Looking down, looking ahead

May 21, 2009 | posted by Jon under peru, updates | Comments (9)

Because the community of readers that checks this blog regularly has been so supportive of this trip through emails, offers for places to stay, and comments, I figured I owed it to “the enjoyment of the people” to quickly recount an event that actually just happened minutes after Lars’ last post, while we were staying with the Catholic church in Barranca.

Long story short, I fell in a hole.  I know, I don’t remember the last time I fell in a hole either… To my defense, the Plaza de Armas (where the church was located) was being COMPLETELY redone, and there were dangerous 5-6 foot deep trenches everywhere.  Even so, I usually see myself as a fairly well-balanced person, especially from all the slackline practice I have indulged in at EMU.  Despite this, as I was wheeling my BOB trailer around on the sidewalk, I suddenly stepped where there was nowhere to step.  In a split-second I found myself standing upright, chin deep in a hole with my BOB trailer on top of me, and a wonderfully kind 80-year-old Catholic priest trying to help me out of the hole.  I politely but quickly declined his help, not wanting to have the father in the hole as well as I climbed out and dusted myself off.  I later learned that I had fallen on the city water main, which thankfully remained intact despite my landing on it.  I was quite glad to be spared the title of “The Gringo who flooded the Plaza de Armas,” and walked away from the whole thing laughing at myself.

The next day my right shoulder was quite stiff and it hurt to bear weight on it, so we took a bus to Lima, where we were fortunate enough to find the Mennonite church in Lima and stay with them for the long weekend.  We enjoyed getting to know Jaqueline, (”the encargada” at the church while the pastor is on vacation), and the youth of the congregation.  We sang songs and told stories (in Spanish) Saturday night in Miraflores Park, as well as had lunch with the youth on Sunday afternoon.  We also enjoyed having access to a well-equipped kitchen and being within walking distance of a giant grocery story. Highlights include sweet potato and spinach curry and some wonderful avocado/egg/aji sandwiches which I believe are pictured in our photo gallery.

Since leaving Lima on Monday, we’ve encountered:

Hospitality in Mala - staying in a Catholic elementary school and being served delicacies such as potted meat and paneton, the Latin American fruitcake, which is quite good.

Healing in Pisco - the town suffered an earthquake in 2007 which registered a magnitude 8.0 and lasted for 3 minutes.  Much of what we encountered there was related to rebuilding and piecing back together what used to be.

Healthy Eating in Ica - where we purchased 1.8 L of drinkable peach yogurt and then stretched that with another 1 L of 3 grain enriched milk beverage.  The combo was quite good, and we got our dairy for the rest of our time in the Andes.

Today we find ourselves in Nazca, among the mysterious lines and the foothills of the Andes.  We plan to rest here for a day, then begin our journey upwards on Saturday, the 23rd.  We ask for your continued prayers and thoughts as we switch gears, terrain, culture, and climate once again on our way to Paraguay.

Notes from the Peruvian Desert

May 13, 2009 | posted by Lars under peru, updates | Comments (9)

A couple of jottings from the past two weeks since we landed on this continent, as they come to me (read: loosely reverse chronological, by topic):

• We’ve been biking countless hours through the Peruvian desert mostly into headwinds of 20+ mph.  Or, we’d rather not count them too closely - though 7-10 hours a day is a good estimate.  Being deserts, these have been largely dry and, well, deserted sections of road, though as we’ve come farther south, some days begin with heavy fog (depending on the heat of the day before, from what we can gather), where one can only barely see truck headlights 100 meters ahead.
• With this desert travel, we camped for the first time in the Sechura Desert of northern Peru.  We slept out beneath the stars, about 60 miles from anything larger than the odd solitary adobe and mat home.
• Thanks to the headwinds, we spent one afternoon hitching rides with truckers.  My achilles tendons were complaining loudly about having to pull a not-so-aerodynamic set of panniers around, and with a month in the Andes beginning in a week and a half, we opted to err on the side of rest.  Praise God that they have been feeling better this week.
• Two days ago, we stayed with the Missionaries of Charity in Chimbote.  For those not well versed in their Catholic religious orders, this is the order founded by Mother Teresa in Kolkata, India with a committment to “wholehearted and free service to the poorest of the poor.”  We may not have been “the poorest of the poor,” but they took us in anyway and almost effortlessly, it seemed, made us feel at peace and at home.  Their radiant, though subdued dispositions and simple, relaxed presence were models to me of the fruit of deep prayer and service.
• While staying with the Marist fathers (another Catholic order) in Sullana, through serendipitous conversations, we were able to connect with the Peruvian Mennonite Church there and for several days in Trujillo, with good hopes for Lima.  “Oh, you’re Mennonite?” the Irish priest asked us.  “The ladies I was just talking with mentioned something about a Mennonite church in Sullana.”  Sometimes, when email addresses and phone numbers don’t go through, word of mouth still works…
• In Sullana, while preparing for the desert stretches ahead, we decided to make homemade granola bars.  By the end of the whole endeavor, we chalked it up to an experience in intercultural cookie baking, though, from finding ingredients in the grocery store to baking them at the home of the parish house cook.  All things considered, they tasted and looked great, though the ants made us eat them quicker than we would have liked…
• We have three new photo albums up, from the banana plantations of Ecuador, to northern fishing towns (including the setting for Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea) where life echoes with empty static like the inside of a seashell, through the desert moonscapes, and on…
• And now, it’s time to walk back to the Catholic church here in Barranca, where we’re staying the night.  It’s nice to need long sleeves in the evenings and a sleeping bag at night again (but winter in the Andes? ask me in two weeks!).  It seems like ages ago that we were similarly bundled up in Georgia, but we’re coming full circle on the seasons over the course of this trip!

On to South America…

May 1, 2009 | posted by Jon under updates | Comments (5)

Despite Managua, Nicaragua being the “official” halfway point, last Friday, April 24th, Lars and I pulled into Panama City, ending our North American portion of our route. At the time I would have loved think about the occasion more, but we decided to go out in style by waking up at 4 AM and riding 155 miles in one day to get into Panama City a day early.  We finished the day just as the sun was setting over the Bridge of the Americas, and without too much trouble, which was encouraging for us, especially with the Andes still ahead.

After showering, sleeping very well Friday night, and doing some journaling, I finally had time to think about the end of this leg of our journey and the beginning of South America (no revelations promised).

First, I cannot believe that we are at this point in our trip already.  For all of those lonely, uncomfortable times on the bike these past few months have moved rather quickly.

Second, I have been blown away by the hospitality of…people.  Not any one type or faith background in particular, but just people in general.  We have yet to use the tent we have been carrying, and time and time again we have been offered food, money, a shower, a bed, or even simply advice.  We are journeying with the prayers and love sent from back home and the direct assistance of those we have met along the way.  This combination of support has been incredible to experience.  A wonderful, unexpected surprise.

Third, (and I think I can speak for Lars here), our experience with the North America we passed through has been rich.  The people we have met, the foods we have tried, the cultures we have encountered, the communities we have entered all have been blessings to us - helping to make this experience of sharing with and pedalling through 8 countries unforgettable, and we still have 4 left!

Things I will miss about North America (mostly food related…sorry): Mexican sweet bread, the EMU Guatemala Cross Cultural, Dos Pinos and Estrella Azul icre cream (Costa Rica and Panama, respectively), gallo pinto (Nicaragua and Costa Rica), the Gorton´s house in San Isidro (Costa Rica), Lago Atitlan (Guatemala), Po-Boy´s and The Shed’s barbecue (Southern US), Nutella and peanut butter (wherever it is less than $4 a jar), Oaxacan crickets and mole, and the number of Mennonite contacts we had along our route…..

Things I am looking forward to about South America: the Andes, the native lands of squash, sweet potatoes, and Inca Kola, eating guinea pig, buying alpaca souvenirs, connecting with Andean churches and Mennonites in the Chaco, trying to breath at 14 or 15,000 feet, being cold again.

Prayers of thanks:  for safety, for good health, for a good riding companion, for this experience thus far….

Prayer requests:  for continued safety, for the ”difficult” sections we have spotted on our maps, for continued good health (especially as we start climbing), for our families, friends, and ourselves as we continue on to another continent….

Lord, you have come to the shoreline

May 1, 2009 | posted by Lars under costa rica, reflections, updates | Comments (7)

Last summer, shortly after we both graduated from EMU, a good friend of mine went to Costa Rica for three months.  He had a job as a nurse lined up for the fall in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania and he wanted to learn some Spanish so he could care for his patients who wouldn’t be able to speak English.  He had been there the summer before, briefly, with the EMU cross cultural program, and had met a missionary couple with a goat farm who he arranged to live and work with for the summer.  On a beach outing to the Pacific while there, though, he drowned.  It’s difficult to articulate exactly how deeply Matt’s death rocked his communities, but the grief was searing.

Two weeks ago, as we passed through Costa Rica, we had the opportunity to visit the farm where Matt lived and worked, high in the mountains between San Isidro del General and the Pacific Ocean.  The 7 km (4.2 miles) between the main road and the farm are, by far, the most rugged riding of our trip so far (we had to walk our bikes back down the mountain), but arriving there was beautiful.  We arrived after dark, drenched in sweat and several skintones darker with dirt, and it was as if we were entering another world.  I at once felt comfortable and at home, eating supper with Gerardo & Helen, conversing quietly, and washing the grime from my tired body.  We spent the evenings chatting in the house by intermittent light from the hydroelectric generator (we were visiting at the end of the dry season) and enjoying the peace of the evening stillness, and the day milking goats, hiking around the property, learning about the farm, and catching up on journalling.

It is an incredibly beautiful place, and Gerardo & Helen are at least as beautiful of people.  There was a very tangibly restful atmosphere there, which was such a relief from the touristy beat of Costa Rica.  It was a peace, I think, borne of a deep and easy connection to the land - a rootedness, if you will - that resembles, somewhat, a marriage.  Each is committed to the other for the long haul, and the chafing of trying to leave the farm behind and ”make something of yourself” is absent.  I’m gushing.  It was an oasis to be there, and I am thankful for it. I hope the pictures can describe this better than I am able.

As we left, we made our way back down the mountain and to the coast, stopping briefly at Las Ventanas, a little, rock-edged cove, lined with coconut palms.

That day, I had two songs rolling through my mind as I rode - “Señor, tú has venido a la orilla” (a hymn Gerardo & Helen remember Matt singing), and “Joy in the Journey,” sung by Full Table.

A glut of photos

April 20, 2009 | posted by Lars under el salvador, guatemala, honduras, mexico, nicaragua, photos, updates | Comment (1)

For those who haven’t already seen them, we’ve recently posted quite a number of photo albums in our gallery for a visual synopsis of our journey.

Managua to Diriamba, Nicaragua April 12-14, 2009	San Salvador, El Salvador to Managua, Nicaragua April 8-11, 2009
San Pedro Sula, HN April 5-7, 2009	Guatemala City, Guatemala to San Salvador, El Salvador March 26-April 4, 2009
Panoramics A broader view of our trip	Santiago Atitlán to Guatemala City, Guatemala March 23-25, 2009
San Cristóbal de las Casas, México to Santiago Atitlán, Guatemala March 15-22, 2009	Oaxaca to San Cristóbal de las Casas, México March 10-14, 2009
Puebla to Oaxaca, México March 6-9, 2009

Managua for Easter

April 20, 2009 | posted by Lars under nicaragua, reflections | Comments (6)

On Holy Saturday, we made ride against the winds off Lake Managua to the capital of Nicaragua.  I had called Efrain Hernandez, the pastor of the Brethren in Christ church we were planning to stay with in Managua, but was only able to leave a message, so we set off across the city with the Managua-style directions we had (”go two blocks south from the hardware store on the north highway…”).  About two-thirds of the way to the neighborhood where the church is located, a taxi driver yelled out of his vehicle at us, telling us to wait for him to turn around.  Accustomed to having people yell at us, we disregarded the incident, laughing that if we wanted to talk with a taxi driver, we could hang around.  Several blocks later, a car pulled up beside us and the driver told us through the passenger-side window, “I am Pastor Efrain, from the church.  Follow me; I’ll lead you to the church.”  We needed that taxi driver more than we thought, and spent several days with him and his church.

With our arrival in Managua, we marked a significant point in our journey - with 3 months and around 3,750 miles behind us and the same ahead, we celebrated being at the midpoint of our journey to Asunción.  However, while I know the fact at some level, I don’t feel like I’m halfway to Asunción.  Not that I know what biking halfway to Paraguay feels like, but at this point, it just feels like I’ve been biking for a really long time.  (As a bit of a celebration of the milestone (no pun intended!), though, Jon & I split a half-gallon of Neapolitan ice cream for a snack the next day in the saddle, pulling on Appalachian Trail thru-hiker tradition.  I guess that means we’re really are closer to the end than the beginning…)

The day after we arrived, the church gathered for an Easter Resurrection Service at 5:00 a.m., culminating a week of preaching and prayer meetings with a similar, highly amplified service.  Still in a bit of a morning stupor from too little sleep after a day of biking, I wondered to myself whether the disciples could really comprehend what had happened when Jesus came among them on that first Resurrection Day.  the whiplash of emotions seems so incredibly dramatic, it would leave anyone in a daze.  What were their thoughts during those days, when Jesus appeared to them, ate breakfast with them, taught them?  While skepticism and pain surely turned to joy, so much of that time seems to point ahead to the coming of the Holy Spirit and the birth of the church.

It’s easy to see the parallel of the crucifixion and resurrection as a midpoint in God’s story of redemption.  It’s rather apparent that we live in a world that still endures pain in many ways; but we also have an image of God’s way of interacting with us, in Christ.  So, it seems that in moving from Lent into the season of Easter, we’ve been freed from waiting… in order to wait.  This time, though, we set our eyes on Pentecost, remembering the coming of the Holy Spirit, which fills and moves the people of God.  It seems like a theme to me - waiting, prayer, hurting, waiting, prayer, healing, waiting, prayer, action, repeat.  Maybe someday I’ll begin to understand that, and to live it well.

Love your neighbor…

April 13, 2009 | posted by Jon under nicaragua, updates | Comments (6)

Throughout the past few days of riding, a number of chains of thoughts have been cycling through my mind as I try to distract myself from the heat and humidity that the coastal plains of El Salvador, Honduras, and Nicaragua have brought us.

I will try to share them with you (hopefully in a coherent fashion) to give you some idea of what we’ve been up to, where we have been, and what I have been thinking about for the past few days.

In Nicaragua, Lars and I recently spoke with man who was wearing a shirt that said, ¨Yes to CAFTA.¨ (for an excellent CAFTA explanation, see Lars’ People of…MASECA? post) We were fascinated by this, and went up to talk to him, because everything that we had ever heard or learned about CAFTA would seem to give Nicaragua one of the strongest voices against CAFTA.  But he spoke positively of the bill, saying that it gave Nicaragua a chance to expand its markets on a more international level.  We shared our opinion as well, saying that we thought the idea in principal was a good one, but that it put unequal markets on the same playing field,benefiting the US more than any other participating country

When George W. Bush was lobbying to pass CAFTA, he referred to Central America as ¨our backyard¨  Does this not make all of the Central American countries our neighbors?  Countries that now share not only the same hemispheres and borders, but also the same products, produce, and ¨prosperity,¨ thanks to CAFTA and the economics of neoliberalism?

Leviticus 19:18 in the Message reads - ¨Love your neighbor as yourself.  I am God.¨  That seems like a pretty clear message to me.  We are called, above many other things, to love our neighbors as ourselves.  I challenge the readers (and writer) of this post to expand the definition of your neighbor to an international level.  I can tell you there is an incredible amount to love about these countries, cultures, and people.  There is also an incredible amount of good that could be done if more neighborly love were shown between countries.

Some questions to ponder:  What does it mean to love neighbors internationally?  Who do we consider our neighbors, especially in this ago of instantaneous communication?  Are we loving our neighbors through CAFTA? What does loving your neighbor mean on the US-Mexico Border?  How do we show our love from afar?  Where do we begin?

What are people for?

April 1, 2009 | posted by Lars under lent, mexico, reflections | Comments (4)

This reflection based on Mark 12:20-33 was first published on EMU’s Lenten Reflections ‘blog.

As I’ve traveled through Mexico over the past several weeks, I haven’t been able to get the idea of self-sacrifice and self-sacrificial love out of my mind & soul. There are many ways this text interacts with my recent experiences, but this seems to stand in stark contrast to the rest. It’s so contrary to any other voice in the history of the world, and it nestles itself right at the core of the Gospel.

I’ve seen huge Aztec temples built and inaugurated with the sacrifices of thousands of laborers and captive warriors; read of massive corporate riches amassed at the cost of millions of people’s pensions and retirement funds; and participated in the incredible luxury afforded to those at the core of the developed world while those at the periphery sew it together and move from home to the ‘misery belts,’ or try to fight their way closer to the core. Where did we ever get the idea that this is what people are for? Did we somehow forget that we, too, are human?

Jesus seems intent to remind us what it means to be truly human. He compares humans and their lives to seeds, whose sole purpose it is to give their all to allow for new life to spring forth. That’s the biology of a seed: it comes with just enough energy for germination, and when that is done, its job is over.

Jesus says in his own baffling way that that’s the essence of the glory of the Son of Man - the truly Human One. He says, in the words of Eminem, “Just lose it.” As he speaks, he’s not without fear, but he knows - as the voice from the reiterates - that his glorification will continue throughout future generations. Love can lead in no other way. This will be both the eternal glory of humanity and the unending shame of “the prince of this world.”

It’s the perfect culmination of the process of selflessness. The world cannot understand a life devoted entirely to Shalom, and so exposes its own lack by raising up - by crucifying - Love. Yet, we have no room for indignation. It is we who have not understood; it is we who have set the nails to Christ’s body. We, the residents of this world, must live - for now - in this twilight. We must recognize our complicity in both the evil and the holiness of this world. For, if we are willing, it will be the soil of our transformation.

LORD God –
We await Your Spirit
of Patience, as we live with ourselves, both holy and detestable; and
of Humility, as we offer ourselves daily, by Your love, to Your world.
Open our eyes,
that we may see Your color and design in ourselves.
Unstop our ears,
that we may hear Your melody and harmonies in the world in which we live.
For it is by Your Son that we are healed,
Amen.

People of … Maseca?

March 30, 2009 | posted by Lars under guatemala, lent, mexico, reflections | Comments (6)

In Central America, the tortilla is more than just a food staple, it’s a way of life.  Corn has been cultivated in the region since before the first European encounter; according to the Maya creation story, humans are literally “people of corn” - it was from corn, not soil, that God formed the first beings.  Traveling in culture with this collective history, when eating the occasional tortilla-less meal, Jon and I have been asked if we want any, because for many, if tortillas aren’t present, you haven’t eaten.

As a result, tortillerías - or tortilla ‘bakeries’ - are everywhere.  I remember from my cross-cultural semester in Guatemala the sound of the women in these shops patting out the dough by hand over the comal and a low-burning fire.  Fresh tortillas, made at home or in one of these corner stores, were present at most meals.

But throughout Mexico, the picture was different.  There was no light clapping overflowing into the streets, only the faint whirr of the occasional tortilla machine and the painted Maseca logo on the outside of the store.  “Quality & Consistency,” they promised - a promise as valid in southern Mexico as it is in Harrisonburg, Virginia, where you can also buy the flour.  Three years ago in Guatemala, the corn for tortillas had come from the farms in the countryside and was made into nixtamal (or hominy, an intermediate step in making tortilla dough, a process which incidentally enriches the corn with essential nutrients) in the same neighborhood where it was eaten.  There had been no national corn processing company so prominent as Maseca; that was the work of many smaller-scale farmers and corn processers.

Our last evening in Mexico, I asked our host, a restaurant owner and partner with INESIN, about Maseca.  Sometime in the past, tortillas must have been made by hand in Mexico, and now they’re not.  I had my strong suspicions that the shift was connected to the 1994 beginning of subsidized corn imports from the United States through NAFTA, but I wanted to hear the story.

The change in her town began “somewhere around ten years ago,” she told us, when it became cheaper to buy the 20 kg. bags of ground corn than to grow and process the corn grown locally.  She emphasized that the taste of tortillas made with Maseca is notably more bland; but since farmers have stopped sowing corn because they can’t get a good price for it anymore, they’re becoming the only option.

Regardless of the reason, for a culture so closely connected to cultivating and consuming corn, this is a significant shift.  Clearly it has implications for farmers who no longer are able to farm; but what happens to a culture which once understood their Creator through their work and food when those are exported and imported?  How is the health of a people affected when the staple of every meal contains more starch and fewer necessary nutrients?  Increased diabetes rates may be the simplest of the outcomes.

In Guatemala, I still hear tortillas being made; but then again, CAFTA is still very young.

Thought kernels:  Where do we fit into this picture?  Where do we find our identity?  How do we understand our God?

Can we just get along?

March 25, 2009 | posted by Lars under lent, mexico, reflections, updates | Comments (7)

If you’ve been following our route map recently, you’ve noticed that we’ve made some tracks, and regardless, we’ve had a recent drought of postings.  We’re doing fine, and Jon’s bike is back on the road, we just haven’t had the internet access or energy (we’ve been in southern Mexico and Guatemala, after all!) to post.  We’re now in Guatemala City at SEMILLA, the Anabaptist seminary here, but the past two weeks are worth some collective thought, so we’ll take it in steps.

While in San Cristóbal de las Casas (Chiapas, México), we stayed at INESIN (Institute for Intercultural Studies and Investigation), an ecumenical Christian center which promotes peace in Chiapas through intercultural and interreligious dialogue.  It’s important work in a region as torn as Chiapas has become - the religious landscape shows some of these, with Christianity, both Roman Catholic and ‘evangelical’ - neither of which recognizes the other as ‘Christian’ - and pantheism, woven deeply into the fabric of many indigenous communities.  Add in politics, community organizations, international missionaries & corporations, and indigenous rights movements and it’s a picture which demands more historical background to be even marginally understood.

Geographically, the state of Chiapas lies on Mexico’s southern border with Guatemala, is about half coastal plain and half rugged, heavily forested mountains, and contains nearly 40% of Mexico’s water resources.  Thanks in part to these mountains, for several centuries after the Spanish conquest and into Mexican statehood the large indigenous population of Chiapas (which shares more common history & culture with indigenous Guatemalans than with those in the rest of Mexico) remained largely unified - poor and Catholic - and voted as a single block, as well.  Over the past century or so however, foreign missionaries, strong community leaders, movements for land reform, the introduction of a multi-party political system, and the Zapatista National Liberation Army splintered the state - and its communities - along so many deeply inflamed conviction-etched lines that in many places communities exiled their members who believed differently than the majority, leading to at least 400,000 internally displaced persons in Chiapas in the mid-1990s - fully 10% of the entire state.  Military massacres throughout the ’90s in response to the Zapatistas’ uprising in 1994 (when they demanded what had been promised but not given to the indigenous peoples for centuries) contributed to increased instability and distrust, and brought the perfect storm into the international spotlight.  All the while, the government signs away rights to the region’s biodiversity and plentiful water to multinational pharmaceutical and bottling corporations.

While the situation now has cooled enough that people aren’t dying, the divisions still run deep and painful.  It’s in this context that INESIN operates, offering workshops in their facility and in communities, allowing people to study the Bible and get to know each other in a setting not aligned with one political party or denomination, and teaching elements of sustainable agriculture, conflict transformation, and prevention of family & gender violence to interested community members.  It’s a small effort, rooted in the community and led by a handful of chiapeños and international volunteers (including a couple with MCC), but it’s been a while since I’ve seen something truly worthwhile happen fast.  Maybe someday, community by community, Chiapas will celebrate and find strength in its diversity.

Maybe someday, the church, too, will find similar strength and reason to celebrate.  “We all have strengths,” director Martín Guerrero reminded a group while we were there, “we at INESIN don’t believe that the many churches should lose their identity to be one church - it’s that diversity reminds us of the many forms of God’s grace.”  Their message seemed clear: ecumenical doesn’t mean floating in and out of whatever church serves your needs - it means being rooted and it means finding common roots; it means being able to celebrate and learn from the unique ways each community of faith follows Jesus Christ.  It means the hard work of learning to live together.

But this is our work.