with intermittent napping and chatting, they found themselves parked on top of a long mountain ridge, staring out at a bridge and the beautiful canyon below.

While Jeannie had already started feeling the nerves that accompany an impending bridge jump, Becca was still feeling pretty normal. She had warned Jeannie early in the trip though that she tended to stay calm right up until the last couple of minutes before something happens.

“Yeah, I was there when you got your tattoo, I remember the giggling,” Jeannie replied simply. 

The group got their harnesses on and made a list of who would go first all the way to last. Somehow, Becca became the second to last and Jeannie the last, something they would quickly find was not great for their nerves. Before the first person went, Coco, one of the guides (who had chosen the nickname from Freddie because two of the other guides were also named Freddie) explained;

“You had three options of how to jump. One, you can step outside of the railing, facing outward and jumping, pushing away from the bridge. Two, you can step outside of the railing, facing inward and push off backwards from the bridge. Or three, were can lift you up and throw you face first into the canyon,”

Becca leaned toward Jeannie, “Three please,”

“Duh,” was her only response.

And so started the tale of how Jeannie and Becca were thrown off a bridge by four grown men. When Becca’s turn came around, she immediately felt the giggling nerves that she’d warned Jeannie about. 

Freddie and Coco led her to the edge and did two full checks of her gear while explaining the process to her again. They both told her not to be nervous; this did not help un montón. 

As Becca’s feet left the ground, she suddenly realized that she was about to be thrown off a bridge. Following her first instinct in nervous situations, she turned to Jeannie and made a joke.

“It’s happening,” she said. But even as a laugh escaped her, the men rocked forward and she caught a glimpse of the canyon below. The words began to spew from her like a fountain, “It’s happening, it’s happening, it’s happening, it’s happening, it’s happening, it’s happening, it’s happening, it’s happening, it’s happening, it’s happening, it’s happening—,”

Her words were caught short by a scream as she plummeted toward a rocky death but seconds later the scream broke into laughter when the bungees caught and she swung gracefully under the bridge in a long arc. 

After a few flying swings, the ropes specialist reeled her in under the bridge and gave her a big hug.

She raced back up the hill as soon as she was unhooked, to see Jeannie’s equally hilarious toss. 

Half exhausted, half exhilarated, they sat for lunch and enjoyed the sunshine before piling back in the van and heading down into the canyon where they were taken on an impromptu spelunking adventure. 

“Hey, we were just there,” Jeannie pointed up toward the bridge as they hiked along the rocky ridge toward a cave.

They climbed through tunnels and down ladders, hooking into different clips along the way and following the pathways in the dark until the came to a magical waterfall that seriously could have been out of a fairytale. 

As they walked back toward the van, after finally emerging from the darkness underground, the girls laughed and talked about the ridiculous day they’d had. Minutes after they’d fallen into their seats in the van, they were out and didn’t wake again until they reached Lima three hours later.

Robbed

Sometimes vacations don't go as planned.
In her two years of travels, Becca had mostly found this to be the stuff that grand adventures are made of, though she should have known it would eventually also be negative.
She'd planned a week in the south and a week in the mountains. She'd planned some good times with friends and solo hiking adventures. She'd planned to get robbed literally blind on the bus...oh wait, that definitely wasn't the plan.
Yep, kids, even fictional characters get robbed on buses.
The whole story can be found here, but for now dearest readers (mom), just know that Becca's had some recent adventures and she'll soon tell you all about them, she's simply running a bit behind.

Anatomy of an Anniversary

In the United States, Becca associated anniversaries with her parents...and not much else. While she knew that every building had an anniversary of its inauguration, and every event an anniversary of its day, and every person an anniversary of their birth---wait, that’s a birthday....anyway, anniversaries were a very different thing in Peru. 

The anniversary of the Health Center was a classic example of the day-long festivities of an anniversary celebration.

First there was the misa, or church service, held in the Catholic church a couple of blocks from the Health Center. The padre gave a sermon about the importance of good health and good health services in the community, blessed the bouquets that the Health Center would display with the Virgin María statue.

As ends all moments, both major and minor, their were boatloads of photos with the Virgin.

The statue, with all of it’s adornments, was then carried to the Health Center where it would be displayed and kept safe for the year.

Therein began round one of dancing in celebration before breakfast was served.

Post-lunch came round two of dancing in celebration...

After nearly an hour of dancing, the finger foods were served, the celebration songs sung, the speeches given, more photos were taken, and, you guessed it, there was more dancing.

This continued throughout the day adding on more dancing and drinking and dancing and drinking and dancing and...well you get it. Open, ready, and full of amazing health professionals, the Health Center in Morrope was heading into it’s 42nd year.

CAMP ALMA DONOR VIDEO

All of you know donated, supported, and/or thoughts pleasant thoughts for Camp ALMA, this video is for you! (Also: if you just want to see an awesome camp, some stunning volunteers, and adorable kiddos, you'll find that here too!)

Camp ALMA 2014

At the end of June something very special happened; Camp ALMA. A girls’ empowerment camp for young Peruvian girls around the region of Lambayeque, Camp ALMA offered activities that taught teamwork, effective and assertive communication, self esteem, international issues, professional skills, sexual health, environmental education, and even a little cooking and volleyball. 

It was a weekend of pure joy for Becca who had attended and worked at summer camp in the United States for more than 18 years. Becca was a real life camp nerd (this was of course the only area in which she was a nerd) and felt all those familiar happy feelings rush back as the girls started arriving.

For months Becca and her fellow volunteers had planned, written the very complicated grant, gathered supplies, and visited different locations to be sure all was ready. The weekend was full of giggling teenage girls, new friendships, and hilarious moments. More than anything though, the weekend was full of happy, healthy, educated young women who would go on to change lives in their communities and beyond. 

This was the kind of change that none of the volunteers would be around long enough to see, but as each girl kissed Becca on the cheek and got on the bus to leave, she felt the buzzing of new ideas and knew these girls would be the future.

Winter

Winter was turning out to be a very busy season for Becca; from mural painting to teaching health classes to long walks through the desert and the fields, she found herself content to be continuing her projects. The close of her service was nearing now but the call of home was still distant enough to be ignored most days. Though there were the occasional moment where she looked around and wondered what she would miss most about her South American home.

It was also in these moments that she thought of how very much things had changed and advanced in her community. Once a small town without running water or functioning secondary school, Cruz del Medano now not only had a water system but also a brand new school big enough to hold classes for all the kids in the morning, leaving time for extracurriculars. She saw her students change from little kids to young adults, growing taller and looking less like babies every day. Could it really be that she’d been here nearly two years?

A question had become commonplace in conversations with Becca’s friends and family in Morrope: are you really leaving in November? Can’t you stay a little longer? It broke her heart every time. And every time she thought she’s somehow gained a second home, a second nation. Now should would go home in November only to miss her home in Peru. And how she would miss it.

Running Stories

She heard their footfalls behind her before she fully turned to address them. She knew she was being followed, after all her pursuers were not exactly light of foot, but now they were catching up, gaining on her with each heavy foot fall, each kick, each yell. She knew that once she turned, once they saw each others’ eyes, the game would change.

They were right behind her now, growing quiet as they approached. She saw the soccer ball pass her first. It was soon followed by the unsure face of a boy not yet ten, and then the faces of his four friends, all younger. They smiled at her in a guarded way as they paced along side her, kicking the ball with them. She assessed and then without a word slowed to see if they would pass. They slowed with her, she grinned at them. Their unsure grins grew into those of mirth, she was playing their game. 

She took out her headphones and let them dangle around her neck.

“¿Como te llamas?” the oldest boy asked.

“Rebecca,” she replied. The boys laughed, though at her accent, her name, or the adrenaline she couldn’t be sure. Looking ahead they all saw a car approaching and the boys skittered to the side of the road while Becca continued on the far shoulder. They didn’t follow her for a little while and she found herself running with only the company of the wind and the sand once more. 

Sure enough after only a few minutes, she heard their impending footfalls again and turned her head just enough to see their grinning face reappear. They stayed with her again as the afternoon wind picked up. She smiled widely, even though she felt the sand of the dunes dotting her teeth in the process.

“Vamos pues,” she said (let’s go then) and they looked at her cautiously. Without another word she pushed forward, sprinting door the road and forcing them to follow her. They laughed loudly as they sped up too, running so hard she thought their little legs might detach from their bodies. They passed her after under a minute and she dropped back to her original pace, watching them yell and laugh together.

They all turned and waved at her as they continued on into the coming sunset. The biggest boy turning the yell, “Chao Señorita Rebecca” over the wind.

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She awoke on a chilly Saturday morning to post-rain wind streaming through her open window. She tossed one way and pulled the blanket tighter over her body, tossed the other and curling into a ball, but nothing would let her sleep in the frosty morning. After rising to close the window, she turned to the wooden beam above her bed and saw her running clothes hanging there. 

It was cold enough for a sweatshirt but she didn’t take one, instead she strapped on her running shoes and her fanny pack and headed toward the dunes. There were people out but not many, she waved to the ones she saw and reveled in the quiet of the early morning. 

They are two houses on her usual trail that house a large group of dogs, unfortunately they are within the same half mile and the first set’s barking usually starts the second set’s. In the recent weeks, the dogs had stopped seeing her as a threat and rarely even considered her as she puffed past them. She no longer carried rocks.

But a cold Saturday morning does something strange to a canine brain and though she passed the first house without a peep (for a peep from a dog would have been strange indeed), the second proved significantly more challenging. 

Becca heard the barks from far off but didn’t think to reach for a weapon as these dogs rarely approached farther than the edge of the road. She felt the normal panic as they rounded toward the edge of their yard but continued breathing and running past them. This time, however, they didn’t stop at the road; two large dogs crossed into the road and ran at her, teeth bared. Of course, on three miles of rock road, this was the only part of the path with dirt and no a single rock. Acting entirely out of a toxic blend of terror and anger, she reach for a fallen tree branch as long as she was tall and turned to the dogs, now only a couple of feet away. 

“I am so tired of you **********ing **********ers constantly barking at me! Back the **** up you ****faces or I swear to **** I will beat the ******** and the ******* out of you until you’re nothing but a *******ing pile of *****! *******!” she screamed at them, waving the branch wildly around. Their barking had calmed somewhat though a few growls escaped them, sounding oddly confused. She stood staring at them, and they at her. “AND you threw off my *******ing time! Ah!” she yelled, swung hard at the air one last time and took off again.

To her dismay, they following, growling at her again and she turned, now furious, and swung the branch at both of them. They stopped in their tracks and turned back toward the house. She heard only the small yips of large dogs as she ran toward victory.

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The big curve in the road marked halfway to the halfway point. It was a quarter-way marker kind of day: the sun was too hot, the sand too sandy and the moto-taxis too prevalent. This was exactly why she preferred morning running to afternoon running. The big curve also marked the last uphill of her run because everything flattened out from there and her return would be downhills; she tried to keep this in mind as she climbed the last hill.

She was at the crest when a moto-taxi approached from behind her and moved to her left to pass her, which it would have successfully done if that section of road was not also the sandiest part of the trail. It sank, the wheel spun, it sank further and the wheels spun faster. Becca considered running past it but seeing the panicked look on the young driver’s face, she stopped. 

Simply pointing to the back of the moto, she moved toward the back. Placing her hands on the metal bar at the back, she started to push as the driver put on the gas. The wheels spun, the moto sunk deeper, she pushed and the wheels spun, the moto moved ever so slightly forward and she pushed harder. In less than a minute they’d moved past the sandy part and the moto kept moving down the road. The driver threw an arm out to wave at her as they sped off and Becca found herself running again, just a bit faster though she was covered in sweat and sand. 

A few minutes later she passed the same moto, parked on the side of the road near a large plot of cotton; the driver and an older woman, his mother, stood hand planting in the field and waved at her as she passed yelling “fuerte” and “mujer incredible!” (Strong, incredible woman).

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The road to Las Pampas was flatter than the other trail, though it was also longer and held more traffic from all manner of vehicles, people, and animals. On a trail still somewhat unknown to her, Becca passed neighbors planting corns and cotton, unfriendly but timid dogs, and horse drawn wagons full up with people who waved, grinned, yelled, or sometimes simply stared at her.

She had rounded the first mile faster than usual and found herself just around the corner from the second corner and the turn around point when she heard the thundering of hooves behind her. Careful where she placed her feet, on a road she’d taken a harsh tumble on before, she turned to see at least thirty sheep of all shapes and sizes exiting a gate to her right and moving out onto the round. The very last was not a sheep at all, but a young boy, probably twelve; the herder.

Normally they would have walked along with him in the back, watching for strays and keeping them together, but seeing Becca, the sheep broke into a panicked run and passed her as a giant group, leaving the boys to chase after them down the road. Becca smiled apologetically at him as he passed and he only waved. She watched him catch up to them and calm them to a walk not far in front of her. Seconds later she caught up again, startled them and they all broke again into a run until the boy caught up to them, calmed them and they walked once more. Until Becca caught up to them again...the cycle continued for another half mile.

Certain that the boy was annoyed with this silly running gringa, Becca stopped at her turn around point and watched for the boy, who had run into the field to chase one of the babies. He emerged from the field, jumping across on irrigation ditch, chasing a small sheep and laughing wildly. The sound was like music as he passed her to catch his sheep, only waving and shaking with a laughter she thought might just knock him over.