Argentina, At Last!

January 31 we left Brazil. We thoroughly appreciated the refreshing breeze from the sea, my father wrote. The clean modern docks of Montevideo were also welcoming. For my parents, the highlight of our one-day stay in Uruguay’s capital was the visit with Mr. Quimby, a former classmate’s father. He showed us throughout the city and was a great inspiration to us.

Finally, February 1, Friday evening about 6 we left Montevideo for our last port, Buenos Aires!

February 2, 1946, 5:00 A.M we were in the harbor of Buenos Aires but stopped out there for various officials to come aboard to check all passports, visas, etc. About 11:30 the ship pulled up to the passenger dock.

Mother was excited to see a couple friendly faces in the crowd, “Look, Brother Sickel and Brother Dowdy are here to greet us!” Dad explained  in his letter that these veteran missionaries had learned how to navigate the system, Very few friends were permitted through the gates.

That was when they handed me over the rails to Mr. Sickel and forever after claimed, Rita was the first to touch Argentine soil. Although, I seriously doubt I ever touched the ground. My parents disembarked soon after and proceeded through customs with their hand luggage, a step I bypassed!

Dad, who’d brought his baritone, said, “I expected to pay for my large musical instrument,”  “but the customs agent said he wouldn’t charge me.” All other baggage could be retrieved Monday when the agency was open for business.

Our little family was blessed to have two guides to acquaint us with the big city over the weekend. We were mighty thankful for them, wrote Dad.

Due to a misunderstanding or lack of communication, both men had traveled separately from different locations in Córdoba, a province in the interior of the country.  

The Sickels, Clarence and Loree

Clarence Sickel and his wife Loree had lived in Argentina for most of twenty seven years, currently in Río Cuarto, a city of 45,000. 

Paul Dowdy and his family, nine-year missionaries, were in La Carlota, a small town, population under 10,000.

 Our guides took us about the city just a bit in the afternoon and evening. Sunday was spent in an English-speaking church and then in a Spanish one in the evening.

Casa Rosada (Government House)         Plaza de Mayo

            Mr. Sickel gave my parents the mail that had accumulated during those thirty-nine days at sea--a real treat!

Early Monday morning the three men were first in line at the customs house. Surprisingly, it took but an hour to go through and there was no charge on anything.

Customs building (declared National Historic Monument in 2009)

The next order of business was the Immigration office with all of us present for photos, finger prints and to answer questions. Meanwhile, I enjoyed all the attention. Dad wrote, Rita was being passed from one girl to another in the office. She talked to them, shrugged her shoulders, raised her eyebrows, etc.

Next on the to-do-list: register with the American Consul; visit the bank; and Tuesday arrange to send baggage to Río Cuarto.

We were happy to have someone there who could help us out in this strange tongue. Not just help out, but they actually assumed all our worries and carried out every detail.

That evening, at 7:15 we boarded the train for the very last lap of the journey. Every mile made us a little more anxious.

Mother exclaimed, “This country has two extremes! Buenos Aires seemed no different from New York City.”  

But as we were going by train from B.A., we noticed in just a short distance a great change in homes, roads, people, etc. Most of the roads are small muddy paths. The homes are all of brick or cement. However it is much nicer than I expected.

Dad wrote, “Bless the LORD, O my soul, and all that is within me bless his holy name.”  After seven months of waiting, we are actually on Argentine soil. The Lord has been so good to us all the way and especially on this last leg of the journey. Finally at 10:30 A.M., February 6, we were in the city of our dreams.

Río Cuarto means Fourth River, the southernmost of the four tributaries that flow east into the second longest river in South America, the Paraná (“like the sea”).

Toward the end of the eighteenth century a settlement grew with migrants from Italy and Spain and by the nineteen hundreds had become a transport hub for the agriculture of the region and the abattoirs (slaughterhouses) and meat processing plants.

Hub is the word that comes to mind when I think of the Río Cuarto mission station. The property purchased was on Cinco Esquinas (Five Corners) where five roads come together. For as long as I can remember it was the central location for denominational conferences, board meetings, Bible Institute classes, departure for summer camps in the sierras and more. I have so many fond memories of that place. In my mind I can walk through the entire property. Only recently did I reflect on what a demand this placed on the missionary family living there.

The mission property in Río Cuarto

When we first arrived in Río Cuarto which was the sixth of February, we were given a room in the home with the Sickels. We have learned to like them very much and appreciate all that they have done for us, wrote Dad. Immediately Brother Sickel started looking for a house for us.  Adequate housing was very scarce at that time.

“Come now, you who say, Today or tomorrow we will travel to such and such a city and spend a year there and do business [evangelism] and make a profit [disciples], (James 4:13 HCSB)." 

Would Río Cuarto indeed be our final destination?