“Are we
there yet?” I said to no one.
No, we
weren´t. In fact, only two hours had
passed since I had silently asked my imaginary travel companion the same
question. I was anxious; squirming in my luxurious 160º reclining Exclusiva bus
seat. I wanted to be home. Fourteen hours and seven “are we there yet?”s later, I finally was. My
twenty-hour bus ride from Lima was followed by a quick moto-taxi transfer and
thirty minute combi which finally dropped me at my door.
The house
was in virtual shambles. The long, white tiled hallway was caked with mud and
every dish in the entire kitchen appeared to be dirty and piled by
the sink. “You must be Alicia,” said the unfamiliar face at the table. She was
Michelle; one of the new staff that started during my three-week vacation to
the states.
“We´re out
of water,” she informed me. I smiled, settling back into the realities of life
in Lobitos. She also told me that all of the other volunteers and staff were
down at the point, doing the last of the winter vacation kids‘ surf
classes. I was off. I kicked my shoes into my room which was
exactly how I´d left it, only covered with a thick layer of fresh dirt. I dashed down to the beach, taking full
advantage of the carefully cultivated callouses that now cover and protect my
feet after four mostly-barefoot months in this town.
“Miss
Aliiiiiiiiiiiiicccccccccccciiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” Half a dozen
wetsuited children swarmed me the instant my toes hit the sand. Their tiny arms latched onto my legs and soon
I was enveloped in a big, wet group hug.
The water was filled with familiar faces; coworkers, long-term
volunteers, Lobiteño friends and all of the usual surf class kiddos.
The little
ones were taking off on considerably bigger waves then I´d ever seen them catch
before. A stupid grin plastered to my face, I even let the kids talk me into
jumping in for a (fully dressed) swim. I
figured it was the closest I was going to get to a shower after a long day of
travel, considering our current water situation back at the house.
Before I
knew it, I had been roped into playing personal assistant to Adriana; a sassy seven
year-old with a healthy fear of the ocean.
It was her first surf class and she was clinging on to my neck for dear
life. We soon had our routine worked
out. I would crouch down in the water so that we were both up to our chins then
spring to my feet each time a small wave rolled in towards us. She would
shriek, presumably in some combination of delight and terror. Then, after the wave had safely passed by, we
would burst into laughter and nestle down into the calm waters again.
I had allotted myself a few days in Lima prior to my
arrival in Lobitos. My hope was that this pitstop would
lighten the load of the fourty-three hours of travel from Los Angeles to Lobitos and provide
for a bit of time and space to process a heavy trip home. It didn´t. The first twenty-three-hour leg of the journey had
wiped me out pretty bad and melancholy backdrop of a Limanean winter didn´t do
much for lifting my spirits. That isn´t to say that it was all bad. I had a chance
to meet up with a few different friends during my short stay and chat to some
interesting people in the hostel. I wandered through city streets, spent lots
of time snuggled up in the kid´s section of bookstores (for research purposes) and
met up with an old co-worker for the first night of his Peruvian despedida.
“VAMOS NIÑOS!”
Surf class was over. Seth´s voice barreled down the beach, “A LA CASA!” Heeding
the words of their beloved surf instructor, the “niños” ran to shore and
climbed in the back of the trusty burro (the trailer towed by the WAVES´ motorcycle).
I stayed back for a moment, watching the chaos from afar. The warm Lobitos sun
on my face, I lowered my head back into the cool water and smiled, looking up at
the perfect, cloudless sky. It´s good
to be home.
