Three hours after walking into the immigration office in Copacabana, Bolivia, and a $40 bribe later, I was finally permitted to cross into Peru on foot.  

After crossing the border, my first two priorities were to exchange my Bolivianos (their currency) for Soles (Peru's currency) and find transportation to Punto, Peru, where I would catch a bus to Arequipa. I found the stand with the best exchange rate and began the quick process. 

As I was talking to the money changer, a guy approached me and said (in Spanish), "Do you need a taxi?"

I replied, "I'm looking for private transportation to Punto (a three-and-a-half-hour journey).” 

He said, "I can take you."

I asked, "How much will you charge me, and can I see what you are driving?" These are essential questions when crossing borders, especially in impoverished areas where everyone wants to make an extra buck, and drivers are most often driving tiny, way-over-used vehicles.

We progressed clumsily through the conversation in his first language, my second language, to arrive at an agreement. For 300 Soles ($82), he would drive for 7 hours round-trip on his fuel and put the miles on his tiny van.

Let's fast forward twenty minutes. Me, my mountaineering gear and my backpack - containing an amount of cash equaling 6 months of income in this border town ($1,800) - are in a small van on the main road towards Punto, Peru. Suddenly, he slowed down and made a left-hand turn onto a dirt road where I could see about fifty, one-room brick and mud houses connected by dirt alleys.

In my intermediate Spanish, I said, "Why did we turn off the road to Punto?"

He said, "I'm going to make a quick stop."

A hired driver turns onto a dirt road heading into a poor housing development just miles from a crime-ridden border crossing. His words were a red flag for me! So I said in my authoritative tone and intermediate Spanish, "You never mentioned a stop. Let's get back out on the main road." To which he had no reply. He just drove, without speaking, deeper into this ghetto.

I've been traveling abroad for decades. I know many true stories of taxi drivers heading back into barrios where an awaiting gang of friends robs the passenger. 

Side note: While traveling South America, I appendix carry an Esee Izula fixed blade knife as a helpful tool, eating utensil, and a backup plan for security - whether wild dogs or thugs in the street. 

I was immediately nervous. Forcing myself to remain calm, I had my head on a swivel and my hand on the handle of my knife. I ran through the scenario in my head. "If he pulls up towards a group of guys, I'll pull the knife and try to force him to keep driving.” My heart was racing even though no people I deemed a threat were in sight.

He parks the car behind a shack and says, "Wait here. I am going to get my ID."

Was this for real? It sounded legit. But I was still uneasy as I sat alone in his vehicle. Then I noticed he had left the keys in the ignition, and my heart was immediately at ease. I knew he had no mal intent if he left me in the car with the keys.

He returned to the car with his ID and his wife and asked if she could join us for the trip. I delightfully obliged.

Ultimately, I would have preferred to have been robbed and left alongside the road! His wife did not stop talking for the first two hours of the trip! She was excited to learn about the USA. What types of jobs do we have? What are our schools like? Is our government trustworthy? What is the weather like in Ohio? All in Spanish! She was dragging me way beyond my comfort zone in my second language! The only way I got out of this conversation was I faked falling asleep. She finally stopped talking!

For me, a sabbatical is not about relaxation. I like to use sabbatical to grow personally in ways that are challenging to accomplish while serving at the church 6 days a week. That's why I embarked on a solo journey through Peru and Bolivia's Andean mountainscapes. This adventure was not just about mountaineering and exploration; it was an opportunity to embrace discomfort and discover new personal growth.  

Communicating in Spanish was one of my travels' most uncomfortable yet rewarding aspects, pushing me out of my linguistic comfort zone. I love English. I love words. I love communicating. I enjoy being skilled in wordsmithing, jokes, rib-poking, and articulating profound truths in English. But, forcing myself to communicate in a second language caused me to struggle through conversations, knowing I sounded uneducated and frequently silly. It was a humbling - and at the same time - a confidence-building experience that could only happen by forcing myself into these difficult linguistic situations. 

I was also reminded of the old saw; 
What do you call a person who speaks three languages?
Trilingual.

What do you call a person who speaks two languages?
Bilingual.

What do you call a person who speaks one language?
American.

Almost every person I met in Peru and Bolivia spoke at least two languages if not three. The Peruvians and Bolivians spoke Andean Indigenous languages and Spanish. And all of the tourists I met along the way spoke the language of their home country, plus Spanish and/or English. This catalyzed my desire to become fluent in Spanish and grow in appreciation for the multilingual people of the world!

While initially uncomfortable and challenging, venturing outside my linguistic comfort zone has proven to be a transformative experience. A second language becomes a passport to new adventures and relationships. So, if you have ever wanted to learn a second language, I challenge you to create a plan and start working on it this month!

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