Cajamarca

Dear Family,

We're at internet at the last minute (that being 5-6pm), having spent the whole day in other parts. I'll do my best to make it quick, but the keyboard is different: it has a "ç" button where the other half of the backspace button should be, along with the other usual abnormalities such as the "ñ" where the semicolon ought to be, and "¿" where the hyphen button normally sits.

We left for Cajamarca on a Linea bus at 10:30pm Wednesday night. I managed to pack my smaller suitcase into the medium-sized one, which made it easier to keep track of my baggage. I was assigned the seat on the second floor, right in front of the big window. Practically in the driver's seat, except he was on the first floor. The two elders traveling with me were at my side and the seat behind us. There weren't any other people up front with us, so I tossed my backpack into the seat at my right. I couldn't get to sleep for the first 30 minutes or so, thanks to a television screen directly above my head that was showing an all-too-interesting documentary of some nearly-extinct Peruvian birds and crocodiles. I covered my face with my pillow, but hearing the words made me all the more anxious to look. But they eventually turned it off, along with the lights, and the people in the back of the bus began to snore obnoxiously. I tilted my seat back all the way and slept until 12:30.

Around 12:30am, I woke up in a cold sweat - I assume it was connected to the bumpiness of the ride. I ate the sandwiches and cookie the travel attendant had left me, and I drank the glass of nearly-flat (also due to bumpiness) Sprite that I had left waiting back when we started the journey. I opened the front curtain and watched the bus driver play dodge-the-pothole for a half hour or so, and after that lost its excitement, I fell back to sleep.

When I woke up again, around 5am, the bus was stopped. I asked around, and I was told there had been a "derrumbe" (that's "landslide"), and we were waiting for the highway to be cleared. It was still pitch dark out, but I could see a mountainous horizon barely through the faint light of the approaching dawn (and the less-faint light of the headlights of stopped cars and buses). When I determined that there was nothing I could do to change the situation, I took to sleeping and studying my scriptures - as it was about that time of day. The sunrise revealed a brilliant green slope that descended cliff-like to the right side of the bus, and in front of us, the large hill that had managed to decay into our intended path. At about 7:30am, we started moving again, and we drove over the little mound of dirt that remained after the hard work of the clean-up crew. Twenty minutes later, we arrived at the bus station in Cajamarca.

Cajamarca is a Peruvian treasure, well-known for its beautiful landscape, its torrential rains, and its historical background. It's the legendary site where Atahualpa, the (last, I believe) Incan Emperor was captured by Spanish invaders. (Somebody can Google that information; I can't.) It sits in a slight valley in the Andes Mountains, at an elevation of about 7,000 feet. The majority of people who live here work in the mine, some several-thousand feet more up in the hills. It receives all the rain that Trujillo might have received (if the mountains weren't there), and the streets are engineered with deep canal-like gutters to direct the water downhill and into the river. Unfortunately, said gutters are more shallow at intersections, and the water can escape and create large puddles that are not easily crossed by foot. Many a wet shoe and sock have been lamented because of such puddles.

The people are delightful. Our area includes part of the city and part of the agricultural areas outside the defined city limits. The farther out you go, the more you find what one might consider a native stereotype: men and women with large sombreros, wearing multi-colored, Alpaca-hair shawls, skirts, ponchos and other clothing items. Some pass by often with an infant strapped to their back using similar materials. The mountain folks have a fun accent, and they are quite friendly and welcoming. In the city, we don't receive such a warm welcome at times; but that's part of missionary work.

Trujillo is called the "city of eternal springtime." I'd call Cajamarca the "city of eternal indecision." It's frigid and wet for part of the day, and when the sun comes out, it's bright, burning, and hot. I went to the roof yesterday during our study time to warm up my feet, and my face was red after ten minutes of sunshine. Then it started to rain, so I went back to our room. They tell me that the rains stop in April, so we'll see. They say this is Winter here, but I'm still confused about how the seasons are defined. I'll keep asking about that.

The members are excited and helpful in missionary work here, so I'm excited to be thrown into a ward that has that spirit and excitement. On Saturday, I got to help the Relief Society in their anniversary celebration by accompanying them in a musical number. The Relief Society President works in the Cajamarca National University, so she pulled some strings to get a group of singers to come and perform, too. They dressed in black, Renaissance-fair clothes (tights and all), and played a few guitars, a tamberine, and what looked to me like a lyre (but if not, it was a form of stubby guitar with ten or twelve strings). They sang and danced and told jokes, which proved to be great entertainment; I was impressed.

My companion, Elder Rojas, was companion of Elder Tapia (who I just left) about a year ago. We not only have that in common, but what everyone told me is true: Elder Rojas likes to study doctrine. It makes for enjoyable and productive companionship study, and I learn new things every day. (The members of my zone call my companion "Pastor.") We get along well, and we're determined to find families to teach about the Restored Gospel.

Alright, my time and my capacity to remember more details is running out, but I'd like to share a little experience before I'm done. It hit me in the afternoon after arriving here that I'm hundreds of miles (or kilometers, depending on how you look at it) from my Mission President, my old companions, and what I've considered home for the last few months. I felt a little isolated, with an empty, out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere feeling. The cold and rain - though I expressed sincere excitement to see rain again - didn't help cheer me up, either. So I knelt down and sought solace in prayer. I poured out my feelings to my Heavenly Father and asked for courage to face the trials that would come my way. I asked that I could learn from the challenges and grow from the experiences I would have. And He filled me with the enthusiasm to give it my all. I could complain about the cold and rain - or I can be grateful that it's not blazing hot. And when the sun comes out, it's more than warmth: the sky is the clearest blue I've ever seen, and the mountains are covered in grass, trees, and other plants I've only seen in Dr. Seuss books. It's magnificent, and I love it here.

Thank you all for your letters and prayers. And don't worry about me being in the jungle somewhere: they normally only send us to places where there's water, electricity, internet, phone, and other amenities. There are no mosquitos here, and all is well. I'm getting used to the altitude by playing soccer for an hour every other morning.

Today, we piled 14 missionaries and 3 members into a Toyota Hulix 4x4 and took an hour drive to some ancient Incan ruins. I'm out of time, so I'll tell about that adventure next week.

Love,
Elder Withers