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New Year’s Eve 2006

New Year’s Eve in Puerto Madryn, Argentina was a joy. After a family dinner together with the staff of the YWAM base there, we all waited for the key indicator that it was New Year… countless fireworks sounding off from the distant city.

You see, where the base is located is a number of kilometres from the actual city of Puerto Madryn. Situated on a hill, we were able to wander over, past the limited collection of houses in this area, and get a clear view of the city and the range of fireworks that continued to explode above it.

watching fireworks in Madryn
Standing on the hill watching the fireworks.

After more than 20 minutes of watching, the fireworks still showed no sign of slowing down. Eventually we all started heading back to the base where some fell into bed and others continued with the festivities of the night.

I fell into bed.

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Coyhaique to Puerto Cisnes

On arriving in Coyhaique, I was expecting to catch a bus straight onward to Puerto Cisnes. Unfortunately my bus was late and I missed the connection. Unbeknownst to me there was another bus that I may have been able to catch too, but after heading into town to search for some money that bus had also left. I was now stuck in town until the next day.


The township of Coyhaique, Chile.

As I moved through Chile, I started to discover that the state of transport in the South was really designed for the casual traveller. Most things only departed once per day (or twice at most), and for many destinations it was only once or twice per week.

Another area that I was still unfamiliar was in the Chilean peso and the exchange rate. I had neglected to look at the change-over from Argentine pesos and so was trying to take a rough guess based on hearsay. During this period of ignorance, I manage to purchase an icecream for almost $6 pesos Argentino (worth about $3 pesos there), and spend thousands of Chilean pesos. It was only in arriving in Puerto Cisnes that I gained a true appreciation for how expensive Chile really is.

Before moving around too much more, I went searching for a bed. Not wanting something too expensive, the first place I tried looked like a pub with some rooms out the back. It was somewhat better than this, but the price seemed acceptable and I moved in straight away. The accommodation section was separate to the pub, and while I was there the only people in the pub were the owner and his mates, playing cards and using rocks for their bets. It reminded me of some old English pub with the men seated around the table, smoking and drinking beer and chatting as they played their card games.


The Pub/B&B that I stayed in at Coyhaique.

After a night in Coyhaique and a super cold shower (a product of not turning on the gas heater just outside the bathroom door), I headed out for the morning to look over the town. Every shop is shut and people are few and far between. It seems a little strange to me, but because it is a Sunday I figure that this is what Chile is like on these days. After all, it was my first time in Chile for quite a while and I was still reasonably unfamiliar with the place.

It turns out that today was Election day and it is illegal for there to be any public gathering anywhere. So even the churches were closed up. I never learned about this until later. Instead I wandered around the town taking photos of anything interesting. Unfortuately, except for the huge rock mountain that overlooks the township. there was not much else to see. So after wandering around for a while, I slowly worked my way back to the bus station where I jump into the front passenger’s seat for the four hour journey.

The Bus Journey
The driver was a Christian who lived in Puerto Cisnes, and when he found out that I loved photography and was also a Christian, he offered me the normally reserved position in the front seat. Not only this, but he also stopped at various places along the way so that I could get a good photo, slowing down every time that I wanted to take a shot. Due to mainly to the rain, it was hard to take good photos during the journey.


One of many waterfalls along the roadside.

The drive took us through rainforest running down into wide snow-fed streams, so clear that you could see the bottom rocks. Our road hugged the edge of mountains and hills as we wound our way along the edge of these amazing streams of crystal clear water. From one valley up over a ridge and down into another we went. Half of the journey on sealed roads and the rest on dirt.

As we wound our way onward, everything I saw reminded me of New Zealand. The road hugging the rivers, the rainforest scrambling down the slopes to meet the river, the incredible green, the constant rain, the breath-taking beauty. It was amazing.


Winding alongside the rivers.

After passing rivers, lakes, forests, mountains, and farms, we finally start winding our way along a large lake until we can finally see a small town lying ahead of us. We had made it to Port Cisnes. The late sun carressed the large lake with a glistening beauty and illuminated the township with a yellow tinge. It was 8pm and there were still a couple of hours of daylight left to the day. Now that I had arrived however, I had another challenge ahead of me.


A farmhouse that reminded me of New Zealand.

Finding the Team
The town of Puerto Cisnes was a lot larger than I had first expected. This meant that the Puerto Madryn Outreach Team could be anywhere. It looked like it was going to be a bit of searching to find them. I let out a short prayer that God would at least let me see one of them walking along the road or something so we would be able to catch up.

There is no bus terminal in Puerto Cisnes, so our bus driver was dropping people off at their doors. This meant that we were zig zagging all over town. I figured that this would be good as it would give me more of an idea of where to start looking for the others. But then as we crossed over an old wooden bridge two girls jumped out in front of the bus, waving and shouting. It was the team.


The two girls waiting on the left side of the bridge. Only their heads are visible over the railing.

Well, it was two of the girls from the team. They had all gone to the Internet and only just received my email telling them that I was heading their way. So these two girls volunteered to come down and try and find me. If I had been in the back I don’t know if they would have been so enthusiastic in stopping the bus. However I was in the process of taking a photo, sitting in the front seat, and wearing my YWAM North T-Shirt. I guess I could not have made it any easier for the girls to recognise me.

So it was on the bridge that I got off, having finally made it to meet up with the Outreach team.

Other photos of the journey…

Gauchos (cowboys) riding along the road near a small town.


Cattle farm about half way along the journey.


Many cycle tourists travel through this area during summer.


Our dirt road, filled with potholes, hugged the river tightly for a long time.


Passing over another ridge on the sealed section of road.

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Turning Tables into Workstations

Ever since I arrived in the YWAM base in Ituzaingo, I have enjoyed the use of these wonderful outdoor tables for everything from chatting with friends and eating lunch to working with my computer using the wireless Internet that you can access from there.


There are five of these awesome tables here.

One of the things that became very obvious to me quickly was during the National Conferences where everyone was crowded around the tables with their laptops, all plugged into the few outlets that were available to them for power. Most had extension leads and power-boards and there were always people that had to give up because of an exhausted battery and no place to plug-in.

So it seemed to me that the best thing we could do was sort this problem out and fix up the tables with lights for night time and power outlets for computers, chargers, CD-Players and what-nots that people want to use them for. With this in mind, we set to work and came up with this result.


Nico and Ramon preparing the gear to put on the tables.


The finished product, with one light and two power outlets.

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Spitting Fire

The other week the art students were being taught how to juggle and walk on stilts. Starting with balls they moved on to the bowling pins and then, to everybody’s surprise, to balls of fire and fire sticks. This was a challenge for each of them to overcome different fears or concerns that they had about working with fire.

Finally it came to the main act, of breathing fire. Practicing first with water, they all perfected their technique and then one by one, the boldest first, they had a go at breathing fire from their mouths. It was an amazing spectacle and many of the staff stopped to watch the process. The end result was highly spectacular, as the photos show. I was even able to have a go at it all.

Water first
Everyone practising with water first.


Making fire. Billy showing the others how it is done.

Facu
Facundo trying his hand at it all.

Billy again
Billy shows how it is done again.

Girls have a go
One of the girls trying it out.

The crowd
The crowd watching each attempt.

Billy showing me
Billy showing me how it is done.

My attempt
Here is my attempt at breathing fire.

Gaston
Gaston preparing to juggle with fire.

Juggling with fire
Gaston juggling his firesticks.

Stilts
The students practising walking with stilts.

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The Old Bus

When I first arrived in Buenos Aires and visited YWAM in the city, it happened to be a Friday. Every Friday evening the people in the city centre bases travelled out to the Ituzaingo base for a “Buenos Aires” meeting, and I was invited. This meeting involved a lot of fun activities, sharing the things that had happened during the week, and eating together afterwards. It was a lot of fun.

Arriving at 5pm, I waited another hour before we were all ready to leave. Our transport… an old bus. This old bus has been a part of YWAM in Buenos Aires for quite some time now, and after reconditioning the motor it goes very smoothly. Unfortunately the bodywork of this beast is in great need of repair.


The old bus as it looks today.

Large sections of paint flaking off, rust holes showing up in the floor, broken indicators and windows, and other bits and pieces tell you that this bus has seen a lot of work. For Argentina it is old, but not down and out. When I first saw it however, it was quite a shock to the system.

Sitting on the bus, there were more of us than the seats could manage, and we then jammed a whole bunch of bags and equipment in amongst us all. My seat, like all of the seats in this bus, was super tight on the knees. It was kind of like a top level basketball player trying to sit in the economy class section of an airplane. It didn’t quite work.


Parked under a tree to try and protect the remaining paint.

So with knees up around the shoulders, I fit myself in and the journey began. Others, shorter than I was, managed to make themselves comfortable in this old bus. But not so for me. The discomfort and lack of room only served to etch this journey indelibly into my mind forever. That and the heat.

In Buenos Aires in the summer it is very hot. Sitting cramped amongst dozens of other people equally cramped, while stuck inside a tin roof with the sun beating harshly upon it, using tiny window openings for ventilation while inching forward in traffic turns a bus into a sauna.

Perspiration rolled down my face and back as I sat on my pre-heated vinyl seat. Enjoying the moments that a break in the traffic gave us opportunity to generate a breeze through the windows. It was never enough however, but it felt great.

Arriving was a great experience, and after stumbling off the old bus and teaching my legs how to walk again, it was great to stretch and feel the blood in my feet once more. That old bus had done a wonderful job and gotten us here. How wonderful it is to have something like that to help us in our transporting of people all over the city and further.

Looking at the old thing today, I can see that there is still a lot of life left in the beast, and was glad to hear that there is now a project underway to repair it. Removing and replacing rusted metal sections, repainting it, and fixing up the seating inside are all on the agenda. Already the original seats that I experienced have been removed and a handful of better seats have taken their place in the back section.


The newer seats that have replaced the old ones.

There is a lot of work to get it into good condition, but this is the goal. I look forward to seeing the finished job, once they get there, and just so I would not forget what it was like beforehand, I snapped off a few shots of the precious Mercedes Benz bus that created such a clear memory of my first moments in YWAM Argentina.


The broken indicator.


Driving position.


The Argentine flag proudly displayed at the front.

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Fierce Storm

Only two days ago there was a fierce storm come over our city. In the city centre trees had fallen over and roofs ripped off. There was a mess everywhere. Where we are, the core of the storm bypassed us, but the strength of the wind was massive at times. There were moments when I thought our little house would lose its roof. It didn’t, and we all survived, but power went out until the next day.


The approaching storm.


Trees bending under the fierce winds.

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Scorpion

I found a scorpion under our door stop yesterday. It is the first one that I have found since moving here and I was surprised at this little creature. When I disturbed it, it ran around inside my house with its tail elevated and looking very menacing. For all I know it is probably harmless, but based on my movie mentality, they are all deadly little creatures, so I killed it. Poor thing. Chose the wrong place to hide.

Before this event I always thought that scorpions were hard shelled little creatures that were pretty tough and hardy. My late-scorpion had a very soft shell on it, that seemed more leathery than like a shell. It also did not look like the sort of creature that would live very long in a dry environment. It certainly did not live very long in my house environment.

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Missionary Conference in Virasolo (The Conference)

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)”

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Holiday Time

Well, it is very close to holiday season now. I am getting ready to head off into the wild blue yonder. There is nobody to travel with me this time, so I am aiming to head for groups of friends in different places.

First stop is Buenos Aires, where I will catch up with some of my friends there for Christmas and the days around it. After this, I plan on heading south, with a possible stop in Mar de Plata. I was there once before but it was during winter and I have heard that it is a very different place during the summer. Continuing onward, my destination is Puerto Madryn, home to another YWAM mission station.

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Missionary Conference in Virasolo (Getting There)

“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.