Trujillo is a study in contrasts. One minute we are sweating under a burning sun; the next, roaring thunder drowns out the sound of pelting rain. We walk along the beach at 6:00 in the morning and delight in watching jellyfish, starfish, crabs, and even giant rays floating in the clear ocean water to our right; we glance left and see garbage, beer bottles, and other refuse littering the sand. We dine in fine style at a beach front restaurant one evening; the next day, we count ourselves fortunate if we can find fruit and vegetables that aren’t withered or partly spoiled. We enjoy authentic Italian pizza in a cabana over the ocean on Sunday; on Monday, we eat tortillas, bean paste, and strong grated cheese at the ministry centre. We visit with our kids over Skype, taking advantage of high tech communications at minimal cost one hour; the next, we find ourselves without power or water. We pass a shack roughly constructed of old boards, crumbling cement and rusty tin; out comes a young w...