Well, you have to make sure it works!

A friend visited last year, on his way back from hiking the Inca Trail, which leads from somewhere near Cusco to, where else? Machu Picchu!

The four-day hike is rated Top Ten! on most lists, and passes through spectacular scenery.

We have tentatively planned to hike the Trail after leaving the Mission in July of next year, figuring we may be ready to leave South America for a little bit after almost five years.  

Some of the camping is at about a thousand feet higher than where we live in Huancayo, and Paula is deathly allergic to cold.

Naturally, you need to make sure everything is up to snuff for such a trip.  

She brought back a new down bag and pad when she went up for Mike's wedding.  It has stopped raining quite so much, so we picked a quiet night and headed for adventure!  (On the third floor terrace of course.)

 It all worked great, and she was as lovely in the AM as ever.

We hope your gear all checks out and that your tent-mate is as charming.
Dave & Paula

Grown ups! From the US of A!!

Don't get me wrong - we are honored to be here, and work with a bunch of great missionaries from all over.  However, it's a lot of fun to have an occasional visitor.  At the end of last month, my brother Mark, his wife Amy, and our old friend Winston Trice from medical school came down to visit.
As we are allowed a short break each year, we took it with them.
On the way to the jungle part of the Mission, one passes by what we have been told is the Geographical Center of Peru.

What a coincidence that it happens to be next to the only road in that part of Peru, and immediately adjacent to a snack store!

Like a bird dog with a single sense of purpose, Mark quickly found a large machine. 

Mark and Winston, trying to decide whether the river looks kayak-runnable.  It's not.

Paula relaxed at our favorite out-of-the way small hotel with its own private jungle.

We were able to get away from all the modern distractions and leave everything but Apple laptops and good wi-fi connections behind.

There are numerous waterfalls around La Merced, and we set off to find several we'd never explored.

OK, there were probably good reasons why we had never explored them.

And perhaps a few more good reasons.

However, both were well worth the tromp through the jungle.  That little teeny bald guy with the cute wife at his side is me.  No, really.  She really is cute.

Refueling.

No trip can be really considered complete without patching a tire at 13,000 feet next to a pile of discarded rotting citrus.

The next day, we set off on a day-long hike up the local 18,143-foot Mt. Huaytapallana.

Approaching the foot of the glacier.

Winston, enjoying the breathtaking view of the Andes.

Catching our breath, lunch, and a couple of snapshots at 16,100 feet.  Sadly, the glacier has receded by half since 1986.

Winston, now snow-blind and lost, wandered without food for days on the mountain before...OK, actually we yelled at him to come down before he did something stupid.

The entire Expeditionary Force by the glacier.  Only later was it pointed out that my head resembled a large Hershey Kiss.

No, this is not a romantically picturesque Andean bathroom, rather a herder's shelter.  Alpaca and special high-altitude cows with one leg shorter than the other adapted to the slopes graze on the mountain's approaches.

Crossing one of the streams draining the glacial lakes.

While Dave searched for rocks to scare off an aggressive male llama, Paula applied The Look, and the animal wisely turned tail and ran.

By the end of the hike, as the clouds closed in, Paula was giggling, wondering when she could do the whole thing again.

The obligatory picture of one of the (very) few picturesque sites in Huancayo.

Dropping some Peruvian soles at an artisan shop, with hand-woven cool stuff.

We stopped by Señor Medina's home and shop, and he showed the guests how the incredible carved mates are made by him and his family.  His wife was away for the harvest.

We had a just-plain great time with our friends and family.  It was a nice break; now back to work.

We hope that your llamas don't get feisty, and that you can also find some good fried yuca and chicharón de pescado.

Dave & Paula (and Amy, Mark, and Uncle Winston)

Wow! This is great!! No, wait a minute....

As you all know, because you've heard about it and have probably already received yours, everyone everywhere is converting to "chip-PIN" credit cards and readers.

Huh.  Did I say everywhere?  And by the way, S. Morris needs to be more careful with his cards.
Anyway, everywhere apparently didn't include the central mountains of Peru.
We received our shiny new chip-PIN cards from Bank of America, and headed out on a road trip. We stopped at our favorite grifo to fill up the tank, and after waiting in line,

 we filled up the mission SUV.

Gleefully knowing that never again would we have to sign a credit card receipt, we presented our chip-PIN card.  After a bit of a wait, 

¡Negado!  Denied!  And so it was at almost all of the businesses along the way.  Luckily, we had the good sense to carry some extra cash, the universal language.

After only three months, we were able to convince the folks in the US that we wanted our swipe-type cards back.  When they arrived, they were accompanied in the envelopes with the following pamphlet:

Super!  There are certainly times when we're away from Huancayo, in some sketchy places, where if we really broke down, this would be great!

Uh, oh!  This is what our "Maps" screen on the phone looks like about half the time here.

I guess that since we're not on the map, we ARE out of reach.  Oh, well, at the least the good 'ol swipe cards work...so far.

We hope that all your fantastic plastic transactions go more smoothly, and that you're on the map.

Dave & Paula

Weather reports in this place

OK, I know, I know.  Forecasting the weather becomes more difficult with every hour in advance that we try to do so.  There are literally millions of variables, and so much randomness that even supercomputers cannot allow us to make accurate predictions very far out (see "Butterfly Effect").
But come on, people, how about giving even a semi-accurate representation of what is happening right now?!
Here is such a recent report on a certain day in Hauancayo, where we live:

That sounds nice, doesn't it?  However, in the recorded meteorological history of this, the Mantaro River Valley, it has never happened!  The actual weather at that moment was pouring rain, about 50 degrees F, with strong winds, and hail punching holes in Paula's beloved plants.
Another example:

OK, listen; Cerro de Pasco is a bleak mining town at 14,400 feet, and again, if it ever reached 73 degrees, people would want to live there!

All right, so what do I suggest?
The following method of reporting the weather is far more accurate than the transmitted information in this part of South America.  It is known and loved by all Boy Scouts the world over, and an example can be found in any site worthy of calling itself a Boy Scout Camp.  It is called "The Weather Rock," and this is an example:

The following conditions can be informed by the Weather Rock:

If the rock is white, it is snowing.

If the rock is wet, it is raining.

If the rock is warm, it is sunny.

If the rock is swinging violently, there is strong wind.

If the rock is slippery, there is ice.

If the rock is bouncing, an earthquake is happening.

If the rock is underwater, be careful, as a flood has occurred.

I maintain that this igneous device is far more accurate than what we get from the weather reports here.

May your local information be more accurate.  Or get a rock.

Dave & Paula

Sorry about the gap in entries!

I could make all sorts of excuses, but the real one is that we have been kind of busy, like the Pope is kind of Catholic.  And it slipped my mind.  But really, the last three weeks have been particularly crazy.
Every six weeks, "cambios" (that's Spanish for changes) occur, in which missionaries finishing their time here go home.  This involves final interviews, dinner at the mission home, getting them on buses for their flights from Lima, blah, blah, blah.

The next day, the new ones arrive, needing interviewed, oriented and assigned.

During cambios, about half the missionaries have a change of companions or the areas in which they work.  The planning and decisions for all this start weeks beforehand, and continue until the day the new ones arrive.  Emergency changes then happen unpredictably until the next cambio.  This rearranging happened right after a seminar held in Lima for the 32 mission presidents in the five countries of our area.

Every three months, we have a series of "zone conferences," in which we meet with all the missionaries in three separate groups, with instruction and occasionally some fun.

These take place here in Huancayo, in La Merced in the jungle, and in Huánuco at the other end of the Mission.  The conferences also take some preparation, and a whole lot of driving around. This is the car after arriving home late last night from Huánuco, a seven-hour+ drive, a fair amount of which takes place on unpaved roads, with rain this time.  The only good thing is that no one can read the license plate.

Anyway, the craziness took a bit of an upturn.  We apologize for not communicating more frequently, and vow to do better...maybe.
Dave & Paula

The passing of my father, a quiet good man

My dad died today, about a month short of his 96th birthday.  It came after a brief downturn in his health, and the proximate cause was pneumonia.  Until several days ago, he lived alone and took care of himself.
Since the death of Mom several years ago, his answer to my weekly query as to how he was doing was always, "Well, I'm still here."  He was ready to check out and be with Mom.

Dad was raised with his eight siblings on a farm in Burlington, Wyoming, a small, dry town east of Cody. His mother died when he was nine years old, and his sisters took over raising the family.
After active duty during WWII, he worked as a civilian for the Army employing his engineering degree from the University of Wyoming.  For many years, he was the Chief of the Mechanical Research and Development Lab at Ft. Belvoir, Virginia.

That's a pretty dry description of a hard-working, kind man, who took his commitment to the Gospel of Jesus Christ very seriously.  Dad served as the first Recorder in the Washington, DC LDS temple, and then in the presidency of that temple, serving nineteen years in total.  Many times I would find him seated in the living room, quietly reading the scriptures.

My father was the most honest, straightforward person I have known closely.  The things that I did, or didn't do growing up were based largely on my desire to not disappoint him.  There are small things that I hope I remember forever; falling asleep on the back seat of the '54 Ford as he drove home in the dark with the radio playing big band music, the care with which he outfitted me at a camping store before my first Scout outing, waiting with him at a service station while the car was up on the lift and asking for a candy bar...

I will miss my father.  However, if I arrive at the end of this stage of existence in as good shape concerning the things that really matter, I will call it a win.

Dave