Some of the guys from my place spent last week at a Bible Camp up in the mountains. It’s put on by the same denomination as the home where they used to live…so they been there before and enjoy it. Trust me…it’s a different experience from camp in North America. The guys jammed in with 300 other kids into a space that would conservatively fit only about 80…and then sat through four or five sermons a day.

However, there were girls there and they got to play a lot of soccer…

So it seems they had fun. And from what I understand, they really enjoyed the preaching of one of the speakers. I winced a little at the one sermon series about what was appropriate attire for Christians. Certainly I’m not opposed to a discussion about appropriate standards for us as Christians, but 99% of the talk was a list of don’ts for Christian girls, while the guys got a “Don’t wear tight pants.” Maybe some constructive instruction for guys on having respect for women and not staring down their shirts every chance they get, for example, might have been helpful. But anyhow, that’s just my opinion.

The two hour drive up into the mountains on Saturday to get the guys, took nearly five hours. The highway is a mess right now. Of course…it’s always a mess. I remember driving it just after I got here and thinking, “When they finish work on this road, it’s going to be a really nice drive!” That was four years ago, and it’s worse than ever. It washes out in various new places every year, so the work is constantly ongoing. A bridge partially washed out this year, so the road in that spot now goes down into a small gully, through the river, and then back up the other side. It’s not a problem for my truck (not even a little problem), but big semi’s and busses always struggle. But it makes for a nice break in the drive to sit there for half an hour while the semi in front of you makes three or four tries to get back up the hill through the mud. And at least I’m not one of the people filing off their bus, wading through the river, and then walking through the mud on the other bank while the bus revs his engine and the driver works up enough courage to make the run.

After getting to the camp late and then taking the guys out for lunch and explaining to them what had happened to Jorge (I didn’t tell them earlier because there wasn’t much they could do and I knew it would be pretty upsetting to them), we decided to stay overnight and drive back to Santa Cruz in the morning. Samaipata (where we were) is a small, kind of touristy town in the middle of one of Bolivia’s national parks. It’s a cool place. The guys had never been there before, so I showed them around a bit, and then we drove up into the mountains for something to do and to see the view.

We ended up finding a beautiful spot where all you could see were mountains and sky. It was amazing. It was also entertaining. My guys have spent the majority of their lives living in the middle of a very urban city, and they kept marvelling at every little thing. One of the guys stood on a big rock with his arms outstretched and yelled, “YO SOY!” Which translates as “I AM!” I’m not entirely sure what the significance of that was, but all the guys laughed. They also kept taking deep breaths and asking, “Smell that?! Smell that?!” Finally I was like, “What? Cows?”

The top of our mountain was pretty much covered in big rocks, which in turn had big white spots on them. We have the same thing in Saskatchewan. The white markings are from a type of moss that grows on the rocks, and when it dies, what’s left turns white. Daniel wanted to know who painted all the rocks, and then after a pause he asked, “And why?” I tried to explain the whole moss thing, and the guys all laughed at me. Sandro was like, “It’s from the humidity!”

Humidity? At 7,000 ft the rocks were…moulding?

This tends to happen with the guys. There’s this general consensus here that North Americans don’t really know much. At least I like to imagine they include all NA’s in that and not just me. At any rate, when I get an opportunity to prove my wisdom and knowledge (and by default their ignorance) on a specific topic, being the good missionary that I am…I jump all over it. So when we stopped, I had a little mandatory nature lesson and showed them the moss and where it had died and turned the rock white. They were all duly impressed.

Then they made up for their lack of knowledge in the middle of a conversation about what wild animals our respective countries have (I had to work pretty hard to convince Jose Miguel that Bolivia is not, in fact, home to tigers), by telling me a story about some big snake that burrows into the ground and then jumps out at you. They were so intense and earnest that for a moment I was like, “Seriously?” Then I quickly realized they were lying and I told them so. They didn’t say much, but the satisfied smirks on their faces told me my momentary gullibility had just reconfirmed their “Gringos are dumb” mind set.

But for five minutes there, they thought I was smart. So that was nice. I also made sure they understood that our wild animals would kick their wild animals butts. It was a small, insignificant victory, but it made me feel better.

We arrived home in Santa Cruz the next morning safe and sound. It was nice to have this moment with the guys. With the stress and emotion of Jorge’s accident, it was nice to relax and just enjoy each other’s company for a moment. I enjoy building good memories with the guys. They haven’t had that many in their lives, so I’m always thankful when we have the chance.

Thanks for praying for us over the past few days. We appreciate it. Jorge is doing better for sure. I’m going over to the hospital again this afternoon, so I’ll write a bit more when I have newer news on what’s happening with him.

As a funny note to end this post I’ll just share…when it was -34 C for you guys the other day it was +34 C here. Funny eh? =)

Man…where’d your sense of humour go?