The Former Elder Southerland

For those who might wander onto this page, I suppose most of you know that I'm a Mormon. No, not Amish, Jehovah's Witness, Polygamist, or Scientologist, but a good ol' born in Utah Mormon. Furthermore, a thing about growing up mormon, and being a guy, most of us go on missions. No, not the secret kind where we uncover WMD's in Azerbijan, but the kind where we try and tell people about growing up in Utah...I mean what it is to be a mormon. Hopefully, some people listen and join up. (No, I didn't grow up in Utah... I grew up in it's evil neighbor, Nevada home of legalized gambling, prostitution, and all-you-can-eat buffets.)

Well, my brother, Pete, is coming home from his mission in the Dominican Republic this month (it is February, isn't it?), and it's got me thinking about mine.

I got to go back to the old mission area with Em over the summer. It was like going at see an old friend after you thought they might have forgotten you, only to find out they've been missing you too. It was wonderful. I wasn't the greatest missionary. I had a hard time getting like the French, and I wish I would've tried hard to love them like a missionary should. I met some amazing people while I was there, and going back helped me remember that there were many more amazing people than I let myself believe.

So, despite it's faults, France is a wonderful place, even if Parisian ruin it a bit. So, if you go skip the big city and go straight to the South, specifically the Basque country (Bayonne, Biarritz, Saint-Jean-de-Luz) and get to see how wonderful and freindly the French can really be.

(The pics are my bro, Pete, somewhere in the Dominican Republic and the Gare Bordeaux/St. Jean where my first adventures in France started.)