Chapter 58: Traveling Home to Norway on Furlough in 1976.
AS TOLD BY GRO AGERSTEN
The journey from Tigre Playa to Iquitos
The time around Christmas 1975 and the New Year 1976 had been very hectic. There were many sick Awajun who had arrived for treatment, and it was a busy time in our little church, with a Christmas party for the kids, a New Year service, and a farewell service for us. We still somehow managed to finish packing and go to bed on the evening of Saturday, January 3, 1976, ready to leave. The next day, we would fly from San Lorenzo to Iquitos, the first leg of our trip home to Norway after our second term in Peru.
Our farewell service on New Year’s Day had been beautiful and bittersweet, crowded with people. Sitting in the church for the last time before returning home felt unreal. Since our return to Tigre Playa in August 1972, the months had flown by. We were tired and eager for the change that Norway would bring, and most of all, we longed to see family and friends again. Still, saying goodbye to colleagues and friends—Peruvian and Norwegian alike—was far from easy.
I wrote to my parents from Lima: “It was pouring rain in Tigre Playa the morning we were to leave. We wondered whether a plane would come in such weather, but the rain stopped before we set off in the speedboat. Rudolf took us; he was to speak at the San Lorenzo congregation that afternoon. It felt strange to draw the curtains and shutter the windows, knowing it would be a long time before we saw the house again. Otherwise, the house looked the same. We were traveling with Vigdis, who was taking a holiday after the year at Tigre Playa; she planned to visit Lima and then Chile before returning to live in our house and teach Eva and Rudolf Wilhelm’s children until December. In San Lorenzo, we waited a while for the plane, which arrived a little late. We reached Iquitos that same afternoon after a somewhat bumpy flight.”
The time around Christmas 1975 and the New Year 1976 had been very hectic. There were many sick Awajun who had arrived for treatment, and it was a busy time in our little church, with a Christmas party for the kids, a New Year service, and a farewell service for us. We still somehow managed to finish packing and go to bed on the evening of Saturday, January 3, 1976, ready to leave. The next day, we would fly from San Lorenzo to Iquitos, the first leg of our trip home to Norway after our second term in Peru.
Our farewell service on New Year’s Day had been beautiful and bittersweet, crowded with people. Sitting in the church for the last time before returning home felt unreal. Since our return to Tigre Playa in August 1972, the months had flown by. We were tired and eager for the change that Norway would bring, and most of all, we longed to see family and friends again. Still, saying goodbye to colleagues and friends—Peruvian and Norwegian alike—was far from easy.
I wrote to my parents from Lima: “It was pouring rain in Tigre Playa the morning we were to leave. We wondered whether a plane would come in such weather, but the rain stopped before we set off in the speedboat. Rudolf took us; he was to speak at the San Lorenzo congregation that afternoon. It felt strange to draw the curtains and shutter the windows, knowing it would be a long time before we saw the house again. Otherwise, the house looked the same. We were traveling with Vigdis, who was taking a holiday after the year at Tigre Playa; she planned to visit Lima and then Chile before returning to live in our house and teach Eva and Rudolf Wilhelm’s children until December. In San Lorenzo, we waited a while for the plane, which arrived a little late. We reached Iquitos that same afternoon after a somewhat bumpy flight.”
Onward to Lima
I continued in the letter: “We had hoped to leave Iquitos sooner, but summer vacation made tickets scarce; it turned out we needed the extra days anyway — there was much to settle, including buying supplies to send by boat to the Wilhelms at Tigre Playa. When we arrived at the small airport well before the 9 p.m. departure, the terminal was packed. Three large flights to Lima were due that night, and the few benches were already taken. Like most people, we sat on our suitcases until baggage check at nine. Then nothing happened for a long time. Finally, around eleven, the planes arrived within minutes of each other. We never learned the reason for the delay, but we were relieved, if exhausted, when we boarded around midnight. It had been a hot, hectic day before the long evening in the crowded terminal. In Lima, we took a taxi to the Wycliffe mission guesthouse, where Lennart Lindgren had reserved rooms for us. The people at “Group House” received us warmly and showed us to our rooms. It was a little after two by the time we, quite worn out, fell into bed.
I continued in the letter: “We had hoped to leave Iquitos sooner, but summer vacation made tickets scarce; it turned out we needed the extra days anyway — there was much to settle, including buying supplies to send by boat to the Wilhelms at Tigre Playa. When we arrived at the small airport well before the 9 p.m. departure, the terminal was packed. Three large flights to Lima were due that night, and the few benches were already taken. Like most people, we sat on our suitcases until baggage check at nine. Then nothing happened for a long time. Finally, around eleven, the planes arrived within minutes of each other. We never learned the reason for the delay, but we were relieved, if exhausted, when we boarded around midnight. It had been a hot, hectic day before the long evening in the crowded terminal. In Lima, we took a taxi to the Wycliffe mission guesthouse, where Lennart Lindgren had reserved rooms for us. The people at “Group House” received us warmly and showed us to our rooms. It was a little after two by the time we, quite worn out, fell into bed.
Lima and on to Chile
We had planned to return home via Chile, Paraguay, and Brazil. At that time, you could buy a round-trip ticket that allowed a certain number of extra miles for the same price as a direct flight, but only for long-haul routes. We were still able to make use of that when, a few years later, we would travel to Norway after our third term. For us, homebound journeys were part holiday, part chance to visit new places and reconnect with friends and fellow missionaries. Our tickets had been bought in advance through Wycliffe’s office in Lima, and we had a week there to arrange our exit and re-entry permits. One week proved insufficient for those of us planning to be away for a year.
We had planned to return home via Chile, Paraguay, and Brazil. At that time, you could buy a round-trip ticket that allowed a certain number of extra miles for the same price as a direct flight, but only for long-haul routes. We were still able to make use of that when, a few years later, we would travel to Norway after our third term. For us, homebound journeys were part holiday, part chance to visit new places and reconnect with friends and fellow missionaries. Our tickets had been bought in advance through Wycliffe’s office in Lima, and we had a week there to arrange our exit and re-entry permits. One week proved insufficient for those of us planning to be away for a year.
Vigdis, who would only be in Chile for a few weeks, managed to get her paperwork done in a couple of days. She was going to visit her friend and fellow missionary Else Ekornås, whom she had met while working at Ten Center in Oslo, and was welcomed in Santiago on the agreed date. For the rest of us, changing our tickets was fortunately straightforward, but we ended up “running” back and forth between offices for nearly another week before everything was settled—we wanted to be sure our residency and work permits would be in order when we returned from a year in Norway.
In Santiago, we were met by missionary Thor Thoresen, who drove us to Else. Else Ekornås—later married to Claudio Navarro—had been sent out from Salem in Oslo, and both she and the Thoresen family lived and worked in Villa Alemana, a few dozen miles north of the capital. We spent warm, pleasant days in Chile, visiting the lovely coastal town of Viña del Mar and exploring the area around Villa Alemana. On Sunday, we attended services at the congregation the Norwegian missionaries had founded a few years earlier; it was a joy to see the new friends’ zeal and delight in the salvation they had found in Jesus Christ.
In Santiago, we were met by missionary Thor Thoresen, who drove us to Else. Else Ekornås—later married to Claudio Navarro—had been sent out from Salem in Oslo, and both she and the Thoresen family lived and worked in Villa Alemana, a few dozen miles north of the capital. We spent warm, pleasant days in Chile, visiting the lovely coastal town of Viña del Mar and exploring the area around Villa Alemana. On Sunday, we attended services at the congregation the Norwegian missionaries had founded a few years earlier; it was a joy to see the new friends’ zeal and delight in the salvation they had found in Jesus Christ.
Vigdis and Else set off on their holiday a couple of days before the rest of us continued on to Paraguay. They packed the car and were excited about the long drive south. Their destination was a youth camp near Concepción, far south in Chile, where Else would lead several Bible sessions. Our route took us on a last brief sightseeing spin through Santiago before heading to the airport and on to Paraguay. We were struck by how modern Chile felt compared with Peru—almost European to our eyes.
The flight to Paraguay was routed through Buenos Aires, where we changed planes and waited a while, but otherwise the trip to Asunción, Paraguay’s capital, went smoothly. From there, we traveled on to Ypacaraí to visit missionaries Jorunn and Lars Førland. Lars had been sent out from Salem in Oslo; Jorunn’s sending church was Salem, Lørenskog. It was a great pleasure to see them again at their post. They ran a large children’s home that cared for many youngsters of different ages, and led church work and evangelism in the town. Lars was a gifted Bible teacher, much in demand as a preacher in neighboring congregations. Though their responsibilities were many and weighty, they made time to show us around the district. We stayed with the Førland family for several days and gained a true appreciation for the scope of their work.
The flight to Paraguay was routed through Buenos Aires, where we changed planes and waited a while, but otherwise the trip to Asunción, Paraguay’s capital, went smoothly. From there, we traveled on to Ypacaraí to visit missionaries Jorunn and Lars Førland. Lars had been sent out from Salem in Oslo; Jorunn’s sending church was Salem, Lørenskog. It was a great pleasure to see them again at their post. They ran a large children’s home that cared for many youngsters of different ages, and led church work and evangelism in the town. Lars was a gifted Bible teacher, much in demand as a preacher in neighboring congregations. Though their responsibilities were many and weighty, they made time to show us around the district. We stayed with the Førland family for several days and gained a true appreciation for the scope of their work.
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From Ypacaraí, we traveled with them to Caacupé to attend the annual missionary gathering at a site the mission had rented for the occasion. In Caacupé we met most of the Norwegian missionaries then serving in Paraguay. It was fascinating to observe the negotiations and meetings, the informative reports, and the earnest conversations about work across various fields.
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We believe we stayed three days. Each morning began with prayer and a Bible study that was a spiritual highlight, and there were plenty of smaller-group conversations and shared meals that deepened our fellowship.
The Førlands took us on an outing to Atyrá, where we toured the Norwegian school, the boarding house, and the teacher’s residence, where Ingrid and Knut Stuksrud had lived in 1976. Many years later, in 1984, when Eldbjørg and Vidar Børjesson were dorm parents, our son Lewi spent the final half of ninth grade at that same school.
The Førlands took us on an outing to Atyrá, where we toured the Norwegian school, the boarding house, and the teacher’s residence, where Ingrid and Knut Stuksrud had lived in 1976. Many years later, in 1984, when Eldbjørg and Vidar Børjesson were dorm parents, our son Lewi spent the final half of ninth grade at that same school.
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
After the conference, we spent a day with missionaries in Asunción who showed us around the capital. Compared with the capitals of Peru and Chile, it felt almost like a small town, but there was much to admire. They gave us a lift to the airport for our flight with a Brazilian carrier to Rio de Janeiro. The plane made a low pass over Iguazú Falls on the border of Paraguay, Argentina, and Brazil—an awe-inspiring panorama from the air, the cataracts throwing spray and rainbows in every direction.
We knew no one in Rio and hadn’t booked a hotel—this was long before smartphones made that easy—so we gambled on finding rooms at the airport. The queue at the desk was long, but to our relief, everything worked out better than expected. We were directed to a modest hotel a couple of blocks off Copacabana, where we were given two adjoining double rooms at a very reasonable rate, breakfast brought to the room included. Our first day there, we booked a minibus sightseeing tour with other travelers, visiting the city’s famous landmarks. On the second day, we wandered around the neighborhood and down to the beach, taking in the vast Atlantic vista and the rhythm of the city. On those outings, we didn’t see the poor favelas that are part of Rio’s reality; our view was of the city’s bright, touristed face.
After the conference, we spent a day with missionaries in Asunción who showed us around the capital. Compared with the capitals of Peru and Chile, it felt almost like a small town, but there was much to admire. They gave us a lift to the airport for our flight with a Brazilian carrier to Rio de Janeiro. The plane made a low pass over Iguazú Falls on the border of Paraguay, Argentina, and Brazil—an awe-inspiring panorama from the air, the cataracts throwing spray and rainbows in every direction.
We knew no one in Rio and hadn’t booked a hotel—this was long before smartphones made that easy—so we gambled on finding rooms at the airport. The queue at the desk was long, but to our relief, everything worked out better than expected. We were directed to a modest hotel a couple of blocks off Copacabana, where we were given two adjoining double rooms at a very reasonable rate, breakfast brought to the room included. Our first day there, we booked a minibus sightseeing tour with other travelers, visiting the city’s famous landmarks. On the second day, we wandered around the neighborhood and down to the beach, taking in the vast Atlantic vista and the rhythm of the city. On those outings, we didn’t see the poor favelas that are part of Rio’s reality; our view was of the city’s bright, touristed face.
On to Norway
After a few restorative days by the ocean, the day came to continue our journey to Norway with sunlit memories from South America and the familiar, anticipatory feeling of returning to family and friends.
At the airport, security was strict after a string of hijackings in recent years: we were led into small booths for body searches. Maino was furious when they even unscrewed the head of her baby doll to see if anything was hidden inside. Lewi was upset too—he had to relinquish a new plastic pencil sharpener shaped like a tiny pistol. At every airport from Lima onward, everyone was asked to identify their suitcases before they were loaded.
We waited with a mix of relief and nerves to board the large SAS jet bound for Oslo via Copenhagen. There we had a day’s stop for sightseeing: Maino and Lewi experienced their first fairground—roller coasters and carousels—and both children and adults had a merry day before the final leg to Fornebu. A large crowd of family and friends met us on arrival; our parents were front and center, the first to embrace us. It was such a joy to be together again—many tears of happiness were wiped away as we greeted kin and beloved friends from Salem. Eventually, we piled into cars and drove to “Mamre” by Østensjøvannet, which, as before, would be our home during our stay in Norway.
After a few restorative days by the ocean, the day came to continue our journey to Norway with sunlit memories from South America and the familiar, anticipatory feeling of returning to family and friends.
At the airport, security was strict after a string of hijackings in recent years: we were led into small booths for body searches. Maino was furious when they even unscrewed the head of her baby doll to see if anything was hidden inside. Lewi was upset too—he had to relinquish a new plastic pencil sharpener shaped like a tiny pistol. At every airport from Lima onward, everyone was asked to identify their suitcases before they were loaded.
We waited with a mix of relief and nerves to board the large SAS jet bound for Oslo via Copenhagen. There we had a day’s stop for sightseeing: Maino and Lewi experienced their first fairground—roller coasters and carousels—and both children and adults had a merry day before the final leg to Fornebu. A large crowd of family and friends met us on arrival; our parents were front and center, the first to embrace us. It was such a joy to be together again—many tears of happiness were wiped away as we greeted kin and beloved friends from Salem. Eventually, we piled into cars and drove to “Mamre” by Østensjøvannet, which, as before, would be our home during our stay in Norway.