Travel and Verse

stories of travel, medical missions, and more

Category: Series (Page 2 of 9)

A Tale of Two Boats

August 18, 2023 / / 0 Comments

Travel Journal, 132

Back to Peru, part 4

I’m officially back in the States.

I hadn’t told a ton of people my plans to leave for Peru again at the beginning of August. If you’ve been following along for the past six months, then you know that we’ve had a doggone of a time trying to get approval to run our mobile clinics in the Peruvian jungle near Puerto Maldonado. The last thing I wanted was to tell the whole world that we were ready to roll with another medical campaign, only to have it fall through once more.

But as I stood in the airport in Brainerd, MN, I received a text and confirmation that the local government in Peru granted our medical permissions. This was just the first of many obstacles to overcome during this trip.

I participate in this medical campaign each year. And it is never easy. Our team this year included a physician, dentist, nurse, paramedic (yours truly), a physical therapist, the local missionaries, and a handful of non-medical personnel. Typically, we begin by prepping gear and medication. We load up into a long, canoe-like boat and host six clinics along the Las Piedras river. Our medical campaign takes around six days to complete. Cleanup takes around two days. All in all, it’s a push.

And this year, the obstacles to this mission were many. Probably the most tangible was the time of year.

We usually don’t do this trip during August. If you know anything about South America, you will know that it’s winter in August for the residents of Peru. This means less rain. And less rain means a low river. That’s why we generally go during February, when the river is high. The river can be perilous, with heaps of submerged trees and branches, and shallow sandbars. Our boat ride is long in February when the river is high. But when it’s low? It’s almost a dealbreaker. One of the Peruvians I know made the journey to Monte Salvado a few weeks ago and it took him six days—one way. Their boat motor was torn to shreds along the way and they had to camp along the river bank, waiting for help to come along.

To matters worse, it’s not like there’s just a couple of us with a small bag each. Our team of 20 had roughly a thousand pounds of medical gear and other supplies. Our normal boat simply would not do. And to top it off, securing one boat this time of year is hard enough, not to mention getting two that would be willing to give it a go.

But that was exactly the plan. It seems as though I had the easy part of helping with organizing meds and prepping. The missionaries and local contacts went back and forth with boat drivers and owners until finally we were able to get passage secured.

Even with our team spread out into two boats, they both sat low in the water. I’m happy to say that we never had any big problems. Sure we had a couple of close ones. But we never lost a boat during the week.

Why go through all the trouble?

The Yine people live along the river near a kind of nature and tribal reservation. The further you go up the river, and away from Puerto Maldonado, the more remote. It all seems to culminate in a small village called Monte Salvado (best map on the internet). It lies 250ish miles away (by river) at the edge of nowhere. Or at least, nowhere most maps can take you. If you go to Google, the snake-like river peters out and simply disappears into a green blob of the Amazon basin.

We go there to bring medical care, medications, and to build relationships. But mostly, we’re there because Christ compels us, commands us, to make disciples of all nations. The local missionaries have spent years cultivating relationships and telling these people of the Good News of Christ. We bring the true medicine—the Great Physician Himself.

anthony forrest

 

Check out the rest of this series:

Part 1, Prepping and Packing

Part 2, Delayed

Part 3, Leaving soon

Back to Peru, part 3: leaving soon

August 2, 2023 / / 0 Comments

Travel Journal, 131

To say that I was disappointed at rescheduling our medical campaign to Peru would be a wild understatement. Back in February, civil unrest prompted local officials to decide not to grant our request to operate clinics in the jungle near Puerto Maldonado. But God is good. As you read this sentence, I’m actively packing for Peru once again. I’m leaving Thursday, August 3rd.

We’ve had to be flexible and ready. This business is a business of waiting.

We waited for political dust to settle.

Waited for gear to show up in the mail.

Waited on licenses to be renewed.

Waited on schedules to mesh.

Waited on the line at airport security.

We waited on the Lord.

I’m drawn to the verses in the Bible that say, “they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.”

That’s the old King James version. Newer renditions translate wait into trust. Those who wait on God end up renewing strength, flying with eagle’s wings, running hard, not getting tired, and all out thriving. It’s not an impatient wait. We wait in trust, knowing that God will do God things. And God will, indeed, do them. You can bank on that.

I have been involved in this medical campaign for the past few years. Many medical ministries exist throughout the world. Some are capable and able to set up huge clinic sites to reach people in difficult situations. Take an organization such as Samaritan’s Purse for an example. They mobilized thousands of medical professionals as well as garnered millions of dollars of humanitarian aid for the extreme need along the borders of Ukraine. The Salvation Army does the same for hurting people all over the world. Larger organizations have their place.

But what about the village of 80 on some unknown river in a (seemingly) godless jungle? Who reaches them? There’s no Boing 737 loaded to the gills with supplies and Bibles headed their way. Something like that is just not feasible. Even a team of 100 couldn’t make the trek. That’s where we come in. For seven days we go from village to village with a kind of tactical medical team. We keep the team tight. A doctor, a handful of nurses, a team of missionaries and locals, and myself, a paramedic—maybe 15ish people. We load up heaps of gear onto a long boat and travel a couple of hundred miles into the reaches of the Amazon, typically during the rainy season. I say typically because we usually do this campaign in February. But it’s winter there. (Don’t picture snowmen and ice fishing) Rain falls infrequently and the river is low. We face harder challenges this year, but that will just make it taste all the sweeter.

We will treat and minister to hundreds of patients and lost souls next week. These people know nothing of proper medical care. And they know even less, if anything, about our Great Physician, Jesus Christ. We will bring them the Good News of Christ—dead, buried, and risen—treating their souls as well as their bodies.

We’ve waited on the Lord to make this trip happen. And we wait to see what he’ll do in the jungle during the medical campaign next week.

Would you please pray for the medical campaign in Peru, August 7th through the 12th?

Pray for:

Local agency authorization to come through

The health of the team

Safety during the trip

Easy availability of needed supplies

The fragile political climate in Peru

And that many would hear the Gospel and that Christ would save them

 

anthony forrest

 

Check out the rest of this series: 

Part 1, Prepping and Packing

Part 2, Delayed

Back to Peru, part 2: delayed

February 20, 2023 / / 0 Comments

Travel Journal, 129

I was hoping that this wouldn’t happen. The news coming out of Peru had been dodgy at best. But the medical campaign to the jungle of Peru has been rescheduled.

For the past three months, the Peruvian government has been in a bit of an upheaval. It’s convoluted and wild. But to make a long story short, the now ex-president Pedro Castillo faced an impeachment vote that would undoubtably remove him from office. He has not been a very popular guy.  It always seems to boil down to corruption. He has been repeatedly accused of corruption and lies since even before he came into office. The result was that, as the looming impeachment came to a head, he decided that he would dissolve the Peruvian congress.

Bold move.

The wrong move, but it was still pretty bold.

He was arrested and his vice president became Peru’s first female president. But this is a South American story about politics. So needless to say, there is no “good guy.”

Protests and roadblocks have made travel difficult. Supply chains are struggling, if not completely broken. One of the most important assets to our endeavor is gasoline for the boat. No gas, no travel, no clinics. This was one of contributing factors to rescheduling the trip.

But the last straw, as it were, was that the local department of health did not approve our medical papers to operate our mobile clinics. This is all due to the civil unrest that is making life very difficult in Peru.

Having to reschedule is disappointing. But we are praying that the political situation there improves soon so we can do the work we’re called to do. People need to hear of the Great Physician. His ways and thoughts are far higher and greater than ours. And He will get us into the jungle in His time.

Please continue to pray for the medical campaign in Peru. I will keep you posted with further info as the time draws near.

anthony forrest

 

Check out the rest of this series: 

Part 1, Prepping and Packing

Back to Peru, part 1: prepping and praying

January 28, 2023 / / 1 Comment

Travel Journal, 128

Warning: this article contains a brief discussion on suicide.

“I cannot believe this sporting goods store in central Minnesota doesn’t have any jungle gear during the month of January.”

Thinking it felt pretty silly. Saying it out loud was shear madness. I stumbled around Scheels looking for things like dry sacks, inflatable camping seats, rain ponchos, and anything else waterproof that I could get my hands on.

For the past few years, I have been involved in a medical mission in the jungle of Peru. There are many medical ministries in this world. Some are capable and able to set up huge clinic sites to reach people in difficult situations. Take an organization such as Samaritan’s Purse for an example. They mobilized thousands of medical professionals as well as garnered millions of dollars of humanitarian aid for the extreme need along the borders of Ukraine. The Salvation Army does the same for hurting people all over the world. Larger organizations have their place.

But what about the village of 80 on some unknown river in a (seemingly) godless jungle? Who reaches them? There’s no Boing 737 loaded to the gills with supplies and Bibles headed their way. Something like that is just not feasible. Even a team of 100 couldn’t make the trek. That’s where we come in. For seven days we go from village to village with a kind of tactical medical team. We keep the team tight. A doctor, a handful of nurses, a team of missionaries and locals, and myself, a paramedic—maybe 15-18 people. During the rainy season we load up heaps of gear onto a long boat and travel a couple of hundred miles into the reaches of the Amazon. We will treat and minister to hundreds of patients and lost souls. These people know nothing of proper medical care. And they know even less, if anything, about our Great Physician, Jesus Christ. We will bring them the Good News of Christ—dead, buried, and risen—treating their souls as well as their bodies.

The medical campaign has become a very important part of my life. Be not deceived. It sounds adventurous, and I suppose it is. But this is no vacation. We are here to work. At every stop along the river, we carry hundreds of pounds of gear up the river banks to set up clinic. Sleep evades. And muscles cry out. It’s a grueling week with all the romance of sleeping on the dirt and chancing Dengue Fever.

But I cannot miss it.

In truth, I need to be there as much as the patients we’ll see.

As a paramedic, I see patients every night. Some sick, some not so much.

I get calls for junkies OD-ing on Fentanyl.

Elderly women with respiratory failure.

Heart attacks.

Strokes.

Suicides especially hurt my heart. My mind’s eye cannot rid itself of the images of men and women hanging from the floor joists in their basement.

But not all “emergencies” are emergencies. We see it all—drunk wackos, running from the cops. The 25-year-old who thinks he’s dying when it turns out he shouldn’t drink 10 Monster Energy Drinks in a night. Or how about getting called in the middle of the night for a kid with a fever? For some reason, a ton of parents don’t even have Tylenol in their home. I get called for (literally) stubbed toes.

Needless to say, I get burned out.

Where is my empathy? Why don’t I always care deeply for each person equally, no matter why they call 911? God Himself cares for me even at my worst—especially (!) at my worst. Christianity is the opposite of this world. The more horrible I am, the more grace God has given me. It seems backward. And I wish I was like that—showing love and grace to people whom I’ve written off.

I need a reset. And my annual trek to Peru does just that. I need to sleep on the dirt and suffer a little. I need to go to the jungle; I need to see patients who need medical care; I need to see lives transformed by Christ. Yes, I know, it all kind of sounds selfish now. But God works in every heart. While we bring the News of Christ to these sick souls, it turns out, the Great Physicians is actually healing me.

So, I am prepping once again for the campaign in Peru. We have an excellent team this year, including a couple of nurses who’ve never been there. I will be checking my tent for holes and filling totes with medical supplies for the next two weeks. The search for jungle gear in this Minnesota January continues.

Would you consider praying for the upcoming medical campaign in Peru from 11 February to 19 February?

 

Pray for:

The health of the team

Safety during the trip

Easy availability of needed supplies (gasoline for the boat, ect)

The deteriorating political climate in Peru

And that many would hear the Gospel and that Christ would save them

 

anthony forrest

Run-cation, part 4: a homeless feast and the finish

August 18, 2022 / / 0 Comments
Basilica Sacré-Cœur, a perfect place for a view of the City of Lights (Love)

Travel Journal, 125

In August of 2021, me and a friend traveled to Paris to go for a run. Follow along with this map of our run. We ran 75 km over a day-and-a-half. Here’s how we did it:

Here is as good a time as any to remind you that our run took place in August of 2021 and Covid restrictions in France were outrageous. Masks were still in use and vaccine and tests were also required. Since I am a US resident, I simply kept my vaccine card with me during the day. Seth on the other hand is an EU resident. At the time, EU residents were required to print off and carry a specific sheet of paper with a QR scannable code. Everywhere we went for coffee, food, grocery, or any store, proprietors checked my card and scanned Seth’s code. And it was getting old. I kept my card handy, but made sure to protect it. Seth had no card, just a flimsy piece of paper which had begun to break down. But we finally got past the grocery store guard (yes, guard), and started hunting for food.

We exited the store with two bags of delights and looked for a place to eat. The river always gives travelers a location to sit and have a meal. We found a bench across from a large boat and tucked into our feast of Red Bull, chocolate wafer cookies, dates, and ginger ale. As we sat near the boat, a man walked up to us and began to ask us if we needed help. Taken aback, we told him we were doing just fine, thank you. He pointed to the boat and I saw the sign which declared that we were sitting at the entrance of the Parisian Salvation Army. We must have been quite the site sitting there in our ragged running clothes eating junk food, waiting for the Salvation Army to open. I don’t often get mistaken for a homeless man. But when I look at some of my running pictures, I’m actually surprised it doesn’t happen more often.

Seth felt like we were getting a little...behind

Homeless meal finished, we began running and turned right at boulevard Jean Jaures, leading us away from the river. The next goal was to get to the second most visited monument in Paris, Sacré-Cœur. This Basilica tends to be visited not for religious purposes, but mostly for the great view. The tiny streets leading up to the monument offer shops filled with knick-knacks of keychain Eiffel Towers and t-shirts brandishing the face of Mona Lisa. We snagged a slushy from a touristy vendor and looked up at Sacré-Cœur. It stands at the top of a hill. This may not seem problematic to most traveler. But Seth and I were already 28 miles into our day. Begrudgingly, we trudged up the 300 marble steps and gazed over Paris. The climb is definitely worth it. Even the naked eye reveals the major landmarks, even the Eiffel Tower which now hangs from your car keys.

Cliché Eiffel Tower pic? Check.

Our day was coming to a close. We had looped around from our hostel at Rue de Dunkerque, down to Notre Dame, followed the Seine for many miles, turned to Sacré-Cœur, and ended up back at the hostel.  We put 31 miles or 50 km on our shoes throughout the day, and had an additional 15+ miles or 25 km the day before that. We showered and cleaned up and treated ourself to some more Indian curry…and then shawarma on the way back to the hostel.

Running the city of Paris may not be the best way to enjoy each monument and restaurant. But running a city gives the traveler a unique perspective, an overview. We landed in Paris and began running on a Tuesday, ran all day Wednesday, then left the country on Thursday. It was like taking a survey course on an intense subject. We saw highlights and locales which most tourist almost never see. Did I learn everything I need to know about Paris to, say, win an argument about the French Revolution with Seth the next time I see him? Probably not. But I promise you that we saw more of Paris in a day-and-a-half than most travelers can do in a week.

It’s not quality folks, it’s quantity.

Or is it the other way around?

 

anthony forrest

Part 1: getting there and getting started

Part 2: connecting and running

Part 3: architecture, coffee, and gravel paths

Follow along each week for the rest of our run along the Seine River in Paris.

Run-cation, part 3: architecture, coffee, and gravel paths

August 11, 2022 / / 0 Comments
Gravel path along the Bois de Boulogne public park. Seine river to our left, park to the right.

Travel Journal, 124

In August of 2021, me and a friend traveled to Paris to go for a run. Follow along with this map of our run. We ran 75 km over a day-and-a-half. Here’s how we did it:

Running south, we immediately hit the Seine and saw Sainte-Chapelle and the Louvre. The Louvre houses some of the world’s tressures. But we had no time to peruse the buildings and floors of art and history. The stunning enlightenment-era architecture takes your breath away. In the US, our oldest structures were built during the Revolutionary War, or sometime after the Civil War. But Europe’s far older. And even knowing this, Paris somehow feels older than the 16th, 17th, and 18th centuries. Perhaps it’s the medieval skeletal structures that bleed through that gives it a haunting feeling. Most of the buildings here were born in the Middle Ages and grew to what we know now, stone and glass cathedrals and palaces.

We ran (literally) into the Louvre from its famous entrance at the Tuileries Garden, through its courtyards and fountains and statues, then back the way we came. When exiting the Louvre at the Place de la Concord (an 18th century Egyptian Obelisk) visitors gaze down the expansive and very photographed avenue Champs-Élysées. Great leaders (Napoleon Bonaparte) and not so great leaders (Adolf Hitler) have walked and ridden down this 1.2-mile-long street, lined with fantastic shopping and even more fantastic history. And it all leads to the Arc de Triomphe. We ran the roundabout seeing every side of this 162’ tall structure, arguing about the French Revolution. Emperor Bonaparte commissioned the towering arch while he stilled ruled. It was ironically finished long after the government he created exiled him and he died of a mysterious illness.

Our run tour of Paris led back down to the Seine and connected us with the most famous structure of Paris, the Eiffel Tower. We took cliched pictures and posed hilariously, as is probably required by all that governs tourists. The tower is actually pretty cool. Not as old as the rest of Paris, but very interesting nonetheless. But honestly, I had other things on my mind. Namely food and coffee.

A few blocks away, I talked Seth into stopping for second breakfast. I speak such horrible French. I know a handful of words and all of them have to do with ordering coffee and food. We found a little café and I ordered us two omelets and two café cremes (This is just what the French call a cappuccino. They drink it in the morning. It also usually comes with chocolate dusted on top.)

After fueling up on omelets and fries and coffee, we trudged along the Seine leaving the iconic sites behind us. We tend to think of Paris as a caricature of itself—a connect the dots of Eiffel Towers and museums. Throw in a couple of macaroons and you’ve got yourself a foreign film. But Paris, like all places, is home to people living out their lives in business and play. So we left the icons behind us and ran toward the Paris of the people. Apartment buildings and grocery stores line the river here. Parts of the river are simply not as clean. Boats dot the river throughout the city. But it seems the further away from downtown you go, the more houseboats you see. Then crossing the Pont de Saint-Cloud, Seth and I found a mostly gravel pathway on the eastern side of the river (city side).

This pathway led us through over 5 miles of houseboats and far more seclusion than the city running we’d been doing. To our left, the Seine—to our right, wooded land; this is part of the massive Bois de Boulogne public park area. For me, this was probably the most enjoyable running, since we could avoid cars and pedestrians. It also gave us a better view of the river and wooded land.

The gravel path finally popped us out onto a sidewalk much like the walkway on which we began this run. But by now, we were hungry and thirsty. We checked our phones until Seth recognized a grocery store chain he’d seen in Spain. After over 20 miles of running, we were very ready for some (more) fuel.

anthony forrest

Part 1: getting there and getting started

Part 2: connecting and running

Follow along each week for the rest of our run along the Seine River in Paris.

Run-cation, part 2: connecting and running

August 4, 2022 / / 0 Comments
Notre-Dame cathedral looking down on the Seine River. Notice the walkway next to the river. Seth and I would run many miles on walkways like this one.

Travel Journal, 123

In August of 2021, me and a friend traveled to Paris to go for a run. Follow along with this map of our run. We ran 75 km over a day-and-a-half. Here’s how we did it:

The train stopped at Orly station and I hopped off. And after a few minutes of waiting, Seth and I spotted each other near the arrivals entrance. I don’t really know what I was thinking was going to happen. Maybe we were going to catch up over dinner? Perhaps we would grab a train and do a little sight-seeing? Nay. We set up our running watches and looked at google maps. We came here to run, and that’s what we were going to do.

We laughed and joked and talked about jet lag as we began running, literally from the airport parking lot. The Seine River snakes through Paris and acts as kind of a guide to all of the Parisian sites. Yes, some of the sites do not lie right adjacent to the river. But a landmark like the Seine helps any traveler with finding their way. We followed our phone map through parking lots, industrial complexes, and car rental locales until finally the business section gave way to the river cutting through it all.

Paris is, of course, a romantic and classical city full of museums and architecture and cuisine. And if you want to see the touristy sites, you can certainly do that. Pay for a hop-on-hop-off bus. Go to the Eiffel tower. (And you should definitely go to the Eiffel tower.) But Seth and I had deeper plans. As we hit the river, we ran on the paved walkway that lines it shores for the entire length of the city. The only major site we saw that evening was Notre Dame. Of course, when I now visit the famous cathedral, my heart tends to ache. The fire in April of 2019 left the ancient structure hollow and in desperate need of repair. The ongoing restorations have no end date in site. Visitors will not be allowed until at least Spring of 2024.

That first day of running took us about 16 miles or 25km, all leading to our hostel, the St Christopher’s Inn, Gare du Nord, located in the Saint Vincent de Paul sector of the city. After finding a bed and showering off the scum of many hours of travel, no sleep, and 16 miles of city running, it was time to find some food.

Most people know Paris as a place of croissant (and it is—you must have croissant), and espresso (again, drink the coffee). But what Americans certainly don’t think about is how international a city Paris is. Travelers are remiss if they don’t check out the shawarma or, in our case, curry.

We settled on a vegetarian Indian place and promptly asked the manager to surprise us. We were not disappointed. Eating a bunch of curry before running 30 miles the next day may seem like folly. I don’t recommend it for the faint of heart. I am pleased to announce that we suffered no gastrointestinal upset. No runners were harmed in the eating of this curry.

We walked back to the hostel, played a couple of games of chess, I read a few more pages of my book, and it was lights out. We both slept as well as to be expected.

Since we were still on the heels of a pandemic, our hostel-provided breakfast came in a bag and consisted of an orange juice, chocolate croissant, and a token for an extremely disappointing coffee. We’d have to track down a descent coffee later in the day. We had also figured out that we would be able to stay at the same hostel and store our clothes in a locker until we returned. This proved to be very helpful. No need to carry all our gear all over the City of Lights like we did the day before. Our full day of running was setting up for success. The site-seeing would truly begin today.

 

anthony forrest

Part 1: getting there and getting started

Follow along each week for the rest of our run along the Seine River in Paris.

Run-cation, part 1: getting there and getting started

July 28, 2022 / / 0 Comments
My bag in the left and Seth's on the right. This is all we brought to France.

Travel Journal, 122

In August of 2021, me and a friend traveled to Paris to go for a run. Follow along with this map of our run. We ran 75 km over a day-and-a-half. Here’s how we did it:

“I just need to get away and go for a long run,” Seth confessed on the WhatsApp call. The both of us enjoy running long distances and, frankly, needed it. My life as a paramedic comes with baggage. Night after night I stressfully work with patients in need. It’s fulfilling and satisfying work. But the sleepless nights, high-stress situations, and high-acuity medical and trauma cases weigh on me—as they do all other paramedics, EMTs, firefighters, and police officers.

I can’t really speak to Seth’s life. But life as an expat in the north of Spain comes with its own difficulties. Life, for both of us, had gotten to a boiling point. And we both knew it.

“I have some time later this month,” I said, my mind racing. It was true. I had a couple of days off coming up in August (back in ’21). But it was only a couple of days.

“Let’s meet someplace”

“Let’s meet in Paris. We’ll run around the city!”

This was both good news and bad news. You see, we both wanted to run and we both wanted to run around Paris. That’s the good news. The bad news is that we’ve been arguing about the French Revolution for the past three years. Don’t ask me why; I can’t remember. All I know is that every time we get together, Seth’s opinion regarding the French crops up and I have to correct him. He says the same thing about me. I don’t even know what the argument is about. But when he and I start talking about the late 1700’s, it gets heated.

We would just have to risk it.

In less than a day, we made the decision to fly to Paris, France from our respective homes in Spain and Minnesota.

The plan was simple.

We would pack light.

Very light.

I was scheduled to land in the mid-morning and Seth would get in a few hours later. The only goal was to run as much as we could in a couple of days.

Back in Minnesota I stared down at my Nathan Hydration pack wondering if it would do the trick. The problem with flying to another country just to run was that I had to run with all of my luggage on my back. That just wouldn’t do. So, I pulled the water bladder out of the bag and packed the following:

  • A single pair of running shorts
  • One pair of socks
  • One tech shirt
  • A travel toothbrush and toothpaste
  • Anti-chafe cream
  • Phone charger
  • Plug adapter
  • Ultralight rain jacket
  • Second hand sci-fi novel (call me a barbarian, but as I read the pages, I would tear them out and throw them away to save the weight)

I wore a long-sleeved running shirt, zip-off pants, and a hat—cell phone and wallet in my pocket. If it’s not on that list, I didn’t bring it. No deodorant. No soap. No second pair of underwear in case of…emergencies. Just a single pair of running gear.

The idea was that we would land in Paris and run around the city, seeing the sites. Later we’d hit a cheap hostel, clean up, and rest. Seth’s bag looked much the same as mine. However, he had a piece of equipment I did not have—sleep. He lives in Spain. The time change was going to kill me. I would try to sleep on the flight over from Minneapolis and he would get a full night of sleep.

Turns out, neither of us slept. Seth fell victim to a major problem that many runners face: the jitters. He tossed and turned and barely slept a wink. His flight left in the morning, and mine the night before. As it was, we both landed in Paris feeling jet lagged and worn.

My first goal upon landed was to get out of the airport. While this doesn’t sound too crazy, it was a legitimate concern. I flew with no luggage, just a tiny backpack. I had little cash on me. And my planned stay was two nights. To any border security agent, I was ripe for the plucking.

I stepped to the counter and gave a smile, offering my best, “bonjour.” The agent took my passport and flipped through the pages. I have a lot of short stays stamped on those sheets. He gazed up at me with squinty eyes. I then had to try and explain that I was literally there in Paris to run around the city. It was going poorly until I finally landed on the word “tour” and he stamped my passport, much to my relief.

Seth wouldn’t arrive for a few hours. And he would be arriving elsewhere. My flight landed at Charles Du Galle, that’s where most international (or at least most extra-European) flights land. So I grabbed the free bus to city center and found the hostel. Way too early to check in, but no matter. I found a bite to eat and started the journey to Orly Airport, the smaller international airport a few miles south of where I was.

I felt like I was cheating a little bit, being there before Seth. Actually, I’d been to Paris before, so it hardly mattered. But I felt like I was getting a head start on the exam.

anthony forrest

 

Follow along each week for the rest of our run along the Seine River in Paris.

Epilogue to a Pandemic

June 2, 2022 / / 0 Comments

'22 Peru, chapter five

Travel Journal, 120

I recently spent some time in the Peruvian jungle. I worked with a medical team, bringing healthcare and the Gospel to a people who need both. Here’s a few tales.

Think back over the last two years and try to pin down the biggest frustration of the pandemic. I’m not talking about anything serious, like illness or death. What I’m talking about is the minor inconveniences that threw a wrench into everyday living—I give you the Great Toilet Paper Shortage of 2020 as an example. Or how about giving your name, phone number, age, social security, underwear size, mother’s maiden name, childhood fears, and last tarot card reading just to get a table at one of the few open restaurants—that is, of course, after the waiter (yes, the non-medically-trained-18-year-old-waiter) checked your temperature and asked you about your past medical history.

*sigh*

Good times…

But we all know the biggest frustration with the pandemic was (is?) wearing a mask.

This line of thinking pumped through my brain-space as I sat on a plane in the jungle town of Puerto Maldonado. I peered out the small plastic window of the 737 to see old and new growth jungle—a monotonous spread of never-ending green. When I flew here, the jungle below me lay like a carpeted room from the ‘70s. The shag rug of trees and vines and plants could hide anything, like a plane or a community of needy people. A plane goes down here and the jungle simply lifts its branches, and accepts the offering. Nobody’s the wiser. Gone forever. So much of the world is like this, we just don’t see it often, or go there. The jungle begs you to try. “Come on,” it sneers, “come inside and see what’s in here.” But the only thing in there is more jungle.

Tree, plant, vine, bush, plant, vine, tree, twig, river, flies, mosquitoes, tree, plant, and on it goes for farther than you can go.

But we did go. Our boat took us up the river to bring the gospel and healthcare to a people in need. We held multiple clinics in multiple villages. Our jungle boat took us to the vast nothingness that holds communities of Peruvians who live there without a second thought. They harvest Brazil nuts and log the jungle. We went there and we will go again. All for the love of God and the care of man. These things stewed in my mind on the runway at Padre Aldamiz International Airport in Puerto Maldonado, Peru.

But I was interrupted in my reverie by screaming passengers and flight attendants. That most annoying thing about a pandemic reared its ugly head. Just before the pilot hit the juice to lift us off the ground, he backed off and brought us to a stop. A passenger on the plane refused to wear her mask appropriately. At the time, in Peru, all travelers were required to wear two masks over their mouth and nose. After repeated requests, this passenger refused to wear her mask over her nose. That’s when it all went downhill.

Other passengers yelled at her.

“I’m going to miss my next flight in Lima!”

“Why can’t you just follow the rules!?”

And others…

“Just leave her alone!”

“We’re going back to the gate for this?!”

“Who cares about her nose?!”

It was clear that the other passengers were furious, not only about the lady refusing to comply with airline policy, but because we were now rolling back to the gate to kick this lady off the flight. Nearly everybody on the plane was going to miss their connection, all because of one nose.

Jump ahead two months.

My wife and I stood at the gate flying from Detroit to Minneapolis. After a short visit with family, we were on our way home. There did seem to be a bustle of activity around the gate. One agent whispered to another. Then she picked up the phone. They ran off; came back. And then—the announcement.

“Lady’s and gentlemen, Delta airlines has just been informed that a judge has overruled all federal mask requirements for travel. Delta airlines is now no longer requiring passengers wear a mask on their flights. Feel free to remove your mask should you wish to do so. Also, Detroit airport no longer mandates masks in the airport.”

I looked at my wife. We hesitated for a moment. But all around us, masks started falling away from faces, like leave off a tree. Most people laughed and cheered. A few kept their masks on their face.

I took off my mask, but it felt strange—like I had decided to take off my pants in the airport. Was this right? Am I going to get in trouble? It felt like I was revealing a secret or accidently showed my cards. Just two months ago, I sat on a plane and watched as a hoard of angry people shouted at a lady for not covering her nose. I counted over 20 passengers filming her with their cell phones (if I knew how to get on TikTok I could probably find the video). But in 60 days, we went from frightened rage over one uncovered nose, to elation and herds of free faces, ready to roam wildly once more.

And perhaps that was the frustration with mask usage. Policies and requirements varied country to country, state to state, company to company, person to person. We longed for consistency. We longed for light in a jungle of unknowns. The trees and vines had grown over what we considered normal, and there were no answers to the questions we didn’t even know to ask.

Looking back in a (hopefully) post-pandemic world, I still don’t know what it was we went though. The last two years are a jungle to me. But we’ve since taken off and that dark and unknown jungle is behind us, fading into the distance.

And I am so happy that I don’t have to wear a mask on a plane.

-anthony forrest-

Check out the other stories in this series:

15 hours, part 2

15 Hours, part 1

Shaving in the Jungle

Boring Adventure Stories

15 Hours, part 2

May 5, 2022 / / 0 Comments

Peru '22, chapter four

Travel Journal, 119

I recently spent some time in the Peruvian jungle. I worked with a medical team, bringing healthcare and the Gospel to a people who need both. Here’s a few tales.

The weeklong medical campaign along the Las Piedras River near Puerto Maldonado did not begin with clinic setups or patient registrations. Before any other that could happen, the team had to get where it was going. The medical team, along with support staff, loaded onto a long, long boat and traveled many hours up the river. The first day consisted of about six hours on the boat. We landed at a small village, hosted our first clinic (40 patients), and stayed the night.

But further up the river lay the settlement of Monte Salvado. Getting to this place is not easy or quick. The second day of our journey would require us to log some major boat time. The boat crew thought it might take 12 hours. My handwritten journal for that day simply says, “Long boat trip, 14.75 hours.” It might sound boring—and it was sometimes. But I’d like to fill in those gaps. So, to give you an idea of what it’s like to sit on a wooden bench on a long boat on a river in the jungle for a really long time, I give you:

Fifteen Hours…the finally.

Hour 9: Dark clouds threaten. Rain can build and pour at the drop of a sombrero. A couple of us struggle and wrestle the enormous tarp to cover the gear not protected by the canopy. But with the wind blowing and the movement of the boat, it feels like we’re on an episode of Candid Camera. At one point I had to jump onto the tarp. We just can’t get it to cover the gear without trying to fly away. It’s just so unwieldly. Like the raft on the Dick Van Dyke Show.2 We finally get it right before a rain.

Hour 10: We can’t make it. It is decided that we have to stop along a sandbank to use the, uh, facilities. The Hoop of Hope isn’t going to cut it. The driver brings the boat to the shore. While some are in the trees, I strip to the waist and kick off the sandals for a dip. This water has fish of all sorts (including piranha), snakes, and caiman (a small gator). But those things rarely bother anybody. The water may be muddy, but it’s cool and refreshing. Our stop lasts for less then 15 minutes. We roll down the river once more.

Hour 11: There’s some discussion by the boat crew. It seems that the river is running too fast for us to make it to Monte Salvado in 12 hours. Should we stop early? Go on? It will be getting dark soon. No fear, it’s decided that we shall carry on and drive through the darkness should we need. I’m puzzled. I don’t see a rack of floodlights anywhere. How is the boat driver to see?

Hour 12: I try to nap. The sun makes the day hot. I throw myself onto some backpacks and doze for twenty minutes or so. This day is getting long.

Hour 13: When we first started the day the sighting of a Macaw turned every head and drew every camera. Now, not so much. “Oh, look, a parrot. Oh, look another one. Oh, there’s two. There’s a dozen or more.” You can hear them before you see them—bright, beautiful, red, and loud.

Hour 14: The sun has set. And above all the animals and noises of the jungle, the darkness is the loudest thing our here. And since Peru sits so close to the equator, when the sun goes down it gets dark quickly. Two Peruvian lads wander to the front of the boat with flashlights. They light the way for the boat. Everybody is quiet. This seems dangerous, and it is, but “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore, we will not fear though the earth gives way…though its waters roar and foam.”3

Hour 15: Operating this kind of boat, under these conditions, with this many people, in the deep jungle-dark, is, we are told, not very safe but not unheard of. But as the hour passes, we see lights along the shore ahead of us. Every person rumbles with excitement. The last outpost of Monte Salvado lay before us. No person is permitted to go beyond this settlement. For this is the boundary of a National Reserve, protecting isolated and yet uncontacted people. The boat lands and we begin the unloading process. It feels like coming home. I haven’t been in this place for two years. We throw up the tents quickly. One of the residents of Monte has asked that we hold a service. It’s hot, wet, late, and we’ve been up forever. But Buddy (missionary unhindered by such things) grabs his Bible. A few of us agree to go to the service. The others crash onto their sleeping mat. The service begins in song of three languages: Yine, Spanish, and English. Buddy brings the Word. Three quarters of the way through, I nod off. Which wouldn’t be a big deal, except I’m sitting on a treacherously narrow bench. One of the guys I’m with throws their hand behind my back, catching me. “Antonio! Esta bien?!” or “Bro, you okay?!”

What more to tell? Other than sleep came quickly that night. And we rose the next day, for yet another clinic along the Las Peidras River.

 

anthony forrest

  1. Proud Mary by Creedence Clearwater Revival, John Fogerty 1969
  2. The Dick Van Dyke Show, Season 1 episode 16, 1962
  3. Psalm 46, ESV

 

Check out the other stories in this series:

15 Hours, part 1

Shaving in the Jungle

Boring Adventure Stories

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