Weekend firefighting with Abuelo

Before Saturday night, I had never truly trembled with fear. It was only an expression I'd heard or read, never experienced. It's a sensation I could have gone without having and been just fine. Life had other plans, however, as I could barely stand in the driveway, legs shaking uncontrollably, unsure of what to do while the neighbor's house and trees went up in flames.

Perhaps I should back up a little.

This weekend I went to visit my abuelo and his wife, Elma, in the province of Cordoba, which lies about a 12-hour bus ride northwest of the capital. Cordoba, with its rolling hills, sprawling farms, lakes, rivers, and charming towns built in the German alpine style, is a favorite vacation spot for Argentines, especially for porteños. The province is also home to the second largest city in the country, Cordoba Capital, which holds claim to the nation's oldest and one of its most prestigious universities, the University of Cordoba, founded around four centuries ago. The university draws students from all over the interior of Argentina and from all over the world as many international students prefer the laid-back lifestyle of Cordoba to the hectic rat-race of Buenos Aires.

Despite its numerous lakes and rivers, Cordoba has a generally dry climate and currently finds itself in a severe drought. Just a few weeks ago, the province suffered various major wildfires which devoured acres of farmland, forests, and homes. (Some images of the fires - start at 0:55). Since then, Cordoba has not received any significant rainfall and its residents are still living under threat of more fires, bringing us to Saturday evening (around 8:30 p.m.).

My grandpa, Elma, and I were sitting in the living room watching a movie (one I highly recommend – Elefante Blanco, a story about priests and social workers volunteering in the villas of Buenos Aires) when we started to hear what sounded like explosions. At first we assumed the noises were coming from the movie, then we thought they were fireworks from the town center, but when Elma went to peek out the window, she gasped and began yelling that there was a huge fire next door. She ran to move the cars out of the driveway, and my grandpa and I followed.

When we opened the door, we were shocked to see flames reaching 15-20 feet just beyond the edge of the house. It was an impressive sight but definitely one you would prefer to watch on television. The neighbor's two giant pine trees were completely ablaze along with his entire yard and home. Sparks, smoke, and ash billowed in all directions, dangerously threatening the surrounding houses. The only thing separating us from the fire next door was a fence of bushes lining the property. With every passing minute the flames inched closer and closer to my grandparents' house. I'm not sure who had called the fire department or when they had called; all I know is that the firemen seemed to take forever to arrive. There's nothing quite like watching helplessly as a fire rages next door to your house.

To be honest, I wasn't really sure what I could do in the situation. Since I can't drive stick shift, I couldn't help with the cars nor could I help retrieve important documents from the house as I didn't know where they were hidden nor could I think of anything else which could help. So what did I do? After a few minutes of standing dumbfounded with my hands on top of my head, I ran back inside, grabbed my cell phone, a jacket with my wallet in it, and my backpack which contained my notes and books for my postgrad classes then rushed back outside.

Elma saw me and told me to grab a hose and start spraying down the parts of the house as well as the plants closest to the flames. Not exactly sure what I was doing, I grabbed the hose, only unwrapping it part way due to my aforementioned trembling limbs. As I was watering down the house, a young man, probably in his lower twenties, who had been among the neighbors lining the street watching the spectacle, walked up to me to ask if I knew what had happened (supposedly he mistook me for a German girl he knows in the town; Elma was pretty sure he made up the story for another reason). He began to give me instructions as to where to spray the water, in the meantime helping me unwind the hose in order to reach further towards the back of the property. The boy, Nico, called his friends who were with him to help when he saw another hose in the backyard. Despite not knowing my grandparents, they didn't even hesitate to begin to fight the fire from my abuelo's side of the fence. (Elma had a different hypothesis regarding their willingness to lend a helping hand). She figured their damsel-in-distress instinct kicked in when I asked for their assistance. I'm not sure whether it was my 10-year-old windbreaker or my messy pony tail which won them over, but either way it worked as their efforts along with the firemen's managed to contain and eventually extinguish the fire.

All joking aside, the look of terror on my grandparents' faces is one I will never forget. Their house represents a lifetime of work, their savings, their patronage, their memories with family and friends, their home. The thoughts which must have crossed their minds are things no one wants to have to consider. Where are we going to stay if the house burns down? Will our insurance give us enough for a new place? Do I grab anything more than just important documents? What about all the photos of our family? Praise God for protecting my grandparents as well as the rest of the neighborhood, including the dog, Yacobo; the poor thing had been tied up with a rope to the house which was on fire. Luckily someone cut the rope in time for him to escape. The pup was shaking and whimpering as he made his way out of the front gate. As soon as Elma called Yacobo over, he began to climb all over us, relieved to see (or smell) some familiar faces.

Thank God no one was hurt, no other homes were burnt, and nobody assaulted the man responsible (who more than likely deserved a good shaking up as this was the second time within 3 years he's caused a fire and put the whole street and even the whole town in danger). The man at fault, Bubi, is slightly off his rocker. He collects trash and hoards it in his backyard, scouring the town dump to bring home anything and everything he thinks might serve for his experiments. His backyard was literally a pile of trash, now a pile of ashes, and when he didn't make sure the coals were completely cool after his afternoon barbecue, it didn't take much more than a spark to set the whole property ablaze. Luckily, the fire didn't make it to the five gas tanks he had buried underground, otherwise this blogpost would have been completely different.

Some photos from when the fire was already under control thanks to the firefighters (I was too in shock to take pictures while the fire raged at full force):

Post-fire photos of the neighbor's property: