Week One: Tarma

As teachers, Emily and I are huge fans of reflecting on decisions (be they lesson-related, entertainment-related, food-related, etc) to see if there could be a different option that would have a better result.  In the spirit of reflection, I think we have learned that it's probably not the best idea to move to a new country and travel around for two weeks, living out of suitcases.  Don't get me wrong, for a full-fledged dude there is a certain boyhood joy to be found in wearing the same pair of pants 8 days in a row and waking up each morning not necessarily knowing where we'll end up.  It appeals to that little Bear Grylls that lurks inside of me (although I haven't eaten any raw animals...yet).  But, as all of you know, my wife does not share these same post-apocalyptic survival instincts.  And a big part of my ministry is to my wife.  And let's just say my 8 day pants, flecked with dirt and smelling like a ripe Alpaca, are not the right kind of ministry.

So although it has been fun and a joy to be able to travel between Lima and Tarma for the last two weeks, if we could do it again, I think we would settle first before traveling and visiting friends.  It's hard to be fully invested in the experiences when feeling completely uprooted.  And I would probably be a more fun guest if I didn't look like I swam through a mud puddle to get to the house.

Last Monday Emily and I took a 7-hour bus ride through the mountains to reach a town named Tarma to visit friends who are church planters.  I was sleeping peacefully, trying to ignore the twists, turns, and altitude of the road, when Emily frantically shook me awake.  "Get that guy's bag.  Hurry!" she said, her face a little green.  In her panic, she must have forgotten that my Spanish is very limited.  But I knew my wife needed me, so I did the best I could.

"Quiero tu basura," I said to the man sitting in the seat beside me.  He was using a plastic bag to hold his trash.  I didn't know at the time that the Spanish word for "bag" is "bolsa", so I stuck with what I knew how to say.  "I want your trash."  The man looked at me like I was a crazy gringo so I repeated my phrase, pointing to the bag.  He caught on and emptied his trash, passing me the bag.  Emily made quick use of it.

So the ride to Tarma was a bit rough, but it was great once we arrived.  It's nestled in a mountain valley, and during the day the view is incredible.  We were able to spend time with our friends, joining them in prayer and observing some Bible studies that they are leading.  We also were able to see a crazy parade that looked like this:

I'm not sure what the open-armed balloon man is all about, but the parade was fun.

On one of the days we were able to visit a couple in a small pueblito named Huiricolca.  Denise and Martin are missionaries who have started a children's center for after school programs.  We helped out on their "ESL" day.  The kids were fun, although I could only play soccer with them for about two minutes in the high altitude.  A little boy named Dennis adopted me as his sole playmate.  His favorite game was one where we each grabbed one side of a frisbee and played tug-of-war.  I pretended to be pulling really hard before finally letting go, allowing him to win.  He loved it.  So much so that he wanted to play it for two hours straight.  Even after I let go once and he flew backwards and hit his head on a parked car.  That happened to also be the time I asked Emily to watch our new game.  Whoops.  He was alright.

Dennis wouldn't even let go of the frisbee for a picture!

Now we are back in Lima, spending time with our Peruvian family the Berrocals.  We will be flying to Arequipa on Wednesday, which will be followed by a flurry of getting settled activities.  In the midst of all the traveling and unknown in each day, Em and I are still able to find ways to make each other laugh and there is no shortage of high-fives.  Thank you for all your thoughts and prayers for us in this time!