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.