Tag: Peru (Page 2 of 3)

Back to Peru, part 2: delayed

February 20, 2023 / Anthony / 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 / Anthony / 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

15 Hours, part 2

May 5, 2022 / Anthony / 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

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

Check out the other stories in this series:

15 Hours, part 1

Shaving in the Jungle

Boring Adventure Stories

15 Hours, part 1

April 14, 2022 / Anthony / 0 Comments

'22 Peru, chapter 3

Travel Journal, 118

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.

Fifteen Hours…

Hour 1: The day started early. Tough to recall what time. But the run rose around 6:15 and we were loading the boat in the dark. I slept well, albeit not enough. The fog hung around like a humid ghost haunting our morning. Armed with fog-fighting cups of coffee, we struck our tents and began the process of loading the boat. Our sturdy vessel rested against the muddy banks. The boat driver laid a board from the shore to the boat. And on this we carried plastic cases, backpacks, and camping gear. Already the temp rose. And with all the effort of loading the boat, it was all to easy to break a sweat. There’s a trick to loading up. All the clinic gear should be loaded together, separated from the personal gear. But it all comes together in the end. We load our boat and find our seats in less than half-an-hour. The sun still hasn’t shown itself.

Hour 2: The buzz of the 75 horse boat motor lulls the mind. I’m reminded of ultrarunning athlete Scott Jurek’s description of the Appalachian Trail. He calls it the Green Tunnel. We’re in a green tunnel on the brown river highway. The jungle is beautiful—but monotonous. Everybody’s a bit drowsy. I feel the same. But it’s a kind of excited drowsy that won’t let you sleep. We’ll sleep off and on all day.

Hour 3: A discussion starts. One of the guys on this boat is a music teacher back in the States. Music is a hot topic in evangelical Christian circles. I argue about jazz. I love it. Jazz speaks to nuance and creativity of life. It rarely resolves the way you think it will. Jazz is life. The music teacher takes my side.

Hour 4: Snacks get passed around. The amount of work that goes into this trip boggles the mind. Simply loading the clinic gear onto the boat takes all the muscle we have. We have made, and will continue to make dozens of trips back and forth to the boat. We’re burning calories. When the bundle of chip packets gets to me; I rifle through it. I’m looking for the plain chips with a packet of mayonnaise inside. You heard me right. For some reason, Peruvians like mayo on their chips. And this brand has a packet of mayo inside the bang. Extra calories.

Hour 5: Ah, lunch. Since we’re traveling by boat all the food we require for the week must be brought along. No refrigeration here. The kitchen crew made rice before we got on the boat. We’re supping on rice, canned mackerel, fried plantains, and some cookies for dessert.

Hour 6: The river becomes the center of discussion. Peru is in the rainy season. And the river is higher and faster than usual. It’s higher than the last time I was here. We talk about the water. Somebody suggests that the muddy water weighs more than clean water. Some disagree. The sediment adds to the weight. No, it displaces the water. Who knows? We’re clearly bored.

Hour 7: Now might be a good time to mention the bathroom situation. No, we have not stopped. And we are trying not to. Today will be a full day on the boat. For the guys, the solution lay before them in the river. Simply go to the back of the boat, and let ‘er fly. For the lasses, I give you the Hoop of Hope. It is of original design: a chemical camp toilet with a shower curtain hanging around a hula hoop. Most of the problem is solved. Here’s to hoping nobody has any…er…solid needs.

Hour 8: Lo, someone has brought a guitar. I play the only song that I can think of right now.

“I cleaned a lot of plates in Memphis, pumped a lot of ‘pane down in New Orleans, But I never saw the good side of the city, ’til I hitched a ride on a river boat queen.

Big wheel keep on turnin’,
Proud Mary keep on burnin’,
Rollin’, rollin’, rollin’ on the river.” ¹

…part 2 next week

anthony forrest

Check out the other stories in this series:

Shaving in the Jungle

Boring Adventure Stories

Meeting Him in the Wild

April 4, 2022 / Anthony / 0 Comments

Whether desert or jungle or lost upon

a range of mountains,

where there is no clean water or fountain

(or anything at all),

those places most forgotten or barren

and filled with the wild things of this life,

rife with beauty

and trees

and seas

all lonely and wonderful;

here, in the quietness, is found the works of the maker

(every bit savored).

And if you hold very still,

He will come to you like a breeze—

and meet you in that jungle of trees.

anthony forrest

Boring Adventure Stories

March 31, 2022 / Anthony / 0 Comments

'22 Peru, part two

Travel Journal, 117

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.

A detriment to foreign missions is the romance of it all.

I grew up with tales of the intrepid missionary selling all, gathering his or her things into a small leather case, kissing loved ones goodbye, and stepping out into the void, never to be heard from again. Their ship sails to a foreign land, where they disappear into the jungle, or the depths of the Chinese interior. Thousands hear the Good News of Jesus. And wiz! bang! the rest is church history. And some of it is fairly recent history. The story of Nate Saint, Jim Elliot, Ed McCully, and Roger Youderian gripped me as a child. They left the States (with their wives who would later finish their work) and ventured into the darkness of Ecuador with the goal of reaching an uncontacted people group. The same group of men landed a plane on a beach and were later speared to death by the same tribe they sought to reach. That was 1956.

More recently, missionary John Chau attempted to reach the Sentinelese people on an island in the middle of the Bay of Bengal. Though his attempt to make contact and spread the Good News to this people is disputed and highly controversial, the fact remains that people like the Sentinelese do exist.

One of these groups is found in Peru, the Mashco Piro. These people live very close to where we held our second clinic during my recent trip to Peru. According to some of the local folks, this tribe of yet-uncontacted people occasionally attack their homes, raiding food stores and even killing residents. In the past couple of years, I have had the chance to stand on the shore of the Las Piedras River and gaze into the jungle, imagining what it would be like to see one of these people.

It’s all so romantic, isn’t it?

The far-off places, jungles, boats, planes, tribal people, high-risk situations, it all scratches the itch of romantic adventure and Indiana Jones-esque longing that we all have.

Have you ever heard of a boring adventure story? They don’t exist. It’s hard to write a boring account of someone risking it all and going to a land far away.

But maybe that’s what we need.

Maybe we need to read about the boring missionary stuff.

A missionary couple go to language class for 6 hours a day, four days a week. But the train ride there is an hour-and-a-half. So they have to get up at 4:00 a.m. to make it to class. Finding a baby sitter that can come that early is murder.

Another missionary spends 10 hours a week prepping for an upcoming class he’s teaching on a book of the Bible.

Yet another goes to the city to finish some visa paperwork for his wife and kids. He stands in line for three hours only to find out that he doesn’t have the right form. There’s a new one that he didn’t know about. That’s another trip to this dingy office he wasn’t counting on.

A knock on the door comes during dinner. It’s a man from church. He’s crying. His wife is about to leave him. He’s invited in and stays until 10.

Nightly Bible studies, weekly counseling sessions, trips to nearby towns to meet with people interested in the Bible, and stopping for diapers along the way makes up their time.

It’s not all spears and canoes. Nor should it be.

Because the adventure and romance of it all pales in the light of the real reason a missionary goes to a foreign field. People need to hear about a loving Savior who came to this earth to die for you and me. Missionaries are real people who have real needs. They go to the places we can’t go to reach the people who don’t live where we live.

The romance wears off fast in the immigration office. But the Good News of Jesus lasts forever, and it’s certainly a far better adventure story than anything I can write.

anthony forrest

Check out the other stories in this series:

Shaving in the Jungle

A Narnia Reference

March 28, 2022 / Anthony / 0 Comments

“Further up and further in!” Lewis instructed—

So we begin:

Steadily and readily

We go

And bring hope

Of God

To a people who know nothing of Lewis…

anthony forrest

Shaving in the Jungle

March 24, 2022 / Anthony / 0 Comments

'22 Peru, part one

Travel Journal, 116

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 are a few tales.

Shave Number One

Our travels up the Las Piedras River in the jungles of Peru had taken us hours upon hours. Each day brought us farther and farther from the luxury of a clean bathroom and sink. We’d made it to the furthest point of our week—a settlement deep in the heart of the Amazon basin. The medical team I traveled with spent 6 hours on a motorized 70-foot, flat-back-canoe on the first day alone. But that was nothing compared to the next day: 15 hours of boat travel. In one long day, the boat had become our refuge, our bed, our dining room, our bathroom. And now there we were on day two, trekking back toward our original start point of Puerto Maldonado.

Every day reached 90 degrees Fahrenheit. The humidity stifled us non-Peruvians. I broke out in a heat rash immediately. But that’s okay, the sunburn made it hardly noticeable. Ratty hair abounded. Clothes became rags. Try drying off after bathing. You’re still wet and now your only towel is too. Most us had become…unkempt.

But nothing can spruce up the weary jungle traveler like a nice shave.

Ah, the glories of a good shave. I hadn’t shaved for days and it was noticeable. At one point, our doctor literally offered to share his razor (he giggled, but he might have been serious).

I turned him down, laughed, and walked away. But then I saw Eric with his shave kit.

“You shaving, Eric?”

“I think so,” he said.

Eric is a different generation than me. He’s the dad of one of our nurses.

A thin, but study hand at the outdoors, capable of all and smiles throughout, this was Eric’s first trip to Peru. He managed nicely.

“I’ll go with you,” I said, caving to the peer pressure. If every other guy on this trip was going to clean up, I’d better fall in line. But we both knew what a shave meant. We would both need to go to the river and shave over the side of the boat. I went to grab my stuff.

“Bring your cell phone,” I cried over my shoulder. He had a blank stare in his eyes. But I got my kit and met him at the river.

I set up my cell phone with the camera facing me and started the process:

Wet face with brown river water.

Lather up with tiny hotel soap.

Rinse razor.

Shave face.

Don’t cut face.

Continue until camera shuts off automatically.

Turn it back on.

Repeat.

I was shaving, leaning over the side of the boat and balancing all of my accoutrements when my shaving companion looked up.

“Oh, I see what you meant!” Eric said laughing. “Well, here’s where the old meets the young. I’ve got a few tricks myself.”

He unfolding his shave kit and got set up.

“First,” he instructed, “Chapstick. Rub it on your face before the soap.” He did so and I watched.

“It’ll make the razor glide nicely.”

I held my razor midair, stupefied.

“Then I use this,” continued my Sensei. He held up a tiny mirror that looked like a shining silver dollar. He was operating in another dimension.

“It’s one of my wife’s broken compacts.”

Here I thought I had skills. Sure, my camera worked great. But this guy came loaded for bear, wielding lip balm like a samurai sword. I was playing checkers and he was playing 3D chess. Sure, we both learned something about shaving in the jungle.

But I think I got the better lesson.

Shave Number Two

“Do you want to get a haircut?”

The question came up at the end of our trip. We’d made it back to Puerto Maldonado after a long week in the jungle. With only one day left, somebody another team member mentioned a haircut before heading back to the States. It sounded like a good idea. And there’s something fairly romantic about doing the mundane, every day things, in a foreign country. Going for groceries is a trip to an outdoor market—a bazaar of goodies and flourishes. Getting a refreshing drink is a stop by a juice stand where the lady fresh squeezes oranges (one free refill). Knowing when to tip is a puzzle worthy of Will Shortz.

And a haircut, something so personal, feels riskier than taking a giant canoe up a jungle river. What happens if it’s not good? What will my family say? Do Peruvians know what cool sideburns look like? All great questions.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I will get a haircut,” I hesitantly decided. Others had and returned already. And they looked sharp, and dare I say, Peruvian.

But I wasn’t going alone.

“Eric,” I turned a sideways glance to my new friend, “how ‘bout you? Are you going?”

He put his hands on his hips and gave a nervous laugh.

“Well, Forrest, I’m doin’ whatever you’re doin’!” It was settled. In no more than 15 minutes, we both sat, side by side, in little roller chairs at a little salon along a side street. It was a corner shop, two of its sides opened up to the street with roll-top doors. We were on display, two gringos in the hands of Peruvian stylists.

I don’t care where you go in this world. Whether Minnesota, North Carolina, or a jungle-town in Peru, hair dressers are the same the world over. They chatted rapidly over the music blaring in the background; our two gals wore fingernails and a few strands of brightly colored gaudy hair done up over-the-top. They went to work on us with rapid fervor.

My hair dresser paused only long enough to ask questions about my sideburns. After a little translation and explanation, she whipped out a plastic handle and began fidgeting with it.

She turned around and produced a straight razor.

“Have you ever seen a straight razor?” asked our translator. I had, but it had been a long, long time. She was using it to trim my neck and sideburns.

“Can I also get a shave?” I asked.

Of course I could.

“Eric,” I hollered without turning my head. “Are you getting a shave?”

“Forrest…I’m doin’ whatever you’re doin’!” came the reply.

We hooked Eric up with the works.

But my laughter dimmed to through-the-teeth-breathing when the razor came to my face. All of the sudden, the river shave seemed safe and easy.

Every time the razor came down, a little more sweat pooled under my plastic cape. Eric’s nervous laugh came back. At one point I heard his dresser talk about his “sensitive skin.” I was nicked one time. I didn’t bleed to death. At the very point I thought doom was written for me, she set down the razor, and started moisturizing my face. I glanced over and saw Eric getting the same treatment.

We made it. The most nerve-wracking shave of my life.

And it was now time to pay the piper.

“How much?!” we balked.

We counted out the 10 Soles each. And gleefully we went on our merry, well-shaven in the heart of Peru.

The best $3 haircut and straight-razor shave we’d ever had.

anthony forrest

Steps

March 21, 2022 / Anthony / 0 Comments

We never stop the steps forward

Crossing borders

To a place—meet a person—tell of a thing

A string

Of ideas

Of this truth held together

Like adhesive

We believe this

Good news of a Man who is God

Sent from abroad

And cross-ed His own border

To end strife

Bring life

To the unliving soul of the lost

And all it costs

Is a few steps

Forward

anthony forrest

Hover Hole and The Hoop of Hope

July 2, 2020 / Anthony / 0 Comments

Foreign Bathroom Series, Chapter 6

Travel Journal, 71

As always in this series, names of those involved have been removed or redacted to protect the (possibly) innocent and (definitely) embarrassed.

Deep in the Peruvian Jungle, our medical mission team set out on a river boat destined for several small villages. Our task for the week required us to travel a great distance into the jungle. The first day alone we spent over 10 hours in an 80 foot-long, flat-back river canoe with a huge engine. We saw a few settlements along the way. And, needless to say, we didn’t have a chance to stop at a luxurious rest area, complete with running water and cold Pepsi machines. No, in fact, we stopped only once or twice during that 10-hour trip.

But alas, mankind must eat.

Mankind must drink.

And what goes in must come out.

The two boat stops granted relief for any…er…major business. But what about the rest of the time?

For the lads, a curious leaning and balancing act off the back of the boat does the trick. And it comes so naturally. Boys will be boys, right?

But what about the lady folk?

I give you: The Hoop of Hope.

One luxurious item brought aboard was a camping/chemical toilet. The tiny box completes the bathroom objective easily. Though the real trick is not the toilet. It’s privacy. One genius mind concocted the idea to hang a shower curtain around a hula hoop. And, since the female of the species tends to go to the restroom in herds, the three-foot diameter hoop can be upheld by lady friends and used one at a time.

The Hoop of Hope.

When the boat arrived at the various locals on our mission, The Hoop of Hope was no longer required. Each settlement has a bathroom. Although, I use that term in its loosest form.

Not too far from huts and hammocks sits a tiny shack. It appears to be hastily assembled with ill-fitting boards and a partial Brazil Nut bag for a “door.” Enter and look down.

May I introduce to you: The Hover Hole—the one foreign bathroom experience that always gives newcomers a challenge.

The name gives away its purpose. When first venturing out into hover hole territory, one must consider tactics and strategy. Two boards line a hole in the ground. Stand on these when using the Hover Hole. Balance is key. Touching the ground for stability is fraught with consequences. Bring your own toilet paper, but take care not to set it down anywhere (for the same reason you don’t want to touch the ground). Accidents can and will happen, though. One of the kids traveling with us lost his sandal down a hover hole. But don’t worry, somebody retrieved it for him. Not long after (perhaps not long enough?), I saw him wearing it.

It may be a new experience, but I assure you, many parts of the world utilize this form of toiletry. And when pressed, mankind can adapt to most forms of bathroom use.

Though the one form that was entirely new to me was the sparkling brilliance of the well-crafted Hoop of Hope. May is give hopeful relief to boat travelers for years to come.

anthony forrest

Check out the other chapters to this fun series:

Tag: Peru (Page 2 of 3)

Back to Peru, part 2: delayed

Travel Journal, 129

Back to Peru, part 1: prepping and praying

Travel Journal, 128

15 Hours, part 2

Peru '22, chapter four

Travel Journal, 119

15 Hours, part 1

'22 Peru, chapter 3

Travel Journal, 118

Meeting Him in the Wild

Boring Adventure Stories

'22 Peru, part two

Travel Journal, 117

A Narnia Reference

Shaving in the Jungle

'22 Peru, part one

Travel Journal, 116

Steps

Hover Hole and The Hoop of Hope

Foreign Bathroom Series, Chapter 6

Travel Journal, 71

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