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.