Whew… I’m finally back to work in Trujillo, wiping my brow after many days abroad.
I spent most of the last week of July in Santiago de Chile with the purpose of renewing my passport, touring the city, seeing green, leafy trees for the first time in months, and visitng a university mission.

Once I returned to Tujillo, I had one day to celebrate my birthday before heading out again on a mission trip to the highlands. I narrowly escaped having the traditional egg cracked on my head, and due to a delayed flight from Santiago, the crew of singers outside my door on the eve of my birthday was forced to give up and wait another day to sing “Feliz Cumpleaños.” Nevertheless, I had my face shoved into a chocolate cake after being offered the honorary “First Bite.”
A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest, and I got on a bus with 16 coastal Peruvians bound for the highlands.
Six hours to Cajamarca by bus, four hours to Celedín by combi (15 passenger van that holds up to 32 people), and another three hours to Saraúz, our final destination. Four of the thirteen hours were spent singing loud spanish hymns and alabanzas; three were spent praying the brakes wouldn’t burn out and send us plummeting over the edge of the threatening roadside precipices.
After the first day spent in Saraúz, an agrarian mountain village lacking modern amenities like running water and electricity, I was keenly aware of the chasmic difference in cultures - only not that of my own. Though speaking the same language and wearing hte same skin, the technologically savy, cell phone-clad Trujillanos from the city were at a stark contrast with the corn-husking, straw hat-wearing locals.
The Trujillanos I saw walking out of the forrest/garden, arms full of vegetables, yelling, “I found avocadoes!”, were almost too much for a campesino like myself to handle. However, after a week of drinking lukewarm water from a creek and eating milk and rice for breakfast, much had been accomplished. Our last day was accompanied with many departing tears, and the church we visited had been revived. I was nearly astounded.
We hitched a ride back to Celendín on a truck full of firewood, papayas, and breast-feeding mothers. Perhaps that was quite an experience in itself, but by that time, my Western notion of personal space and comfort was put aside by a bubbling sack of live chickens and a milk-thirsty babe whose mother was comfortably riding in my lap, so it’s hard to say. At any rate, we were glad to arrive in Cajamarca and subsequent Incan hot springs after a week in the highlands.
This is the congregation of the Iglesia Evangélica Presbiteriana del Perú in Saraúz, along with a few city-dwelling missionaires and myself.
click here for more photos.