While the engine protection plate underneath was still off, I took advantage of the access, and sealed up the leaking exhaust flange gasket. This time I think it will work.

Finally, after all of this, and changing over our front wheel for one without snow tyres, it was time to fix the starter motor — the main and primary reason for which I started working today.

The problem here was that there was a piece missing from the motor. An important piece. It was the part that caused the gear to engage and, more importantly, to disengage. Acting like a hinge, it was only a piece of hard rubber, but without it nothing worked.

So I made it out of wood. Taking a piece of wood, an electric saw, grinder, chisels, and vernier calipers, I set to work to create something I had never seen so it would do something very precise.

The end result was two pieces of wood carefully crafted to have a gap between them, yet to interlock in place so as to not move or dislodge in use. It worked.

Now I have the starter motor back in the car working perfectly. One more thing fixed. The Renault 12 is ready to roll again.

Lighting the fire of passion.

Let our love never diminish, our passion never be lost, our boldness never be quenched, and our togetherness never be torn.

Here’s to 2012 and another fun year of being crazily in love with my beautiful wife!

Ushuaia - End of the World

Ushuaia is known as being the “End of the World” and the southernmost city in the world. So where is it?

This video gives you a look at not only where Ushuaia is in the world, but also what it is like during summer days.

Today my niece turns two. She may not yet appreciate all of the effort and trimmings of a birthday party just for her, but she does recognise the love and attention that she is getting today.

And that’s the whole point of the matter.

Today my sister-in-law graduated from the police school for the province of Tierra del Fuego. We all went in a full car to the city of Rio Grande to attend her graduation ceremony.

Worse was that instead of making up time on the way to Rio Gallegos, where I had my flight waiting for me, we lost time. The expected arrival was at 1pm, with my flight at 7.45pm. Plenty of left over time. But with the bus as late as it was, things were not looking good. The stops along the way blew out from 5 mins to 30 mins, and from 10 mins to 45 mins, making the journey worse than expected. We never reached my destination until almost 10pm at night.

I missed my flight to Ushuaia.

Knowing somebody in the town helped a lot, and before long Mirta came along in her car and took both me and Clara back to her warm house. Clara was also in the same position as me. This was the first time that she was visiting her 50 year old daughter in Ushuaia, and with the late arrival of the bus, had been left stranded in the town. So I did what anybody would (should?) do… I invited her to stay at Mirta’s place, and then called Mirta to confirm with her that it would be ok.

Fortunately, Aerolineas Argentinas allowed us to change our tickets without any problems and we both travelled to Ushuaia at 7.45pm the next evening… although the plane was also an hour late in getting there. A man had become ill just before the plane left Buenos Aires and they had to return to the terminal so he could get medical attention.

Finally, one day and one hour late, I arrive in Ushuaia. My new home.

Covered in flour and eggs… an Argentine tradition to celebrate a big event

So on Thursday, the 17th of December, 2009, I got engaged to Silvina Noemi Prado.

Silvina is the face of YWAM Ushuaia (YWAM Austral), and has led many YWAM schools and been involved in YWAM for many years. She is mature and intelligent, kind and loving, and very beautiful. A nurse now turned missionary, she has a heart for many nations around the world and enjoys travel. Her desire to follow God has led her to India for a time, and now to Ushuaia. She is determined and willing, and gets the job done. A very people person, Silvina has many friends and many contacts. She is well known by people everywhere, and especially throughout the YWAM world in and around Argentina.

At the airport on my return to Puerto Madryn

• El primer cambio es mudarme
• El segundo cambio requiere residencia permanente en la Argentina
• Y el último cambio es acerca de familia

Ushuaia base de JUCUM – el lugar a donde pronto me voy a mudar.

El primer cambio es mudarme.

Durante los últimos 4 años he estado viviendo y trabajando en JUCUM Puerto Madryn. Llegué allá en 2005 para celebrar las fiestas del nuevo año de 2006, y quedé por un mes de mis vacaciones. Después, en julio de 2006, volví permanentemente y he visto mucho crecimiento en la base durante este tiempo. Hemos construido cuartos y edificios, mejorado nuestras facilidades en muchas maneras, construido páginas web y añadido internet banda ancha, además de tener muchas escuelas de entrenamiento cada año. Pero mi tiempo en Puerto Madryn ahora llega a su fin. Pronto estaré mudándome a una nueva base de JUCUM, una base pequeña que recién está empezando.

JUCUM Ushuaia es mi nuevo destino. Esta base de JUCUM recientemente abierta en 2008 sigue en la fase pionera. Uniéndome a esta base significa que habrán muchos cambios, desafíos, y aventuras para enfrentar. Esto me emociona, y es algo de que he querido ser parte desde hace el año 2006.

El segundo cambio requiere residencia permanente en la Argentina.

Aunque he estado en Argentina ahora desde hace 2004, por muchos años he viajado tanto que no necesitaba preocuparme con la residencia ni con visas permanentes. Ahora, con los nuevos cambios en mi vida que vienen, esto ha vuelto una prioridad. Seguiré viajando, pero menos. El enfoque ahora será en otras responsabilidades. Actualmente estoy en el medio de una aplicación para la residencia temporaria. Esto me dará 2 años de residencia en Argentina antes de que necesitaría aplicar de nuevo. Pero ahora, con los cambios venideros, no me rinda. Solo la residencia permanente bastará.

Esto me lleva ahora al último, y más grande cambio. Se trata de familia.

Cuando hablo de familia, no estoy hablando de mis padres y hermanos, ni acerca de la familia JUCUMera, aunque ambas están muy buenas. No, esta vez familia se trata de empezar mi propia familia, que viene primeramente por conocer y gustar una chica, comprometiéndote con ella y después casándose.

Así que este año, el 2010, es el año en que me voy a casar. Conocí a Silvina Noemi Prado por un breve momento cuando visitaba Buenos Aires en agosto 2009. Hablamos por solo un minuto de cosas relacionadas a JUCUM. Me acuerdo de esa reunión solo que ella me agradaba, pero de su parecer y otras cosas no recuerdo nada.

Había estado planeando ayudar en la base de JUCUM Ushuaia con su página web y EDE de octubre 2009, pero cuando los planes de ellos cambiaron, así también los míos. Pero su página web todavía tenía que ser actualizada, y eso yo podría hacer desde cualquier lugar. Así que contactaba a Silvina acerca de este trabajo que necesitaban. Todas las llamadas entre nosotros eran solamente relacionadas al trabajo por meses. Pero un día, cuando me llamó a Silvina, nuestra conversación duró más que una hora. En aquello día algo cambió. Nuestra llamada había vuelto personal. Todavía hasta hoy no entiendo como aconteció, pero después de esto, todas de nuestras llamadas seguían siendo personal.

Así que, después de enamorarme con esta mujercita por quien era ella por el teléfono, ya era tiempo a visitarla para ver si las cosas entre nosotros iban a cambiar o no. Así que en diciembre volé a Ushuaia para conocer la mujer con una personalidad tan increíble. Me sorprendió cuando descubrí que no solo era todo lo que imaginaba sino mucho más. Después de pasar la incomodidad de conocer a alguien por la primera vez que ya conocía profundamente, éramos mejores amigos y pasábamos casi todo nuestros momentos despiertos juntos.

Era durante esta semana que nuestra relación cambió. Ambos reconocimos que esto era algo para siempre. No encontraríamos otro mejor. El amor que estaba creciendo rápidamente dentro de nosotros vino acompañado por una profunda y inexplicable paz, y una certeza que Dios era parte de todo esto. No necesitábamos ser convencido más así que antes que terminó la semana, Silvina y yo habíamos comprometidos. Con el paso de cada semana desde entonces, me convence aun más de mi amor por Silvina y de su amor por mi.

Y por eso voy a mudarme a Ushuaia, y buscar la residencia permanente. Porque voy a casarme con una hermosa Argentina.

Esto es un tiempo muy emocionante, y 2010 es un año de grandes momentos.

• The first of these changes involves moving
• The second change involves permanently residing in Argentina
• The final change is family

Ushuaia YWAM base – the place to which I will be moving soon.

The first of these changes involves moving.

During the last almost 4 years I have been living and working in YWAM Puerto Madryn. I first arrived there to celebrate the 2005/2006 new year, staying almost a month during my holidays. Then, in July of 2006 I returned permanently, and have seen the base grow significantly during this time. We have built rooms and buildings, improved our facilities in many ways, added websites and internet and run many training schools. But my time in Puerto Madryn is coming to a close. Soon, I will be moving to a new YWAM base, a small base that is just starting.

YWAM Ushuaia is my new destination. This recently opened YWAM base is still in its pioneering phase. Joining this base means that there are many changes, challenges, and adventures yet to be faced. It sounds exciting to me, and is something that I have been hoping to be a part of almost since 2006.

The second change involves permanently residing in Argentina.

Although I have now been in Argentina since 2004, most of these years have involved a lot of travel so it was unnecessary to concern myself with residency and permanent visas. Now, with the new changes that are about to happen in my life, this has become a priority. Although there will still be travel, the focus will now turn to other responsibilities. Currently I have been applying for what is normally temporary residency. This would give me 2 years in Argentina before needing to apply again, however with the changes coming, it is no longer sufficient. Only permanent residency will do.

This brings me now to the final, and greatest change, which is family.

When talking about family, I am not talking about my parents and siblings, nor about the greater YWAM family, although both of these are great. No, this time, family means starting my own family, which first comes through meeting and liking a girl, getting engaged, and then married.

So this year, 2010, is the year that I am getting married. I met Silvina Noemi Prado only briefly while visiting Buenos Aires back in August 2009. We talked briefly for about one minute about YWAM related issues. The only thing I remember from that meeting was that she seemed to be a nice lady, but I remember nothing of her appearance or other things.

I had been planning to help the Ushuaia YWAM base out with their website and an upcoming DTS for October, but when their plans changed, so did mine. Still, their website needed help and this was something that I could help them with anywhere, so I contacted Silvina regarding this work. All calls were work related for months. Then one day, when Silvina called me, our conversation lasted over an hour. Something changed on that day, as our call had become personal. To this day I still do not understand how it happened. All of our calls after this now had become personal too.

So after falling in love with a girl because of who she was on the phone, it was time to visit her and see if things would change. The visit came in December when I flew to Ushuaia to meet this girl with an amazing personality. It surprised me to discover that not only was she everything that I had imagined her to be, but much more. No sooner had we overcome the initial awkwardness of meeting somebody that you already knew profoundly for the very first time, that we became the best of friends and spent virtually every waking moment together.

It was during this week that our relationship changed. We both knew that this was it, there would be no other. The love growing inside of both of us was accompanied by a deep, unexplainable peace, and a certainty that God was a part of this. We needed no further convincing and by the end of the week Silvina and I were engaged. Over the weeks since then I have only become more certain of my love for Silvina, and she of her love for me.

So that is why I will be moving to Ushuaia, and why I am now looking for permanent residency. Because I am getting married to a beautiful Argentinian.

This is a very exciting time, and 2010 is a year of great moments.

Patricia leading the church for the evening.

The new Bariloche YWAM base (God willing)

Heading out to the church together.

The top of the 300+ stairs that we have to climb every time we head to town.

Miguel Montt preaching in the church.

Welding the broken step.

Cleaning up the welding afterwards.

An old bus stop near the YWAM base.

The chairs outside the house are for socialising on sunny days.

The city of Bariloche with a mountain backdrop.

Group photo with the daughter of a tourist family in the plaza.

Preparing the clown (Gaby) outside the National Bank.

Hanging out with Gay in the Civic Centre of town.

Nahuel and his guitar caused quite an attraction.

A beautiful old church on the coast of the lake next to the city centre.

Connecting wires for a new powerpoint in the base.

Pato with her brother Emilio cooking pizzas for everybody when they return tonight.

Franco compressing the soil before the rocks are replaced.

The boys at… umm… work?

Karley and Yamila cooking up a storm of cakes and bread and more.

The team ready to head off to the hospital and then to the city.

Waking up Dawelky in a friendly fashion.

In town we look for internet, but cannot find a place that either works or accepts my laptop. So in the end we head to a chocolate factory and find one of the most comfortable chairs in the place to sit and enjoy some of what they have to offer. Not only did they give us great food and drinks, but we also were able to use the Internet while here.

Enjoying the delights of Rappa Nui Chocolate Factory.

The day ended when Dawelky had to get to the bus terminal to make his trip over to Chile. We see him off in a taxi and then return to the base to relax and enjoy the afternoon. A true lazy, free day.

Prayer walking through the neighbourhood, asking for God’s blessing over the place.

To return we ended up walking over two kilometres until we reached the city centre. This was not strictly necessary, but we were hoping to find a place to recharge the bus-card that the pastor had. With a bus-card the cost is $1.75 per person, but without it we would have to pay $3.00 per person. In the end we had to pay $3 per person anyway, as there was absolutely nowhere that you could recharge.

Back at the church we enjoy a hearty lunch. Everything that we eat here is home cooked, from the bread to the pizza to the empanadas, to the cakes, every single part of these foods are home cooked… and delicious. We also check out the brick wall that Miguel was helping Luis build in the kitchen (the same one as we were working on during the first day). It is now almost finished.

As I was going to be preaching in the evening, my time was spent in the house preparing for this message. The rest of the team went out to evangelise in the neighbourhood, and then spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing. During this time they were also given the opportunity to ride horses, something that most of them enjoyed.

Finally it came time for the evening church service. I was very concerned because the word that God had given me was actually a very hard word. It was one of correction, and something that I didn’t want to have to give, but knew that I had to. In the end, God’s guidance was felt during this time and although it was a hard word, He helped me to give it in a way that was not too harsh.

After the service we all headed back to the kitchen to enjoy cake and dinner, and slowly the people started to disappear. Around 1am it was all over. We said goodbye to all of our good friends that we had made over the week and then headed back to our homes. This was our last night before heading back to the YWAM base. This would become our home during the remainder of our time here in Bariloche.

The famous old church of Bariloche, with Lake Nahuel Huapi behind it.

Miguel riding on the back of a horse. His “guide” is a 13 year old boy.

Miguel playing “Christ” along with Guillermina in a skit before the church.

Giving the church a hard word in the nicest possible way.

After lunch the team went out visiting and I stayed back at the house to pray and prepare. In the evening Karley preached and we also performed a skit for the church. It was Karley’s first time preaching in Spanish, as she had always been translated before this, and it went really well. Everyone could understand what she was saying, which was encouraging.

Preparing empanadas for the church for sale.

Right next to the YWAM Base, a path leading down to the bus stop.

Preparing to lift the wooden panel over the top of the wall.

Carrying the wooden wall panels was not an easy task.

Enjoying the last rays of the sun to read and study.

Karley preaching for her first time in Spanish. It turned out really good.

Some of the children who gathered together for a photo.

The rest of our day after this consists of sitting around and drinking “mate” while chatting about life and things. It is a very lazy day, but one filled with friendship and connecting with each other. A great way to start the new year.

On the way to the suburb, we take a beautiful trail.

The walk was long, but this was offset by all of the colours and the stream beside us.

Heading through a forest trail.

This pathway was frequented by children on bicycles, motorbikes, and cars as we walked it.

The yellow flowers lined the trail most of the way.

Introducing ourselves to the children.

The children watched intently as we performed different skits.

Miguel helps a young 3 year old with his food.

Father Christmas drinks a “mate” before heading out to face the children.

The children greet Father Christmas when he comes out.

Children are enraptured in this strange, mythical creature of Father Christmas.

Giving out presents to everybody at the end.

On the way back we cross over the river on a man-made and very rickety bridge.

Leonor crossing over one of the many small steams on our way home.

Miguel has once again parked his car in a difficult location.

Setting off firecrackers to celebrate the new year.

So after arriving in the morning, we then set about helping with the preparations for the evening. Yes, there seems to be quite a significant focus on food here in Argentina… but I like that. Then, when everything was done, we headed out to town in the afternoon to spend time connected to Internet. The rest of the world was waiting for us, and this was the first time since leaving Puerto Madryn that we have had available to be connected.

When the evening came, we all gathered to hear a word that God had given Patricia, the YWAM base director here in Bariloche, for the new year, and then we sat down to enjoy a delicious meal of lots of meat and lots of salads. Afterwards was desert in the form of cakes, chocolates, sweets, and fruit salad. Delicious. All of it was just delicious.

Finally the time came for us to say goodbye to 2009 and welcome in the new year of 2010. We filled our glasses ready for the toast and then went outside to wait. It was windy and cold, but within minutes we were all toasting and smiling and saying goodbye to the old year. Fireworks started to go off everywhere, somewhat staggered according to the tardiness of each clock, and they did not stop going off for well over an hour.

The new year had begun. This new year is a year of many changes for me, a year of many desires coming true, and one of great joy. I am looking forward to this year, 2010, and all that it holds, both known and unknown.

May you also have a wonderful new year in 2010.

Standing at the top of a huge staircase (over 300 steps) walking to the YWAM base.

The YWAM Bariloche base (now rendered and painted outside).

Lamb roasted over hot coals… a delicious Argentine “asado”

Patricia (the YWAM base leader) shares a word from God for the new year.

Dinner time all together.

Our outreach team (LtoR: Tabita, Guillermina, Gabriela, Karley, Leonor, Miguel, me)

Our purpose in climbing the mountain was actually to find a location where we could see the entire city. From this point we planned to pray over the city of Bariloche, and over the suburb that lay at the foot of the mountain too. This suburb has been closed to the gospel for many years, due to the efforts of witches and other workers of black magic.

Once we reached a point with the view we were looking for, we all joined in prayer for the city of Bariloche and for the suburb below us. During our time of prayer, we sensed a change over the place and believe that this will be visible in the new year.

After the prayer, we then continued upward, looking for an easier way back down the mountain. The way we had come was directly upward, and it was too difficult for some of our team. So we continued upward, finding a valley below us that would make life much easier to get down. We reached this valley by following the ridge.

On the way to the valley there were lots of rocks lining the edge of the ridge. Boys being boys, we all climbed up and over them, and did many crazy and fun things. It was invigorating to be up on a mountain once again. How I love mountains.

Once everybody was back down in the valley, we took water from the freshwater stream and followed the easy trail back down to the base of the mountain. Looking back, we had not climbed even a third of the height, but we did have a lot of fun, and were able to pray for the city. Every one of us also had returned toasted by the sun’s rays.

It was a good day, but the sun, wind, and effort deserved an early night. After hanging around at the church and chatting with the pastor for a while, we all headed back home for an early night’s rest. This was our first night that we returned to our homes before midnight.

I love this shot.

Karley being Karley.

Heading straight up the mountain.

Karley felt a little ill, so I helped her a little up the hill.

The group that climbed the mountain.

Heading up the mountain through zigzags helps a lot.

Standning at our prayer point on the mountain.

Everybody praying over Bariloche City.

Declaring God’s word over the city.

The strong wind made this a little harder than expected.

On top of the highest rock I could find.

Drinking from the stream.

Heading back down the mountain.

The trail back down.

Cerro Ventana… we made it to the top of the first mound.

Our day, upon reaching the church, is to help prepare lots of food for what will be a church party to celebrate the end of 2009 and the beginning of a new year. Three of our team head out with the pastor to a neighbouring city of Bariloche, called Dina Huapi, to visit with families related to the church, while the other four remain in the kitchen to help with the food preparation for what is expected to be a very big party tonight.

The pastor with his son, me in the middle, and Miguel and Gabriela on the right.

As we visit with the people in Dina Huapi, it becomes clear that we are visiting people who live in very humble surroundings. One of the girls we visit is 19 and in charge of all of her siblings while her mum goes to work every day, returning in the evening. Her dad died some time ago in a traumatic experience. Their basic wooden and concrete structure serves as both a kitchen and bedroom, and the wood fired stove helps to keep the place warm. The young girl holds her baby brother in her arms as she listens to us. She looks more like a mother than an older sister, and is continually attending the needs of those around her. It is encouraging to know that she is a firm believer, but discouraging that there was no way we were able to change her circumstances in the short minutes that we were visiting her.

The wooden stove, the girl and her baby brother, the young girls waving at us.

In another house we are greeted at the window by two enthusiastic young girls waving wildly. In this house the lady did not know Christ, and after we had shared the good news she wanted to know more. By the time we left, she had recognised Jesus as her Lord and was looking forward to learning more and receiving more visits by the pastor and other Christians.

We next head out to Nirihuau for our final visit, but the people are not there. We continue down the road, passing grazing cows, until we reach the point where it crosses the creek. Here is an old wooden bridge, big enough for one car that passes over the top of a narrow gorge. Below are deep crystalline waters surging through, creating a beautiful scenery. In the background is another bridge, for the train, and the waters are more turbulent here as they cascade over many rocks on their way to the gorge.

Grazing cows. Standing on the edge looking down at Miguel.

Our stop here is brief, but enough to be able to take in the beauty of God’s creation and enjoy the spot for a few moments. Eventually we need to return, as there is still a party tonight at the church that we need to take part in. Our visits have taken us well past the time we expected to be back, and when we do reach the church the party is about to begin.

With lots of BBQ meat, lots of salads, and an almost talent-quest time where many different people present their songs, playing, and other talents, we all hang around and eat, talk, and laugh while we enjoy the events. My eye is still sore though, and now that it has passed midnight it has become very uncomfortable, so before everything ends, I head back to the house for some needed rest. Miguel returns with Luis after the party at something like 2am in the morning.

My sore eye. Yellow flowers are literally everywhere.

The girls preparing the food for the party tonight.

Gabriela and Miguel outside a shop, waiting for the Pastor.

Taking a shortcut through a field. We walked a lot this day.

The gorge over which the bridges have been built.

This felt more risky than it really was.

That is Miguel standing out on the precipice.

Looking out to Lake Nahuel Huapi, the main lake of Bariloche, as we return home.

The dinner and party in the church.

Once we have knocked on every door, or actually clapped loudly at every yard entrance (you can’t enter normally because of the fierce dogs kept in the yards), we then arrive at the house of believers where they hold a church service every week. It is here that we do a couple of skits for them, before Karley (Canada) and Tabita (Romania) lead worship. I share a reflection on who God really is, based on Revelation chapter 4 and we then bid our friends good bye and return for dinner in the church.

Building a brick wall to separate the kitchen from the dining area.

The girls (L to R: Guillermina, Karley, and Tabita) relaxing for a while before the cooking starts.

Gabriela, Tabita, and Karley creating gnocchi pasta for lunch.

The team in a time of prayer and intercession.

Guillermina and Tabita both very cold and a little wet on the way to evangelism.

A man uses a hand-drawn trolley to bring firewood from the mountains to his home.

Sharing about Jesus with a family in the neighbourhood.

Tabita, Gabriela, and Guillermina performing the “fleas” skit in the house-church.

Karley leads the worship in the house-church.

This first day was filled with getting to know different people, being introduced to the church and its members, and being allocated our home for the week. Miguel and I stay with Luis, in his small home, while the girls head out on the bus to a much larger house. After settling in, we all return to the church for the last service of 2009.

Taking advantage of the bus ride to catch up on some sleep after the Christmas celebrations.

The highway between Esquel and Bariloche.

The church in which we are working for all of this week.

This small little house is very comfortable and a great place for me and Miguel to stay, close to the church.

Although I am away from the office, the phone calls don’t generally stop. This became my new office… until the rain set in.

Taking part in the last church service of the year.

Everybody outside at the tables, ready for Christmas dinner.

Miguel and Alejandra renewing their wedding vows.

On the evening of the 24th we were all busy preparing the meat and salads and foods for the evening. Before we all sat down outside for our big meal, a couple in the school wanted to renew their wedding vows and we chose this special night for them to be able to do so. Afterwards we all went outside and enjoyed a hearty meal of many salads, a lot of chicken and lamb, and other delicacies that people had prepared.

It was cold outside, but we all remained there until midnight when everybody rose up from the tables, the speeches stopped, and we moved in amongst each other, toasting to this special day of Christmas and wishing the other the best. Prayers, hugs, and lots of brotherly love flowed faster than the drinks during the next half hour.

Fireworks are a huge thing on Christmas Eve.

As this time ended, we then convened inside where it was warmer, for the next part of the night. This next part was called “secret friends” (similar to secret santa) where we each had a person that we bought a gift for, and upon receiving the gift that person had to guess who had given it to them. Whether they were right or not, the actual person would then go forward to give them a hug, and then would share with everybody a virtue, or something special that they appreciated about the person they had given the present to.

We then had an international dessert moment, where all of the different nations created some sort of desert related to their culture. Every single one of them was delicious and we all made short work of the food that remained. By the time we had finished our celebrations it was 2pm, and the clean up took almost an extra two hours. It was now time to sleep.

A time of honouring each other as they receive our secret gift that we gave them.

The next day the entire base staff and students headed out to enjoy the beach… returning very red and burned, but happy to have enjoyed the day together.

Looking north down one of the main highways to Puerto Madryn city.

A desert flower coming out of a cactus plant.

Looking down over to the Quintas – the area with lots of green trees.

The distance of the Quintas from the city… the city is to the right.

Looking down over Puerto Madryn city and the bay that it hugs.

Although you cannot see it, the YWAM base is almost at the end on the left of the street to the right.

Well, I needed to include a photo of me somewhere. :-)

A small yellow flower in the desert.

Thorn bush flowers.

Erika, me, and the “French guy” (he always thought I was French).

The entire trip to Ushuaia was something almost instantaneous. Although I had been trying to get down here for the last three months, it was only after a chat on the 10th with my YWAM base director, Jorge Rios, that this trip came about. So everything happened extra quickly, and by the end of the day I had purchased my tickets needed to get me to Ushuaia.

Ushuaia as seen from the plane while coming in to land.

Upon reaching Rio Gallegos, my next step was a flight down to Ushuaia. This was the preferred way of travel as it kept me within Argentina territory and made the 12 hour bus ride a 50 minute plane journey. So I stopped for a break in a friend’s home before heading to the airport.

One of the most amazing things that happened to me was that Rix (see photo below), a good friend who was also travelling down to Ushuaia on this day, just happened to be in the same plane as me. When I had last talked with him, his flight was later than mine. As I walked onboard the plane there was Rix seated in the first row. After holding up the line of people behind me to chat for a while, I started to look for my seat. It ended up being next to him, and we travelled and chatted for the rest of the flight together.

The staff of YWAM Ushuaia (L to R: Cecilia, Melisa, Silvina, Rix).

Upon arriving in Ushuaia, we were met by Silvina Prado, the base director of YWAM Ushuaia who guided us back to the base where I would be staying for the rest of my time here. After meeting Cecilia and Melisa I was shown to my room, shared with Rix, and was able to unpack and prepare for the week that I would be spending here.

What follows are some photos of my time down in this amazing corner of the world. Ushuaia is known as the Southernmost city in all of the world. It was summer time when I was here, but the weather was very cold most days even when the sun was shining strongly. Night comes at 11pm, and day returns at 4am, making the day light virtually all of your waking hours. It was a great trip and I enjoyed every moment of it.

Now the photos…

Looking over the city of Ushuaia and the mountains that shield it to the north from near the YWAM base.

The volunteer fire brigade of Northern Ushuaia.

A bird by the edge of the Beagle Chanel during the late evening.

Meeting some Venezuelans (couple to the left) while in the YWAM base with Silvina and Rix.

The (soon to be) new YWAM staff of YWAM Ushuaia (L to R: Rix, Cecilia, Melisa, Silvina, me).

Rix (over 80 yrs) cutting the lawn with an edger.

Rix enjoying cutting the lawn with an edger.

Climbing Martial Glacier, the mountain closest to Ushuaia city.

Silvina standing on a snow bridge over a summer stream.

A small stream with Martial Glacier in the distance behind.

The view from Martial Glacier back over the Beagle Chanel.

A green pathway back down the mountain. This is a ski trail during winter.

Looking back down over the Beagle Chanel from the top.

A garden belonging to one of the many hotels lining the road up to the glacier.

A flower garden belonging to a hotel.

Looking out over Ushuaia city from the road heading back down.

The Norwegian Sun

Announcing the winners of the Championship.

Welcoming party at the gate.

Announcing the rules to the team captains.

Selling “chorizo” sausages in bread rolls.

I get in amongst the rest of them, with my Aussie jersey.

Going for a good kick (doesn’t mean I actually got it).

1st Place Team.

2nd Place Team.

3rd Place Team.

Heading down the creek bed.

Signs that there was a small amount of water at some point.

Heavily eroded walls line the way.

Strange bugs wandering the creek bed.

If it wasn’t for the plants, even the walls would be crumbling.

Por Juan-Pablo however, was not so convinced. While he had been sleeping, he pushed a hand underneath his pillow. Suddenly something moved, causing him to withdraw his hand quickly. Thinking it was something unusual (for this area) such as a cockroach, he raised up his pillow to brush it away. It was only then that he realised the danger that had been awaiting him. A scorpion (see photos) was hidden underneath.

The bite of one of these scorpions, when it is to the arm or leg, causes significant pain and swelling, but does not cause any risk to the life of the person. Should the bite suddenly be on the facial area, the risk increases dramatically as the poison is much closer to the brain, eyes, and other important bodily parts.

Juan-Pablo was a lucky man or had an angel looking after him.

The lesson from this? Jump higher and longer. :-)

The village where they are going does not have electricity nor running water. Purchases of groceries has to be done every month by travelling in boat to the nearest large city/town, called Maldonado. Each month they will also be able to respond to and write emails to everybody. Outside of this singular monthly visit they are very isolated from the world.

Foods eaten in this area are quite different to what we would call “normal” foods. Things such as monkey, turtle, and grubs of all sorts are common here. Tropical fruits are also, naturally, very abundant. It is a challenge, but each member of the team, through prayer, is convinced that it is worth making the sacrifices to be able to help the people there, and to continue the work being done by the missionary couple.

These guys would love any support you are willing to provide them. Please advise me by the contact form for further details on how you may support them (prayer, giving, letters of encouragement, etc.).

The wedding ceremony, complete with red carpet.

Pedro and Yanina at the altar.

The wedding was a very joyous one.

Pedro’s parents.

The newly wedded couple.

The paparazzi.

Presenting their civil wedding certificate.

The wedding cake.

Pedro sang some ballads during the reception.

At the reception, to encourage a party, they gave us hats and fun items.

Pedro, decorated with his party items.

After the jump there are some photos from my visit…

The subway is almost always full of people. This was a rare moment.

Plaza San Martin with trees lit in full sunlight.

Phantom of the Opera in Buenos Aires.

Rain throughout the city.

A protest outside the National Congress Building over the Malvina/Faukland Islands.

My bedroom in the National Prayer Centre.

Retiro Bus Terminal.

Brad and Jake fixing a crack in the roof with tar-strip

Dawelky moving firewood to the storage location.

Nico cleaning up after doing some cementing.

Gabriel (and Mario) deepening our irrigation trenches that water our trees.

The wood-chopping team (L to R: Miguel C., Dawelky, Nico, Miguel G., Ivan with machete, Sebastian with axe).

Johana and Miguel cleaning up the leaves around the place.

The first tree took out the power lines to our main building.

Cleaning up the felled tree.

Preparing the next tree for felling.

After felling comes the cutting into pieces.

Felling trees in more than one place.

Cutting a poorly felled tree.

Miguel leading the tree-pulling-over team.

Jake working on cutting down another tree.

Miguel and Nico hide away in the shed until it all passes.

Jake, Gabriel, Alejandra, and Lidia all wait under the eve until it is dry enough to continue working again.

Dawelky, from the Dominican Republic, enjoys the unusual event.

While walking the streets of Puerto Madryn, we encountered this old man who tried to convince us that he was an international hero in the singing world. Apparently he had won some singing competition with his friends and made a fortune but his fortune was now tied up in Spain and he was still here. He also belonged to the circus, was raising money for a children’s home, and offered to sing for money. The main thing that stood out was just how happy this man was. He may not have much in this world’s eyes, but he was a very happy man, and very engaging in his stories also.

Most houses have dogs to guard them. This dog seemed more concerned with sleep than guarding any house. Even when I stood in front of the house, taking photos of the dog, it raised one eye and returned to sleep.

PLAYA DORADILLO (Golden Beach)

Today I have decided to write my diary entry here instead of (re-)writing a story. It tells most of the story, but in less detail. The photos that follow should fill in the rest of the details (Rob):

Today was our “day off” as we have been busy in the school all weekend this time. My day started with a doctor’s appointment at 7am in Covitre, but they opened late (at 7.40am) so I missed the sunrise which I wanted to watch out at the “Indio” (Indian) – but I decided to go anyway.

A fierce wind was blowing with me as I went, and opposed me as I returned, but it was great to get out and about a little and see a little more of this town of mine. Breakfast was at my favourite place – Bonafides coffee shop, although the cost is pretty high, at $25 pesos for an orange juice and toasted ham and cheese sandwiches.

…

Once that was done, I had decided to do something adventurous, something that I had always planned on doing, something that I had not done because it was windy, or I was looking for better weather or some other reason (time comes to mind). Today was hugely windy, part of my day was already gone, and large clouds were staring to form – but it was time, so today I was heading out to:

PLAYA DORADILLO (Golden Beach)

This was a place that I had often heard about, but never been to. So, after stopping to load up with biscuits, chocolate, and water, I headed off the main highway onto the dirt road that led the way, accompanied by huge clouds of dust.

This was an adventure, not just a journey, so at the first side-road I dived off and headed down the hill, wind behind me, getting closer to the coast. Rubbish lined the side of these roads but the place was deserted. Soon I found myself at the top of huge cliffs falling into the sea, turquoise waters surged around submerged rocks, and noise birds fought the strong wind.

I continued hugging the coast, occasionally able to reach lower down, a couple of times even reaching the pebbly beaches in tiny alcoves, nestled amongst the white, dusty and crumbly cliffs.

Along the way I encountered birds nests amongst thorn bushes, a bird singing at the top of its lungs that allowed me to get really close, a critter scurrying along the ground amongst the thorns with its home in a hole in the ground that looked like a guinea pig, a lone seal on the cliffs, a sea bird sleeping in a cave, and many beautiful views.

Reaching the goal revealed a beautiful, huge beach of fine sand. Down one end were cliffs dotted with caves, and this was my first point of call. The caves did not lead too deeply into the cliffs, and were clearly created by the waves and water.

Turning around and heading the other way, I had the wind behind me and the sand whipping past me into the sea. The highlight along this beach was a flock of pink flamingos that were wading in the shallows as I rode past them.

Having reaching my destination it was now time to return home. Most of my journey had been wit hthe wind and now it was time to fight it all the way back home.

Dust clouds swirled around me and sand bit into my face, making it hard to see. Cars passing my left me with a film of dust all over, and the bike wobbled and waved as I struggled against the strong wind and sandy road. Music playing in my ears, head down to keep sand out of my eyes, and eyes on the road just before me, I continued, determinedly onward, knowing that little by little I would be getting closer to home.

Finally, back on the tarmac, I was only several kilometres from town. Even with the wind beating against me, the hardest part had been won and my spirit was now high, so the rest of the journey seemed easy.

It was now 4pm so I stopped in for a quick lunch, headed to town for a haircut, and at 5pm was on my way back to the Quintas and my base. By now it was freezing, and the wind was even stronger, and the last 3kms became the hardest distance that I covered over the entire trip.

A shower to remove the dust, some food, and the only place my exhausted body wanted to be was bed. It was time for a very early night.

The days was excellent, an adventure and time of discovery. I took lots of photos, and experienced many beautiful places.

My SPD Shimano shoe pedal clips gave me problems along the way – even causing me to fall more than once when my shoe refused to detach from the pedal. Now amount of “fixing” it worked, so on my return I locked that foot in, and never took it out again.

So that was my adventure this last weekend, and what follows are some more photos of the trip…

A small stunted bush continues to cling onto life.

Rubbish in a washout, with a hermit’s cave dug into the soft rocky soil.

Many beaches were inaccessible from the cliffs.

One of the quieter roads that I discovered in diverging from the main highway.

Another stunted little bush determined to live in the tough conditions.

At the end of the horizon lies my destination, Golden Beach, although I was in no rush to get there.

An Argentine flag half missing joins the other battered flags to show the presence of a shrine to Gaucho Gill.

The one lone tree on Golden Beach deserves a mention.

It was time to investigate.

As soon as I turned on the light the reality of what had just happened became very clear. The top bunk of one of our beds had fallen down on top of the bottom bunk. Miguel, from the top bunk was pinned against the wall as only one side had given way and he had swung down heavily so that his bed was now on a 75 degree angle toward the wall. He clambered up to the high edge and gave a weak smile while I snapped his photo, and then we set about getting him and his bedding out of there and onto the floor.

The miracle here was that Jake, the normal occupant of the bottom bunk, was not yet in bed. He had been chatting with some friends on Skype and was only just returning to the room to retire. If he had have been in bed when this happened we are certain that he would have suffered some serious damage, especially in his shoulder and face. The incredible part is that Jake is normally in bed very early and tonight was a very unusual situation for him, which made us all the more glad that he was not underneath the collapsed mass of heavy wood.

This is very similar to another incident that happened in Bariloche, but that one involved the girl on the bottom getting crushed. Jake was very lucky.

So tonight we pulled the remains of the top bunk out to the hallway outside and have left Miguel sleeping on the floor. Tomorrow I suspect that we will be changing the bunk for a new one. This one has seen the end of its useful life.

So now I had two reasons for fasting. The first was to seek more of God, and the second was in search of improved health. There was only one condition though… it had to be a pure water-only fast. Nothing, not even juices or drinks, could be included if it was going to be for health also.

It seemed easy. Just stop eating.

Over the days I wrote my experiences in my diary. Since there seems to be so little fasting these days, I decided to transcribe my diary entries here to share a little of my experience during and after the fast…

Saturday 5th (Day 1)

Today I have decided that I am starting a LONG, water-only, fast. Starting now. I am always “preparing” or “thinking about,” or whatever – but it is all delays. It is time for action, and that action has to be now. So, pain and all – I am going to do it. How long? At least 20 days.

I spoke with Jorge today and mentioned the fast – he told me that the first 3 days are hard but it gets easier after this.

Sunday 6th (Day 2)

Day 2 of my water-only fast. Yesterday was surprisingly good. Although hungry, I never felt ravenous, and did not have any unusual headaches or pains. Today however, I have woken to a racing heart and extreme weakness. I almost feel faint, it is so strong. It is my heart where I feel it the most – almost like those adrenalin rushes that I used to get – but kind of continuous.

This whole thing is important to me, so I’m pressing on – have to pass day 3 at least. There has already been a noticeable difference in my relationship with God. It is like He is just here, with me, and I can talk with Him much easier. My consciousness or awareness of Him has increased too.

(11pm) It has been a really hard day today. Very hungry, very weak, very tired. I have slept lots today. Now it’s time to sleep again – and I’m glad for it.

Tuesday 8th (Day 4)

Day 4 of my fast. I never imagined that I would be able to make it this far. The whole idea seemed beyond my ability, yet here I am. It feels like God has been holding me up in His hand, helping me through this time. I am now in the phase where you are not meant to experience hunger – I haven’t really experienced hunger at any point along the way. None-the-less, there is a constant low-level gnawing in my stomach all the time.

God is closer now. I hear Him much more easily, but not in all the answers I am looking for.

(10.30pm) Have felt better today on my fast. Not stronger, just better – even played a little football, but as the goal keeper.

Wednesday 9th (Day 5)

(4pm) I am weak. Sleeping at every chance. I am hungry. Mouth has strange taste that doesn’t go away. It feels furry. Heart beats crazily every time I walk somewhere. Standing up produces lightness and a little dizziness. Even lying I breathe heavy for a while.

Will I last? Will I go the distance? I don’t know. For now I take each day as it comes, and today I think I can get through.

Thursday 10th (Day 6)

Day 6 of my water-only fast. I am very weak now, and struggling to do normal things. To continue will be hard, as much is required of me in the base. I have decided therefore, to break my fast. My desire was to reach 10 or even 14 days, the idea of 20 becoming completely impractical. But now I see that this was pride – a desire to be able to say that I fasted for 10+ days (into the double digits).

Looking through my list of questions and desires [that I presented before God] I see that every single one of them – bar one – have been answered. So clearly there is no more motive (other than cleansing my body) to continue this fast. This, combined with my weakness is sufficient to show me that it is time.

There has come no low point, no moment that I could not bear. Today was the same as the other days. I could have continued on yet another day, but it is now not making any clear sense to continue.

SO TODAY MY FAST ENDS.

It is 5pm and I have started the eating process with one mandarin. Later I shall eat more, but a little at a time. This time though, I shall be eating much healthier – fruits and vegetables and salads.

Friday 11th (The day after)

My first day after the fast. It is 10am. I woke today with a semi-headache, probably caused by the white rice I ate last night. My throat also hurts from the acids of the apple, and later, the tomato I ate too – it stings. What surprises me most is that after eating last night I thought I would have strength today – but it is not the case. I feel almost as weak as when I was on my water fast. What a crazy thing is our body – so hard to understand.

Saturday 12th (Second day after)

My strength is returning, but eating this heavy food is hard for my body. I’m really looking forward to eating the fruit and vegetables now. This other food makes me feel like I’m slowly killing myself. Wow, what a difference in attitude that has come over me since this fast!

Today, though, has been hard. I am tired, both physically and also bodily – as in from the food. Sleep and some decent food would go a long way.

Well, the fast ended after six days, and I was surprised at how it took over two days for my body to recuperate the strength it had before the fast. A notable side-effect of the fast has been an acute awareness of just how heavy some food are, and the oils and greases in some of the foods. It has completely changed my diet.

Would I do it again? Certainly. Not only would I do it again, but I would also recommend that others also try it. It was a very positive experience apart from the weakness.

Starving yourself can actually be healthy!

While in Corrientes, I was shown the good video camera that the guys had been given to be able to produce shows for the local television station. There was one flaw with the camera which turned out to be fatal: The firewire connector was broken resulting in it being impossible to import video that had been recorded with the camera.

Being a fix-it man and all, it seemed like a good idea to offer to fix it for them. So I took the camera with me to Buenos Aires and looked around to find a place that would fix it for me. When the quote to fix it was almost $200 USD, I decided to get the part I needed to fix it and do it myself. But without the right tools for the job, things started to fall apart quickly.

The gas soldering iron, as much as I turned it down and cooled it on a wet cloth, was far too hot and ended up burning not only the board, but also the small metal tracks that carry the current. By the time I had finished the disaster was complete. Every attempt to fix it caused further damage, and by the time I realised what was happening, the damage was extensive. Replacing the board was too expensive, an option that we had already explored, and now with this damage even technicians were not interested in trying to fix it… and I did not blame them either.

So I went out and bought the right soldering iron (now, why did I not do this from the outset, saving me a lot of headaches and problems?) and with a lot of patience, some super fine wire that was thinner than a strand of hair, and a good magnifying glass we set to work. The result is what you see in the photos, something that is definitely not pretty, but it works, and for the guys in Corrientes, that is much better than the previous situation.

Although I have known how to solder for a long while, this was actually my first real attempt at soldering something so fine and I learned lots about how easy it is to destroy electronic things. I now have a lot more respect for those who work on these sorts of things.

Only a few blocks from my destination, I notice an old man hobbling along the footpath. His slow speed and awkwardness creates an obstacle for the handful of people who are out today, and they all detour around him so as to continue on their way. As I approached him, he looked up at me and asked if I had any money to give him so he could buy a pizza for lunch. This was not your normal person begging on the streets. Here was an old man, leaning on a cane and dressed in an old suit from yesteryear…

A warm Sunday afternoon, I wandered along the footpath of what is normally a very busy road, enjoying the quietness that Sundays always bring to this overcrowded city. Every Sunday it is as though the entire city remains in bed. Streets are empty, footpaths vacant, and very few shops are open. It is a wonderful time to go for a stroll. Today my stroll took me to lunch, and I was now on my way back at a very relaxed pace.

The Meeting

Only a few blocks from my destination, I notice an old man hobbling along the footpath. His slow speed and awkwardness creates an obstacle for the handful of people who are out today, and they all detour around him so as to continue on their way. As I approached him, he looked up at me and asked if I had any money to give him so he could buy a pizza for lunch. This was not your normal person begging on the streets. Here was an old man, leaning on a cane and dressed in an old suit from yesteryear. He did not stop, but merely suggested the possibility.

Just at that moment I received a phone call. While I took it, the old man continued his slow, awkward gait in the direction he had been going. By the time I had finished with the phone call, he was only a couple of metres from me, such was his slow speed of progress.

The Gift

I called to him, but he did not respond, so I placed a hand on his shoulder to let him know I was still here. His reaction caught me off guard. The old man looked scared, taken back. He did not look very comfortable at all. To let him know that all was well, and I was only responding to his plea, I reached in and pulled out my wallet. Fumbling through the notes, I wondered how much would be enough for him, finally settling on $10 pesos.

He received it with gratitude, shaking my hand and declaring that it was a lot for what he needed. I looked down at the note that was now nestled in the palm of his hand and reflected on my lunch from which I was now returning. There was no comparison. It was obvious that there was a discrepancy here in how much I was willing to spend on myself compared to how much I was willing to give to others. I gave to him out of what was left over, not according to his needs. Perhaps this was enough for his needs.

There are many arguments against giving, some of them almost convincing. But in the end it comes down to the heart and conscience; not the amounts we give. I know that I short-changed that man, not because I had a lot of money but because of the attitude of my heart when I gave to him. It is shameful to have to admit, but if I am honest then I know that as I searched for how much to give to him, it was not based on how much he needed, but rather how little I could give and yet still cover his need. My act of generosity, although good on the outside, was a very different story on the inside.

The Man

After receiving the money, the old man started to talk with me. At first I tried to answer and share in the conversation, but it quickly became clear that he was mostly deaf and even with a hearing aid I needed to yell to make myself heard. So I simply listened to his stories.

“Rios is my name,” he told me, “I am 90 years old.”

Old Mr. Rios went on to tell me that he had never expected to reach the age of 90 years and was surprised that he had made it this far. He was very much in his right mind as he talked with me and shared different stories about his past and present. One of the things that really surprised me was his ability to remember names of people and places from both many years back and from more recent events.

Around his shoulder hung a soft briefcase filled with papers, and as he continued to tell his stories, he reached down into that bag and fumbled for ages through the different papers. Finally he found what he was looking for, and pulled out a number of laminated photos displaying his age from when he was a young boy to his days as a university professor.

It turns out that Mr. Rios was a very studied man, having worked in the fields of: teaching, natural sciences, sociology, studies in human personality, audio-linguistics, archeology, and as a reporter and writer, amongst others of which I have no idea how to translate into English.

He stared at those photos and remarked, “It is amazing how much we change over the years. They are all me, but all very different.” I could not help but agree as I looked from photo to photo and then to him. Satisfied that he had now shown me this treasure of his, he continued to tell his stories as he worked clumsily with old hands to put them back into his bag.

The Stories

As told by Mr. Rios:

“I live in the nunnery now. There is a place where we can live and they give us coffee in the morning and some croissants but it is not enough.” That was why he was out now, to get something more to eat.

“There is a lady there that is 128 years old. She doesn’t say anything, just stares straight ahead. It is as though she does not even live any more, but there she is. They have to do everything for her, bathe her, clothe her, even put a tube down her throat so she can eat. It is sad really. I don’t think I will get to that age, I hope not anyway.”

“It is better in the hospital now. Before this I used to live on the street, near a hotel down that way,” indicating with his finger, “and one day I was there and this man came up to me, an American guy that spoke to me in English. I didn’t know anything that he was saying but he handed me a note in American dollars. It was a $500 USD bill. I had no idea what it was or how much it was, but when I went to the cashier to change it he told me that it was far too much for him to change. That’s when I realised how much it was worth. A $500 USD bill. He just handed it to me. I didn’t understand anything he had said to me as he was speaking to me in English. I will always remember that moment.”

“When I retired I had a great pension and things were going very well for me. But that was the days of Menem.” (NOTE: Menem was one of the presidents of Argentina whose handling of different situations was considered less than ethical.) “I had stood against him as the leader of a group who wanted to see change. He did not like that, so one day he changed everything and took my pension away. Completely. That was it. I went from a good pension to nothing. Now, here with the nuns, we receive $500 pesos per month. It is not very much, but they give us some food and clothes, so it helps.”

The Departure

The stories rolled on and on, but eventually it was time to say good bye to my new friend. I shook his hand and thanked him for the stories and for sharing with me. He understood. Time moves on. It was time for him to go and get some lunch now. Before he left though, he explained to me that every day at around about 9am he would get a coffee from one of the local shops… explaining to me exactly which one it was. He had desired that I would be able to meet him there one morning, his eyes shining with hope. I took the time to explain that I was only passing through and would not likely be here anymore, as I was leaving today.

His face saddened, but there was nothing I could do. One man in a city of millions. Lonely. As he left I watched him go, his slow and awkward gait taking him ever so slowly toward his destination. Old people are hardly loved in this world of increasing obsession for youth and youthful appearances. Like old Mr. Rios said to me, “I hardly look like a 50 year old any more.” His age, his awkwardness, his deafness; all contribute to his isolation.

What has gone wrong in our world that we do not have five short minutes to share with somebody we meet in the street? Sure there are things to be done, but will those five minutes really make that much difference? I ask myself that question all the time – especially when I have just walked past somebody that was asking for help.

The next time I will remember old Mr. Rios. He too was young once.

It was a long-standing promise that I had made to my friends that one day I would return to my old original YWAM base in the north of Argentina. Even though it was my first contact with YWAM and a place where I still have many friends, Corrientes was not a place that I really wanted to return to. However my promise to return still remained, and I believe in keeping my word. So it was now a place that I needed to visit a some point in the near future. Little did I know that this visit would turn out much more pleasant than I first imagined.

It was in July 2004 that I first arrived at Corrientes YWAM base to do my DTS. According to my first diary entry about the place I was not too fond of it:

Now I am here at YWAM Corrientes. When I arrived here, I hated the place. God said clearly that I am to stay. Slowly I am seeing why. Now that I have been here 5 days the place does not seem so bad either. Incomplete, muddy, or hot, or cold, and rarely in between, unfinished, un-maintained, dirty, full of mosquitoes, and far from town. Little to recommend it – except for the people.

So it was that the people here had once again drawn me back to this place.

Since I did not have any official business reasons for going to Corrientes, it had to be for the weekend only. Being in Buenos Aires at the time would cut the 36hr journey (from Puerto Madryn) down to an overnight trip of only 11hrs. It seemed wise to take advantage of this greatly reduced travel time.

The visit ended up being three days. The first day felt strange, being back in the place that had brought me so many memories, but by the time I left I really wanted to stay longer. People tend to have that effect on you.

The highlight was being able to catch up with (almost) all of my old friends, many of whom were part of my DTS and others whom were my leaders during that time. We have all been in the mission now for over five years… old hats. Oscar and Karin and their ever growing family – Karin gave birth to their fourth child just before I arrived, Paul and Norma, David and Mariana, David and Mari the base directors, Facundo and Vanessa, Gaston and Nicole, and many, many others.

Chipa was of course the very first thing I bought when I arrived there, and was part of my staple diet throughout my three days. There is nothing nicer than chipa, a delicious mandioca root flour and cheese concoction that is truly addictive.

After chipa, it was wonderful to also wander along the cost of the river and watch the sun set during my last hours in Corrientes. There is so much that I could have done, wanted to do, and never was able to do in the short time that I was there, but it was a sweet visit that has left me with many rejuvenated memories of my first YWAM base experiences… and a strange desire to return and visit my friends in the future, God willing. The next time though, it would need to be at least 5 days, and a week would be much better. Short visits just never seem to be enough.

Heading to Buenos Aires, convinced that I was arriving only two days before my provisional visa expired, the first thing I did after dropping my bags off in the place I was staying was head back to the Migrations office in the city. The idea was that I would get my official documents and then stay for a meeting here before returning. Everything was organised, except for one unexpected problem.

I missed the date.

Standing in the reasonably long line at the Migrations office I heard the officer at the window send one of the people away, telling them that they need to return two days before their current document expired. Happy that I had arrived perfectly within that time, it was with confidence that I waited in line, counting my luck that I had not come earlier as planned.

Upon reaching the counter window, I submitted my old document and waited confidently for the new documents that would give me official residency here in Argentina… but they did not come.

Instead I was handed back my old document and told to return one or two days before it expires. Confused and perplexed, I looked back at the man at the counter. He was looking at something, drawing my gaze towards his. As I swung my eyes in that direction, his hand and then finger helped my eyes to focus on the specific point.

It was the date. I had looked at this date on my document many times and was sure that it had said the 30th of this month… but as I looked at it I saw a very different date. It was the 30th of next month. Nooooo!

Somehow my head had been playing tricks on me. I had arrived here one month too early. With nothing else to be done, I turned away and with the old document in hand, headed home.

I had missed the date.

Looking down towards the city (shimmering glow in distance) from our YWAM Base, 6km out of town.

Our existing antenna turned out to be only just high enough to peep over the top of the trees. To discover this, I tied my camera to a big stick and set it on movie mode as I raised it up to point in the same direction as the antenna. It became clear that the way things were we remained at the mercy of the trees. The more the wind blew the more our connection was cut and so internet became very slow.

Our original antenna with the 6m pole sustaining it.

So it was off to town to see what we could find to fix this problem. We needed a bigger antenna, but one that would not break the bank, nor cause any problems with the local authorities. The first choice was a nice long piece of iron bar, 12 metres long. It turned out to cost over $700 pesos ($200 USD), an amount inconceivable to us just for internet. We needed another solution.

That solution came in the form of a pressed metal beam, much lighter than the iron bar and much, much cheaper too. It was very flexible so this antenna would need to be sustained by guy-wires to keep it steady. Seeing that it was 12 metres long also, there was no bus nor taxi that would be capable of carrying it. So we loaded it onto our shoulders and started walking.

The last part of the walk back to our YWAM Base. 3kms of nothing.

Upon arriving at the base with what was going to be our new antenna, it was time to set about painting it and preparing it for its new task. This meant that we had to measure the guy-wire lengths and then connect them in the right places. Their lengths were calculated easily thanks to some old school maths relating to right-angled triangles, and thankfully we had enough wire to reach every anchor point. Anchor points were made by perforating walls and wrapping the wire around iron bars on the other side, or using the concrete posts on our fence boundary, and the wire was tightened with standard fencing winders (no pics, sorry).

Soon, everything was in place. We decided to use the old antenna inside the new one to give it more strength and also because it was the easiest way to mount our pole-mounting NanoStation2 at the top of it. This worked out really well, and after a lot of struggling, some scary moments, some yelling and confusion, and a bit of luck, everything was in place. We had our antenna.

The new antenna. Note the old round antenna inside it.

Of course not everything was fixed and in place just yet. We had pre-drilled the metal of the antenna, but to fasten it to the house, we still needed to drill the wall and fit special plugs to the holes. So with the antenna in place, we drilled small holes first, and then moved it sideways just a little bit and re-drilled those holes to the size they needed to be. By this time it was dark, as our work had taken all of the afternoon and evening, and we worked by the light of a telephone.

With the screws now holding the antenna in place on the side of the house, things were much more stable and safe for us all. We then set about fastening each guy-wire to its prepared mounting point, and slowly tightening it until the antenna remained in place firmly. There are two sets of wires, four running from the top to ensure that the wild strong winds that we get down here in the patagonia of Argentina do not move it, and three from the middle of the antenna to avoid any belly-dancing or wobbling activities; something that it was doing as we carried it back to the Base.

The Prayer House, as we call it, has the perfect location for mounting our antenna.

With the new antenna in place and plugged in, nothing else needed to be done. It very quickly connected with our house in the city and over the next few days revealed that the extra height has made a massive difference. We are now very close to the speed of the Internet connection, something that was only dreamed of before. Using the internet, we still encounter moments of slow-downs that cannot be accounted for, but most of the time our connection is really fast and using the internet has become a joy and an efficient way of working once again.

So to get better internet, we just needed to be high.

The new antenna showing its height compared to the trees around it.

In the middle of translating and editing a book under significant pressure, I discovered that I had a needed file in a format that could not be opened. After doing everything possible to open the file in other programs that I owned, the only option left was to find a copy of the software that would open it: Corel Draw 12.

So I raced to town on my bike as it is normally the fastest option. Today was different. Today it broke; right at the beginning of my ride.

But since it only broke the bearings in my rear wheel, and since my need was urgent, and since I had very few other options of continuing my work without the software… I continued on.

The damaged hub and (obviously obliterated) bearing that failed.

It was still 6kms before town when my rear bearing broke and the tyre started rubbing noisily against the frame of my bike, slowing everything down tremendously. Hobbling into town, my first stop was the bike shop to get replacement parts. Then it was off to see if somebody could help me with the software I needed.

Living in Argentina has its benefits, depending on how you look at it. Illegal software is one of them. Virtually every computer shop I entered had pirated software available to sell to me. Some wanted to charge a lot, others just a little; some had a recent version, others had the latest version: but every place I went had it. To be honest it really surprised me. I expected some unscrupulous shops to have a copy, but some of these places were quite upstream shops.

In the end I settled on a copy from a shop who gave me a CD with the latest version for $2.70 USD.

Hobbling back on my broken, noisy, slow bike I could not help but wonder why anybody living in this country would opt to pay the hundreds of USD for a legitimate copy when these pirate copies are so easy to come by. Obviously, if you want to live honestly and with a clear conscious then you would, but after living here for a number of years I can see that many people do not even know that it is wrong. To them, this IS the software that they buy. Some are even shocked to discover that they have “pirated” software and even more shocked to know that their software costs so much to actually purchase… especially when they already have it installed on their computer.

Riding the bike was possible on the flat sections, which includes most of the town, but the rise back to our outlying suburb seemed almost impossible. Fortunately a friend found me and carried me and the bike back to base. How refreshing and encouraging it is to find a friend when you are in need.

Needless to say, the bike is now repaired with the best hub money can buy ($7 USD) without moving into Shimano Cassette (read very expensive to change everything needed to do this) hubs and systems.

The new hub that will hopefully give me many months of pain-free cycling.

Oh, and if you were wondering about the software that I purchased, it was installed on a virtual machine and the entire machine with the software was deleted after I had been able to read that rogue file for the book. Now, I wonder if companies would offer throw-away-licenses where you could use their software for just a couple of days, or to accomplish a specific task… just how many people would buy them?

See the videos after the break.

Here are some videos of us having fun in the snow:

Playing in the Snow

Snowball Fights

The main street of Puerto Madryn.

Each town and city has a similar story. One person came back and did not know they had it, and before it could be contained, more people had contracted it. Until it was too prolific to be controlled. As this flu continues to sweep through most (if not all) the towns in Argentina, some cities are realising that they need to take drastic measures to try and contain it.

Not too long ago I was in Punta Alta, a city to the north of us, and about eight hours south of the capital of Buenos Aires. Punta Alta is a significant seaport and naval base, resulting in the ebb and flow of many sailors and people. We arrived just as the city was starting to realise that the outbreak of swine flu was becoming uncontrollable. Things were starting to look frightful, with a neighbouring township of 8000 people suffering from more than 1000 residents with the swine flu. Punta Alta was more or less the same, with many people sick. There were many who were unable to attend the workshops that we were offering during the week we were there.

The mainly empty main street of Punta Alta

It was somewhere around the middle of the week that the city council took drastic action. Some may argue that it was already too late, but then sometimes it is better late than never. They passed a law decreeing that all social activities must stop. Any social gathering was now unlawful, and it would be this way for the next three weeks. Soccer practice and games, sports teams, schools, universities, churches, and even brothels and night-clubs were all shut down. People were warned to stay in their homes and to not go outside. Three weeks of isolation, forced by law in many instances, was intended to reduce and perhaps even control the outbreak of swine flu.

By the time we left on the Sunday morning, the town had become very quiet. It was not without people but the amount of people present had noticeably reduced. Punta Alta was not the only town taking such drastic measures either. Puerto Madryn, my own town, had closed their schools one week before the normal holidays, and had shut down most social areas including the bingo hall, casinos, and churches. Buenos Aires also had declared a state of emergency and reduced all social events that were occurring in the city for two or so weeks.

The church in Punta Alta, closed by law

In light of all of the closures, my journey to Buenos Aires has been delayed for a couple of weeks until the city returns to some semblance of activity later this month. Although the media has hyped the swine flu in every way possible, the reality here in Puerto Madryn is that few people are infected. I have never personally known any person that was infected with this flu, although I heard that there were two YWAMers in Buenos Aires who have now recovered from it.

Maybe your story is different. There are people dying from the swine flu, that is certain. The big question that remains however, is how many people die from the standard flu each year. Are the fatalities from swine flu greater or more significant than the normal flu? There are many questions that have remained unanswered during this media frenzy, and perhaps only time will reveal the full picture.

For now, as we all know, it is wise to take precautions, but foolish to live in fear.

Reaching the entrance to the subway I allowed my feet to slide lazily down the steps while holding onto the side rail and concentrating on staying upright. Passing through the turnstiles it becomes clear that coming here was probably a bad idea. People lined against the edge of the platform from one end to the other. The masses waiting for a train stood in silence, forming a wall over five bodies deep, and a nervousness filled the air while the people waited impatiently for the train to arrive.

But the train was not arriving. Instead of frequent trains passing by every couple of minutes, the trains were taking more than seven minutes each to arrive. This too long for the number of people arriving, and the station was continuing to fill with people. Only one station from the end of the line the train should not have been as full as it was when it arrived. Every carriage was jammed full of bodies. People had filled the train completely with standing room squashed from shoulder to shoulder and belly to belly.

None-the-less, when the doors opened, the crowds on the platform pushed and squeezed their way toward them, and in what seemed like Moses’ parting of the sea, they actually made progress. Somehow, as they pushed and forced their way in, a space opened up from nowhere to absorb another ten to fifteen bodies. This was not without frustration, even with moments boiling over into anger, yet those pushing forward did not lose their place, fighting with one arm while continuing to push with the other.

Stunned by the sight, I remained at a distance while watching it all happen. It did not seem right. Surely the next train would have less people, would come earlier, would place limits on how many could enter. I steadied my weak body against a nearby pole, realising that waiting too long was not going to be an option soon.

The next train came after a long delay and it too was similarly filled with people. Having observed before how people had been able to enter, I decided to risk it. So placing my body at the doorway, I simply let the crowds on the platform do the pushing. It worked, and very quickly I was onboard. Somehow though, I ended up nearly on the other side of the train.

It was a very tight squeeze inside when we pulled to a stop at the next station. To the chagrin of everybody aboard, the doors opened. I could not see how many people were waiting to get on the train, but there was a sudden surge of people pushing and pushing. Somehow more people managed to get onboard, pressing our bodies against others to the point that it was now very uncomfortable.

As it was, it was both tight and uncomfortable. The very idea that any others may consider it possible to enter was very unreasonable. Yet that is exactly what happened. In something that must have looked like a football training push, at the next stop an aggressive group at the next station pushed and heaved and squeezed and strained until they managed to squeeze us all enough to get themselves inside. As the train parted from the station, they were still trying to get their body parts out of the way of the door for it to close.

What was uncomfortable before was now exceedingly so. My body was now being squeezed by other bodies so hard that it made breathing difficult. I guess if you take a crowd of people and force the air out of their lungs there must be enough room to get a couple of more people in. Parts of me hurt as the train moved and swayed from one side to another. When we came to the sharp curve on the track the carriage shook sideways fiercely as it always did, but instead of people stumbling and falling, we all just swayed like lilies in a gentle breeze, moving almost as one.

At the next station more people tried to force their way in. They did not succeed, as it truly was impossible now. Even with their combined strength increasing my agony from the power of their pushing, it allowed no more space. This did not stop them continuing to try to force their way in. Finally, a disgruntled woman screamed out, “Stop! Can’t you see that there is no more room?”

From this station onward we all rode in silence. The doors opened at each of the following stations, and people still tried to get in, but nobody succeeded.

Finally, as we continued the journey, people started wanting to get off. Those who did manage it were all close to the door. My station was coming quickly and as I surveyed my position from the opposite side of the train it looked almost impossible. Would I be able to get off even though I could hardly move? When we reached the station just before mine, I decide to try.

In a crowded train the normal procedure is to announce your intention to get off at the next station. This tells people to make room for you to move toward the doors. So after announcing my intention to get off at the next station the people moved to make way for me. Well, they moved something anyway. Some moved a leg, others their shoulder, while others sucked their bellies in to try and give me some space to move through. With some wiggling and pushing it was possible to make it almost to the middle of the carriage. It had been tough though.

Once again, now with the station approaching fast, I cried out that I wanted to get off at this station. A man a little more than arms reach from me also wanted to get off. We both began pushing and wiggling. It was not working very well. The people around me could not move and indicated this with their eyes and facial gestures. We were all so pressed together. I began to wonder at which station I would eventually be able to get off. Yet as the lights of the platform flashed past the windows and the train slowed to a stop, I decided to give it one more attempt.

Although the people around me could not move and we were squeezed so tight together it was hard to breathe, I once again cried out that I was getting off and pushed forward. Hard. Somewhere, somehow, there were tiny gaps that opened up for me. Somebody moved their shoulder, another their leg. I threw myself forward and wiggled and squirmed much like a child trying to get out of their parent’s arms. It helped that I was taller than many others, as bit by bit I was starting to move forward.

I was still only about half-way to the door by the time the train had stopped. The doors do not stay open too long so my time was quickly running out. Starting to feel a little frantic, I pushed somewhat harder, all the time trying not to hurt or offend the people against whom I was pushing. It got harder the closer I got to the door. Suddenly somebody stepped out of the train and the people parted. It was unexpected and I almost fell face first onto the platform, catching myself at the last moment. As I looked up the other man trying to get off was also half-falling out of the door too. We looked at each other for a moment with a knowing look. It was one of those looks shared only between people who have endured the same hardships. Both of us were glad to have finally left the crushing ride.

At last I had found air and space. The crowded platform seemed incredibly open and comfortable now. It was easy to move through the people to the exit. Behind me the doors started to close and the train began to pull out of the station. A man unwilling to wait ran alongside one of the open doors with one foot inside. With an extra push he hung from the outside and tried to force his way in. The train accelerated away from the station. I presume he made it.

For me, my ride was over. Behind me many others were waiting for their turn, squashed in like sardines in a can. This was not an experience that I would forget easily, but neither was it one that I would be likely to repeat. Riding the train at high tide is not a great place to be.

The Bus

Now when I say “bus” some may be thinking of those narrow, small-seat, uncomfortable single-story buses that seem to be a last resort when travelling from one point to another. This bus is nothing of the sort. It is one of the things that really makes Argentina stand out from the rest of the countries around South America. They have great buses.

This bus is double-storied with the luxury seats downstairs, providing a true lounge-chair experience on leather seats that recline a long way back. I’ve taken the poorer option where we are seated four abreast with an aisle dividing our seats in pairs on either side. Although not exactly armchairs, they are very comfortable, and recline more than enough to get a reasonable night’s sleep on this long journey. Movies play on the television screens hung from the roof down the aisle, and if you cannot hear clearly there are plugs in the roof above each seat where you can plug your own headphones in and adjust the sound independently.

Let’s not forget the service either. Onboard service is standard across virtually all buses (although recently they have introduced cheaper services without this option). We have our own host who looks after us, gives us a pillow and blanket for the night.

He also serves us with dinner, breakfast, and lunch… all Argentine style which does mean that those used to continental breakfasts will be disappointed with the mere coffee and biscuits that are provided. The other meals however are served up hot. Steak and mashed potato, chicken pieces in a gravy stew, goulash, milanesa (crumbed flattened steak) and vegetables, are some of the dishes received, served along with bread and a salad and finished off with some delicious desert. Of course I am not one to complain about any food and believe that all things taste great so your mileage may vary, but all in all it is a great service.

The Migrations Office in Buenos Aires where you submit your collected papers.

Becoming a Resident

Now that we are clear on what type of bus it is in which I am travelling, let us return to Buenos Aires as there are a number of events here which deserve to be highlighted. First, the fact that I was there to get my documentation and residency in Argentina. It will be temporary for the first two years after which, if I am still here, they will give me permanent residency.

To get your residency in Argentina you must have the following documents:

• Police Certificate from your country listing your criminal history (or lack of it)
• Your birth certificate
• Argentine Police Certificate
• Document relevant to your reason for requiring residency (mine is religious worker)
• Passport
• Entry visa/stamp/proof of entry

With all of these you can then apply for the visa. Well, almost.

The police background-checking office.

- Local Documents

It turns out that each document requires a little extra along the way. Obviously, any document that is not written in Spanish must be translated. This translation has to be by an Argentine Public Translator and cannot be by any other person. These translators are trained in a special school and are the only ones with government approval.

This is an important step, but so too is getting their translation confirmed and authorised. This means that you must take your translated documents to the school where they search out all students and confirm that the person who translated your document is registered and approved for this task. Each of these steps incur a cost. The translation is about $75 pesos per page, while the approval is $40 pesos per document.

But before we get too far ahead of ourselves, the documents coming from my own country must be certified by the Argentine embassy or stamped with an Apostille Stamp to prove that it is a legitimate document. Without this you cannot advance any further and the documents will need to be returned to your country for that stamp as it can only be done in your own country. It’s a good thing my documents were already stamped.

I passed the Obelisc on 9th of July Avenue (the widest avenue in the world) many times.

- Argentine Documents

Ok, so now we have our documents stamped, translated and approved by the right people. What is next? The Argentine documents. So another long line of people ahead and a long wait to get to the desk where I get my police certificate. Things were a mess this time, with big lines everywhere, so I headed to another place that was somewhat quieter, although quieter means a line of only forty people instead of one hundred or more.

Another $50 pesos and several hours of waiting and soon I am walking out with everything needed for my police certificate in Argentina. The next day I return to discover that I have no criminal history in Argentina, not that this was any surprise.

Right, with all of these documents I should be about done. I have a letter also from YWAM telling the government that I work with them and wish to apply for residency because of my work there (the religious part of my visa). Things are about done and I am ready to return to Puerto Madryn… until I discover that even this document must be verified and approved before it is any use to me.

The Ministry of Churches and Foreign Relations.

- Just One More Paper

So once again I am beating the streets of Buenos Aires until I get to the door of the Foreign Relations and Churches (yep, quite an unusual combination) and present them with my document. The document has to be in duplicate with two photocopies of each page. The verification process should take 10 days but today I was able to return to their offices for my verified paper.

That leaves me with every document that I should need for my residency application. One wild card is the fact that my Police Certificate from Australia has just expired today according to their paper documents. The (somewhat) encouraging part is that the information people at Migrations tell me that as long as I do not leave Argentina I will still be able to use it. This does make sense, because as long as I do not return to Australia my criminal history there will not change.

All the same, my window of opportunity to apply in Puerto Madryn while my Police Certificate was still valid (there is a 3 month limit) has just closed. That means that it is now better that I return to Buenos Aires for my “turn” in June. Oh, did I mention that you have to call the Migrations Department to ask for your “turn” which is given as a day and hour. Don’t be fooled though, it is not just for me, but rather for about fifty of us who will all turn up at the same time and wait for our number to be called.

So when that time comes, I will be sure to give you an update on the inner workings of the Argentine Migrations process. Hopefully it will be a happy story.

While lying flat things were not too bad, but getting off the bed was impossible.

Flattened by I Don’t Know What

Finally, my plans for returning to Puerto Madryn before this time were thwarted when I woke up last Thursday feeling terrible. Weak and unable to get far from the bed, I suffered through three days of this unsure of what was happening to me until suddenly everything turned around again when I woke up Saturday morning.

On the Wednesday night my blood pressure was 70 over something. Now that is a pretty low number and it explained why I kept feeling dizzy every time I tried to get off the bed. If this was the case, then why did I feel the same way the following two days and yet with normal blood pressure? It was confusing. Nothing changed from day to day and yet I felt the same until Saturday. Was it Friday night that brought the change?

Friday night, against my better judgement, I went to the Ituzaingo YWAM base for their Friday night meeting. This is a time when all of the staff and students of YWAM get together for a time of worship and hanging out, with some presentations of the events of the previous week/s. During this time I was very weak and hardly able to stand.

This situation did not change the entire night, but during that meeting some of the guys saw my condition and prayed for me. During this time of prayer I felt a tingle down my spine, something that I do not feel very often at all. Was this related to the prayer? Was it this prayer that changed everything on Saturday when I woke up feeling perfect?

I don’t know, but apart from going to the meeting that Friday night was the only thing that I did differently. Surely it was something related to that meeting that caused the change… or did the whole weakness thing simply disappear as fast as it came?

They are all questions that will remain, but as for me, it seems most plausible that God was involved in the change.

Struggling to get a grip in plaster with inferior fasteners.

Mobile Hands

So with all of the documents to be done and then this illness, there was not time to do the other tasks for which I had come to Buenos Aires… that of fixing things up in the CNO YWAM base. There were lights to fix, power points and doors that did not work properly. So with some sanding, cutting, hammering, plumbing, electrical work, and some engineering we soon had most things sorted out.

The boys bathroom now has a power point, light over the mirror, and a door that opens and shuts as it should instead of jamming every time you try to close it. The girls bathroom is no longer leaking water from the pipes, a very long and difficult repair involving removal of entire fixtures and bending old hardened copper pipes.

The office now has chairs that are not falling apart, the kitchen a door that can be held open without a rock, and the hall and other areas have light once again, giving the place a more open feeling. Other small jobs also abounded, including the cutting of a key from the lock alone, as every key had been lost. This took two attempts before I got it right, discovering the significance of half a millimetre and how quickly you can be locked out of your room because of it.

Taking the “Subte” subway was a daily experience while in BsAs.

The Return

With Saturday my first day feeling better, and after three days of not being able to get off the bed, I thought it wise to stay close to the house. These last three days have allowed me to finish much of the work required in the base. The girls living there were always very kind and open and during my illness provided me with everything I needed and then some.

Just before leaving today I was treated to a small party with a cake complete with candle, potato chips, and coffee. It was a great afternoon tea and a true demonstration of the hospitality of these girls.

And they were the ups and downs of my time in Buenos Aires. Now I am on the 7.30pm bus heading for Puerto Madryn. My busy days of Buenos Aires are now over and the hectic days of Puerto Madryn are about to begin.

A view of the unchanging Patagonian desert that we travel through for hours on end.

Fito’s is a small joint off the main drag.

There are some days when I get hungry at unusual times. Today was one of them as it was still far too early to eat in Argentina. That did not stop my stomach from growling. It was time to look for a place to snack.

Walking down the pedestrian mall I am presented with a myriad of different shops and restaurants. Some have chefs, waiters, and employees hanging around the doorway inviting you in while others are actively trying to convince anybody that looks remotely hungry to enter their store. Handouts and flyers are presented in a polished, noise, flick-out fashion every ten metres along the way, some of them large and unwieldy, most of them small and direct in what they are selling.

Ignoring the hustle and bustle around me I focus on the goal of finding a good place to eat that does not charge too much. Fast food chains here in Argentina charge more for their meals than eating at a decent restaurant, and ice-cream was not what I needed. Super cheap stores sold food that would fill the hole but leave nagging doubts in my mind about the value of the food. Restaurants offered great food but at a price I really did not want to pay. In the end it left me with just one place.

Looking down along the Lavalle Street pedestrian mall on a very quiet day.

Fito’s is a small place at the top of Lavalle Street which offers reasonable food at reasonable prices. The place itself was not exactly a palace, but the food was good. After walking the entire length of the pedestrian mall, this seemed to be the best compromise between price and quality, but I did not quite make it there before Adrian made my acquaintance.

Adrian, with several teeth missing and covered in old and tatty clothes, had come over to me while heading up the mall to ask me for a coin or two. When I asked him what it was for, he explained that he needed to eat. Many years ago I was taught to never simply give coins to people begging but to instead give them what they needed. Adrian needed food, so I offered to buy him the same dinner as I was about to enjoy. He readily accepted and we walked together to Fito’s, just up the road a little.

During the length of our meal we both chatted about life and Argentina. Adrian had been living on the streets for a while now. He had a number of amazing stories about people’s generosity and how it had really surprised him. He was convinced that there was a God who was looking after him. Although he had been working until a number of weeks ago, the downturn in the economy world-wide had also reached Argentina and he now found himself out of work. To make things harder, he did not have his identity card with him which all employers required before he could get some work in the city.

Adrian was a very talkative fellow, and even suggested that he and I return to the place that we met because there were free milkshake samples available which we would be able to enjoy “for our desert,” he said. By the time we had finished our meal it was time for me to move on. I bid farewell, and wished the man all the best. He was going back to his family tonight, a rare occasion these days, and so I slipped him the extra few coins needed for part of the journey. We then parted ways.

Although this sort of event does not happen all of the time, it is one of those things that I really do believe is important. Giving somebody coins feels like I am giving them the brush-off, telling them that they are not important enough to occupy more of my time. Buying them a meal, which sometimes I have had to do, also feels like a brush-off in that I am not willing to be seen with them while eating a meal. But being able to sit down and eat the same meal that I have bought them is a clear demonstration that they are worthy. Everybody wants to know that they are worth something, and those living in the streets need to know this even more. It may interrupt my schedule, or cause some change in plans, but there has not been one time when I have taken the time out to eat with somebody like this, that I have not received much more in return than that which I have spent during this time.

Oh, and my meal ended up costing the amount that I had been wanting to avoid. Not that I was really concerned. It was the least that I could do.

Looking towards the city from halfway down the road.

The city of Puerto Madryn lies 6kms from us. The nearest point of the town, before everything melts into desert-scape is somewhere between three and four kilometres away. This is our nearest possibility for internet, as where we are, there is nothing. But that has all been explained before.

The point of writing this post is to tell you not of our problems, but our solutions. How we now have internet where there was none. How we connected everything up and worked it all out. The technical, and not so technical bits about it all.

The Problem

Now to solve a problem, you must first know what it is that you are trying to solve. Our problem was that we needed internet in a remote location and price was important. After looking at many alternatives, most of which were not available for us, we finally settled on the need for a wireless link connecting our property with a house in the city which would have internet that we could access.

Our problem therefore was that we needed something that would give us a reliable wireless connection over four kilometres, a house that had line-of-sight with our property and in which we could connect internet. Naturally the people living in the house would need to be reliable and trustworthy.

The Solution

Our two antennas that are talking to each other over 4kms

The first problem, of what we could use to give us a reliable connection with a house in the city, was not easy to solve. I had heard of DIY wifi connections over long distances and even ended up buying some equipment to try and do this very thing. However as my knowledge was quite limited and even with the help of the photos and guides online I never managed to get any satisfying results.

On my return to Australia I sent out emails to a number of different wireless providers thinking that all we really needed was a good antenna, but presenting them with the whole concept of what I was trying to do. A community wireless group in Adelaide responded explaining that perhaps I really wanted to look at the Ubiquity NanoStation2′s as they were small enough to fit in my suitcase and yet powerful enough to establish a connection over long distances.

After looking at the product on their website, it seemed to be the perfect device for our needs. I ordered two of them and when they arrived they fit easily into my bag, ready for the flight back.

Setting these NanoStations up was as easy as following the online guides and before long we soon discovered many wireless access points scattered around the city. The most surprising discovery was that we were able to (almost) reliably connect with the city’s free internet service over 6 kilometres away by using just one antenna. The service was abysmally slow, but it was encouraging to know that with the two antennas operating our connection should be very strong and reliable.

Laying cables to the antenna.

Finding the house was not as hard as we first thought, and a house not too far from the edge of the city near us provided the perfect location. We mounted the NanoStation on a 6 metre long metal pole (with a little extra metal sticking out above to try and keep lightning away) and fastened this to the wall of the house. Our antenna was now live.

With both antennas in place, we connected the house to a broadband plan. When the modem finally arrived we checked everything was working and then connected it directly to the NanoStation acting in WDS Bridge mode. This was connecting to the other NanoStation on our property and together they provide a transparent bridge.

Currently we have an old computer running linux that is acting as a router, server, firewall and more, but its control of the modem is causing us a lot of problems. So we will probably replace it with a hardware router which will control the ADSL modem sometime soon. As for the other functions of the server, maybe we can do without it altogether.

Current Results

In this part of the world there is a lot of wind, yet even when the 4 metres of pipe that the NanoStation is mounted on is flailing around violently, the two NanoStations maintain their connection around the -70 dB range and the connection has never failed. Well, not never, but the signal between the two NanoStations is always strong.

The failures that we have had over time have been easily resolved by resetting one of the NanoStations. Even that problem is no longer present since setting up the ping watchdog tool in the configuration. The two NanoStations are connecting over a distance of just under 4 kilometres without any extra antennas. Simply by pointing one towards the other we have our connection. I can see that these antennas are very powerful tools.

Helping Friends

Just as I was leaving, a friend of mine from Puerto Madryn handed me her documents and asked if I could “validate” them so that she could continue the process of residency. Apparently she had been asked to do this very thing when first appearing at the Migrations office in Puerto Madryn.

The first stop, as she was Brazilian, was to see the Brazilian Consulate and find out if they could help me. When I arrive they tell me that there is nothing that they can nor should do as the documents are fully legalised and perfectly able to be used here in Argentina. So just to be sure I head over to the Migrations Office once again and stand in line for the Information Desk. This time there is only about 30 people in front of me.

At the Information Desk the man I speak with tells me that these documents are fine and can be used just as they are, as they already have all of the legal stamps and verifications that are required by Migrations. So several hours later I return with the documents untouched, but certain that they are ready to be used without changes in the Migrations Office in Puerto Madryn.

Cafe Arroyo (Mountain Steam Coffee)

Cafe Arroyo at the Sofitel

On the way between the Brazilian Embassy and the Migrations Office I passed a lovely looking coffee shop and made a mental note that I must return this way and stop in for a coffee. I did. It turned out to be part of the Sofitel Hotel, a luxury hotel chain around the world with amazing antique furniture and the typical hushed atmosphere of money. My coffee cost $12 pesos and returned two lovely Sofitel pens (which I asked for), half an hour of peace and airconditioned quiet in a super-soft and comfortable ancient armchair, and a couple of chats with old friends through a free internet connection.

It was luxury. Sheer luxury.

Enjoying a coffee at the Sofitel

Making Holes

In the afternoon, after the siesta, Danny and I started the process of hanging new curtains around the rooms of the YWAM base. They were given as a gift by a local lady and we wanted to get them hung as soon as possible as she was coming over later. So after unpacking my tools from the suitcase we pushed the stacked chairs up near the wall and used them as our ladder to reach the wall and start drilling holes.

Upon the first hole it was obvious that the wall was made of plaster, so we raced down to the local hardware shop and bought some plastic mounting points made specifically for plaster. Getting back into the work, the first thing that we discover is that the plastic is very soft and they do not go through the plaster very easily. The first curtain rod is not too difficult to mount as there is a lot of wood behind it and we do not need the plaster mounts. The curtains are all jumbled up however and so we leave hanging them until the girls can sort them out, moving on to the next room.

The next room is Danny’s room and we begin the process of mounting the curtain rod in the same way as we did in the first room. When done, we mount the curtains only to find that they are a lot longer than the height that we had given them. Not to be concerned, we simply measured up one of the lengths of the curtain and remounted the rod at this height. Since we could not reach that high with the stacked chairs, we grabbed a wooden pulpit and used that to stand upon so we could reach high enough.

This time the plaster mounts refused to work, either spinning while trying to screw into them or breaking the hole open and making it useless as I tried to gently screw it into the plaster. After making three big holes in the wall our bracket was still not very solidly mounted. We decided to use it like that anyway, and feed the curtain onto the rod and rose it up to the brackets. To our surprise and horror the curtains were now almost 10 centimetres off the floor. Something had gone quite wrong.

The curtain rod in its final position, surrounded by a bunch of holes.

To be sure that we would get it right this time, we used the hung curtains as our guide and marked the wall according to how the curtains were hanging on the rod while we held it. “This time it will be perfect,” I assured Danny as I drilled yet another hole into the plaster. The same thing happened again, and again, and again, with these nasty plaster mounts that we had purchased. Disgusted, I was almost out of suggestions when Danny suggested I use the ones in my tray.

Unbeknownst to me I had brought a dozen plaster mounts with me of a more solid variety. Pulling one of these out and using the battery drill to self-drill and mount it, the plaster mount entered the plaster without any complaint at all and locked in firmly. Screwing the bracket into it produced the strongest mount that we had managed throughout our prospecting time across the plasterboard. The same occurred again with the next bracket. The difference in quality was astounding, and the mess that we had just made (height adjustments excluded) could have been avoided had we started using them in the beginning.

Needless to say that while we were in the middle of drilling for oil the lady who had donated the curtains came through to look at the place… and arrived just in time to see every single hole that I had managed to perforate through the plaster. If there was a time when I should have felt embarrassed about my work… that was it.

Oh, and the end of the story? Well, hanging the curtains at the height that we had marked out resulted in the rod being tilted quite severely to one side… and the curtains were still uneven with the curtain on the high side much lower than the curtain on the low side. So in the end we straightened out the curtain rod (yes, that was one more hole) and left the curtain dragging on the floor with the premise that it is easier to fix the curtains than to try and hang them while they are mismatching lengths.

Looking upward at the array of holes in the plasterboard. Oops.

Overall the new curtains look great though, and I am sure that once they have been tucked in and taken up and whatever else that needs to be done to them, they will look even better.

For now we have two curtain rods and their respective curtains mounted. That was practice for the next three that also need to be mounted tomorrow.

Immigrations in Buenos Aires (Av Antartida).

Tuesday

With the translation of my documents already taken care of, today is dedicated to sorting out my police certificate within Argentina. Having spent the morning on the internet gathering information about what needs to be done, no sooner have I left the building than I am inside a photocopy shop getting every page of my passport photocopied. Twice.

Next stop is a small store along the main road who advertised passport photos on a sign outside. The first store in which I stopped also advertised the same thing, but no longer offered it. This store did, and within moments I was seated on a stool in a crowded corner with a four-eyed camera pointed at me. “Snap!” and it was all over. A few minutes later and $17 pesos lighter and I had four neatly cut out photos ready to hand over to Migrations as required.

Heading to Town

From here it is time to head to town and the easiest way is on the “Subte” or subway. Other than a few unusual hours of the day, this train system is now very overloaded with people, and I considered myself lucky to have been able to get inside the carriage as I allowed myself to be pushed against other people inside the train by those still on the outside trying to get in. Memories of Japan’s white-gloved “pushers” make me smile even in the midst of the uncomfortableness. At least we are not THAT jammed together.

Once in town I have only one hour before the Migrations office is closed, but risk the time to make a purchase on behalf of a friend. It is 1.30pm by the time I reach the end of the centre district and time is fast running out. Even though it is close, I hail a taxi and ask him to take me to the Migrations office. The driver has no idea where we are going, although only tells me at the end when he is dropping me off at the main courthouse, far away from the place I wanted to be. Walking the remaining distance takes about ten minutes and I still get in with time to spare.

At the information desk I ask for directions as to where I can get my police certificate. The lady points over her head to a line outside the windows behind her. “That is the line,” she says. I wander over and look down the line. There are about one hundred people standing there, not moving at all. A much smaller line appears to be moving with nobody else joining it. I approach the person on the end who tells me that it is the line for the police certificates, but you must have a form filled out. He waved the form before me and then continued on explaining the they had run out of forms and everybody else was sitting around waiting for them to photocopy new ones. I too did not have a form.

Looking down the line of people hanging around for a form.

Alternative Means

It looked like a very long wait, so I returned to the information desk and asked them if I had to go here, or if I could go to a police station in the city. Their first reaction was that the other main police station was swamped with work and had started sending people over here to get their police checks done, but when I mentioned another station much closer by, they remembered a different place that I could use. Getting the directions, I headed off to the other police station. Surely it could not be as full as this place.

Arriving at the intersection of the two streets I had been given, the police department was easy to spot as there was a large line out the door and down the street. I walked right in and asked at the information desk which, although the whole place was full of people, was itself free of enquirers. The huge line which I had passed by to get inside, they informed me, was to get to the telephone to get an appointment time. It was possible also to simply call a freecall number from any telephone, and so I moved outside and made the call.

With the mobile phone, there is no indication that my credit is about to expire. So when I made the call to get an appointment time, it just seemed like I could not hear the lady on the other end at first. After a little while of silence though, it dawned upon me that I had been cut off… and so close to the end of the process too. A local kiosk provides me with the credit needed to make the call a second time and complete the process. 3.30pm today I would be able to apply for my police certificate. It was already 2.30pm and I was now ravenous, so I ducked into a small street stall and found a quiet table to enjoy a late lunch and wait out the remaining time before my appointment.

Back for my appointment

Being the first time that I have ever had an “appointment” I had mistakenly assumed that this time was specifically for me, and so wandering back into the police building with ten minutes to spare seemed more than enough to ensure I was not late. There was a line of over 40 people in the room waiting to talk with the only lady at the information desk, but I managed to squeak in a quick question. The answer however was not what I was wanting to hear. That line of people was the line for everybody that had been given a “3.30pm appointment. Walking despondently to the end of the line I note the myriad of others that are seated and standing idly around the place. It looked like I was in for a long wait.

In front of me were a couple who, somewhere down the line, I discovered to be Bolivian doctors also in line to get their police certificate as part of the requirements to get residency here in Argentina. It was great meeting them as we chatted away our waiting time with stories about Australia and Bolivia, about telephones (they were about to purchase one and had all of the brochures) and iPhones, about migrations and politics, and many other interesting topics. Before long we had reached the information desk who gave us a ticket with a number on it and the cost we were to pay.

The police certificate is all done electronically now, and can be received in the normal period of 5 days for $27.50 pesos, or for those in a hurry, 24 hours costs $40 and for $50 you can get it done in 8 hours. I chose the 24 hour wait which meant that it would be ready for me at the very end of the work day tomorrow. The process was painless, providing electronic copies of all fingerprints, a photocopy of the main passport information page, and basic personal details. It took all of three minutes to be processed before I was out of there.

The “National Registry of Criminal History” in Piedras Street, Buenos Aires.

Finishing off the Translation

Saying good-bye to my new Bolivian friends, I headed straight for the train station and squeezed in amongst the many others for a hot and smelly ride to pick up my documents that had now been translated. The massive array of buttons were no longer such a challenge as I located and pressed the corresponding one in order to announce my presence. Picking up the documents and checking them over to ensure that the translation was accurate, I pay the outstanding amount and head back down in the painfully slow lift. It was now 5.15pm and although the documents were translated, they needed to be authorised before they were usable.

Translation of documents in Argentina must be done from within Argentina by “Public Translators.” These are people who have been trained in the art of legal translation of one or more languages. Each one is registered and accredited and once they have translated a document, the translation of which is stapled and sealed to the original, that translation needs to be checked by the College of Translators to ensure that it was translated by an authorised person. Without this authorisation from the College the translation was unusable.

It was four blocks down the road to reach the College of Translators, and I was there in plenty of time to get the documents authorised. In fact, when I arrived there was nobody else there, so my documents were authorised within 15 minutes of arriving. This was the fastest of all of the processes that I have experienced to date.

Walking out of the College I now had my documents translated and authorised, and my police certificate was being processed. Once I pick up the police certificate, what with my photos and photocopies also in hand, I will have everything needed to start the residency process.

None of this should really come as a surprise to me, since I have been through this process once before, with my old Siambretta motorbike (which I eventually gave away to a good cause after all of that). The procedure is that when you ask somebody, they will give you one answer, but when you get to the next person in the order of presenting papers, they will tell you that the other person was wrong and you need something else, or something different. This makes for a slow process in getting things done, but with persistence and a lot of time to stand in the long lines, and you will eventually get things sorted out. That was what I was about to do here in Buenos Aires.

Monday – Translation

Not having done this process before, I start on Monday with the most obvious obstacle… that of translating those documents I have brought from Australia from English to Spanish. The process should be quick and easy, however the only translator known to YWAM who gives us great discounts does not respond to phone calls or emails. Days later we discover that she is in Israel and won’t be back for several weeks. Instead, I start calling some friends and asking them for help.

The one amazing thing about Argentina is the strength of friendship. When you know somebody as a friend (and not just as an acquaintance), it suddenly allows the impossible to happen. Through friendship you can open doors that were otherwise closed. Life here is helped greatly by friends in the right places.

Although I had contacted one translator already, the time for the translation was going to take most of the week and with this Friday being a holiday, time was very important. So when one of my friends tells me of some translators that he uses on a regular basis who can do the job at a discount and finish it today, everything starts coming together. Immediately I head out to their office, a unit in a very tall building. Getting there is easy, but getting inside was somewhat more complicated.

The two glass doors that stand as the entrance to the building are locked. A guard inside ignores me completely, so when another person comes and opens the door, I follow him through… to the chagrin of the guard who then calls me over and explains that I must communicate with the people I want to see – from outside the building. It is only as I am shuffled back out the door that I discover a brass pedestal looking somewhat like a pulpit covered with rows upon rows of buttons. It is through this that I must communicate with the translators.

Posters plastered on old garage doors. One of many sights around Buenos Aires city.

Getting Access

Closely spaced buttons ten across and thirty down formed a mind-numbing grid of selections. Letters on the top and numbers down the side, it soon started to sink in that floor twenty corresponded to the numbers, and unit H was the eighth button across on the row. Pressing the button, careful not to touch any others, I wait. Within moments a voice resounds from the brass pulpit asking who it is, and after declaring my identity, a pulsating buzz grinds away inside the doors. Pushing firmly the once locked door is now free and I move inside for the second time. This time the guard is satisfied with my level of clearance, and even guides me to the right elevators.

There are four elevators in the building, all of which move slowly. The two on the left cover all odd floors, and the two before me cover all even floors. Opening the manual door, I then slide across the inner elevator door and step inside. All buttons on this elevator are even numbers, naturally. The ride to the twentieth floor passes slowly, but I assure myself that even in the heat of this closed shaft, it is cooler and easier than trying to climb the twenty flights of stairs as an alternative.

The translators inform me upon my arrival that they cannot finish my job today and in fact it will only be ready by tomorrow at the earliest. Now that I am here it still seems acceptable, so I pay the amount and leave the documents with them. From here I head into the city centre to fulfil some promises for other people and change my money.

Planning Time

The rest of the afternoon, after returning to the local YWAM base, is spent on the phone and internet sorting out my next move with the documents. One of the more disheartening moments was calling the Migrations Office to get an appointment and receiving it for the 1st of June. With a Police Report from Australia about to expire on the 11th of May, it will no longer be useful by the time my appointment comes around. Some of the people within the Migrations Department have told me that it will still be valid after that date because I have not returned to Australia (which makes sense), most people tell me that you get different answers from different people and once you get to the point of actually submitting the papers, the rules change once again. My personal experience is that the three month limit on police documents is a pretty firm limit and the first time I tried to submit a document outside this limit it was rejected.

So with the possibility that my police certificate may be rejected, I must submit the document before this date. The only way this is possible is to do it from Puerto Madryn as there is a Migrations Office branch down there. In the branches you do not need an appointment, which means that I will be able to submit my document as soon as I arrive there. The only possible down side to this is that there have been some experiences of other people waiting over a year for nothing to happen with their visa applications. Most of these people have had to come to Buenos Aires to get their residency.

Left with a choice…

What do I chose? With very little other possibilities of being certain, I am planning on returning to Madryn to submit my documents there. It seems the most secure way of ensuring that all of my documents are acceptable, and all of the horror stories have come from other parts of Argentina, so perhaps this branch is different.

The same young girl who had taken my first call and booked the taxi answered the phone again. I introduced myself, “Hi, I’m from the Quintas,” I said, “and I would like to know where my taxi is?” The moment I finished those words, there was a gasp and then a flurry of activity on the other side of the telephone, before she squeaked, “Oh! The Quintas! Yes! The Quintas! Oh my…! I’m sending a car now!” and with that she hung up.

The view of Puerto Madryn City from the Quintas. It is normally a 10 minute drive to town.

Getting Late

Waiting expectantly, I started to become alarmed by 4.00pm when there was still no car to be seen. So I rang again to confirm all was well. The only answer I received was that the driver should be arriving, “any minute now.” With no other course of action available to me at this late stage, I started saying my good byes to the few people who were still in the base on such a perfect day off. One of them suggested that I call the local bus terminal and ask them to hold the bus until I arrive. When I talked with the local agency, they told me that I would never make it as the bus was about to arrive any minute now. Pleading with them, I managed to get a promise that they would hold the bus for five more minutes. Unbeknown to me, this was a hollow promise designed only to get me off the phone.

There were less than 5 minutes now before the bus was due to arrive and only a miracle would get me there on time. Still, I continued as though all was well, grabbing my bags and walking out to the gate to wait. Looking up I saw an empty street where the taxis normally come from. Just to be complete, I look down the street too and see a distant car. It becomes evident that this is my taxi when it suddenly roars into life and hurtles at break-neck speed toward me leaving behind it a great plume of dust. I glance at the time. It is 4.05pm.

Finally Moving

As the taxi screeches to a halt before me, the boot pops open and I load my luggage into the back before climbing into the front passenger’s seat. Even as I am still climbing in and in the process of farewelling my friend Paul, I glance at the taxi driver and tell him that my bus is due to leave right now and although I have called the agency it is not going to wait around for me very long. The driver takes off with a burst of speed uncommon amongst his breed while I continue my story of how his agency girl forgot about me and is about to cost me a bus fare to Buenos Aires if I do not get there in time.

Speed suddenly becomes my ally. Hurtling at over 100 kms/hr down the loose gravel road leading from the Quintas to town in any other situation would normally have seen me praying silently for God’s protection as the car darted furtively from one wheel track to another. This time I was almost hoping it was possible to go even faster. Reaching town we hardly slowed down, and even the slowing for intersections would have not allowed us to stop should it have been necessary. None-the-less I was not greatly concerned. It was already past 4.07pm and since the bus company had changed owners it was extremely accurate with its timetable. That worked greatly against me and I desperately needed to get to the bus station or the non-refundable electronic ticket that I had purchased via the internet would be lost.

Rix and Trudy disappearing in one of the many taxis found in Buenos Aires.

The Terminal

Finally we race through the last intersection and pull up outside the bus terminal. It is now 4.10pm. We got here in little over 5 minutes. I can see nothing from here and only hope that the bus is still there. The fee was almost $15 pesos, but I hand the driver $20 pesos and tell him to keep the change. Never before have I had any driver so concerned on my behalf before. This man had earned every part of his tip.

I haul my bags out of the boot of the car and run through the main doors and then through the secondary doors to the main platform, avoiding the police luggage scanner in so doing. As I burst onto the platform, I see my bus at the other end with all luggage and passenger doors closed and the drivers climbing in, ready to depart. I call out and they stop. Before I can reach them, another person races up and quickly climbs aboard, delaying them enough for me to reach the bus and explain my situation. They examine my ticket and agree to let me on. After loading my bags into the hold, I climb the stairs and find my seat, slumping happily into my place as the bus begins to pull out of the terminal.

Somehow I had made it. What only moments before had seemed impossible had now become reality. Maybe it was chance, or luck. But with the amount of prayers that I had been praying to be able to make it there in time, I prefer to consider it as being something God did. Either way, I was now on the bus heading for Buenos Aires.

The Other End

Getting into the taxi in Buenos Aires I struck up a conversation with the driver and guided him to the YWAM base in which I was going to be staying. The fare was $14 pesos so I handed the driver a $20 and a $5 so that he would hand me back a $10 peso note. Instead he takes the lot and is about to leave. I look at him quizzically and tell him that he had just received a $20 and a $5 from me and I was awaiting change. He hands me a $5 peso note and tries to take off again. Again I remain in the door in such a way as to prevent him from doing so. He looks at me and I at him. The $5 peso note that he gave me is still in my hand before him. “It was a $20 peso note,” I explain to him, “so you need to give me $10 pesos in change.” He tries to convince me that it was a $10 peso note that I had given him, but as I had not one single $10 peso note in my wallet at the time, it was futile. Finally he parts unwillingly with the $10 pesos he owes me and exclaims that he is certain that I had given him $15 pesos and not $25. With the correct change sorted, he is gone.

Ironically, even though the driver had complained and argued and exclaimed that I was robbing him, the simple fact that he had given me the $10 pesos in the end was more than sufficient evidence that he had been trying to steal my money. If the man had been as certain as he claimed to be that I had given him $15 pesos there is absolutely no way on this earth that he would have even considered parting with the money. He was simply trying me, to see if I would give in and let him go even though it was ill gotten gains. Drivers such as this man are around the place in Buenos Aires, but with a clear mind and by paying attention they never normally get much further than a failed attempt.

All the same, it seemed the perfect end to an otherwise interesting experience with taxis on this journey.

Today we have internet.

Internet has had a spotted history here at YWAM Puerto Madryn.

Dial-Up

Starting off with dial-up internet, we had a connection that helped us to communicate with the rest of the world. This became a problem when the number of staff and students doubled and then tripled and has continued growing until we now have over 30 people on base at all times. Sometimes there are many more. Our single phone line is used so much that using it for internet blocked many people from calling or receiving calls. Internet by necessity became an activity of the night, with office staff staying up very late just to deal with essential emails.

Using dial-up was not without its problems either. The phone line connection always had a lot of noise and even after a number of calls to correct the problem the noise remained. This meant that our modem connection was slow. Very slow. It would take an extraordinary amount of time to open each email, so our office staff usually found other tasks to do while waiting for emails to load. The phone line was so bad at times that it was impossible to connect. Sometimes we would have to wait until the next day to be able to connect. Still, it was internet.

Sneaker-Net

Then, almost a year ago, internet stopped. Whether it was our account that was cancelled or the ISP that closed down we will never know. The account was on permanent loan from a friend and may well have been cancelled, but whatever happened our internet stopped working. From that moment forward we no longer had internet on our base.

In order to use internet we needed to walk to town, a distance of 6kms. The only bus that services our district works Monday to Friday three times a day. This translates into a lot of walking. Office staff now needed to take their USB sticks with them to town, save any relevant information and return to the office to write their replies before returning to town again the next day and replying to each email through copy and paste.

Other Options

Of course it worked, but it was not practical, and the cost of using internet per hour plus the cost for buses was mounting. Not to mention the slowness of the sneaker-system for internet access. We needed a better solution.

Getting another dial-up account was one option, but it was not a good one unless we put another phone line in. Getting another phone line into our base however, was not possible. All phone lines for the area were currently in use and there was little likelihood of getting one soon. Things move slowly around here.

ADSL, or broadband internet is not available in this area of Puerto Madryn as we are outside the city limits. It took us two months to find this information out from the telephone company, and when we asked if there was any likelihood of getting out here the response was a simple, “no!”

A new system for Internet is that of the USB modem offered by mobile telephone companies. It is available here too, and we have a good signal with one of the companies. This would work for one person, but was not a solution for the base nor for the office and their regular tasks on internet. Limits on these contracts include 1GB per month and expensive monthly payments – not exactly wise spending for a YWAM base.

A Long Shot

The only remaining option left to us was the ideal one – if only everything fell into place. That was to set up a wireless connection between us and town, where we were able to get a broadband connection. The equipment that we needed could be created from cheap items according to websites around the world, but all attempts at this seemed to fail.

Finally, just before leaving Australia, I was able to get a hold of some Ubiquity NanoStation2′s which looked like they were just the thing that we needed. Although somewhat expensive, they were small and effective, and worth the cost if they worked. So today, after purchasing everything that we needed, I put it all together using just one NanoStation2 and pointed it towards the city to see what would happen.

Suddenly we had access to over a dozen networks. We could see the whole world from here, and after trying to connect to a bunch of them, we finally found Internet. It turned out that this was the free internet offered by the local council. It was slow though, and only worked sometimes, but this was enough to encourage us to continue forward.

UPDATE: 30th March

Today we travelled around the city looking for a house to connect the broadband Internet. The first did not have a phone line, the second was behind some huge concrete buildings, and the third looked to be behind a couple of two storey houses. After climbing the roof we discovered that it had clear views to our place and connected with a strong signal. So now all that remains is setting up the other antenna at this house and connecting it to broadband. Wow, Internet in the Quintas at last. Now that really is a miracle.

Well, it is now several hours since I arrived in Argentina. All items that I packed are still with me, although there were a few (mis-) adventures along the way…

Night Before
I guess everything starts from the night before. At midnight as I did my last minute checks on my luggage and weight limits, something on the airline webpage caught my attention. It stated that these weight limits were for tickets purchased BEFORE a specific date. My previous ticket had been purchased before this date, however the ticket that I was about to use today had been purchased after this date. Did this mean that my luggage weight was now wrong?

It took some searching – there seemed to be no direct link at first – but when I finally found the corresponding weights it revealed what I really did not want to know. The weight limit for my bags was no longer at 32kgs each but rather now limited to 23kgs each. This was going to prove a problem. Some of the items that I had expected to take with me would now no longer be possible.

It took two hours to unpack and repack my two bags, weighing them time and again until the weights were right on the 23kg limits. Many useful items, some clothing, books, cables, chargers, documents, and cds were all unloaded to reduce weight. Finally I had two bags reduced down to the new weight limits.

Check-ins
Three hours of sleep later and I am soon standing at the check-in counter. Even with a return ticket in my hand the girl at the counter argued with me that I would not be able to enter the country. Finally, after convincing her that I have been living in South America now for over 5 years and that there would be no problems, she agrees to let me board – but not before writing down my name to cover her hide should anything go wrong.

Nothing went wrong, and my luggage of 23.0kgs and 22.5kgs was accepted without hesitation. After some repeat scannings of my laptop bag to make sure all was clear I passed through into the “clear zone” and with no complications in Sydney airport it was not long before I was soon waiting at the gate for my flight.

Oh yes, there was one thing that happened while standing in the customs line in Sydney. The customs people were sending a dog down the line, sniffing for drugs in the people standing there, when suddenly it stopped and focused intently upon the shoes of a man just in front of me. The dog almost continued but then returned and stayed with that man. Not knowing what to think, I put a little distance between us. Was this going to be a drug bust?

Suddenly there was a commotion and people moving everywhere. The man who had been sniffed broke his line and headed for the customs entry lanes. It took a moment to take the whole scene in, but as I started to process what I had been seeing I saw the man standing and talking with the customs officials. He was not in cuffs and looked very comfortable. Something was not right. Then I caught a part of their conversation… it had been a training run, nothing more.

The Flight
The flight to Argentina took us down toward the Antarctic but not close enough to see it. Cloud cover over most of the ocean limited visibility but as soon as we reached the coastline it disappeared leaving a clear view of the majestic mountains and coastlines of the region.

Having spent considerable time in the mountain town of Bariloche, tucked into the folds of the Andes Mountains, it was thrilling to discover that our flight path took us directly over the top of this picturesque township and the huge lake it cuddles up to. Not only this, but crossing over the Andes led us over the top of the glacial mountain of “El Tronador” which Brodie and I had climbed in January 2007, giving a perfect view of the deep crevasses cris-crossing it everywhere.

Our path followed the road out of Bariloche along the barren desert plains embracing a series of dams until finally reaching the city of Neuquen and its lakes. From there we continued over the green plains of “La Pampa” until finally reaching our destination of Buenos Aires. Fourteen hours journeying only to arrive 50 minutes earlier than I had left. We departed at 11.50am on the 18th only to arrive at 11am on the 18th.

The Customs Debacle
At the airport I pass quickly through immigrations but then have to wait until almost last to finally be able to collect my bags. Moving into the baggage checking area I am very aware that the goods I am bringing into the country is excessive for just one person and had been praying that all would go smoothly during my entry into the country. Now, as I approach the x-ray machines an uncanny calmness fills my being and I feel an assurance that even if I were to pass through the x-ray machine, all would be well.

Passing the barriers it becomes obvious that all of the machines are in use. Before I realise what is happening I push my trolley past a man who stops me and then pushes a button. The button is linked to two lights, one red and the other green. A red light means you get x-rayed. A green light means you walk straight through. I look up at the light, wanting the random electronics attached to that button to smile upon me and give me green. I get red.

Pushing my trolley and four bags up to the x-ray machine I start unloading them one by one onto the conveyer belt. The uncanny peace inside me is like an anchor that subdues the wild thoughts about what is likely to happen that are trying to take root in my head. With two bags moving into the machine, I ask the guards if they want the other bag. They respond that every bag must be x-rayed. I load them on and then push my empty trolley to the other side of the machine, holding my breath and thankful for that peace that refuses to leave me.

As soon as the bags start coming out I begin loading them up on my trolley again. It looks like all is well until the guard tells me that he wants to open one of the bags remaining on the conveyor belt. Reaching for the other, he informs me that he wants to open that bag too. I look down with relief at the two bags that I had at least managed to save, now sitting on the trolley beside me. Then I hear the guard speak again, informing me that they too must be inspected. Every single bag needed to be opened. Gulp.

Caught Out
The guard calls me over and inspects my passport, noting countless stamps for entry and exit into Argentina. Next he asks me what I am carrying in my bags. In the split second it takes me to answer I consider whether I should fudge the truth or not, but quickly return to my senses and determine that all will be well. I start rattling off the list of items in my bags:

Laptop, hard drives, clothes, speakers, computer parts, motherboards, cd-roms, network cables, battery-powered drill, and bits and pieces…

Surprised at my list, the man with supreme authority over my cargo asks me if I have a house here in Argentina. My explanation is that I work with non-government organizations as a volunteer and that the items with me are for their purposes. I confirm that nothing I have with me is new, and then we move over to the bags and start the opening process.

As I open the first bag I add, “Oh yeah, there is a printer too,” and then pull out one of the few new items with me and show it to the guard. It is a small butane soldering iron which attracts no attention whatsoever and he directs me to put it away again. The second bag is opened and ruffled through, also attracting as little response as the first. I start closing them up again.

The third revealed nothing serious, and the last was my laptop bag. As the guard stared at the networking components I held my breath. This may cause a problem. Yet as quickly as everything had started, the guard told me to pack it all up and be on my way. Nothing was amiss as far as he and his partner were concerned.

Closing the lids of my luggage and loading them onto the trolley again, I walked the final few steps and passed through the non-returnable doors. I was back in Argentina again, and everything that I had brought with me was still here. There was a deep joy in knowing that many people would soon benefit from the cargo that I was pushing before me.

I have arrived, and it feels like home again.

Ok, well, it’s like this… I’m still in Australia even though my flight left (without me) over 9 hours ago.

Tell me about it. Talk about crazy stuff! My bags are still packed, I have a Brazilian visa in my passport (that will never get used), and had all of my travel organized, even down to people I’m staying with and everything. And now I’m not going…

…at least not on that flight.

I guess it was not a bad decision. After all, over 40hrs of travel time just to get to Brazil, and then the need to travel on buses for over a week to get back to Argentina (well, about 4 days if done non-stop) did not sound like the greatest of travel adventures. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE traveling, and even a trip like this sounded pretty interesting to me. Pretty tiring too.

So when somebody did the math and worked out that my expenses to get to Argentina would cost about the same as them buying me a direct flight… and when they offered to do so at no cost to me… the idea of traveling only 16hrs to land directly in Buenos Aires… the answer was obvious. I jumped at it.
That means that this last week of running around crazily working out all of the last minute details, the crammed-in dinners with family and friends and rushed good-bye phone calls, the packing and weighing and repacking and re-weighing of luggage, and the lack of sleep and tying up of loose ends, and the long lists of must-dos and should-dos and want-to-dos being slowly checked off… well, I get to do it all again in two weeks. :-D
Yep, I have a new flight now that leaves in two weeks, flying directly to Buenos Aires. No long around-the-world-non-stop flights that end in Brazil. No I-cannot-believe-they-did-that 18hr stopovers in some foreign airport. Just a simple get-on-get-off and there-you-are flight home. Nice.

A couple of eggs smashed on my head, which seems to be a customary thing for those with birthdays in Peru, and a card signed by a handful of friends were about the only reminders that this was actually one of the biggest days of my life.

The age of forty for me was one of the greatest milestones in my life. It brought with it many discoveries both about who I was and where I was going that caused both conflict and serious growth during this time. To have celebrated it in some big way would have helped me pass through this process at the time.

Now it does not matter anymore. Of course it did at the time, but it was one of those things that after a year it was no longer important. Now I am turning 41. This seems hardly significant at all, as most of my struggles relating to this new age are now over.

Turning 40 was like the entry into adulthood, it was the turning of a corner in life that revealed that I could not remain young forever. Perhaps for others this happens at 30 or another age. For me it happened at 40.

So when my birthday comes and goes it is no longer matters greatly to me. Sure, celebrating with good friends or doing something nice on the day is always great, but it is no longer a necessity. I can relate now to my late grandmother who saw every birthday the same as any other day.

Apart from some eats (as seen in the pic) for presents, there was nothing more to identify my birthday this time. No big party, no phone calls outside of family (maybe everyone is too used to me being overseas), no expensive presents, no anything. Yet somehow it seemed right. This time… I liked it like that.

This was the first birthday I have celebrated in Australia for over ten years… and the quietest one too.

More photos after the break…

Getting egged for my 40th birthday in Peru

Celebrating my 40th birthday quietly in a pub in Peru with a friend.

The sweet harmony of crashing waves slowly ease their way through into my consciousness. I spin on the bed, trying to coax another half an hour’s rest from the already stifling hot day. The early sun’s rays have heated the canvas annex to the point of a sauna and beads of sweat are starting to run off my body.

“Just a little more…” I think to myself casting off even the smallest corner of the sheet which had been touching me in the vain hope that it would cool me off.

Ten minutes later, after tossing and turning and trying to force myself back into the bliss of sleep, the war against the ever increasing heat off the sun is lost.

I open my eyes and squint into the light. Willing my body to rise by slinging first one leg and then the other over the side of the bed, I give the final push-off with my hands to reach the standing position. I am anything but awake still.

Sleeping in my swimmers gives a great advantage for my next move. Half-walking, half-stumbling out into the sunlight I start pulling the sleep out of tired eyes and robotically make my way down to the beach. It is less hot outside but a lot brighter. Even at 7am the day is very bright and the sun is strong.

Encouraged by the sight of the crashing waves I stumble sleepily onward. As the cool waters wrap around my feet there is a strength that begins to return to my legs. As I push deeper, passing through the turbulence of each wave, strength continues to return.

Soon, waist deep in the agitated waters, I dive head first through the next large wave, down into the turquoise-blue waters. The rush of cool water envelops me, wrapping its smooth liquid touch around my drowsy head and pulling all remnants of sleep from it. By the time I emerge out the other side, breaking through the surface of the water back into the brightness of day, all tiredness has gone.

I am ready now for the day. There is no better way to wake up than diving into a large surf.

Brought up in a rich home with both parents working in high-level medical fields, Andrew decided to drop out of life after high-school. One of three children, he names himself the black sheep of the family. It has been two years now since his dad dropped him off in this area, destined to live on the streets.

More story after the break…

When asked about work, he proudly replies that he is a “dole-bludger”, somebody that lives off the handouts given by the government for those who cannot find a job. In Andrew’s case he just does not want one. As we talk he shows himself to be very intelligent and bright even after constant drug use since he was a youngster. Drugs have always been a part of his life.

Talking freely about drugs, which seems to be one of his favourite topics, Andrew is quick to explain that he has tried many drugs but some of them just don’t give him the buzz that others claim they should. So he sticks to the few that seem to work for him… or at least stuck to them. Now he doesn’t do them. Well, the street variety anyway. A pharmacist friend fixes him up with certain other, more socially acceptable drugs which he talks about using more frequently.

Not only has he tried most of the available drugs, but he has also sold them to his friends. Most of this was done directly from his parents’ home where he was living until they placed a restraining order on him to legally keep him far from them. It does not take one long to realise that there is no love in this family. While talking, a noise causes Andrew to look around and quickly pick up a large pointed kitchen knife. He explains innocently as he shoves it back in to his pocket that he must have left there while moving some things at his home. Then he proudly announces that he has been charged by police for possession of dangerous weapons before.

Our conversation continues, but begins to cover previous territory once again. Andrew is happy to talk about his drugs but does not venture into more significant areas of his life, even when prompted. Only direct questioning revealed his age to be late 30′s and some of the family details already shared.

Andrew is not alone. Phil is another that sat near me, an old man with painted toenails and fingernails. Today he is in shorts, although they are very short and more feminine than fitting for a man. But that is Phil. He wears anything, be it pants or a dress. Billy is an aboriginal man who has been on the streets since he was 8 years old. He is now in his late 30′s and has a lot of anger and hate in his heart from the life he has experienced.

We are surrounded by about twenty people, all with their own stories. Some are open and want to talk, while others just like to sit there and observe. All have come for the food and drinks we off them, some also come for the conversation and opportunity to hang out with us. All are welcome.

This is the soup van. This is YWAM.

(Note: All names have been changed.)

The evening is divided into two sections, with family friendly events and activities running from early afternoon until the culmination of their day with fireworks at 8pm. Just after this the main events for the evening started to gear up, with concerts, buskers, and roving acts throughout the night until midnight when the largest of the fireworks celebrates the New Year.

My old year ended at about 11pm when I crawled into my bed, and my new year began at 12.01am when everybody on the beach started screaming and shouting “Happy New Year” for the next ten minutes.

So Happy 2009 to all of you. I trust that this year brings you closer to your dreams, nearer to your loved ones, deeper in your convictions, and stronger in your faith. Have a great one!

Rob.

The 8pm fireworks for New Year’s Eve. The main crowd can be seen standing on the lit beach to the right of the fireworks, while this was taken from a distance at the entrance to the river harbour.

More photos after the break…

Food stalls were doing a roaring trade along the waterfront, with selections from all around the world. Even this early in the evening with only small crowds, the lines to get food were very long.

People line the beach edges ready for the family fireworks at 8pm. The main fireworks event at midnight is huge and attracts massive crowds from all over the coast and Brisbane.

Yep, the beach is still just the same for the New Year… and the water is just as refreshing. I checked just after getting up today.

It is a life of nothing, a very relaxing few weeks set aside amongst a busy schedule to help remind me that it really is possible to live this way… at least for a little while.

Towing the van up to the coast… A wave rolling in toward the shore.

My dad playing in the surf with his grandson.

Another perfect day at the beach.

Life in a caravan right on the beach, towered over by the high-rise apartments behind.

Sunset on the beach.

An evening view of the beach and its (currently) placid waves.

My nephews playing with their train set on Christmas day.

Family watching on with the boys as others open their presents.

A rock crab, cornered and wary of the camera now poked in his face.

Clouded skies coming through just before a fierce evening thunderstorm typical for this area.

Joseph fishing in the surf, with his youngest son watching on.

The two boys baiting up in anticipation of the next big bite…

Waiting patiently for the anticipated bite.

All of this just emphasises even more just how great an error it was that I had made only recently which continued undiscovered until today. You see, it all started when I was building a website during my last week in Argentina for a YWAM base there.

During the early part of the week, as I was writing the basic pages of the website, it seemed ok to have a little fun with some of the content. The base here consists mainly of women, and most of them are single at that. None are very young. So while writing about how the base accommodates foreign teams, I ignored the niggling feeling that perhaps I would forget to edit out this bit and continued writing. What I wrote, roughly translated was:

“If you would like a wife, then we recommend that you only send male teams here. Ages from 25 up please, because we are not looking for those who are too young… Be aware that we have already had significant success using this method.”

This was found amongst other paragraphs of serious content explaining how teams could get to the base, what the base would do for each team, and more. It looked like it belonged there.

It ended up on the live website. For two weeks.

I received no emails about it so hopefully nobody noticed. As soon as I realised it was removed from the site, but by this time Google and other search engines would have already sucked down the site.

So now I’m wondering how many people who are searching for “find a wife in buenos aires” are being sent to the YWAM base’s new website?

Doh!

For being professional, I certainly let my guard down that time. No more games or attempts at being funny on other people’s websites for me… or at least no more rushes to get websites up before long flights.

Now, talking about a wife…

Through a lot of hard work and some very late nights, it was possible to piece together a website for YWAM Capital Base by the end of the week. This was not without its problems, but with a lot of work and the effortless work of Silvana by my side, we finally did it.

More after the jump…

I would like to take a moment here to praise the work of Silvana, one of the staff at the base, who worked tirelessly alongside me to help ensure the site would become a reality. Even though it was not her job and even against time pressures to complete other work that was very important, she took the time this week specifically to help me out. During this time she searched out difficult to find information, photos spread across many different computers, site designs, and much, much more. Without her help it would not have been possible to do what we did in that week. Thank you Silvana.

Of course a week in Buenos Aires is not complete without going out with some friends, and I took the opportunity to hit the town with Danny and then later in the week took Silvana out for a well earned rest and we caught up with Ruth, a friend from New Zealand.

Before I knew it the week was over and it was time to continue my journey. So taking my bags in hand I headed out to the taxi, bid farewell to my new friends at the base, and continued on towards Australia.

In Argentina the prices are also pretty high and all repairs are paid for, unless you know the person doing the repair, which comes under friendship and therefore is either free or very cheap. I did not know the shop owner at all, and so presented him with the broken lock and asked if any sort of repair was possible, expecting a reasonable cost.

The man went out the back and I heard some bangs and noises as he presumably worked on my request. It was over five minutes before he finally returned, with the lock working perfectly again. Great. I asked him how much it would be, but he turned and waved me off, saying that there was no cost at all.

Stunned. Surprised. Thankful. All of these things come to mind when I remember that moment. In a place where you pay for everything outside of friendship, and where you often get charged more just for being a “gringo” or outsider, this kind of service was above and beyond.

So if the shop owner can read English… I just want to say thanks. That was awesome customer service.

Sunday was my first free day for the weekend, which normally occurs on Sunday and Monday. There was nothing planned and nothing really essential for the day. Somewhere in my head I had considered that it would be good to do a number of different things, but thought that I would leave it to the chance of the day rather than plan anything. After all, it was my day off.

That chance never came. All of the things rolling around in my head that seemed to be a great idea to do never actually got done. Not one of them. Instead, a whole bunch of unimportant or even unnecessary things took up the entire day. Watching movies, organising files, organising the room, and reading bits and pieces from a variety of books. All in all a wasted day, and it felt that way too.

I had wanted to put another coat of paint on the Prayer House bathroom walls. I needed to wash my clothes. It would have been great to pack all of the stored items in my closet to make room for better organisation. Yet not one of these actually happened. Even though they were on my list of desired things, they were not actually planned as being part of the day and so they just never happened. Some were put off for a while, while others were forgotten. The end result was the same – in that nothing got done.

Today I had set out a plan. Shower, breakfast, immigration office, internet (specific items for this too), pack. In many ways I felt quite silly for putting in simple things such as breakfast and shower, yet when the time came these items were invaluable to help me feel a sense of accomplishment even before my day had begun. With these first two items checked off my list, the rest of the items seemed even more achievable. They were all finished and completed without problems. Why? Because they were on my “list” which somehow seemed to click in my brain to tell it that these were the most important parts for today.

On the way to town my bike flipped over down a small hill and ended up broken and doubled over. It then took me somewhat over an hour to repair the bent wheel, discover the bent forks, and fix the two holes in the front tube. Even with this delay I managed to get everything done without too much trouble. I even found time to stop and chat with the bike-shop owners while buying the replacement parts for my bike.

Internet, which normally takes a huge chunk of my time, was also very fast and I quickly found myself without anything more to be done. It was a great feeling to be able to return early to the base, where I then had time to finish the pack part of my list of to-dos. By the time the day was over, everything planned had been done and there was still time over to spend with people and to do some impromptu work for an urgent situation.

The difference between these two days are huge.

This weekend I experienced the difference that goals can make. The first day I did nothing important, everything I wanted, and got nothing done and didn’t even feel great about it. Today I set some big but loose goals, programming in even the mundane things of breakfast and lunch. Then, as many things seemed to go wrong, I still managed to achieve all of my goals, spend time with people when it mattered, and do some extra work for others.

Goals make the difference between just floating through a day and being certain of where you are going.

The bike path that I take from our YWAM base to the township of Madryn, and the new road.

Riding to town I always take the small trail that leads through the big open spaces and weaves amongst the Calafate thorn bushes to get to the edge of the city. Recently the city started coming closer to us, with a new street freshly cut through the open land. It also cut directly across my trail.

Each day there is machinery working on this new road. The other day they dug a deep trench beside the road to lay water pipes, leaving large mounds of dirt beside the trench and the trail impassable. The next day it was filled in, but mounds of dirt were still there, and it was these mounds of dirt that caught me out today.

The new road cutting through my bike trail with the mound of dirt that “got me.”

I carried the bike over the first time. I should have carried it over today too.

Maybe it was the super soft dirt that kept filling my shoes when I carried the bike over. Or perhaps it came from one of those fond memories of my mountain-bike-racing days when I could make it over anything without getting off the bike. In any case today, instead of slowing down to get off, I sped up intent on getting over that dirt mound without stopping.

But I stopped. Suddenly.

I had not considered my made-of-every-cheap-part-you-can-find bike that was propelling me, nor had I considered that the loosely dumped dirt may be full of Calafate thorn bushes with their strong sharp spines. It also came as a surprise to discover that once I reached the other side of the dirt pile it gave way quickly to a hard surface that had not been there the last time I came past.

My bike went down, and hard. I followed quickly after it.

I was falling, with my feet clamped to the pedals – a great system except for moments like these. Somehow though I managed to escape the clutches of those pedals and the certain doom they spelled. With difficulty I lunged forward, over the rapidly sinking handlebars. My feet clumsily searched for a landing, hitting hard with the weight of a falling body behind them. Suddenly my knees give way, and I am on way way down into the Patagonian powder dust that rises to meet me in an impenetrable cloud as first my knees and then my hands thud heavily into it.

I had survived.

I turn around and pick up the bike to move on. It doesn’t move. A second attempt does nothing to convince it.

The buckled wheel, now partly fixed but needing much more.

Looking down, the wild buckle in the front wheel reveals the problem. It is bent wildly out of shape. The buckled wheel refused to even move through the front forks. Reaching a clearing I turn the bike upside down to work on it and hear the unmistakable hiss of escaping air. There was more than just a buckled wheel that would need to be fixed.

Wherever I go with the bike, under my seat are most of the tools necessary to fix it. Today I would need most of them.

Two large thorns protruded from the front tyre. Pulling the first one released a stronger escape of air. Pulling the next one allowed the now partially deflated tyre to deflate completely. It was like watching a balloon poked with a needle.

The buckled wheel proved a problem. Even after pulling every trick in the book to try and coax it back into shape, after an hour of work it remained a wildly wobbling mess with no front brakes. It was the best I could do. At least it now spun. After fixing the holes in my tube and pulling yet another deeply embedded thorn from my tyre I am ready to go. Climbing on to ride the bike reveals yet another problem. The forks have been bent back so much that the front wheel hits my feet as I pedal.

Fixing the mess that I had made of the bike.

Walking out of the local bike shop, I now have new forks and a new front wheel in my hands. This crash just cost me almost $100 pesos. The next time I will carry the bike over and put up with the dirt in my shoes. It will save me both time and money.

In this case, stopping was wiser than going.

It caused me to ask, “Where has the help gone?”

Living in community, one generates friendships and comradeship. When an event such as that which happened today occurs, you would expect others to take notice and want to help out, especially if they have free time. Yet amongst a crowd of young people there was not more than one offer for help and that only for a moment. So where were the offers for help, the inquiries as to if help was needed, the interest in what was happening? It didn’t come, there was no response to get involved. This quite surprises me.

The people about whom I am writing are not bad people. They are friendly, kind and courteous, and if asked they all would have stopped what they were doing and come to help. Yet I did not ask, as I had passed by them quite a number of times by then and decided to wait to see what response they would give on their own. Yet they did not give any response beyond a few comments as to having a lot of stuff, or feigning that I had stepped on one of their feet, and a couple of jokes. It appeared as though they simply did not see any need to get involved, which left me carrying load after load on my own, cutting through their conversations and groups, and walking past them over twenty times until everything had been moved from one room to the other.

What caused this lack of initiative? This lack of involvement? I cannot say, but it certainly left me surprised.

Where did the help go? It appears that unless you ask for it, it does not exist.