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.

The rest of Peru

(The following was actually written July 22, 2012, but I did not have the opportunity to post it until now.)

I find myself having gone from the jungles of Ecuador, to the beautiful sandy beaches of the desert coast of Peru, to the traffic congested and noise polluted city of Lima , only to have ended up in the mountain pueblo of Urubamba Peru. I am about a two hour train ride from the famous ruins of Machupicchu. Sadly, I found out that you must book days in advance if you hope to enter the ruins, at least during the busy season. Therefore I will not be visiting them since I do not have the time to waste here. I am anxious to get to my next project and feel useful again. I have been once as a child and do have some memories of the place, so I am not too heartbroken, not to mention it costs a minimum of $120 to go and I’d rather use that elsewhere. On a different note, I ate cuy (guinea pig) for the first time tonight and am praying that my childhood pet guinea pig, Tribble, will forgive me, but I had to try it. It is a common dish here in Peru, along with llama and alpaca, which I will be trying soon, if my stomach permits. It was a bit strange eating cuy since there is no disguising it, as the entire cuy lay on my plate staring up at me with its mouth wide open. The flavor is difficult for me to describe since the only thing I think of that came close was a squirrel that I once ate as a teenager. I will leave it with the mere comment that it will be the last time I choose to eat it. It was not entirely bad, but certainly not my first choice of meats.

Since my last entry I placed myself in communication with the family of Gaetana Glaleska, one of my friends back home. They were kind enough to put me up for a night during my stay in the Trujillo area. It was a nice little house around the corner from the ocean. I met one of her sisters, Gretta, who was very kind, but was sick and had classes so I only briefly met her. I met her little brother by the name of Benjamin, who without hesitation, gave up his bedroom for me with a smile on his face. I’m not sure of his age, but I think around 10 maybe. I didn’t get to see him much either since he was at school most of the time. The one I did get to meet and get to know a little more is Patricio, her father. This man is a character. You can’t help but love the guy from the start. He’s a sugar cane farmer and has the look of a man that loves to spend his time in the fields and outside. He loves to talk and is never at a loss for words, as colorful as they often are. He invited me to go run some errands with him the next morning. I had no idea what that would entail and gladly accepted the invite. We left fairly early in the morning for the city of Trujillo first and ended up at his mother’s house. It’s always funny to see people with their mothers. No matter what age they are, they become a child in the presence of mom. Here, a grown man, getting into a discussion with his mom about him getting rid of his warn out, favorite jeans. I thoroughly enjoyed being the virtually invisible bystander. Then, we boarded a bus and headed out to a farming community called Viru, all the while he was talking my ear off, though half the time I couldn’t understand a word he said. He speaks fast and not very clearly most of the time. It quickly became apparent he is a well-known man in the community as everywhere we went, one person or another was saying hi to him. After running a few more errands we ended up at a potentially gorgeous villa/ranch in the outskirts of the town. I say potentially because I’m sure it once was, but it has long since been abandoned and run down. The house is large and spacious with a guesthouse in the back, larger then most people’s only home. There is a complex for the ranch hands to live in and stables nearby. A swimming pool with an arched bridge crossing over it decorates the front lawn. A large corral along the side of the house, with fields surrounding the outskirts of the property complete the scene. The only inhabitants now are the rats and insects along with two dogs and the six horses he keeps tied up on the grounds. It made me sad to hear the story of how it came to be this way. I will not share the story as it only comes from one persons point of view and it defames some people. So I will leave the subject alone, with the addition that, aside from other things, the pueblo nearby has grown, and with it, the crime in the area. It is no longer a very safe place to live and it would be costly to upkeep. Patricio is passionate about his animals, most especially his horses. He and I spent several hours of the day taking care of the horses and dogs. Much of the rest of the day was spent driving to his different fields that he has scattered in the surrounding villages. I learned a bit about the cane business and unlike many farms in the states that grow other plants, it is a year round process just to grow the sugarcane. I did spend some time in the fields working as well, and that part is much the same as the other farms I have worked on. We finished the day with the horses again, but this time he saddled up one of them. We contemplated my getting on the horse, but it was not very broken and my experience on horses is limited. So we chose the wiser route and left it to the expert. After arriving back at the house at around 8 pm, I said goodbye to Patricio who almost seemed genuinely sad to see me go as he said, “You know where we live now and you are more than welcome to stay.” But then he said something else, “We’ve only spent the day together, but it feels like I’ve known you all my life.” I was very touched by that comment. Benjamin walked me to where the bus would take me into Trujillo. He put his hand on my shoulder and looked at me with the air of a grown man and very sincerely told me to be careful and to come back and visit sometime. I couldn’t help but laugh inside with a smile on the outside. I like Benjamin, he’s a good kid. Upon arrival at the bus station in Trujillo I was going to change, but found my clothes had mold on them from the jungle, days previous. They had never fully dried. So I decided to stay one more night.

The next morning I went north a bit to Huanchaco, a little surf town. While I waited for my clothes to be washed, I decided to actually take a surf lesson. I’ve surfed three times in my life, but never took a lesson. I must say it was worth it. The instructor was actually surprised at my ability to grasp it and by the end of our session was giving me the more advanced lessons that one doesn’t usually get on their first day. This by no means indicates I am good, only that I caught on quick. I have much practicing to do. I love the ocean and being in it. There has always been something that draws me to it. It is enchanting and relaxing. It’s power demands respect and its beauty is spellbinding. The sound can leave you in a trance while the smell, for me is nostalgic. Right now though, for me, it is a connection to familiarity and with that comes comfort and peace.

The next leg of the trip brought me to the big city of Lima. It is a massive city with millions of people. I found myself in the middle of downtown at 3am as I walked the streets looking for a place to stay for the night. The Sheraton Hotel looked awfully appealing, but I can’t afford such luxury. While the prostitutes were anxious to make me comfortable for the night, I quickly moved on to a location a good distance away from that district where I finally found a place to stay for the few hours left of the morning. The next day I met up with my dear friend Paola Lam. I met Paola a couple of years ago in the states through my old boss and friend Dawn Burgess. I spent one afternoon with her and we have been friends ever since. Here in Peru, I spent several days with her and her family/friends. They had a spare room for me so it was quite comfy. Much of the time I spent on my own while she was at work, but I didn’t mind since she too lives a couple of blocks from the beach. I found myself out there a lot, writing. One day we went out to a place called Lachay, which is a couple of hours north in the middle of the desert. As you drive literally through dunes and barren landscape for as far as the eye can see, you then take a detour on a dirt road and head to where the eyes cannot see,.. the clouds. As you enter the clouds you slowly begin to see growth on the ground. First, little grasses begin to show, then bushes, and even trees. With plants, come birds and other life. We hiked around for a couple of hours in this strange oasis. The moisture in the air was enough that by the time we were done, we were wet and somewhat cold. It was a wonderfully eerie hike through the clouds with all of the strangely shaped trees in the mist and the imposing granite boulders that seemed to appear out of nowhere in the fog. Truly an amazing sight to see in the middle of a desert. On a different day, Paola took me to one of the old catholic cathedrals/convents in downtown. She used to be a tour guide there, so they let us in for free and we got to be by ourselves as we wandered the catacombs. Supposedly there are 7 levels of burials below the one level that we got see. How many thousands of people were buried there? In just the level that I saw, there were representative bones for hundreds, if not thousands already. Catholic cathedrals are amazing structures, but there is a very obvious reason that they are a common centerpiece for horror movies, they are creepy!

On a different note, that same evening as Paola walked me through Lima’s little Chinatown, we found out her sister had been robbed and as far as we knew, no one had heard from her after a phone call ended in a scream and the phone number was disconnected shortly thereafter. You can imagine Paola’s panic and fear for her sister as she made call after call to different people trying to accomplish something. Imagine the frustration that comes with the feelings of helplessness and knowing that the police would be useless in a case like this down here. As we were driving back to her house, I said a prayer in my heart, that if something did happen, that there were only objects robbed and nothing else, and that we would find out soon that her sister was fine. No sooner had I closed my prayer in my mind, Paola received a call from her aunt saying that her sister was fine and that they had stolen her phone and some other things, but that, other than being a little shook up, nothing else had happened. What an incredible Father in Heaven we have, who answers prayers so immediately. God is there, and he is listening. Just talk to him. After having seen a few other sights around the city of Lima and its outskirts, I finished my stay with a visit to the Lima Temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. There I served my God and those who have gone before.

What better way to volunteer than to give your time to our Heavenly Father. I make a point of noting this because as I have roughly scheduled out my journey’s timetables, and it looks like if I want to get home by Nov. or Dec then I can only volunteer at maybe three more locations for two weeks each. Travel appears to be a lot more slow going than I had originally anticipated. So much of the service I will be doing on this trip will be done in the Temples of our God. Of course things can change quickly and I may not even get that, but that is what I hope.

I haven’t spoken much on the actual travel portion of my journeys. Perhaps mostly because it isn’t usually that interesting. For now I have used public transportation. It is not too costly, and the people here are not accustomed to giving free rides to hitchhikers. However, this does mean I share a double-decker bus with many kinds of people. I have seen all types, even drunks that have boarded. The conditions are not terribly uncomfortable for a few hours, but more than 6 becomes excessive and considerably uncomfortable. I tell you this because the bus ride from Lima to Cuzco was 23 hours nonstop up winding mountain roads. I made the mistake of eating the food they provided and by about 6 hours into the trip I was hit with food poisoning. From the sounds and smells on the bus and the sights seen in the bathroom with no toilet seat, I was not the only one who got sick, whether from motion or food. For those of you with weak stomachs, I apologize and you may not want to continue reading the rest of this paragraph. I describe the scene only to show that this trip is not all fun and games and it comes with its misery and pain. The bathroom on the bus was soon even more unsanitary than it was at the start and if you were lucky enough to not be sick from the food, the smells and sights of the excrements, both on the toilet and in the sink, would soon do the job. To make matters worse, in most public restrooms down here, you must provide your own toilet paper. This was no exception. Well, like an idiot American I left mine in my bag in the luggage compartment. Unused pages from my notebook were my saving grace. Crumpling and re-crumpling can do wonders for comfort. Pain and misery were my companions the entire rest of the trip. Needless to say, I did not sleep much. As icing on the cake, the change of altitudes was very apparent in my throat and head. What could have been a beautiful and picturesque ride was turned into a nightmare and will go down in the books as one of the worst rides of my life. Cuzco could not come soon enough.

To end on a happier note, I arrived safe in Cuzco and found a hotel. In spite of the fever and chills I had for the first couple of hours in bed, I ended up sleeping quite well the rest of the night. The only good thing about food poisoning, is that it usually only lasts a day or so. I spent this morning walking around Cuzco a bit, seeing the various Catholic cathedrals and then caught a little van (combi) to Urubamba an hour away. So having just gotten over food poisoning yesterday, it may not have been a good night to try cuy.

The days here are quite warm and the nights can get quite cold. That’s the life of the adventurer. The mountains remind me a bit of the Wasatch Front mountains of Utah. I do mean the side that you can see from the cities and not so much the forest areas. I am in what the people here consider to be the Sacred Valley and it truly is gorgeous. I hiked up one of the mountains this afternoon and though I felt the altitude, the reward was worth it as I looked out over the valley. In front of me lay the valley filled with little houses and behind me were snowcapped mountains. It was breathtaking. As I sat and watched the sunset over the mountains I knew that this is the gift given to those who are willing to put forth just a little effort. I am always glad when I do. With that all being said, I leave you in God’s hands and will hopefully write again soon.

Photos added

I've made a small slideshow on the home page and additional pages with slide shows from the major areas Mike has visited. Mike has commented on a few photos on his Facebook page, The World Through My Eyes.

The slide shows may not be visible on devices that limit/restrict Flash, like a standard iPad.

Enjoy!

-Chris

Merazonia

I suppose I should begin this with an apology to any and all that may have been concerned due to my lack of updates for two or three weeks. I do have a valid excuse.

After leaving Ferrenafe, and those incredible people I was blessed to have been able to get to know and to work with, I caught a bus up to Guayaquil Ecuador, where I spent my first day hiking around a portion of the city searching out the LDS temple with only the vision of having seen it from the airplane as my map. As often happens with me, I managed to hike almost directly to it, only to find out it was closed due to the day being a Monday.
Oops. It’s hard to remember what day of the week it is. I guess I’m just lucky enough to still be able to recognize when it’s day or night. I then sought out a hostel.

After several hours of hiking I finally found one in the evening. I hadn’t realized it at the time, but it was apparently in a shady portion of the city. I only know this because I left that evening to find a supermarket, which happened to be only a couple of blocks away. About a half a block away from my hostel I saw two groups of youth and suddenly the group closest to me started screaming, “Run!” to each other. No sooner had they bolted, almost immediately about one to three feet behind my head, a boulder a little bigger than a softball smashed into the van window I had just barely passed, shattering it with ease and sending shards spraying onto my back and down my shirt. It had, apparently been hurled by the group that was further away from me. Just one second earlier and I may not have been able to be writing this or anything else, ever again. Shortly after the smash, a couple of cops came running down the street and everyone was scattering. In spite of being startled, I did not feel threatened and continued my casual pace around the corner and left it all for others to deal with. No harm done. Upon walking up to the store, the first thing I saw was a transvestite chased down and tackled by security as he was accused of shoplifting. I walked past and entered the store. I will admit that after I was done shopping, I walked a little more briskly back to the hostel.

The next day I made my way back to the temple and after serving there, I got into a conversation with a lovely missionary couple, Brother and Sister Christiansen, whom I think were excited to have someone to speak to in English. Funny thing is that I had entered there with the question on my mind as to whether or not I should head up to this animal refuge/rehab location over in the Amazon. As I was chatting with them, another gentleman who used to be a tour guide came and began talking with me and he then gave me all of the info I needed to know on how to get to the pueblo where I needed to go and when to catch the bus and what hostel to stay in. To me, it was a clear answer that I should head out there.

The bus I caught, took me to a very touristy location called Banos de Aguas Santos.

I arrived at night so could not see my surroundings, but knew there were mountains in every direction due to the floating lights, or else I had a mass UFO sighting. It is a small pueblo with a very peaceful feel to it. As I walked the cobblestone streets I felt very relaxed. Whether false or not I did have a very real sense of security. In the morning I had breakfast on the roof where I was presented with the spectacular scene of a volcano on one side and waterfalls on other sides and low clouds covering the mountaintops. Green in all directions. It was breathtaking. The village is old-fashioned, but well kept and clean. It is apparently a hub for those that have an adventurous side. Anything from river rafting, to relaxing in the hot pots. My purpose, though some may think otherwise, is not to be entirely on vacation. So I boarded the next bus that would take me to an even tinier town just exiting the mountains called Mera. I found myself asking the people how to get to Merazonia, which is the name of the rescue/rehab facility. It seemed most did not know of it and I began to wonder, but then I found someone who guided me to a taxi service called Transmera where I boarded a pickup and we took a dirt road straight into the jungle and on the mountain side. After five mins of driving, we came to a decent sized river with a bridge. The driver said, “Here it is. Just cross that bridge.” So I paid him and thanked him and found myself alone in the Amazon.

I crossed the bridge and found two paths, one to the left and one to the right. I guessed right by choosing left and hiked for a ways when I came to a hexagonally shaped two story cabin.

For some reason I had several different fairy tales going through my head about cabins in the woods. In spite of those anticipations I called out “hello” and was greeted by the barking of three dogs. Luckily there was a fence. I thought for sure the nonstop barking would get the attention of someone, but after ten mins of waiting I concluded I was wrong.

At this point my doubts about going there in the first place started to build on themselves and I turned around and crossed the bridge with the intent of giving up on the whole idea. However, God has a way of taking control when we’ve done our part because as I reached the other side, Frank, the manager of the place just happened to be walking back from catching fish for the otter. He had a stunned look on his face.

It turns out my email had been placed in a strange folder and he had just barely found it and had no clue when it had been written or even by whom. Nonetheless, he was grateful I was there since they had just lost a few volunteers that couldn’t hack the “roughing it” lifestyle. Well, after all the confusion had settled, I met the current crew whom I will not really introduce you to in any detail, but merely tell you that each one of them are incredible persons with hearts as big as the oceans and a love and passion for life that is second to none. They are all true examples of selfless love and in the two weeks I was with them I learned tons about myself. They helped me to become aware of how I would like to improve and become more like them in so many ways. I will mention names, but without permission I will be discrete in any other info I release.

From England there was Marcus and Jenni who are volunteer coordinators, Colette who is one of the short-term volunteers, and Luisa who helps manage and takes care of the veterinary needs of the animals. Frank is from Holland and as I mentioned manages the place. Dee is from Ireland and is likewise one of the volunteer coordinators, Freddy from Germany and Manu from France are both short-term volunteers, Tanja from Switzerland, and Anthony and Tif from Louisiana are likewise short-term volunteers as was I. It was truly a pleasure getting to know and working with them.

For any of you who might be looking for an opportunity to work with wild animals, this is the opportunity of a lifetime to work with an organization that does what it’s supposed to according to its title.

Any facility that claims the title of refuge/rehab center should do just that, unfortunately all too many of them enjoy the money too much and design their centers as tourist attractions to bring in money, which is okay if they still do what they are supposed to, but unfortunately many will hang onto many of their big attractions with no real intent of releasing them back into the wild. This is a real problem throughout the world. Especially since most of these centers don’t have the facilities to make the enclosures spacious and beneficial to the animal’s health and comfort as you might find in a zoo. Rehab center enclosures are often somewhat smaller for better access and observation in order to prepare for release, which is the ultimate desire. I will tell you now Merazonia does exactly what it is supposed to and you will not see tourists. In fact they try to keep a minimal human contact for those animals nearing release.

So if you are wanting someplace where you can handle the animals all the time, look elsewhere. The work days are just that, work. We do the first rounds of cleaning cages and feeding at 7:30a.m., then we do chores to keep the place in healthy conditions for the people living there. For whatever hours we have left when we are done with that until 2p.m. we do projects which for me mostly consisted of building up several enclosures and making them safe for the animals and then we also built a new otter enclosure. At 3p.m. we do rounds again and are usually done by around 5 or 5:30p.m. This happens six days a week and on Sundays it’s the same minus the project hours. There is no electricity nor plumbing for toilets. So if you have a problem with that or with strange potentially dangerous insects and animals then go work at a zoo.

My experience was incredible. I came to truly love all of the animals, even when they didn’t seem to love me. Funny thing is that previous to going there, I had told myself I would never want to work with monkeys or birds and yet those are the primary animals you will find at this and other refuges. It was perfect because you never grow more, than when you have to deal with things you may not like. Who knows, your opinion may even change, as mine did. Not to mention even though I have never changed a diaper in my life, I’m pretty confident I’ve cleaned up more than enough excrements to consider myself ready for the mess. My heart goes out to all the CNAs and orderlies out there.

I got to work with capuchins, tamarins, woolly monkeys, and a howler. The birds consisted of orange wings, black headed parrots, blue headed parrots, parakeets, blue and gold macaws, and the green ones as well. Other animals consisted of a baby coati, an otter, kinkajous, a guatin, and there is a puma as well, but he is strictly only dealt with by a couple of people, so I never saw him. Almost all are native to the area and I even saw a troop of tamarins a couple of times as they tried to steal food. Other wild animals seen there consisted of a south American coral snake (yes it is potentially deadly), an equis which is another deadly viper, three other unidentified snakes, a 2 to 3 foot long bluish earthworm, and two of the others saw a jaguarundi, which is a wild cat. In addition to all of that, I saw at the very least, 2 new species of insects and spiders each day. All shapes, sizes, and colors including some that seem to be a chimera of creatures. I often wondered how often I walked right past creatures both deadly and nonlethal alike, without even knowing it.

The rainforest is an amazing place and I never tired of just sitting and staring into it. It’s much like staring into the eyes of one you love, the beauty is mesmerizing and I’d find myself lost in it with no desires to be found. The rain was frequent and as long as you are indoors it was soothing and relaxing, but it does have its drawbacks since it makes it 100% humidity and it is impossible to keep things dry. I washed my clothes on a Tues and by the following Sunday they were still not dry. Rubber boots are worn everywhere and even still I often found myself sinking thigh deep into mud thus eliminating the usefulness of the boots. Quicksand is a very real thing though I never saw any deep enough to swallow me. Sometimes the rain is hard enough that it doesn’t matter what rain gear you have, you will get wet.

One of the greatest accomplishments made during my time there was the completion of a new otter enclosure funded by the university in Quito. Sunday they brought the tv crew out there and filmed us moving Adam the otter to his new place. I wish you could have seen how happy he was. Adam is my favorite.


Otters are like the perfect mix of a dog, a cat, and a fish. So, it appears I will be on Ecuadoran television.

I left on Sunday evening and two days later, I find myself in Peru again. I am in the city of Trujillo for a couple of nights before I head down to Lima. I miss the jungle already. The only thing I do love about the desert here though is the sunsets, which is something you miss out on in the rainforest. I miss the peace. I miss how relaxed I always felt. Give me the dangers of the jungle and I will sleep more peacefully than ever.

I have never slept so well as I did the past two weeks, and my bed wasn’t even that comfortable. Some may be disturbed by the sounds in the rainforest at night, but to me they were a lullaby.

On a different note, I would say that I miss home, but I’m not sure where that is. I do miss my country and the luxuries that come from staying in one place.

While I was in Ferrenafe, I was flipping through the channels and saw a familiar dance performance and realized it was BYUTV and the piece was one my friend Lori performed in. Feelings certainly stirred inside me and I missed those I love. Then, two days ago in Ecuador while waiting for my bus I was watching tv in a little shop and the lady was watching some movie that was clearly made by locals in UT since it was cheaply made and was all in Provo and finished with a temple marriage… Seeing those mountains didn’t help either.

Well, my next target is Bolivia with a few stops along the way. I hope to be there by the latest, the last week of this month, but we’ll see.