Wednesday, March 8, 2012. I'll never forget the day I arrived at the bottom of the planet. Well, not technically, but the Strait of Magellan is nearly there. Punta Arenas, Chile was my first area when I served a mission. I remember the excitement I felt being one of 20 missionaries so far away from the mission home. I knew Chile was a hike from California, but I never truly felt the distance until I saw the moon through my skylight the first night there. It took 20 hours across four flights to get from the MTC to Punta Arenas.
Every day I found myself in awe that I was living there. On P-days, visits to the Strait were the norm; some missionaries even grew indifferent towards being there. I however, never got over the fact that I was where some of the world's most famous explorers had once been. It was inspiring to think they saw the land as unfamiliar territory, not knowing who or what awaited them. I can't imagine exploring a new land without having any preconception of one's surroundings.
Sure, I'd never been to Chile before, but I understood where it was in the world, what countries it bordered, and what TripAdvisor recommended. Those explorers knew none of that. They just sailed and sailed and sailed some more. That kind of courage gave me the strength I needed to be able to live so far away from my family and country. If they could do it, then so could I.
I too found Punta Arenas to be a strange and unfamiliar land when I saw it from my airplane window, but when I left four months later, it took a piece of my heart that I hope it will keep forever. Hasta ver, Punta Arenas.
