My senses are alert as I meander down the streets in Greece, making choices based on curiosity not a map or clock dictating my direction. I smell flowers and cologne suspended midair as incense emits from local shops. Air conditioning from a store front caresses my skin as I pass in the heat of June. I listen to the local dialect and smile as cats curl beneath the shade of a tree.

Numerous languages surround me in an auditory heaven, a mesmerizing soundtrack as I weave between tourists to explore beyond the trodden path. Traveling solo allows me to remain present in my body and at peace within my sensitive inner world.

I feel safe here.

My nervous system is calm, a happy belly, digestion at its prime. I feel alive utilizing organic navigational skills over routine and structure. It feels authentic – primal as I remember at my core, I am human once normalcy fades and everything is new.

It was all rainbows and butterflies before my exploring soles led me into a Greek meat market…Immediately I was too far in before realizing how wretched the scents and visuals were to stomach. Moments prior, I had been on a perfect dreamy adventure. Life surely can take a turn.

Butchers in white lab coats stood proudly in front of glass cases, chunks of raw meat scattered upon the marble floor. Bloody animal parts hung, squashing my butterfly energy.

My God, is that a massive calf’s foot??! What the?! Is that a table for two inside a meat market?! I can think of romantic venues without the stench of raw meat and a side of harsh reality what the animals endured.

Horror film-sized knives laid out upon white tablecloths shifting me in higher gear, trying not to draw unwanted attention. I needed to escape ASAP, but each hallway in the warehouse looked similar in length to the very first marathon.

Focus, exit now before I inhale one more time…Fear not! I escaped, or this would be AI.

Travel is an investment I never regret and the most important book I have ever read. Next time, I’ll just skip the meat market chapter and return to smelling flowers and cologne!

* DISCLAIMER: * PHOTOS MAY CAUSE UNWANTED SENSATIONS *

My days generally begin barely functioning, arms Frankenstein-like leading to the shower so I can eventually formulate a human sentence. Directions here said it could take forty-five minutes for the water to heat. Waiting that long in this state of delirium is not helpful for humanity. I am not a morning person.

In any time zone…

My hips don’t fit on the loo here between the shower and wall, and there is a sign that reads “Do not flush toilet paper”. That leads me to my next adventure!

Sunday morning, reception was closed and there were no additional trash bins in the complex. I could not leave treasures in my loo bin, if you can read between the lines here…

I don’t know in life if or when you know you have hit rock bottom, but meandering the sidewalks of Athens in June tourist season sheepishly with a bag of used toilet tissue makes one question all decisions leading up to this point.

Nineteen days ago, I retired from the airlines after seventeen years. I sold my car, placed sentimental items in storage and hugged my people temporarily goodbye.

First destination – Greece!

You can exhale…I found a bin!

Struggling to sit upright in my apartment bunk is also a humbling situation at forty-eight years young. I hit my head and have a moussaka-sized cranium lump. Another fact finding adventure: I felt a twinge of claustrophobia for the second time in my life, gasping for air like a baby dolphin. The first was a tourist submarine in Aruba. Travel is not for wussies, and I thought a desk job was scary!

My muscles are spent, sore from schlepping two carry-on bags along what the map said would be just a short 9-minute walk…I am unsure if my body can handle another slalom course of dodgy narrow cobblestone sidewalks or risk walking in the road between mopeds and European cars. I have anxiety just prepping for my next transition day out into the unknown. Why World? did I pack my favorite sparkly disco shoes?!

This opportunity to pause and witness how it feels to have a peaceful nervous system in a foreign country before deciding what is next, friends, is my ideal dream, and I couldn’t feel more grateful. Well, until perhaps I find a warm shower or can flush toilet paper again…it’s the little things!

Well, that was before the incident…

Returning to our Marriott, off I skipped to experiment with a bidet. How fun! My friend was near the the tub waiting to change. I was too distracted by the porcelain wonder to read the room or even notice. From my world view I was very confused and equally intrigued by this bathroom gadget…a mystery I just had to solve.

In that moment of wonder I must have thought it was a good idea to lean directly over the white bidet in an L – shaped manner and reach for the silver handle. Out shot water…straight up, fast and hard, directly into my right eye ball!

I ran out of the bathroom screaming like a school girl, faster than the volcano that had erupted.

Belly laughing and struggling to breathe, my friend and I did the erratic full body crossed-legged dance, the holding-it-all-in movement only giggling women can achieve. Little did I comprehend I had left the spigot on and water was shooting, gushing upwards, flooding the floor and spraying the generic art work.

My eye had bidet water in it from another country. What a souvenir!

Are there previous traveler feces particles in my eye?! Fear not, I purchased travel insurance!

How does one explain this sort of eye infection to a doctor? I can picture the inquisition … and my response…”Well…following some fruity cocktails at a swim-up bar, I was trying to solve a personal dilemma of how a bidet worked. I was leaning over the unit at eye level and the bloody thing shot water right up into my eye!”

“Have ya heard that one before, doc?!”

Days later I am still questioning, do you take a #2 in the regular toilet, then maneuver your naked body to the bidet without leaving gifts on the floor, hover and balance while reaching behind in an awkward distorted twisty shape to turn on the water?! I’m sorry, but then how do you remember which knob is hot or cold?

Opposites always confuse me…plus I am left-handed, so I struggle daily just to exist.

Surely you don’t want to burn or freeze your… just to save some toilet paper. I do love trees, but not that much.

Or….do you take a #2 in the actual bidet unit, with little room to sit, be comfy and read a paper. Oh wait, newspapers don’t really exist anymore!…Hmm…..I shall ponder all of this as I wait for a doctor to see me about an infection in my right eye….

Wink.

Stunning island view before things got blurry…

Bean's Dream

jwbean

Allow me to take your imagination on adventures throughout the world and heart, via BeansDream.com. I started Bean’s Dream at an Edinburgh hostel in 2012 with a little whiskey and torn piece of paper. Feel free to snuggle into a comfy space and let me transport you through my heart to far-away lands. You are enough.

If inspired and able, please tip to assist me in sharing adventures via a new side hustle of writing! So grateful.

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Psychological

My face is puffy from tears falling for humanity. My eyes are stinging, filtering emotional trauma that has been blocked for so long behind a busy life. When I blink enough salt droplets to fill a sea trickle down my mask. I feel a sadness I’ve never felt before. I grieve for the world.

Grief is often a personal journey. The COVID-19 pandemic feels like universal helplessness as we study the virus and how to care for one another. Our current reality shakes my empathic core, but we are resilient and will prevail. 

Anxiety

Anxious, uneasy, sleeping issues. Daily walks among nature’s wildflowers (eerily similar to the depiction of coronavirus) soothe anxious feelings and overactive, exhaustive energy.

These are uncertain times. The term “unprecedented” circulates often. My work hours were cut, will I lose my job? The unemployment numbers are staggering.

Sadly, somedays I can’t get out of bed and it doesn’t seem to matter. I have nowhere to go. I struggle to complete my inspirational shelter-in-place to do list. Which time zone did I leave my motivation in?

Time feels strange. April, 2020 was an eternity; May, 2020 passed in minutes.

Other times I feel so peaceful — grateful for the world slowing enough to allow for reflection, pursuit of passions, and a new focus upon things dear to us. We can rewrite a better future.

Mindfulness has been a gem as I sit with these fluctuating pandemic emotions.

No End in Sight

Raw, brutal, and confusing describe living through COVID-19. The entire world is affected and no one has a clue how to curb it, tame it, or heal from it. There is no cure yet, nor idea how it might affect one’s individual body if infected. The origin is still unknown. A sobering article was printed when the death toll in the United States approached 100,000.

I feel deeply for kids that missed out on numerous opportunities, meals, peer support and education over the past few months. Parents, how are you doing? You are rock stars.

Depressing

Depressed, angry, deprived from living life as I filter the emotional gamuts of grief. Oh, grief. We have met before following death of loved ones, an injury where I couldn’t walk, and lost loves following breakups.

I never imaged a world so isolated. I miss life. A lot.

However, I feel grateful I can wear pj’s and have braless dance parties on a daily basis. Braless is quarantin-a freedom, correct, ladies?! Just the thought lifts my spirits. It’s truly the small things…

Erratic

Confused chaos with ever-changing protocols. What source should we believe? Information changes daily, often hourly, but no one is to blame. We are all struggling to understand.

Do we wipe down groceries? Does the virus transfer via surfaces? What symptoms prevail in all patients? How do I prevent foggy glasses while wearing a mask? Where can I buy Clorox wipes? Oh dear God, please don’t drink the Clorox! Argh, I’m exhausted from reading too much. Is this all really happening?

I wiped down the grocery cart handle, but put my cell in the hole. Crap! I picked up my phone to answer a call in the liquid soap aisle. No more hand soap, only signage posted on empty shelves explaining the scarcity of product. Eek, please stay beyond 6 feet, buddy. How can you not know about social distancing by now?! Argh, should have ordered online… I recognize this is a first world problem, for I am not selling peppers in a market…

I touched the screen to pay via card, yikes, no sanitizer, it was thrown in a bag somewhere because I’m shopping as if the world is ending. In the past I rarely ever had groceries to last even three days, now embarrassingly I’m set for months to stretch out my trips.

Remember the days when trips required passports, not hand sanitizer? Oh gosh, don’t think about that…

I return the cart, pull my mask down inside the car struggling to breathe in the hot summer heat. Oh my, did I just touch the outer surface of my mask?! Ugh. Which bag has the sanitizer? I’m emotionally spent and sweaty from a simple trek for groceries. I need a good song to listen to on the drive home. Crap, I touched the radio too. Screw it, I can’t save myself, but I sure am trying!

I’ve traveled to 34 countries thus far, often solo, but today grocery shopping makes me anxious. Please don’t tell anyone.

Masks

Masks are worn to prevent the spread of infection. I’m surprised this has become political. To each their own, but personally I wear a mask because I respect you.

I find stories of people making masks from donated articles or fabric they had laying around quite a stunning act of kindness. My aunt sent me a homemade one. She cared. That’s what that mask feels like when I wear it. Love sent in the mail.

My sterile mask provided by my employer doesn’t smell so good. Eww, crap I just touched my mask to adjust my glasses out of habit but I’m wearing contacts because my glasses generally fog. Oh forget it, I can’t win. I don’t love this and I miss seeing smiles, but I will wear a mask regardless…

Isolation

I haven’t had a human hug in over two months. Living alone through a pandemic is isolating. It feels vulnerable and lonely, a type of loneliness I’ve never felt before.

It’s one thing to be a strong, independent traveler exploring life not needing anyone, but isolation within a world-wide pandemic is brutal. Zoom calls consist of couples, kids and pets. A bird made me cry the other day on a walk. Not normal, although it felt beautiful to notice the little critter. Nature is giving hugs and thriving and humans are feeling gratitude; some pretty cool silver linings.

I can’t hug anyone at home, and I can’t hug you, yet… Watch out though! When I can hug again, I may squeeze and never let go… 

Change

“We are living history” someone said to me. That single comment changed my perspective about the pandemic we are enduring.

Living through history comes with great responsibility to do the right thing for each other, the earth, the animals, and future generations. Too many have already lost their lives prematurely, others lost their loved ones, and the numbers of those infected continue to increase.

COVID-19 is here, and because we cannot change that, let us work through it and honor those we lost in the best possible way by working towards a brighter future. It is our time to unite as one world to shine through the darkness together, yet apart. We will get through this. Life in some ways will be changed forever, but humans and nature are resilient by design.

I am with you, even if I can’t hug you, yet. Don’t give up. I care. Life, the world’s greatest dance party, will be calling us in due time, and it will be the sweetest party you have ever attended.

“Pandemic Reflections” edited by: Tuckerman Wunderle

You can hear a pin drop in the terminal. Aircraft engines are cold, jet bridges are empty, and wheels are chocked upon vacant tarmacs. Departure boards are red with cancelations, and social distancing is made easy in a terminal where few passengers stroll. The TSA announcement is not about abandoned luggage, it is about health and modern safety measures. Food vendors are covered with plastic, closed until further notice. Agents, crew and passengers wear face masks and some wear gloves.

This is April, 2020, the scene breaks my traveling heart.

Working for an airline during COVID-19 causes me to reflect upon three topics dear to my heart: people, planet and purpose, the tagline of a travel company I love Traverse Journeys .

PEOPLE:

In this challenging time, we are reminded how special people are in our lives. Life is fragile. We connect with loved ones and friends via old school phone calls, a foreign concept yet comforting all together. Social Media, emails and Zoom are additional means for communication. People connect virtually, no closer than 6 feet physically. Living alone, this brings a whole other level to independence.

As I approach the terminal walking to work, I cover my mouth with a face mask. It feels raw, the world empty as if unsafe to inhale in a horror film. How can we contain this invisible beast? What are we meant to learn from this surreal experience?

We’ve all watched it happen. Businesses that appeared solid as steel collapsed in a matter of weeks. The unemployment rate sky-rocket, students halting their studies. Graduations, weddings, bar mitzvah’s and date nights taken online.

And how the day-to-day mundane has changed. Toilet paper is the new lottery ticket. Hoarders raid grocery stores, salons closed their doors. Distilleries make hand sanitizer, and restaurants only serve take out.

There is fear and fake news, anxiety and end of world financials swirling about. Employees work remotely, Zoom has been hacked.

A wave of gratitude flows over my soul regarding our customary freedom to travel, and the simple luxury of having a job. Each gesture I share with our treasured passengers in this sleepy terminal is sincerely valued in both directions. Human compassion is necessary and extremely appreciated.

Despite closed borders, cut work hours, and waves of uncertainty, I have experienced humanity in a beautiful way. Videos from around the world surface cheering on incredible medical workers. People are giving to charities, donating uplifting talent via online performances, and shopping for the elderly. Virtual dance parties and meetup groups pop up daily.

You can travel virtually from your couch until we can do so physically with companies such as Traverse Journeys. I explored Dubrovnik virtually, how affordable! I didn’t feel any jet lag!

PLANET:

Daily walks help with mental and physical health during this uncomfortable time. I stopped to notice the flower captured above. Cars do not occupy four lanes outside my home. I enjoy watching squirrels, and take extra time to appreciate nature. Birds can be heard through open windows as I turn off the air. When I pass someone on a nature walk beyond 6 feet, it feels like a gift to simply smile and wave.

I hear birds singing outside the terminal instead of cooling turbines. Passengers are not being dropped off curbside. Clean skies above generally smoggy city skylines appear in the news. Life as we knew it paused; but the health of the planet benefits.

PURPOSE:

Perhaps more businesses will be managed from home in the future to decrease commuting pollution and overhead expenses. I hope and believe air travel will bounce back, all in time to where it was, late 2019. Perhaps a shift in the future will be to fly cleaner and more efficiently, along with a renewed gratitude for the luxury air travel really is.

As an airline employee, it is shocking to see 96% drop in air travel in the US. Yet I am proud to see how airlines are adapting. They’re transporting cargo filled with medical equipment and life-saving supplies. Repatriation flights have brought citizens abroad back home. Flexible policies have been offered to passengers unable to travel. We are all in this together.

People are resilient, we will bounce back and explore the ends of the earth again. We will connect face to face with loved ones and give them larger than life hugs. We will enjoy crowds and gatherings, celebrations and concerts. Moments of our future will be precious. COVID-19 will work itself out, and in the meantime gratitude flows as we are forced to pause and reflect upon the precious aspects of life and our hearts.

Keep those travel dreams alive and passports close by. Humans are made to connect, the earth is meant to be explored, and planes are meant to fly…

These empty terminals are just temporary…

I made a left turn, that was it. Time paused, I felt funky and fell, but had no pain. Something was off.

I always wanted to experience the downhill sled method until it happened and I couldn’t physically stand. A pizza box secured my knee, I was sent to the ER.

Things became real when triage lifted my leg. Pain shot through the roof. X-Rays concluded I had three fractures in my right tibial plateau. What is a tibial plateau, and how did I not know?! I wasn’t the first in an open Johnny to Google WebMD.

It would be 8 weeks before I could make my next big move of touching my pinky toe back on Earth. Thich Nhat Hanh wrote of the miracle it is to walk on Earth, I had no idea he was talking about me. How silly!

Like an ameba, I flopped 92% passed out in a wheelchair exiting the ER, barely comprehending crutch instructions. Stand? Walk? Were they nuts?! I was 3 sheets to the wind, whiter than tiles I was about to step three points upon. Sweating as if prepping for battle, they took one look and wheeled me back to check in at the lavish resort, lacking just one amenity; a swim up bar. I embraced the bed with railings, and snuggled into the sterile hotel which provided air conditioned pjs, grippy socks, and my own personal bed pan!

Hours prior I was on top of the world, mentally in the game skiing beneath a blue bird sky, but made a left turn, not a right.

I captured this shot moments before the weenie twist. I should have gone big – Warren Miller style, but this was a controlled short radius during a Monday clinic. I’ve been skiing for thirty-three years, mostly unscathed; until this…

They gave me a VIP bracelet, popped me with pills, and allowed my Mom to join for 50 grand a night, but it was all good, they loaned her a pillow!

A therapist entered and presented a live infomercial on nifty sock and shower gadgets. Who knew putting on your sock was so important! My eye caught my Moms, we teetered on the brink of laughter as he passionately spoke about the shower sponge on a stick. I’ve never washed my back, I can’t reach it. Why would I start with a broken leg? Then a focused discussion about the pros and cons of a foot lifting lasso, then my Mom demoed the shower chair. She swung her legs like a champ, until he believed our competence and let us be. That demonstration cost me just $500.00 USD!

Orthopedics reviewed my X-Rays and CAT-scan, and the party was over. The 24 hour care, TV, and lovely acceptance of peeing in bed following warm catered meals. It’s abrupt, with little warning you sign over your retirement, they wheel you to winters chilly curb, and its figure it out, go time. Wait, what?! My life paused and all I could muster was getting crutches beneath my pits, and pray I didn’t pass out going to the loo. Baby steps…I got this!

My Mom had to escort me to the John and assist with some pretty intimate predicaments. I was wearing my Eco-friendly, no strings attached, less mess Diva Cup, but needed help. This friends became very complicated perched upon a wobbly leg like a baby flamingo, as my Mom questioned how to assist. A Moms love is unconditional. Period, no pun intended. We squirmed with uncontrollable mother, daughter laughter, it was too much! You can’t make this crap up.

If only I made a right turn, not a left…

Days later on my 39th birthday, I accomplished something huge – HUGE, people! I went to the bathroom alone, and didn’t pass out! It was a celebratory birthday like none other. Complete success. 40 will be a breeze!

Not long after my ski mountain birthday cake depleted to crumbs did reality sink in. My right leg would be elevated.

Only.

For weeks…

All I could muster was lifting my leg onto a pillow, which took 30 minutes and a team of two to find a bearable position. The weight of a blanket was excruciating, but it was my hip flexors biggest moment. It waited all its life to be acknowledged, and rocked it. I’ve never thought about or thanked my hip flexor for hanging out, being there through left and right turns, but this little guy was in his prime. Like a champ it lifted my fractured leg and Don Joy. Who named that? There was no cute Don, and no joy in that brace. Okay, I won’t go all dark on you, but seriously give this hip flexor some props, it took one for the team!

The cards, the calls, the gifts arrived, I was feeling positive. It was fun, like a mini sabbatical with warm home cooked meals. Then BOOM, the tears, depression, the holy crap life halted for a long time realization. Wait, I’m vulnerable? I’m human? Will I lose my job? Can I afford the medical bills? How long will recovery be? Will I get my range of motion back to enjoy the adventurous life I loved? Will I lose my travel benefits, my health insurance? The kicker (no pun, no actual kicking for quite some time) is my Dad died January, 10th, I broke my leg February, 22nd. It’s been a rough ride…

My Mom had a serious distraction. How could I burden her at this time? How could I not? I live on the second floor, and couldn’t do anything on my own. Let me repeat, I couldn’t do anything on my own except get to the John without passing out. Okay, lets not be dramatic, that much I had.

I cried for my deceased Father, helped plan his funeral which I attended on crutches, hugged my Mom, and spent round the clock painful moments on the couch, but moved forward one hour, one ice pack, one Vicodin at a time. When it hits the fan, it might as well be at once, so I curled up in my childhood cabin beneath blankets my Mom knit, in the warmth of a fireplace my Dad built, and felt gratitude because it could always be worse. If I had not made that left turn, I wouldn’t have spent 120 days with my Mom, or known how painful or priceless putting on your own sock, or washing your back could be…

I was in a gondola heading to a clinic that rainy Sunday, but my cell rang twice, catching my attention. My gut sank. Via voicemail, did my Mom say dead?! Their dane barked the same instant masking the important word. My hands shook fumbling the phones functions. I struggled to enter a password, was it true? Was my Dad dead? No!

In shock, I dialed our home number, digits of 38 years. My brother answered, his tone said it all. He said there was no rush. My focus was logistics, I needed to get to the ER two hours away, but couldn’t drive in ski boots. I de-booted and walked to my car in a daze. Looking at the beautiful mountain, I pushed play on a queued song reminding me of impermanence.

It was shit conditions. I couldn’t see through fog, tears or winter rain. Sickly similar thirteen months prior when my Dad had his first heart attack. This was me again, alone, driving with horror in my heart, hands at ten and two. Tears streamed down my face, I was stuck behind a slow car. Didn’t they know?

You just don’t…

My brother called, his voice reiterated my fear, our new reality. He asked me to pull over. “No, don’t tell me,” my body screamed. I heard our new truth crossing rumble strips on the side of the road. Our Dad was gone…

You don’t know if the car on the shoulder just received devastating news.

My brother said to take care, and asked if I wanted to see him to say bye. A forever goodbye? I wasn’t ready for that! We were not the Hallmark duo sharing Folgers in morning sunlight, but this was my Dad. I didn’t want to say bye, I woke up to ski.

His heart stopped after running on the treadmill. He had fallen and fractured his skull. Could I stomach seeing him? I didn’t care, I had to.

My belly churned with diarrhea. I felt sick, but found a gas station with a man waiting in line. I almost told him my situation to go first, but it wasn’t right to play that card, nor the morals Dad instilled in us. Wait, there would be no more lectures, or lessons? Staring at extremely large print; YOU MUST BE A PAYING CUSTOMER TO USE THIS RESTROOM, added to my sweats. I looked around for what I could possibly purchase at such a time. There stood a bottle of wine. Could have been any bottle, there are millions. This label read; Dads Day Off.

You just don’t know…

My Mom had been driven home without her husband for the first time in 47 years. I’m unaware how to comprehend.

I pulled into the ER. My brothers stood beneath a rainy awning, waiting. Waiting to embrace. They were my rock, that was love.

They asked if I was ready, if I wanted support. I felt ill, I needed a toilet and tissues. I didn’t believe it, I had to face it alone. Utilizing every ounce of courage, I followed the nurse through two enormous doors. There lay my Dad, stiff, cold and dead. He had his sneakers on, which made me smile uncomfortably. He died following the Cardiologists’ directive. His bruises broke my heart. Time stopped. I walked up to his chest, cradled my arm over his, sunk my head down and lost it. My Dad was dead. I was touching his dead arm…

He looked peaceful without glasses, mouth ajar like he used to joke. The room looked like the movies. So much plastic, so many shelves. The clock read 11:44 in bright red font. I received the call just three hours prior, minus a minute. When you have one final chance, what do you say more importantly than, “I love you.”

He was really gone. I kissed his cold cheek goodbye, took one final look at his face. It was the last.

I walked out in shock. My brothers held me. What is one supposed to do next? My sister was en-route.

We followed each other home, my brother needed fuel. You don’t know when a man pumping gas just said goodbye to their Father.

Those windy roads took a lifetime. Our caravan pulled up to our childhood log cabin. We walked to the porch, and embraced our Mom.

That empty greeting; “How are you?” makes one want to vomit when grieving. It’s a stupid question to have to answer, but I wouldn’t have known…

So you comfort your Mom, sleep where his presence surrounds, and try to get through the very next hour.

That selfie you took before Star Wars on Christmas Day would be your very last photograph together…

You just don’t know…

12.25.15 Final Photograph

4.30.16 Funeral

Wheels halted at the base of a narrow stairway which climbed between shanty structures. We grabbed our packs, and followed our Peruvian leader to the community soup kitchen. A kitchen where 2 Soles a day could provide three warm meals; current equivalent .66 US cents…

We met master of the kitchen; Victoria, mother of 10 standing in open shoes, and a dark sweater. You could literally see her heart. There was running water, so we washed hands before dicing leeks, carrots and pumpkin. Beneath my nostrils dropped a bucket of unidentifiable meat. Flies circled above the bin. Communicating via charades and smiles, I copied Victoria’s demo, and with a dull knife sliced eraser-like mystery meat, cutting through circular tubes. I felt squeamish. My friend said to stop, but our team had agreed effective characteristics included; open mindedness, perseverance, flexibility and patience, so I couldn’t give up, and dug deep. However, when a choice arose; I eagerly offered to paint.

The mission of Global Volunteers is to work alongside community leaders, and locals wherever there is need. This was not Disney, nor a vacation destination. This was a hill of shanty structures, a dismal backdrop of poverty, home to souls I may not have found on a map.

Five of us climbed with brushes, paint cans, trays and a broom. The surroundings took my breath away, not a typical work space, or office view. A foggy haze lay above the valley, it was so much to take in…

Our task was to paint a wall, a safety wall yellow, per government requirement. We brushed dust from the wall, and tore plastic from bags to securely assemble rollers on handles. The valley was alive with roosters, barking dogs, and beeping water trucks filling barrels. The gray across the valley echoed the somberness I felt viewing what locals call a shanty town.

I felt tired climbing, and don’t love manual labor. However, placed in this situation inhaling dirt in a community that can’t afford paint, it took one second to put work gloves on and dig in. My roller fell and hung itself on a nail. I was in a strange place absorbing a transition from hotel to a view that brought tears.

It was hard work leaning waist height over a cement wall for hours. I struggled filtering marathon emotions running through my mind and sore back. Between stokes, I saw women cooking from pots on dirt floors. Toilets were outhouses, and children played near cliff edges.

I wondered if painting a wall could really make a difference, but driving away, peering through the window of our cab, I saw the yellow light up the gray. I knew we made it brighter, and perhaps left smiles in the heart of that community…

Children with big brown eyes filled with the worlds questions, stood in uniforms watching us work. Every single one said; “Buenos Dias.” Feral dogs, sicker than I’ve seen, curiously strolled by. One rested in a dirt pile on a paint spill. When he stood, a yellow streak had painted his back like a skunk.

I have never seen tires used as foundations. Homes were blue tarps, and roofs at best, were sheets of metal.

We enjoyed lunch and conversation at the community leaders home. She was so happy preparing potatoes, eggs, pasta, chicken, and lettuce, which our leader advised not to eat. Peru has 5,000 types of potato, I think we tasted twenty. It was challenging eating eggs after watching free range hens savage the dirty terrain. Who knew grass was an amenity…

Following lunch we climbed to the soccer court. The community created this space by hand, a fifteen year project. Our leader stressed the importance of a place where everyone can exercise and socialize. I realized there was none like it on the hillside. Everything was about survival. There were no clothes stores, theaters or churches. The community looks after one another, and takes care of their sick. There were no hospitals. Buckets of sand replaced fire departments, and a police presence did not patrol this town.

I looked around and was taken back by the words on the court; Paz y Amor; opening tear ducts, watering the cement. A community that seemed to lack necessities, were light years beyond my society filled with iPad’s and entitlement.

Where one might take a corner kick, was a cliffs edge. A rusty fence and goals without netting circled a court created without machinery. Supplies were carried up by hand, rocks were dug out from the hillside. Years of commitment, teamwork, and vision. I was absolutely blown away by Peruvian pride, strength, and resiliency.

Our second day we painted a different section, balancing our footing carefully on the hillside, fingers placed in holes in the wall for stability. My fuzzy foreman; a small kitten put a paw over her eyes as if to say; OSHA would not approve…She kept me safe as her eyes and head followed my brush strokes; bringing me smiles through the tough stuff.

Our driver, Joel sang with us during our commute, transporting my mind to a comfortable place, through music. The same driver extended our ride around Miraflores so we could see the ocean. A driver whose dream is to surf, yet lives near the Pacific. A driver who plays guitar, speaks impeccable English, and remembered our names. All this goodness, and he wore the same sweater daily, and his cab was one bump from destruction.

What tore at my heart strings was putting names to faces. Meeting souls who have witnessed extremes and heartache beyond imaginable, yet still laugh. I mean really laugh, and share the worlds kindest smiles. It’s there I got caught up emotionally…the dichotomy I felt everywhere in Peru.

Five weeks later, my heart is still sensitive, tear ducts active. Something transformed internally beyond expanded compassion. It is one thing to view poverty through a passing window, and drive on. It was another to work alongside loving beings. Hearing their stories and hardships made it very personal. Seeing this level of poverty broke my heart, but they did not lack anything of value, at all. Their souls and smiles were full of an inner peace, most of us only dream of. A kind heart goes a long way in their importance column. We really are all the same; we just have different journeys from varied hillsides…my heart will never forget this resilient shanty town in Peru…

I forgot kids sell goods on the street. I forgot running water, toilets, warm showers, and safe drinking water are amenities. I forgot that some have dirt sidewalks and only torn shoes. I forgot that people with less, sometimes have so much more…

I realized dirt does not smell, and kindness is universal. I was reminded my tolerance for cleanliness is not the way it stands around the Globe. Exploring off the beaten path, I meandered through a market where tourists might not find themselves. I had instant gag reflex when a woman hacked off a chickens head. Meat and produce lay out in the heat, lacking sanitation I am accustomed.

A mans ingenuity pumped a foot pedal, which turned a wheel to sharpen a blade. Peruvians are cute, bundled in September in warm jackets and hats. Children chased each other with big laughter and uniforms. Men worked on cars, their office space; the dirt between the sidewalk and street. Vehicles pass abruptly, and bars cross vacant shops and window panes.

I saw dirt poor today, but smiles from locals, and their warmth rate higher than infrastructure, shiny stores and sidewalks.

I explored via foot, resting on a park bench, admittedly lost. A local woman in a blue jacket came by and starting speaking rapid Spanish. I smiled and said what I could, as in 5 words I remember from High School Spanish. She started laughing at me, and gestured to the sky. She rehearsed an entire skit. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud, wondering what she was saying. Through our charades and smiles we both discovered I was lost, and she wanted to help. She said she would have her Amiga translate. I smiled leaving the bench, and followed her to her friends door. Four dogs surrounded us in the street barking. It was 0930, I was embarrassed creating a scene in this quiet neighborhood.They spoke a few words, then the woman in blue whisked me off to her Casa, and went inside for her wallet. Upon her return, I asked if I could take her photo. She played with her hair, motioning she had been asleep. She had me belly laughing as she prepped herself for a picture. She motioned to have it taken next to a wooden structure, that I assume was her product. She walked me to a pay phone, called my hostel, walked me to the correct street, to the correct bus stop and flagged down the correct bus. She not only did all this, but she rode the bus with me, and if that wasn’t enough, walked me to the doorstep of my hostel. She wouldn’t take any Soles in return, it was so much to take in…I was in complete disbelief, and filled with gratitude. She wrote her address and asked for mine. We discovered both our names are Jenny, hers spelled, Jenni. We exploded like teenage girls at a rock concert, laughing, hugging and yelling “Jenni!!!” I checked into my hostel with an overflowing heart. Jenni had walked outside to buy bread, and found me. I must have looked like a lost Llama, but what a heart, Jenni of Calloa, Peru has…I came here to volunteer and help others, but it was I who was helped and cared for first…

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