“Ladees y Yentlemen, Velcum to Pucallpa Ceety” -Travel Part Two

(more from my journal. Still sorry about the grammar.)

Lima traffic. Horns, beeps, we’re “nearly hit” (in my gringa estimation) about 11 times.  The streets of Lima never cease to amaze me. Casinos with bright lights hiding seedy interiors.  McDonald’s sits next to a local polleria, owned by a family trying to eke out a living.

Polite chitchat. I try to remember my Spanish.  There’s a TV in Rosa’s dashboard.  That milk truck is painted to look like a cow. My mind, exhausted, is jumping from thought to thought.  More Spanish.  I’m understanding well enough.  Where are my verbs?  We’re going to San Isidro, I learn, to the house of “una hermana en Cristo” (a sister in Christ.)

Tracts stacked everywhere. Delia shows me the bathroom while her husband carries in my suitcase.  A sweet couple.  I have a small bedroom with two beds.  Sometime I figure out Rosa is staying too.  Heavy eyes, sore feet, I give gracious thanks, then brush my teeth with bottled water.  I’m asleep nearly as soon as my body registers its position on the rock hard mattress.

I wake up before my alarm and try the shower.  There’s no water pressure or hot water, as I was warned.  I settle for washing my face.  I offer to pay, to give a gift of gratitude to my hosts.  Both are denied vehemently.  “It is our blessing to host the teens who are missionary.” Muchas gracias hermana. “Where you are going to university?” Moody. Her face lights in recognition. “Oh, yes, Moody in Chicago, no.  Is very famous school.  I know well. Very good.” I smile, thank them profusely again.

Rosa checks me in at the airport, and I’m alone once again.  This time, I’m not scared.  I’m going home.

Security. Bathroom. “Departure Lounge Number Fife.”

They just announced that my flight is delayed.  Cincuenta minutos.  Wracking my brain (Spanish doesn’t come naturally at 6 am).  Fifteen? No. Fifty. Oh. Dang it.

I sit, journaling, eating Triscuits and sipping water in hopes of alleviating my lack-of-sleep-and-breakfast headache.  I sit, dreaming.  3 hours until I’m in Pucallpa.  Steamy, sweaty, dusty Pucallpa.  Where I love, where I am loved.


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