It is Finished

It’s strange. That comment just about sums up the entirety of my feelings. Waking up confused as to where I am in the mornings is still the prominent feeling. It still takes a few seconds to figure out where I am. Things have changed yet again, but this time it has been towards something that should feel familiar…so why does it still feel foreign?

For those of you that do not know, or have not figured it out, I have returned to the country of my own origin. Don’t feel bad if you feel like you are the last to know. It was kept a secret on purpose even though I have known since I was in Colombia. I wanted to surprise people and it has been successful. Those that knew before you, only know because theirs and my paths just happened to cross. I will touch a little more on my feelings of being home, towards the end of this, but for now, I do still have a couple of adventures to catch you up on.

I believe I left off still in Santa Lucia Cotzumalguapa, Guatemala at my friend Astrid’s home. After having visited the memories of my mission, Astrid and I caught an evening bus to the Peten area of Guatemala, which basically encompasses all of the northern area of the country. Back in the 1950s it was still considered uninhabitable due to the intensely thick jungles and the dangers that come with it, not to mention the insanely humid heat that is inescapable. Since the fame of the most spectacular ruins of Tikal and El Mirador and other attractions, the population has since skyrocketed. That being said, there are still no large cities to be found. We arrived at Peten Lake at 5 a.m. and quickly found a hotel on the island of Flores with a balcony overlooking the lake. It was a stunning view to see the sun rising over the lake. We didn’t have much time to enjoy it though since the tour van to Tikal picked us up at 6. An hour after that, we had circled the lake and found ourselves in the middle of the wild rainforest with nothing but a sign of a map and a path laid out in front of us. As we passed little lagoons, signs advised caution of the caimans. I wanted to go out searching for them, but was restrained by Astrid, therefore, we never did see one. While pursuing a giant butterfly I was also able to demonstrate to Astrid some of the dangers of the rainforests when it lit on a tree covered in 4 inch thorns. It was a perfect lesson as to why you must be ever vigilant in the jungle.

I had been told that I would see monkeys, though I wasn’t sure how probable it was. No one told me that spider monkeys in the Tikal jungle are more abundant than squirrels in the mountains of Utah. I could’ve spent the entire day taking pictures and following the monkeys, but knew that there were others in my presence that perhaps might not share the fascination. I did have a pretty intense desire to see the iconic ruins as well though. So I didn’t mind paying less attention to the monkeys.

We saw several smaller pyramids and buildings before ascending the tallest temple IV. As the steps broke free of the canopy, the view was breathtaking. We stood at the highest point as far as the eye could see. Within less than a kilometer of us there were several other temples poking their heads above the canopy. It was an artistic break from the canvas of green that surrounded everything else. If you looked carefully below us in the tops of the jungles, every now and again you might see the periodic spider monkey or howler monkey. It was a special experience.

The biggest pest we encountered was also one of the smallest. As always in the jungle you need to be careful not to stay put for too long, or at least be ware of where you decide to rest. All of the ants in the jungle bite, and don’t be fooled by their size, they pack a painful bite. Other than that, we were not bothered too badly by anything, or anyone else. The park was even fairly void of tourists, which was wonderful.

            In some of the structures in Tikal you can enter into small rooms, but be warned that if you have any fear of bats, I would advise that you stay out, since bats are found in almost every room. There are various species, but none of which are too terribly large. The main plaza was spectacular and every bit of it was worth the visit and the somewhat pricey entrance fee. After having wandered and visited the majority of the ruins on the grounds, we were about to return to the entrance when the jungle decided to show us why they call it a rainforest. As the clouds opened up, we were soaked in a fraction of a second. It was pointless to seek shelter. We made our way back to the entrance in the downpour. All in all the trip was well worth it, and I have finally visited the ruins that made the Mayans as famous as they are.

After another day in Flores, Astrid and I said our goodbyes and in spite of the tears she shed, I still had to head my own direction as she returned to her home on the Pacific coast.

            A few hours later I found myself crossing the border into Mexico and on to Palenque. The whole state of Chiapas Mexico is known for its gorgeous wilderness and incredible Mayan ruins. At this point of my trip, I am all but out of funds and time, so Palenque and Chiapas where nothing but a bus station as I made my way to Villahermosa.

            For those of you planning to visit southern Mexico, let me just say, you can skip over Villahermosa. It is the opposite of what its name implies. I found nothing about it Hermosa and the heat was intense along with the hotels being overpriced. I stayed at the cheapest one and while I paid more than I had hoped, I received less. I sweat my way through the night since the fan above me was worthless. You know how if you try to wipe up a mess with an already messy rag, the results are more mess. Now apply that principle to the heat and the fan. I served in the temple the next morning and then made my way around the gulf coast to Veracruz. It took the rest of the day and evening to make it there.

For the most part, Mexico is dirtier than most of the places I have been, the people are definite Mexicans in their way of speaking and their mentality. No one approves of their government or the Federales. They recognize the corruption, but nobody knows what can be done about it, unless there were to be a civil war, which most of the people I spoke with, would fully support. The streets of every city I went to are blatantly plastered with sin and corruption and filth. In the couple of hotels that I ended up in, in my last few days that had televisions, were used as though no television existed. Once again, if you find yourself in southern Mexico, just don’t turn on the tv. It is not worth it.

Veracruz, as a city has some very beautiful locations and is quite clean, relatively speaking. The heat is still unbearable, but the location is beautiful and the people are kind and helpful. I stayed long enough to serve in the temple and to realize that all the surfing was further than I desired to travel, but the beaches are pleasant.

            My last three nights in foreign countries were spent in Mexico City, in a very shady part of town. Every night I lay in bed listening to the gunshots in the surrounding neighborhoods, and the sirens that followed.  Though I, personally, never felt in danger, I did spend much of those evenings thinking about those that have not been as blessed as I have been to have such an incredible family. I thought about the dangers they’ve grown up with, and the choices they make day in and day out. Many of those choices end up affecting the lives of others in irreversible ways. What a sad way to live. It’s true that many choose that life for comfort, or a certain measure of security, but too often there are those that choose that life out of greed or sheer rebellion, or even the excitement. These are they for whom I fear. I found my prayers directed towards all those involved in the shootings each night, and for their families that live in fear each night that they may never see their loved one again.

The Monday before returning home to the States, I had one last visit to a tourist trap and I’m glad I did, especially because it was surprisingly super cheap. I visited the Mayan ruins of Teotihuacan. Though the ruins do not span the area that Tikal does, they are no less spectacular and awe inspiring. In fact, the pyramids of the moon and sun are truly colossal. The pyramid of the sun stands at over 200 ft high. On its apex you can see your surroundings for miles and with no jungles to impair the view, the people below are truly miniscule. The sites and views are amazing, but perhaps more intriguing is the artwork of the area that is more preserved than that of Tikal due to the cooler/drier weather in Mexico City. The numerous depictions of Quetzalcoatl are fascinating to see. The history of the area of Mesoamerica is incredible and interesting in many aspects. For me there is a religious fascination as well as historical. I love to read and study about all of the people and to be able to see the work of their hands is priceless.

On Wednesday the nineteenth of September I boarded a plane in Mexico City bound for Las Vegas. It was strange to stare out of the window and recognize the moment that I crossed back into my beloved country. Was this really happening? Was I really going home? So long have I been on the road in these other countries that it has come to be my life. The first couple of months I was gone, it was difficult at times emotionally and physically, but now, nearly five months after having begun my journey I find myself accustomed to the lifestyle. While standing waiting to pass through immigrations, a young man behind me told me how much he loved the fact that in Mexico he could do all of the things he can’t do here in the states and that he wanted to head back and stay for like a month. I pity people like that. Aside from the fact that he lives as a servant to his vices, I doubt he understands or appreciates the true value of other countries. Like so many, he may never see the true value. Others will never see the side of the countries that I’ve seen and will be content to be blinded to reality.

From Vegas I flew to San Francisco and on to Reno where I met my parents. It was great to see them again though it almost felt like I had only been gone for a couple of weeks. Now, as I said, I find myself in a familiar land, but with unfamiliar feelings. Where to from here? What’s next? Once again I enter the world of anxiety and stress.  I find myself in a country of loud and boisterous people. A people I love, but see differently, not because they have changed, but because my perception has.

Five months ago I set out to fulfill a dream that I have had since I was a child. Many things have not gone as I had planned, sometimes that has been for the better and at other times it has frustrated me, but more than anything I have learned more about myself than I imagined I would. Many of the plans I had made, I had believed were dreams, but as it turns out, they are no longer even remote interests. My conviction however, remains. If there are unfulfilled dreams in your life…do all in your power to complete them. Always accomplish the goals you set if at all possible. Never settle for less than the best. That goes for the things in your life, but perhaps more importantly it refers to your own pursuits and accomplishments. We all have a potential to reach that is way beyond what most of us will even attempt. Remember the words of Nelson Mandela, “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us, it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we were liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” So many times have I shared these words with others and somehow I guess they only touched the surface of my own understanding. Only now have I begun to realize that I have lived my life way below my potential. I had never acknowledged until now that it is due to my own fears of the responsibility that comes with reaching my potential. It would be so much easier to find a comfy job and get settled and live a good life, but that is not who I am. I am a God by birthright. My goal and greatest desire now is to live a life worthy of that divine nature. My potential is way beyond what I have pushed myself to. It is time to find the limits of my potential and push beyond them. As you and God are my witness, I will be the man God intends for me to be. I will no longer be controlled by that fear that I once refused to believe even existed. Doubt not, fear not.

I hope whomever has read these words, over the past many months, have felt inspired to live their lives a little better ad it is my prayer that we all might live up to our true potential. I leave you with these thoughts and desires.  May we make the world a better place by our actions and not just our desires. God be with you.

Lives Changed

You know what? It’s not very easy trying to keep up with a blog while travelling. Parts of me wish that I could just be completely disconnected from everything and have no worries about anything but myself and what I’m going to do each day. During my travels I have met many people who have done just that and my eyes have been opened to the selfish nature of such desires. I have seen many people just traveling to visit everything, much like the guy I met yesterday traveling by motorcycle around the world. I have met people that have left their own countries just to escape the cares of the world, like the guy I met who only wants to surf and make nothing of himself. I have seen wasted lives time and time again and pray that I might be wiser now in my desires to better myself and the world. It’s true that there is something appealing about certain lifestyles we see, and we each have lifestyles we see and sometimes wish we lived. I will witness to you that the only lifestyles worth emulating are ones that are not self-serving. A life is meant to be used to help others in some way. Remember, this does not mean you need to give up your life to one of servitude, but rather merely that in whatever you choose to do, do it with all your heart and soul and be the best you can. In your life serve others in any way you are capable of. This may mean just being the friend someone needs or just plain having a happy outlook on life. I hope to find ways in my everyday exchanges with people to change lives and bring peace into people’s hearts. In this section of my journey I was blessed to see fruits of a labor long since past. I was honored to be held as a prime source in the complete change of the lives of individuals. I have seen firsthand what I meant to many people whom I had assumed had forgotten me after eleven or twelve years of no communication.
I crossed the border into Guatemala and my heart began to race as I began to recognize buildings, objects, familiar stores and outfits. For my first couple of nights I was blessed with the opportunity to stay in the CCM (Centro de Capacitacion de Misioneros or MTC in English), which is located right next to the Guatemala City Temple. When entering the CCM there were missionaries everywhere teaching one another and practicing their new language. The Spirit that was present amongst so many of the Lord’s willful servants sacrificing time and money was almost tangible. I had planned to only stay one night, but my dear friend Astrid was not able to make it to pick me up until Saturday so I stayed an additional day. Well it just so happened that that Saturday was my birthday.
I began my birthday the way I think one should always begin it. I offered my services in the temple by participating in a session. You can’t start off a day in a better manner. Immediately after exiting the temple and then packing my bags, I was met at the gate by a friend I hadn’t seen in eleven years. Her name is Astrid Figueroa and she was only fifteen years old when I met and taught her and her mother Telma. She later was baptized and continues with a testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel. The face had changed, but the smile remained the same, thank goodness because otherwise I wouldn’t have recognized her. After catching up a bit, we were picked up by one of her friends, Irene, who had a car and then we went on to meet up with other friends of theirs, Angel, Max, and Selvin. Irene was funny since after she saw my photo without a beard she was constantly trying to get me to shave. The other three gentlemen are essentially kindred spirits of mine. They are extremely outdoorsy and are continually climbing volcanoes, and we just seemed to get along famously from the start. I loved those guys instantly and I know I will be seeing them again. We celebrated my birthday by visiting downtown first of all with just Astrid, Irene, Angel and I. As we were standing there in the crowds, a man suddenly came running at full speed right in front of me. It didn’t register that he was a thief until I saw the young lady running after him a second later. There was nothing we could have done because of the speed of that man’s flight. Had she yelled in advance I might have been able to do something. In fact I found and continue to find myself frustrated that she did not say anything. I have also thought many times on the instance since then and wondered if there was something I could have done that I didn’t. The answer always comes out the same, that there was nothing I could’ve done. It’s funny how that works though. If I find myself with these thoughts about something so simple, how difficult it must be for those who find themselves in similar situations, but with more dire outcomes. I can see how someone might blame themselves for something, even if there is no fault to claim.
The evening of my birthday was spent with all of my newfound friends and one old friend around a little table singing happy birthday and blowing out a match placed on a donut for my birthday cake. I couldn’t have planned a better birthday! Mostly because I just don’t plan, but also because it was more perfect than I had hoped. The only thing missing was family and all of my other close friends. No gift is greater than the memories we make with the ones we love.
On Sunday I returned to the very first wards I served in on my mission. Though many didn’t recognize me with my bearded face, and many others had moved away, but once the connection was made there was joy all around. The bishop of one of the wards shared what he knew of my very first baptism. The young man’s name I will not disclose, but I will share a summary of his story. At a young age he was caught up in one of the more dangerous gangs in the Americas and during that time had murdered at least three individuals. I never knew that boy. The man I met was a seventeen year old who, upon hearing the truth had grasped hold so tightly his hands would never be pried away. Because of the seriousness of the sins he had committed, permission to be baptized was withheld for a long time. When I was there, we managed to push hard enough and the permission came from the first presidency to allow the baptism. Remember that he was a young adult when I met him, but he was as the people of the scriptures who laid down their weapons and became even more righteous than those who had had the truth all of their lives. Even as a young man he was respected as if he was one of the “village elders” so to speak. When he spoke, the room went silent and all listened. Anyway, when I asked the bishop about this young man, the bishop said with a smile that the young man had served a mission and went on to marry a returned missionary in the temple and they had moved to the states where they currently reside. Can you imagine the joy that filled my heart and even now fills it as I write this? “If it so be that ye should labor all your days and bring but one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy” Truly it is great!
Tears were shed with others who had grown to mean so much to me in those days as we had our brief encounters that Sunday. Sometimes it is hard to see how much we meant or mean to someone until we see them years later and from a different view.
Astrid and I went out to the coast that night to Santa Lucia Cotzumalguapa, to her home where we met with Telma, her mother. I stayed in their humble home for much of the time I was in Guatemala. You know, there are many who live in humble circumstances, but they themselves are far from being humble. This is not the case with Telma and Astrid. Though the house is completely made of tin with a dirt floor and holds one room with two beds and a table in the middle, I found myself with better service than a five star hotel. The shower was with a bucket and the outhouse was a hole in the ground, but I had all of the comforts I need. Throughout the week I was able to visit the Quetzaltenango Temple and each one of the areas I had served in during my mission, many of which no longer pertain to that mission. The main thing I noticed physically about the different locations is that Guatemala, over the past ten years has cleaned up tremendously. The streets are no longer filled with mangy dogs and not nearly as much garbage. Indeed I did not even see one dog in certain streets where before there was a dog every ten feet. Health standards have improved so much in so many ways. There is still difficulty in trying to change the mentality of many of the indigenous pueblos, but with time this will happen. I found that many of those I had taught and baptized were no longer in the places I had left them, but I was able to stay with my last baptism, who has since served as a branch president and is currently in the high council. In fact as I walked in and surprised them, they were with the sister missionaries discussing investigators. Wow! His brother and family, who had also been baptized, continue faithfully in the branch as well. Words cannot express how blessed I feel to have been able to see the fruits of labors of years past.
I think this visit to Guatemala was mostly for my own benefit, to help me realize that our efforts do not go unnoticed and in fact as we change the life of one person, it indeed will have a direct effect on the lives of many. I was told, by a complete stranger, after baring my testimony that first Sunday in Guatemala, that I may never know the effect the testimony of a missionary who had once served in that ward, would have on both the members who remember him and the members who have yet to meet him. He thanked me and said that my testimony has already changed the spirit of the ward to one more desirous to serve. As I contemplated that thought, I know that the truth of the matter is that our testimonies, no matter who they are from or where they are born, should have that effect on all who hear them.

Isla De Ometepe

La Isla de Ometepe in Nicaragua is a beautiful island in the middle of the impressively large Lake Nicaragua. The island itself was formed by two massive volcanoes joined at the hip. The larger of the two volcanoes is Concepcion and the smaller is Madera.

I made my way to the ferry port from where the bus dropped me off a couple kilometers away with my 40 pound pack on my back. The heat there is ridiculous and the humidity will soak you in an instant.  I was told a taxi would cost the equivalent of less than a dollar, but opted to walk, as usual.  Along the way, a bicycle taxi rode by and offered to take me for $2.50. I told him no thanks, while in my mind I was thinking of how outrageous that price was. A while later, I passed by a few guys working on a wall across the street  who yelled to me that they would take me to the port for just 5 dollars. I laughed and said, “You guys must think I’m a gringo?” I could hear them laughing for some time after I passed. When I was well past half way there, a taxi drove by and called out that he would  charge just $5. At this point I was rather annoyed at how hard they try to take advantage of foreigners. I said to him, “You must think I’m an idiot.” He drove off and said nothing in response. Upon arrival at the dock I read a sign saying the last ferry left at 4pm and it was now 5pm. I was about to walk away, but decided to go look at another sign. I wasn’t even able to read the next sign when a couple of gentlemen told me to hurry because the last ferry was leaving. They pointed me in the right direction and I took off running. Good thing I did because I literally had to jump to get on the ferry as it was pulling away. At least now I could rest for the hour or so it would take to cross to the island.

In front of us lay the island of Ometepe with its volcanoes looming in the distance. Behind me the sun created a spectacular display of fiery oranges and reds. To the south an electrical storm lit up the sky periodically. Every time I attempted to put my camera away, something else drew my attention. Finally, night fell as we approached the dock. Birds of all sorts were saying goodnight in the jungle nearby.

 We pulled in and I walked up the road with no clue where I was going or even what part of the island we had landed on. I found a shop and the lady offered me a bungalow. The price was right so I took it. It was a block away from her place and hidden back in some banana trees. It was typical with concrete walls and a tin roof. I had a fan for relief from the incessant heat.  As I wrote in my journal I heard a loud noise on the roof as if a large animal had just run across it. I stepped outside to see, forgetting I was in my underwear. I didn’t see the source (The next morning I found it was a 3 and a half foot long iguana), but I saw a little gecko hunting by the light. I stepped back in to grab my camera and then back out again. I closed the door to keep the bugs out and immediately realized the mistake I had made. The doors can only be opened with a key, the same key I had left inside. Oops. I knew I would be able to pick the lock if I had a piece of paper, but that too was inside. The extra keys were a half block away and I was not about to walk down the middle of the street in my skivvies if I could avoid it. There were still many people out and about. Wouldn’t want to frighten the locals. My neighbor’s door was open though. I can only imagine what was going through their minds as a barely clothed gringo poked his head in asking for a piece of paper. In spite of the bewildered looks on their faces, they were kind enough to oblige. A few moments later I returned their paper, torn and contorted. I told them what had happened and we all had a good laugh.  

The next day was full of exploration as I made my way to the other side of the island to a village called Altagracia. From there I began my ascent up Concepcion. I followed a road toward the volcano until it turned into a path, which continued upward until it eventually disappeared entirely and I entered pure jungle. For the next few hours I fought my way through the jungle growth. In the near distance I could hear the calls of howler monkeys. I tried to make my way towards them, but was always blocked by impassible jungle. I was not equipped for anything too dangerous and even what I was doing was more dangerous than most people should attempt. I later found that in the previous month people had done the same thing and one was killed by a fall. They were inaccessible for days. The thing is, in the jungle you must be ever vigilant and even that may not suffice. In fact, I nearly fell into a bottomless pit myself. The growth can be so thick, as it was in this case, that it completely covered a drop off. Somehow through the growth I saw a deeper blackness and hesitated. When I looked closer I moved the plants and saw a massive drop. In fact, I could not see far enough to see just how deep it was.  Naturally, I redirected my route. Shortly thereafter I decided I had played with fate long enough and it was time to head down. Sadly I never did find the howlers.

Heading down the mountain, which I had only gone about half way up, I ran across a young man by the name of Benjamin and an older lady that was basically his mother since he had left home long ago. They were on the mountain collecting bananas and some fire starter when we found each other. They looked stunned to see me and thought I was a long lost hiker. They offered to show me back to the town. I told them that even though I did not need the help, I would love the company and offered to help Benjamin with the 100 or more pounds of bananas. The hike was quite the exercise, but I got to know the two of them and indeed they brought me back to their house where I met the rest of the family Villanueva. They have offered their home to me if I ever return. The whole hike back I was lectured on how dangerous it was to be out there on my own and that many had died doing what I had done, blah, blah, blah. I’ve heard it all, but courteously listened. Why is it that people think I don’t recognize the dangers? I am perhaps more aware of the dangers than most. I wouldn’t attempt the things I do without that recognition. Still, I suppose it is nice to see people care.

In the park, while waiting for my bus to get me around to San Jose where I was staying, I chatted with several local guys. The people on this island are super nice and it was actually a breath of fresh air from the other sorts of people. My experience on Ometepe was a memorable and pleasant one.  Sitting on the beaches of the island I saw various species of lizards and birds. Looking out over the lake you can’t help but feel like you are on the ocean, it is that humungous.

Back on the mainland I awaited a bus to take me to Masaya. I did, as I always do, and asked the price previous to boarding and I asked it of people who would not gain. Then I approached the bus and asked the price and when he quoted me more than twice what it should be, I scoffed and was about to walk away when he countered himself with a slightly lower, but still outrageous price. I continued walking and said, “I’m a gringo, not an idiot.” He lost my business. I caught the next bus. One thing I can’t stand is dishonesty and being taken advantage of. I don’t appreciate people thinking I am ignorant and don’t believe anybody  enjoys being treated that way.

The rest of my experience of Nicaragua was mostly in traveling. I did find myself wishing I was there with my brother or cousin who served their missions in Nicaragua. To see it all through their eyes and feel the experiences they had while being present at the locations is so much more potent and powerful.

When approaching the border with Honduras we were stuck in traffic for three hours on a country road as the local workers had blocked it off with logs and whatever else they could find for their protest demonstration. I never was able to find out any details. I was mostly just grateful we had air-conditioning.  We somehow were allowed to pass. Honduras was seen only by bus and El Salvador was likewise experienced in that manner for the most part. I did stay the night in San Salvador and served in the temple, but immediately boarded a bus and was on my way to Guatemala. 

As we got closer and closer to where I served my mission, I was filled with emotions. I was giddy as a schoolboy. I have returned. Ten years after leaving this beautiful country and the people I grew to love so much, I have returned.

South to Central

While sitting on a bus waiting for it to leave the station in Liberia, a city in northern Costa Rica, a man in his mid to late twenties came and sat next to me. The first words out of his mouth were, “Where are you from?” in perfect English. As a matter of fact, he didn’t speak much Spanish. His name is Paul and even though he looked Hispanic, and very possibly comes from a Hispanic bloodline, he was born and raised in New York. The next words that came out of his mouth surprised me even more. After I responded that I was from the states, he said, “Good. Then if either one of us falls asleep, the other can watch his stuff.”. What? We just barely met and he already trusts me more than anyone on the bus, just because I am from the states? How often do we find ourselves in similar situations? Am I the same? Do I trust people from my own country more than those in poorer countries? Is it racial stereotyping? I found myself immediately questioning myself as to where I place my trust. I’ve had my trust betrayed many times in this life, more than anyone should. Yet I also have continued to tell myself, at least in regards to relationships, to trust the people until they give you reason not to, or until the Spirit tells you not to. I feel this is good advice when it comes to relationships. The question I ask myself now is, should this same trust be given to all? The actions I have taken throughout this entire trip have implied a lack of trust on my part towards the people of Latino America in general. I hide my cash and cards in different locations. When walking through crowds my hand periodically brushes my pockets to make sure things are where they should be. I’m cautious every time I pull out my camera in public. I have heard many others say that they are the opposite in that they do not trust until they are given reason to. Is that better advice? Perhaps I can justify my actions by saying, when dealing with people one on one, my advice is best, but when looking at a people in general, you should take appropriate precautions. I find following the Spirit and not allowing yourself to be too attached to objects is by far the best route to take.

I’m not entirely sure where I left off last time, since at the time of writing this, I do not have access to the internet nor to my own computer to be able to read my previous post. No worries, I will some up until I get to the interesting stuff. I left Uruguay and crossed the Mar de Plata to Buenos Aires for the last time on this trip and boarded a plane bound for Sao Paolo, Brazil and spent the night on the comfy tile floor of the airport. I had a very long layover until my flight to Bogota, Colombia. The funny thing is that from Montevideo, Uruguay I had called the temple of Bogota and made reservations to stay there two nights in their guest building and they were totally okay with it and even said they’d be awaiting my arrival. Well, as I pulled up to the gate of the temple and spoke with the guard, his bewildered look showed that something wasn’t right. Turns out the temple was under maintenance and would be for several more days. Their must have been some sort of error in communication somewhere, or it was the Spirit preparing the way for me to have a place to stay and catch up on sleep long lost. After some phone calls were made, I was given permission to stay the night anyway. I had the guest building all to myself. For those of you who do not know, for me the accommodations were equal to those of a five star hotel at the price of a hostel. It was the best I’ve had in nearly four months. The view from my window was the gorgeous Bogota temple. The weather was still cool and it was raining the entire time I was in Bogota. The next day I caught a bus to the Caribbean coast, to the famous colonial town of Cartagena. The ride was 25 hours straight in bus.

Whenever I have spoken with people about Cartagena, the first things out of their mouths are how beautiful it is and how I will never want to leave and that many foreigners never do. I will say this much about the country of Colombia, it is stunningly beautiful. The jungles throughout the countryside are dotted with perfectly landscaped farms. This was my television for the daylight hours of the trip. Cartagena is hot and muggy as the tropics can be. Cartagena itself is rich with colonial history, itself  being one of the first and main ports for the Americas. It was a prime target for pirates and was attacked multiple times until the people built a large wall around the city, complete with a fort and cannons surrounding it. It was a success and the wall and fort still stand to this day as one of the main tourist attractions. They were quite impressive to behold and the colonial influence is thick in the “old town” portion of the city. Unfortunately, as often is the case, there are a lot of unattractive things that come with locations that thrive. My guess is that the people who have told me how incredible this place is, probably stayed in the fancier richer portion of the city where everything is top-notch and upper-class. I am one who enjoys to stay amongst the people for the culture and because it is a lot cheaper. Normally, I don’t mind the beggars and street venders, but in Cartagena there is a completely different mentality everywhere you go. There is an attitude that they should receive something for everything. Nothing is free and therefore acts of kindness and service cannot exist. Everywhere I turned, someone was asking for a tip because they pointed me in the right direction, or because they opened the door for me or bagged my groceries. I blame the rich tourists. Even though I stayed in Cartagena for a few days, I was very anxious to leave.

While in Cartagena I took the opportunity to go bathe in a volcano. Not something that many people can say they have done. The volcano is called Totumo and is an interesting phenomenon where instead of lava being ejected, it is a very fine mud. It is not a very powerful explosion when it erupts, but over time it does grow. This particular one is the largest in Colombia, but only reaches about fifty feet high. The crater, which is completely full of the actual mud still liquefied, is about twelve feet in diameter. The locals have certainly figured out how to capitalize on this natural attraction. Aside from the entry fee, there is an “optional” (obligatory) 3000 peso massage while in the mud, and an “optional” (obligatory) 3000 peso payment to the person who will hold your camera whether you like it or not, and finally the “optional” (obligatory) 3000 peso bath that they will give you in the lagoon afterward. The reason I have phrased this the way I have is because your tour guide will tell you these are optional, but unless you are extremely firm and downright rude to them, they will force these services on you, and if you receive these services even if you did not ask for them they will hound you and do all in their power to make you pay. One kid wanted me to pay him for directing me to the lagoon and another man wanted me to pay him for getting the door of the car for me even though I wasn’t even getting in it. Honestly, we couldn’t leave there soon enough. The experience of bathing in a volcano and standing suspended chest high in a liquid clay without touching solid ground and not sinking even though you are not moving, is pretty incredible and unforgettable. So my advice to anyone wanting to do this in that particular location, just plan on accepting the “optional” services and all will be fine.

The crossing of the Colombia/Panama border was an interesting one. For those that do not know, there are no roads crossing the Darian Gap that is the border. The only ways to cross are by plane or by boat. I opted for the boat route, but wanted the cheapest boats possible. This took me southwest of Cartagena several hours across bumpy dirt roads in terribly uncomfortable buses and minivans. Due to the infrequency of the transportation and the length of time of travel, it took me two days to get to the small port town of Turbo. Unfortunately, boats toward the border only leave in the mornings. So I had to stay a third day to wait. Finally I boarded the small two engine motorboat along with about twenty others bound for a coastal town near the border called Capurgana. The boat is one solid piece of fiberglass and is not very comfortable as it slaps down on the water when crossing over swells. Luckily the swells were small for this little 3 hour trip. As I arrived, I had to purchase another ticket for an even smaller boat to cross over to the Panamanian border entry town called Puerto Obaldia. On purchasing the ticket I found that I had just barely sufficient money for the ticket. The bad part is that there are no ATMs in these tiny towns that are isolated from the rest of the world. Not maintaining sufficient cash on me was my first rookie mistake on this section of my trip. They told me that Puerto Obaldia would have an ATM. The boat ride took about a half hour around the next point. First thing on arrival was, of course, immigrations. After that, I found out there are no ATMs and that this town consisted of about 80 to 100 people and that includes the military presence. The nearest town with a road is Carti and is a four hour boat ride further up the coast and the nearest ATM is in Panama City. The cheapest way out is the plane from Puerto Obaldia to Panama City, but that is only the cheapest if you leave upon arrival and do not have to stay for days because there are only three flights per week. On my arrival the next available flight was not for another week. I was met by 5 others waiting to get enough people so the owner of the one boat in town capable of taking us up the coast would feel it worth taking us. Some of them had been waiting five days already. I explained my situation and there was one Columbian there who redeemed my view of Colombians as he offered to spot me the $150 it would cost to get me to Panama City. I thank God for the trust this man had in me that I would pay him back. There were two other Colombians that were to join us and a family of Ecuadorans along with one other young Colombian. With these, we had enough and the captain said we could leave in the morning. I attempted to make the best of the afternoon by exploring the surrounding jungles and beaches. My intentions were shot down as I was leaving the town and a military man told me I was restricted to about a quarter mile of beach and zero jungle and the town. What!? Now I did feel like a prisoner! Don’t give me rich jungle and beautiful coasts and tell me I can’t partake! I made the best of what I had and still saw several different species of lizards and birds. I even saw a couple of Jesus lizards, so called because they run across water. Sadly I did not see them use their faith, though not for lack of trying to get them to. The crystal clear Caribbean waters were as warm as a bath and rich with life as well.

The next day we did not leave in the morning due to some immigration problems with a Colombian couple. While waiting, another boat came in and we added Mikael More to our crew. Mikael is a Swedish giant at around six and a half feet tall or more. He has one of the sweetest spirits I’ve encountered and loves to talk. His Spanish was lacking, so that left me to talk to. Around noon it appeare3d we were ready to leave, but then the captain suddenly decided he didn’t feel like leaving and that we would have to wait until morning. Can you believe this guy!? The nerve! Not that we could do anything about it. He knew he had us and could do as he pleased. No consideration of others needs and desires. This is something I have encountered a lot as I’ve travelled, especially amongst the less educated and less civilized. So the rest of the afternoon and evening I spent stuck in this Caribbean prison. I guess as prisons go, there are certainly worse places. I hate being dependent though and until I could get my own money, I felt dependent and refused to eat with the others even though I knew I would pay him back, I wanted to owe him as little as possible.

Finally, on the third day in the late morning we loaded up the little two engine boat and were off. With few people on the boat and my being in the front with the swells high and choppy, I was often afraid I would be thrown completely out of the boat. I pressure set myself on my bench by pressing against the bench in front of me with my feet and my back against the fiberglass seatback. For an hour I used all the strength I had to keep myself from slapping too hard or bouncing out. With my muscles exhausted, my backside in pain, and my spine bruised, I felt I was ready to give up and said a little prayer that the seas would be calmed or my strength would endure because I really didn’t want to go back to that town, but didn’t know if I could endure another three hours of this. Moments later, the seas calmed and from that time forward the ride was bearable and in fact sufficiently comfortable to enjoy the pristine San Blas Islands as we passed and even stopped at a couple.

Carti was not what I expected. Indeed it was not even a town. It was a parking lot for those tourists coming to the San Blas Islands. There were a total of about four buildings, a soccer field, and the highway. We then piled into two suvs and made our way through the lush jungles to Panama City. I have never been so grateful for a cushioned seat.

With no time to sufficiently appreciate the next few countries, now that I was on a schedule to get to Guatemala by my birthday, my experience of Panama was such as I have shared and was finalized by watching the sunset over the Panama Canal as large tankers and cargo ships took turns being tugged through the locks. There was something awe-inspiring about watching these colossal man-made inventions cross through this amazing feat created by mans inspired intellect. Rather than use my money on a room and a bus, I caught an evening bus to San Jose, Costa Rica and used it as my hotel as I have grown accustomed to doing.

Costa Rica was a flash. Honestly I didn’t really mind too much either. Everywhere I turned in Costa Rica there were tourists and the cities are such that if I didn’t know better, I would believe I was in the states. The surrounding jungles were the only reminder, along with the tropical humid heat, that I was not in the USA. I was on buses all the way up to a beach town called Playa Del Coco. I arrived in the evening and made another rookie mistake that I was not aware of until the following morning. I ended up paying four times as much as I anticipated due to dividing the cost in half instead of doubling it to figure out the cost in dollars. It was nice to have air conditioning though. That’s what I get for trying to think when I’m exhausted and lacking in sleep. The next morning I explored the town and beach. Upon hearing people say good morning instead of buenos dias,  I realized the town was  full of rich tourists who decided to make their homes there. My intention in going there was to do some surfing, but sometimes the tide has other things in mind. There was zero surf and the ocean was almost like a mirror. Plans foiled again. The town was pretty, but expensive, much like all of Costa Rica seems to be. Around midday I made my way to Liberia to catch a bus to the Nicaraguan border. That is when I met the beach bum Paul whose soul purpose in life was admittedly to surf, drink, and smoke. I can’t imagine a life like that. It seems to have no purpose and no joy. I can barely go a few days without doing something that helps me feel like I’m progressing or benefiting mankind in some way. May we all feel a greater purpose in life than our own thrills. I leave you with that. 

new photos on pages

I've managed to convert a number of additional photos Mike has sent to me and posted them on the pages (shown near the top). The newest page is "Peru."

There are likely many photos under the each page which probably below under another page, but it's my best guess.

The photos are a flash-based slideshow--so you need a flash-enabled web browser to view them--and you can either let it play on its own or click through the pictures faster/slower by clicking the left or right arrows.

You may also be able to go to the Picasa album where the photos are located by clicking on a photo.

I'm hoping to get some videos posted, and maybe add some photos to Mike's latest blog posts.

Enjoy!

From Southern to Northern Hemis

I have left the cold winter of the southern hemisphere and find myself sweating as I write this. Even though it is 8pm. I am now in the beautiful green country of Colombia, Cartagena Colombia to be precise. I’m staying in a room with eight roommates in a hostel located in the oldest part of Cartagena. This city was founded as a port town for the west and I believe it is amongst the three oldest, dating back as far as the sixteenth century. There are a few buildings left from that time including a castle, or rather a fort. They built the fort along with a wall around the city after having been invaded by pirates several times. The wall seems to have done the trick ever since. Not that they have to worry about pirates now, but you know what I mean. It is still a very busy port though, and from what it looks like to me, the port is very touristy. I may stay here for a couple of days before moving on. There are a couple of factors that I am trying to work out.

As you can imagine, things have progressed a bit since I last wrote from La Serena, Chile in my sick bed. Luckily it was just a cold and I was over it within 5 days though nausea seemed to be my ever-present companion since my horrible bus ride from Lima to Cuzco. I believe it stemmed primarily from nutritional intake, or rather my lack thereof. When I am on the road it is difficult to eat healthy, if I even get the chance to eat. Because of my somewhat tighter budget I have placed myself on, I never stay put very long, (the story of my life). When I do eat, I cannot cook for myself since there are rarely stoves and the foods I need to be eating are all dangerous when not cooked in these parts, and that includes veggies. Sometimes in anticipation to a long bus ride, I avoid eating at all, whether intentional or subconscious, it is not a good thing to do. Anyway, enough about that, on with the journey.

After leaving Serena, I took a bus ride down to a very small mining community in the desert mountains about 5 hours north of Santiago. I met with Amy Deane, who is a professor in conservational studies and other wildlife and environmental areas, and is one of the world’s foremost authorities on the long-tailed chinchilla, which are native to the Andes and are very endangered. You may think, as I thought, why are we able to have chinchillas as pets if they are endangered? As it turns out, the ones sold as pets are a hybrid of sorts, and are not endangered like the long and short-tailed ones are. Amy and I hopped on a taxi and drove about 15 km out of town and into the mountains past the Chilean National Reserve for Chinchillas to a tiny wooden cabin about 12ft by 8ft in size where I met two other volunteers. The first is James, who is Australian and the second is his fiancé Iwona, who is Polish. Both are incredible people who have a love for nature and animals. Also, as most people in these situations are, they have great desires to make the world a better place in whatever tiny way that they can. Amy left us all there, completely isolated from the world with no plumbing or electricity. We boiled our water, which came from a stream nearby, and were lucky enough to have a little two burner gas stove for cooking. We were left with few instructions for the next day and Amy said she would return sometime the next day. The cabin was barely big enough for the three of us and I set up a tent the next day, which I lived in for the next week. We only really understood one instruction clearly, though we weren’t clear on the reasoning. So, being blindly obedient, I spent 7 hours raking rocks. Yes, I wrote that correctly, I raked rocks. I even ended up pushing myself too hard, as I often do, and found my right arm to be almost useless for the next several days. I was concerned that I had permanently damaged it, but I am happy to report, that it did fully recover after about 5 days. It turns out the rock raking, was for decorative purposes, so even though it was a project she wanted done, I always chose the more vital projects like planting varieties of the 12 types of plants that chinchillas use. Not that that was an easy task in the dry rocky ground. That was basically my next week. There were three other volunteers that came in right as I left, so I left partially to give them space and partially because it was time for me to move on.

My next trip was down memory lane, which also is known as the street Brown Norte in Santiago, Chile, where I lived about 24 years ago. I arrived in Santiago on the 10^th with the intention of staying at the hostel provided by the temple there. I was surprised and disappointed to find that the temple was closed for maintenance, as was the hostel. I did however, wander around the grounds and in the church offices there. That, in itself, was rather nostalgic as I had memories of visiting my Dad there. Much has changed, but the stairs look just like I remember them. The chief of security there, Alberto Rodriguez, remembered my dad and told me to say hi. I ran into him again the next day at my old chapel when I was visiting it. He just so happened to be there because they were holding a planning meeting for the first ever EFY in Chile, which will happen this coming Feb. This time when I spoke with Alberto he was much more candid with me. He spoke of my father, with what could almost be described as a reverence. Apparently my Dad hired him. He made it seem like he was hired by chance and that Dad was almost taking a risk by placing him in that position. He was so grateful that Dad gave him that opportunity and proudly bragged that he is still chief of security to this day and that it changed his life. He told me again to thank my father for him and to tell my dad to send him an email. So, Dad, look him up and send him an email.

It amazes me to think of the influence and affect we have on other people’s lives, whether we know it or not. We may never realize the impact some little thing we’ve done may have on someone else, for better or for worse. My dad changed this man’s life 24+ years ago. I get to be the one privileged to stand in awe as I see the meaning of that change through this man’s eyes. For this, and countless other reasons, I pray I can live up to the legacy that comes with being a part of this incredible family.

I also had the opportunity to visit my old school that I went to for my k-2 grade years. Nido de Aguilas was an interesting landmark to find. Everyone knew of it and hailed it as being the number one school in Chile, but no one knew where it was. It took me 2 hours of googling and traveling to find the place. It looks like a very nice private university you might find in the US, not a simple k-12 school. Very little was the same, but my old kindergarten building was still the same. Memories flooded my mind, both accurate and inaccurate I’m sure. Being a Saturday, only one building was open. It was a building that up until a year ago didn’t exist. It was a building containing an Olympic sized swimming pool. The facility was immaculate. I spoke with the manager for some time and then moved on. After that, I went to the street Brown Norte and followed it to where I should have found our old house, but instead I found two huge apartment buildings. I was disappointed, but that’s the way things go in Santiago. The shop where I used to get little ice-cream bars and popsicles when I was little was still down the street. I even bought one of the same types of ice-cream bars that I used to get, a Cola de Tigre. On Sunday I went to the same chapel I went to as a child. The very same chapel I was baptized in. Memories of riding my G.I.Joe big wheal in the parking lot, and carrying my Dad’s briefcase down the isles of the chapel to make me feel like a grownup after church swarmed me. The people were wonderful. My little miracle to share here is that I received a blessing from the elders and I have not felt nauseated since then. I left for Uruguay soon thereafter and spent the next couple of days in transit.

On a side note, when I began this journey, I had every intention of actually hitch-hiking around. By so doing I intended to spend hundreds less than I have, perhaps even thousands. Let me tell you my experience and why I have no longer even attempted to do so. When I left Illapel, I was bound determined to hitch-hike to Vina del Mar about 5 hours away. As I walked away from town, I thought of standing there and thumbing it, but I always feel like I’m wasting time doing that. Not to mention I have a hard time staying put, in case you hadn’t realized. So I hiked and thumbed as I went. All the while being ignored or waved off in some way or another. I was able to see how far I had hiked by the km markers. Nearly six hours later of hiking with my nearly 40lbs bag and getting ignored by car after car, I had gone 24 km. My shoes had sand in them which caused unexpected rubbing and towards the later end of my hiking I felt the burning of blister formations. I have warn through the insoles of my shoes from hiking hundreds of miles throughout these 3 months so it’s not surprising. I reached a point where I dropped to the floor defeated. How is it that not a single person would stop? I prayed for anything at this point. Having been humbled, I was willing to pay for whatever and asked God what I should do? I was given the impression to just go up over the next hill. As I approached the top, I found myself on the outskirts of a tiny town out there in the middle of nowhere. I saw a red pickup just like the hundreds I had seen pass me by, that pertained to the state road construction. Every single one of them had waved me on as if to say they couldn’t. Well, here I saw one stop and drop off a young lady with her bags. There also just so happened to be another young lady standing at that corner with her bags. They no sooner had dropped off the one girl, when they were actually asking the other if she needed a ride somewhere! She turned them down and they persisted, but she still told them no. I, of course got a little excited, so I waved my thumb at them as they got in their car and they waved their hands as if they couldn’t and drove on! Can you believe those guys?! God showed me the reason why hitch-hiking for me, would not work. Because I am a guy, guys will not pick me up, and because I am a guy, girls should not pick me up. It’s a lose lose situation for me because I am a guy. I would say a few choice words here, but I’ll just say I’ve learned my lesson for that country. Thankfully, about 100yds ahead of that frustrating realization, I found a bus stop and was able to go the rest of the way by bus. Unfortunately, because of that and because of other setbacks, I spent nearly $100 more than I had planned in Santiago alone. In case you were wondering, Chile is expensive.

In Uruguay I only spent a day to go to the temple, and that was about it. My mind was drawn to families while there. It’s actually been on that train for a while now. In quoting my own journal. One thing I’ve seen a lot of during this journey is farewells and reunions. I can’t count the number of times I’ve stared from the bus window and watched families shed tearful goodbyes as one of their loved ones boards the bus. I’ve watched the ones left behind, anxiously search the windows of the bus trying to catch one last glimpse of their loved one and wave one last farewell. Numerous times I’ve watched as someone walked off the bus only to be scooped up into the loving arms of one that’s been anxiously awaiting their return. I can almost feel the Embraces shared and the stolen kisses amongst families and spouses as I walk past them on my way to or from the bus.  I ask myself, why is it that we feel such a loss and heartache in the absence of those we hold dear? Why do we somehow feel complete, as we are welcomed into the arms of those we care for? At the temple I gave it alittle more thought and concluded that when we are sealed as families, husbands, and wives we are in a very real sense made one. The very atonement makes a direct reference to our being one with our eternal family. If we are one, then when one of us leaves or is missing in some way, then in a very real sense, a part of us really is incomplete. The emptiness felt is a very real, very tangible truth. However, by the sealing power and the covenants we make, we can be comforted in knowing that no matter how far apart we may be from those we love, they are never truly absent. We are one with Christ and one with every member of our eternal family. I know it because I feel it.

In regards to my travels, plans have been someone altered and are always in a state of flux. I have felt it wiser for many reasons to cut out Paraguay, Venezuela, and Brazil from my original itinerary. They are amongst the more expensive countries to enter and I know I will visit them in the future when I can truly enjoy them. For now, I do not have plans to do any work in them and therefore it would just be traveling, which I think would be a waste of my time. I am here to be useful in some way and I believe there would be too much time of not being useful. This change, has brought me to Colombia by plane and I am preparing my journey through Central America with my primary intent being to do work in the temples along the way and then to visit friends in Guatemala where I served my mission ten years ago. If I find opportunities to serve in other ways and feel I should, I will. I would love to return to many of these countries and be able to truly enjoy them for their rich history and other treasures. I honestly feel this cannot be done fully on your own, it becomes too self-serving. Vacation time alone can be needed, but it should never be too much, or you are merely wasting your time on earth. Time that God has given us to make this world better. Volunteering and working can always be fully appreciated whether on your own or with others. I am now at a point of trying to make sure I don’t waste too much of it. For this reason, I will say that the rest of my journeys will be my return to home. Whatever adventures I may have, will be because the opportunities have presented themselves in some way. Unless something happens and things are altered, I expect to be back in my home country by mid to late Sept. The funds I set aside for this are low and this should be a reasonable amount of time to accomplish the things I still would like to do.

I feel good about what I have done and I feel good about these alterations. I have had so many opportunities to share the gospel with so many. I have been privileged with the responsibility of being the first and only Mormon many of these people have met and feel I have left the impression my Father in Heaven would want me to leave. I don’t know from where my next entry will come, but hopefully not from Colombia. Until then, God speed.

Cochabamba and Beyond

As I write this next portion, I pray that it will make sense as I attempt to communicate my experiences. I am sick with what I believe to be a cold or flu. What I hope to be a cold. This section of my blog comes to you from a bed in Serena, Chile. You know…I am not normally one that likes to be waited on, but right now I kind of wish I had a special someone who would. If anyone knows where she is, just send her down to Chile to find me, but tell her to hurry because I never stay put very long. Anyway, obviously I have done a lot of traveling since my last update. I will begin with where I left off.

I was somewhat misleading in my last posting of pictures on my facebook page when I referred to them as the “rest of Peru”. In fact, I left out one more location in Peru that also happens to be one of the more beautiful ones I’ve seen, or at least the portion I was able to see was..

I arrived in a city in southern Peru called Puno. It is located on a westward shore of Lake Titicaca, which is claimed to be the highest navigable lake in the world at approx. 3800m (12500ft). Though I have read that it actually is only amongst the top 5. To give you an idea, that is higher than most mountain peaks in UT. I arrived at 4:30a.m. to a pitch black city. The electricity had gone out in the entire city about 2 hours earlier. The moon was not out, so the first thing I noticed was every star in the heavens. As I walked from the bus terminal, I had no clue where to go. With no lights to guide me, and having no clue which way we even came in from, since I slept right up to the terminal, I just started walking. It was pointless to search for a place since it was early and I wouldn’t recognize one building from another. About a block away, I reached a blackness that seemed deeper than the rest, emptier in some way. I assumed it must be the lake and turned the other way. As the sky lightened, I could see a mountain behind what I guessed was the city. Since it was morning I thought I would just head up the mountain. It would keep me warm by hiking, and it would place me in a better position to be able to see, what would be one of the most breathtakingly beautiful sights of my entire life. I just happened to come across a lookout point and the setting was more perfect than if I had planned it myself. With the city lights gone, there was nothing to detract from the greatest light in the heavens as it began its ascent. I have seen sunrises many times in my life before and after that moment, and from many locations throughout the world. None have even come close to comparing to the beauty that I was blessed to behold. Sadly, even with how beautiful the pictures turned out, there is no way that any photo or painting could do justice to that celestial sight. Having no words to describe it, and believing that none exist that can, I leave it at that.

Later that day I caught a boat out to one of the things that makes the lake famous, Los Uros. Los Uros are floating islands that were built hundreds of years ago by an indigenous group wanting to avoid violence with neighboring tribes. They have been maintained by their descendants ever since. The reeds, from which they are made, are replaced every 15-30 days. The houses, the benches, the schools, and even the churches are built out of the very same material. Each island holds a few families who live much the same as they always have, other than catering to tourists now. It was quite the experience to witness.

Before I left Peru, I had to try an alpaca steak. I don’t know if I ever recovered from my bus trip to Cuzco days earlier, so it was a bit scary. However, after tasting one bite of the steak, all cares and worries went right out the window. It was fabulous! Quite possibly one of the best meats I’ve tasted. It would be worth getting sick over. Though I did not.

The next day I made my way to the border with Bolivia. A tiny town by the name of Desaguaderos welcomed me with streets crowded with vendors selling last minute souvenirs and foods of all varieties. I had no trouble with migration services leaving Peru, but as I crossed the bridge to Bolivia I was met with a lack of organization and soon found myself being sent back to Peru to get dollars out from the bank for my visa. I then crossed back to Bolivia. After much running around as they sent me to one room and then the next and then out to a store to make copies for them, finally I was legal. A process that, on most borders, would take minutes, took hours. It was now dark and my plans to reach the capital city, La Paz, before dark had been foiled. My next step as I cross borders is to change money to the local currency, but I found myself at a loss because there were no moneychangers or banks on the Bolivian side. After asking, I was sent back across to Peru, again. What country doesn’t have currency exchange on their side of the border?! Bolivia. As I returned to Bolivia for what would be the last time, I found that the last bus had left for La Paz. The only option now was the little vans, referred to as combis, and the cars that act as unofficial taxis, called colectivos.  I was met with crowds of indigenous people, primarily women, waiting for the next combi. I met 3 Colombians waiting too. They, like myself, stood in awe as we watched hoards of these short chubby women fight their way onto these tiny vans. I do mean fight. I’m surprised I did not see blood spilt. We stood, partly afraid, but mostly entertained, as combi after combi filled with what seemed like endless amounts these women. The funny thing is, I found out that they also overcharge in the evenings. Supply and demand. Turns out it was cheaper to stay the night and leave in the morning. My bed for the night was topped with 7 inadequately sized, for even a short American, wool blankets, so I found different body parts frozen as they were exposed in the night. I awoke before the sun and had nothing better to do than leave that fridged place.

La Paz is an interesting city. There is upper La Paz that you enter first. It looks no different than any other third world city, with adobe and brick buildings. As you might expect, dirt and trash cover the streets. When you pass through it though, you come to the edge of the plateau you never even realized you were on. The vision you are met with is an artist’s masterpiece of a massive city built right onto the sides of the plateau and surrounding mountains. A snow-covered volcano looms amongst the surrounding peaks. It was spectacular. Unlike the upper city, it is filled with modern buildings and various bridges. It was an unforgettable city, if only for its beauty. I stayed for less than a day, since my target was actually Cochabamba, which lay 7 hours further into the country.

The road to Cochabamba is all desert and grassland. The second half is through grassy, rolling mountains and certainly had its own beauty. The only life to be seen was the occasional sierranita (mountain lady) with her herd of sheep and often llamas or alpacas. I have yet to identify a demon llama, but I keep searching.

My one day and one night in Cochabamba was primarily religious in nature and thus my adventures will be given a religious parallel to my beliefs. If you are not LDS, My intent is not to offend and therefore hope none is taken. Either way, there are parallels we can all take from the following story.

I arrived to the immensely spread out city of Cochabamba at night. There were lights everywhere covering miles and miles of valley and hillsides. The soul purpose in taking this detour to Cochabamba was only to visit the LDS Temple located there and to serve my God. As the bus drove amongst the lights, my eyes scanned the hillsides for the usually very conspicuous building, flooded with white lights, and causing it to stand out against the blanket of orange and yellow coming from all of the smaller buildings near to it. Then I saw it, off on a distant hillside…or at least it kind of fit the description. It was a large white building that stood out against the background, but something didn’t feel right…there was something missing. The bus pulled into the terminal with nothing else looking even similar to what I was searching for. I was sure that was the right direction to head in, in the morning.

I readied myself in the morning and with checkout at midday I gave myself plenty of time. You see, unlike the people of these cities, I don’t believe in taking a taxi if I don’t have to. Call it stubbornness, call it what you will. Confident in the direction I was to go in, I walked the miles to the location where that beautiful white building laid waiting. It was further than I had expected, but I had given myself plenty of time. When I reached the place it should have been, I wandered a bit through the other buildings until I saw it. I saw this massive white structure, it was a church, but instead of the Angel Moroni adorning the highest point, it was a giant cross. Now, I wondered where it could be. I asked a gentleman watering his lawn if he knew where the temple of the Mormons was. At first he wasn’t quite sure, but then he decided he did know where it was and directed me in a general direction, relatively close. He suggested I take a taxi, but then again, everyone suggests that, even if it is around the corner. I saw many taxis pass by me empty as I hiked in the direction given, I did not flag them down because I figured I still had time. As I approached where I thought it should be, I decided I needed a clearer view. I found my spot at an Evangelical chapel with an exterior set of stairs. I climbed up the steps and sure enough, I was able to see much more. Fewer obstacles clouded my sight, but it wasn’t perfect. I was able to see clearly the paths I should not take, but still wasn’t certain where exactly I needed to go. I made the choice that I thought would take me to where I wanted…no…needed to be. At this point, I had taken so long that the time had passed me by. I decided that I needed to swallow my pride and search for a taxi along the way. At this point I knew that I would have to pay a price for the decisions I made, but I had consigned myself to whatever price I would have to pay the hostal. I was tired and I just wanted to get to the house of God. As I walked, taxi after taxi passed me, full. I asked more people, who could only give me vague and indirect guidance, or none at all. Then I came to an old lady and asked her if she knew how to get to the temple. Her reply caught me a little off-guard, as it was both precise and profound. With a smile she simply said, “Go to the bridge and see for yourself.” The words hit me hard, and lingered in my mind as I ran to the bridge. I directed my vision to the tops of the buildings around me and saw an angel guiding me exactly to where I needed to be. Even with being as tired as I was, I ran to him. I was late and I was dirty and sweaty, but even with all of that, I was welcomed with open arms.

I’m sure by now you have already pulled many meanings and parallels from the story. I saw the light of Christ in the first church and it guided me to the general area in which I needed to be in that humongous city, just like most churches contain truths that bring us closer to God. Something, however, didn’t feel right…something was missing. So my search for truth continued. Much like the better perspective I got from the steps of that evangelical church, many churches will show us paths we should not follow and they will also lead us closer to our Heavenly Father with their teachings, as they too will give us a clarity we might lack without them, but they do not contain the fullness of the gospel, or the full panoramic view. Therefore they cannot lead us directly to where we need to be since they are still missing essential truths. Of the people I spoke with, many had enough of an understanding to be able to give me good advice, but others gave me nothing and did not bring me closer to God. Many of our acquaintances in this life will build and uplift us, and are good and wholesome, while others will bring us down and will not help us in our ultimate goal of reaching the Celestial Kingdom, and in fact may hinder our own salvation if we are not careful and stand true to the lessons we have been taught. Then there was the old lady who guided me with words so similar to the ones Joseph Smith read in James as he too was searching for truth. “Go to the Bridge and see for yourself” or in other words, as James directs us in the bible, “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God ( the Bridge)”. Both Joseph and I received our answers as I know we all will, if we ask sincerely, believing that He is there. That is my promise. Was there a quicker way for me to get to my destination? Yes. Like sin will always slow us down, my stubbornness and procrastination in doing what needed to be done, cost me a lot of energy and made me late. However, at the end, when I knew I was wrong, I repented and sought the help I should have taken from the start. I no longer cared about the price I would have to pay for my late arrival back at the hotel. I only wanted to be forgiven and it didn’t matter the cost. It was late though and there was no longer an easy way, so It took a lot more work than would have been necessary otherwise. As long as we are truly broken and willing to do all that is necessary, then our Father in Heaven has provided a way and He is still waiting. Even for those of us who come late. There is even better news. I did not have to pay the price I thought I would for being late for my checkout at the hostal. Mercy paid the price of justice. We too do not have to pay the price. Jesus took care of that for us. In this life it does not matter how imperfect we are or how much or how seriously we have sinned. The only thing He asks of us is that we never give up the fight. The only way we will ever lose this war is if we give up after we lose a battle. I know it is hard and exhausting at times, but never give up and we will make it to our heavenly home where our Father awaits us patiently.

The experience I had in the temple that day was a very special one and I felt the Spirit stronger than I have in a very long time. Ultimately I am thankful I chose to make that detour.

The next few days were spent traveling south. I crossed the Argentine border and it was like the difference between night and day. Even though the landscape was very much the same, the streets were cleaner and so were the buses. I made my way down to the tourist hub called Salta. There is much to do in and around Salta, most especially if you are the outdoorsy type, but for me it was merely a means to an end. There, I received an email in response to my desires to help out with a project in chinchilla habitat restoration down in Illapel, Chile. Amy, the lady in charge, has invited me to come and help for as long as I would like, beginning on Wed. the first of Aug. That gave me a couple of days to get down there. I caught the next bus to cross the Andes into Chile this past Sunday the 29^th and ended up in San Pedro de Atacama that afternoon.

San Pedro is a tiny Pueblo in the middle of the driest desert in the world, the Atacama Desert. It covers most of northern Chile and parts of Peru, Bolivia, and Argentina. Scientists have studied the soils there because of their similarity to the soils on Mars. NASA often tests their Mars equipment there as well. It truly is a barren desert. As I said, the town was tiny and I decided to save some money and camp out under the stars. So I hiked a couple of miles out of town and up onto the side of a plateau where I found a small outcrop about a hundred feet up that looked sufficiently comfortable for my needs and laid out my sleeping bag. The first thing I noticed was the sound of silence. There was nothing. I barely heard the sound of the occasional wind gust. It was so peaceful. So still. So serine. I lay there staring at the night sky, watching the shooting stars streak across the black into nothing. What amazing creations God has made. Here I was, sleeping on Mars. Or at least, I thought I would sleep. Now, many of you know that deserts get very cold at nighttime, often freezing temperatures. I have a sleeping bag rated to below freezing and knew I would survive. Unfortunately, that’s all it did for me. Keep me alive. The night was long, cold, and uncomfortable as my dry throat turned to a scratchy and sore one. The first symptoms of my cold/flu were setting in and the rocks proved to be less than comfortable as the temperatures dropped. The morning came with my getting a few hours of sleep off and on. I watched the sun rise over San Pedro and went for a morning jog to warm me up and to give my bruised hips a rest. In town, I caught a bus to Calama where I then caught another bus to where I am now, about 15 hours south. The cold, or whatever, hit me hard yesterday and I find myself staying in bed for an extra day today to rest. Tomorrow I will continue my journey south to Illapel where I will begin the next chapter. I have dropped in weight and am probably skinnier than I’ve been since my mission. Not being able to exercise and not eating much, along with being sick off and on for the past two weeks has taken its toll.

I miss home. I’m not even sure where that is, but I miss it. As I laid in the Atacama Desert, I felt a bit like Moroni may have felt as I read Mormon chapter 8. I miss you all. I don’t even know who some of you are, but I miss you too. My plans may be changing and I may need to cut out a couple of countries on this trip so I can get back on time to apply for grad school and so that the time I do spend in the remaining countries can be more quality than it otherwise would have been. I’ll update you on my plans when I know for myself what will happen.

Until then, God be with you.