An Answer To Prayer

I often have trials and challenges to deal with as I travel. Many are so small they are not worthy of a mention and at other times I have chosen to dwell on the positives instead, and put them out of my mind. However, the last 24 hours have been challenging both physically and emotionally and they mark the start of an increasingly difficult leg of my journey, as I leave behind things I have taken for granted and move into a far more basic world.

However, as I write this I am reminded of two things which I need to acknowledge: 

1.    That I am immensely grateful for all that I have, from my health and driving spirit to my modest possessions and relative wealth.

2.    That many people are praying for my safety and well-being as I travel and that my faith in prayer has been boosted significantly and requires sharing.

To set the scene you need to know that Argentina is a bureaucratic nation which employs many people in red tape roles. It is first world in it's urban centres and very much third world in it's extremities. It is still a very Catholic nation and observes numerous religious holidays, business closures on Sundays and long siesta lunches.

Travelling by bus demonstrates the mix of modern and old well. It is easy to go online and find buses between cities, timetables, choose seat types and purchase. Confirmation emails are sent, money leaves accounts and all is well for the backpacking traveller with an iPad and a credit card. However, one must then print out the documents to show to several people, from the bus driver to the baggage handler, before you are allowed to board a bus (without exception.)

In Salta, I bought my next bus ticket, but could find nowhere to print it. My modest hostel had no working printer and the few Internet cafes I could find in the city were closed. I ended up arriving at the bus terminal early and going to the company rep in a small kiosk. In poor Spanish I explained my predicament and after an initial wave of the arms, to say 'it's your problem mate, go away,' the rep then told me to walk around the building and come into the back of the booth. He then let me sit at his chair, log in to my gmail account, open the necessary email and print off the document.

                               

                               Salta architecture

Banking is another mix of old and new. When I first arrived in Argentina, I had no Argentine currency, only Chilean pesos and US dollars. I found a taxi to take me to my hostel in Mendoza, but asked him to take me to a bank on the way. Five different banks later and I still had no money. The majority of Argentinian ATM's do not recognise our chip and pin cards, or they have unrealistically small caps on withdrawals, or they ask a combination of questions (with multiple option answers) which make it impossible to hit the right combination. Eventually, I found one that gave me some cash and I was able to pay the taxi driver and my hostel.

Accommodation is another classic. You can find places online, choose a room and book it with your credit card, but whilst one place will take the money automatically from your account, another will ask for cash upon arrival. When I arrived in Salta, they did not ask for cash on arrival, so I assumed they had taken a credit card payment. Imagine my stress then as I was about to leave for the bus terminal, focussed on getting my ticket printed, and the receptionist asked for 1710 pesos. I had 150 in my wallet. I had to sprint into the town, passing banks with huge queues of locals lining up to go inside until I reached the one bank and the one ATM I knew would accept my card.

Again, all worked out. I got exactly 1700 pesos (I tried to withdraw more, but at each request it kept saying 'withdraw a smaller amount'. I rushed back to the hostel, paid, shook hands and found a taxi to the terminal.

So I am then sat on my bus, travelling North to the border town of La Quiaca. I am relieved I was allowed on, but I am aware I have only 95 pesos in my wallet and $110 US dollars in cash. The laundry, I had desperately tried to do in Salta, is still unwashed, as everywhere was closed on the Sunday and I have a few nuts, a bottle of water, three Werthers Originals and some gluten free crispbreads for an 7 hour journey. My anxiety builds as the landscape goes by. Each town we pass is smaller than the last. I can see no banks or laundromats and I am hungry. For the last three hours we pass nowhere larger than a ranch teaming with lamas. 

                                 

                                 

                      One of the last 'towns' before I reach La Quiaca (pronounced Qui - a - Ka)

                                 

                                 

La Quiaca is frontier territory, a border town of 15,000 people at an altitude of 12,300 feet. No building exceeds two storeys and most are made from adobe covered bricks and timber. The bus station looks like something straight from a Mexican western. I get off, tip the guy who retrieves my rucksack from the hold and look for a taxi to take me to my hostel (as I have no idea where it is.) I show the driver the address on my phone and ask how much. "18 pesos" he replies. I shrug, nod and get in. He drives me 500 metres around the block and stops at some road works "you are there" he says pointing up the street. He clearly is going no further, I pay him and walk to the hostel.

The hostel is great. It is clean, professional looking and has a heater in my room. I ask if they do any food? They don't. I ask if there is a bank nearby with an ATM? There is and the guy who checked me in shows me on a small map. I ask if they do laundry? They do not, but he puts an 'x' on my map.

I walk up the stairs and am suddenly aware that I am out of breath and I have a splitting headache. I recall that I am now over 3,550m up and struggle to open the room door. It is 7.00pm and I am thinking money, food, laundry, headache. I head out into the cold night air and start to walk.

                                

The town is small and dusty and is filled with short people in traditional native clothing, hats, ponchos, copper coloured skin and dark hair. I stand out at 6' 2" in a bright red Berghaus coat and baseball cap. Eventually, I find the bank and am amazed to see a number of ATM's inside. I go to the one that looks the biggest and attempt to withdraw some cash, but no joy. The bank will open between 9.00 and 2.00 the next day so I decide to return then, try the ATM again with all my cards and if unsuccessful go in to the bank itself and speak to a member of staff. 

Meanwhile, I am increasingly hungry. I wander the town and eventually find a restaurant with a modest menu displayed on a board outside. I go in and find I am the only customer. The waiter smiles and when I ask for a table for one, he waves at all the tables and smiles. I read the menu and check my wallet. I have 75 pesos. I call the waiter over and show him my money. I say I have no more money, and ask if he takes credit cards? He smiles and shakes his head. I ask him what I can have on the menu. He looks at the 75 pesos and frowns. I tell him I am hungry. He goes away so I sit back to see what he will bring. First he brings a basket of bread rolls. I smile, but do not bother to explain that I am coeliac. He then brings me a plate of big, fat, hot chips. which I sprinkle with salt and demolish. He then brings me a plate of rice with melted cheese on the top. I add salt and pepper and demolish that too. When I ask for the bill he charges me 60 pesos. I tell him about my problem at the bank and show him where I went on my map. He tells me to try the other bank and puts another cross on my map. I thank him, shake hands and leave.

Walking back through the town in the dark, I realise that my headache is still pounding away, but I still have energy to notice that the night sky is exceptionally filled with stars. Once back at my room I drink a pint of water (courtesy of my fabulous water filter bottle which I have used everywhere) and take two panadol. Getting into bed I reluctantly turn off the wall heater as the smell it is giving off makes the air taste funny. The bedclothes are alien and heavy and I am aware of my breathing requiring a little effort.

I say a prayer. I do most nights - usually for other people or in thanks for another healthy and beautiful day, but this time I am quite specific and make a number of personal requests.

Health - I pray that I will sleep well (the last time I was at altitude in Nepal I didn't); I pray that my knee stops aching (I twisted it climbing into my seat on the bus and then sat confined for the bumpy duration of the trip); and I pray that my headache will quickly go.

Finance - I pray that I am able to find and access money tomorrow, as I have 15 pesos left in my wallet (about £1.10); and I pray that the accommodation I am in will take my credit card.

Physical - I pray that I will find a launderette in the morning and get all my clothing washed and dried as  I am close to running out; I pray that with the money I hope to access I will be able to get myself a filling meal; and I pray that the wi-fi begins to work a little better so I can contact and reassure the outside world that I am OK.

I also take time to pray a thank you for all that I have. Here I am in a warm bed, with food in my belly, painkillers for a headache, a little money in the bank, seeing a most remarkable part of the world.

I wonder, as I begin to fall asleep, what normality will feel like in terms of life back in the UK after all my travelling? I start to look forward to not having to deal with the constant changes and demands of life on the road and wonder if these recent challenges are helping to wean me off my year long quest for adventure.

                                 

                        The dusty landscape that is La Quiaca (Argentina) and Villazon (Bolivia) 

I slept like a baby and woke to sunlight streaming in through thin curtains. My right knee is pain free and didn't bother me at all in the night and my splitting headache has gone, leaving me with just a slight fuzziness in my ears. Fortified by a breakfast of a cup of tea and a dry handful of gluten free cornflakes, I set off to the bank just after 9.00am. I try all my different cards in the ATM, but again - no joy. The queue of locals going into the bank is huge so I decide to look for the other bank my waiter had told me about. When I find it, it has an even bigger queue of locals out the door and around the corner. I decide to go to the front of the line and peer in. I see an ATM with one person at it and I apologise as I shuffle my way through the crowd to get to it. I insert my card and it gives me a 1000 pesos. To be safe I decide to draw out the same again (that's about £140 I now have in Argentinian currency.)

                                                  

I had brought my laundry with me (two bags full) as I set off for the bank, so I now wander for the next hour looking for a launderette. I ask people, I keep searching, I follow helpful directions, but I find nothing. Evntually I reach the church (the most substantial building in the town) and I decide to go in to have a look, as it was such a contrast to the magnificent basilicas of Salta, Mendoza and Santiago and I needed a sit down. I sat at the back and offered up a quick prayer of thanks and then add 'could you help me find the launderette please?' I was about to leave when I noticed a small lady at the front struggling to replace a recently polished golden halo onto a statue of a saint. I picked up my laundry bags and cap and walked to the front. In faltering Spanish I said "I am tall, you are not. Can I help?" and pointed at the statue. She beamed a huge smile and pointed out what I had to do and carefully moved vases of flowers out of the way. Together we succeeded in returning the polished halo and I decided to ask her where the nearest launderette was. She spoke a lot and shook her head a lot and then she said that she would take the laundry to her home and do it for me! She then said she would return to the church for a service at 7.00pm that night and return it to me then. I said that would be fabulous, but that I wanted to pay her, but she vehemently shook her head. She gave me her name and address and told me she worked as the secretary in the church and was an occasional preacher. I thanked her profusely as she left with my laundry. I then said a quick prayer of thanks to God too and went to find somewhere for a lunchtime meal.

                                 

                                 

                You can just make out Teresa sat at a pew in front of the statue I helped her with

Well at 6.30pm I decided to go to the church and catch the service. Sure enough Teresa was there, sat in the very pew she had pointed out to me earlier. I listened to a small congregation of about 20 people pray and sing and at 7.00, as the service finished, she turned around and saw me sat half way down the church. She picked up my bags and waved them at me and walked to the entrance. I shook her hand, smiled enormously and thanked her profusely. I said that I knew she did not want any money, but perhaps she would take some for the church on my behalf? She agreed, so I gave her one tenth of all I had. We shook hands again and she told me to be careful in Bolivia and to look after my wallet.

With the sun setting on a beautiful day I decided to take my laundry back to my room and then go out for a final meal. When I took the laundry out of the bags, I discovered that she had not only washed and dried it all thoroughly, but she had folded it all beautifully and ironed the handkerchiefs and trousers! What a blessing.

                                                  

I had one last task. I had decided I would go back to the restaurant from the previous night and, this time armed with a wallet full of money, give them my business and buy a proper meal. It took me nearly an hour to find it as La Quiaca is a rabbit warren of identical lanes and roads, but eventually I arrived and went in. Again, I was the only customer. The waiter smiled in recognition as I asked for a table for one. I sat in the same place and he brought me the menu. I said that I now had money and that the bank he had told me about had accepted my card. He was pleased. I ordered a huge steak, two eggs, chips and a bottle of coke. When it was time to leave I left a tip to cover both nights and said goodbye.

                                  

I am very being well looked after and I am in very good health and spirits. Long may it continue.

Amen.