Category: Argentina

Arrival
Having arrived at the church, we were shown to our rooms. Mine was the pastor’s office, converted to a bedroom with two beds. The girls lived in a house attached to the side of the church. My room was located in the middle of everything. Next to our dining room, immediately behind the stage wall to of the church, and above the kitchen and meeting place for church members.

The facilities were basic, providing the necesities, but their hospitality was excessive. We were always fed with newly cooked food, even if there was enough left over to make another meal out of it, and were given enough drink to quench even the driest of thirsts. There were always people around to make sure that we were comfortable and to check if we needed anything else. And people were always available to show us around the local area, which they did. But they were never overbearing or crushing. I felt very comfortable here.

Having organised myself for the night, I wandered into the main church building, following a narrow hallway with several doorways on the right leading into the auditorium. I choose the third and enter into a large area filled with over a hundred people. The opening service had begun.

The church that held the Missionary Conference.

The First Night
During the course of the night, each of us were introduced to the people attending, making our way to the front to say a few words and then returning to our seats. Nancy spoke that night, about Missions and the importance of it. My turn would come the next day when I was to speak at a workshop at 10am.

Exhausted after the meeting, I turned in for an early night almost immediately afterwards. No sooner had I fallen into bed than there was a knock on the door. Upon dressing I discovered that it was somebody concerned that I would not be able to get out to the toilet without a key for the outside door. They offered me the key and left. I quickly fell back into bed again. Half an hour later there was another knock on my door. Again, after rising and dressing, I open the door to another person checking that I was able to get out to the toilet that night should I need to. I assured them that all was well and that I had a key so they could rest easy. Then fell back into bed.

The normal hour for sleeping is normally close to midnight, so these calls from people around 11pm were very common and they would have expected that I would be still awake. I wasn’t, and at a few minutes to midnight, a persistent knock at my door finally dragged me out of my deepening sleep. Upon rising, I discovered the the group who had been making a bunch of noise downstairs, almost directly underneath my room, were now leaving. I thanked them for informing me, turned and grabbed my newly given key, and followed them out, bidding them farewell and locking the door after me. Sleep came very easily.

Delivery Day
It was only a little after 6am that I awoke to my alarm. Underneath my room I could hear noises and movements of a number of people. Things were scheduled to start at 8am, so I wanted to be sure that I would be ready in time. A quick shower and I was ready to go and it was still only 6.40am. So after some morning routines I join the people downstairs for some mate and a chat. At around 7.15am I overhear some worried ladies talking about how the two girls have not yet risen. The girls rose only shortly afterwards.

Around this time, one of the men rises and announces that he is going to search out some “facturas” for breakfast. These are sweet croissants and other concoctions from the bakery that make for a very standard breakfast here. Then looking over my way, he offers me a ride around town to show me a little of the place. I don’t wait for a second invite and quickly climb on his scooter for the ride. We head down the streets looking for an open bakery.

Heading out to the bakery on the bike.
Continue reading “Missionary Conference in Virasolo (The Conference)”

“Rob,” the message came to me with urgency, “the taxi is outside waiting for you.” I had been talking with my friend Lehman about plans and ideas and had lost track of the time. Mostly packed, I quickly stuffed my computer and associated bits into my bag where they would fit and then raced out the door, concerned that the rush may have meant I had forgotten something. It was too late now anyway. Our bus was leaving in 25 minutes.

When I reached the taxi, Norma and Nancy were already there waiting to go. Throwing my bags into the boot, I climbed into the front and we were off. The taxi wove us through various pathways and roads on our way there. Leaving our area, we bounced and bumped along the badly eroded dirt roadways at speeds approaching 20 kms per hour. It was only once we reached the main roads, surfaced in asphalt, that we could travel at the regulated 60 kms per hour.

My view in the front seat was obstructed by a plastic sign jammed into the upper corner of the windscreen on my side. It contained the phone number of the taxi company and proved to be the perfect size to reduce the vision from my right eye to virtually nothing. So I found myself leaning left and right as we weaved our way through the meandering traffic just to see anything. It was just after 1.40pm in the afternoon. Our driver was pretty crafty in the paths he chose, and managed to cut through a service station, and squeeze through tiny gaps in the traffic to deliver us at the bus terminal with only minutes to spare.

The bus was waiting for us down the other end of the platform and after checking our bags into the storage space underneath the three of us clambered aboard and found our seats. I was seated on my own, next to a woman that managed to sleep for most of the journey. This was not the comfortable buses with wide seats and a food service. Those buses only travel between major destinations. Our destination was small and local, and our bus was narrow with two seats either side and an aisle that was filling up fast.

As a local bus, if there were people wanting to get onboard then it stopped. If people wanted to get off then it stopped. There were designated stops for the bus, but they were more of a guideline than a hardened rule. I guess these were the places that people knew to wait for the bus at least. As more people got onto the bus, there were no seats left for them to sit, so they just stood around in the aisle, bags at their feet.

People of all sorts were on our bus. From the local gaucho cowboy with his big belt, felt hat, and traditional clothing, to two modern girls decked out in the fashionable tight jeans and loose top typical to this part of the country. A father and son with their shopping for the week stood in the aisle saying nothing, while a middle-aged mother of three or four (it was hard to tell for sure) spent most of her journey telling the kids what they can’t do and should have done.

Five long hours later and we roll into the township of Virasoro, our destination and home to the Fourth Missionary Conference (of Virasoro). As soon as we had gotten off the bus and retrieved our bags we were met by the pastor and ferried in his car to the church hosting the conference.

We had arrived.