Fase Dos
Yali was already asleep on my lap, his black hair a sweaty mess against my arm. We had been on the road one hour back to Bogota with our español-only driver and the Colombian Program Director’s grandson, who spoke English well. After awhile, the 17 year-old nodded off, hands in his pockets, earbuds in his ears. I think he would get along pretty well with Linnea-Irish.
Back through the mountains, winding through heavy mist passing trucks filled with flammable liquids in the opposing traffic lane for a mile or two. Whatever. No rules. Drive as you feel led, I guess.
Four hours later, we hit the capitol. Yali finally roused himself – or rather, I had to rouse him – in the heavy traffic for a snack.
B&B: hot showers included. We finally met the Colombian Program Director who kept forgetting to speak to us in English.
“In inglés, Abuelita! Inglés!” her grandson laughed.
“Ah! Sorry! Sorry! You will go to La Mesa on Monday – my son will go with you – stay there four or five days, then come back here.” She crossed her fingers.
After a filling lunch of meat, potatoes, and a hot spinach-cheese sauce – which, yes, I actually ate and it tasted great – with thick caramel cream for dessert, and meeting a French couple also adopting in-country, Yali exhibited an ornery streak. We had a couple of talks about how, no, he can’t pull the protective child caps out of the electrical sockets in our room.
“Peligro!”
I’m pretty sure he understood at least part of it because he clapped both hands on the side of his face in mock shock. He’s a stooge.
Released from our pent-up state the previous week, we took to the streets, carefree.
“You can go anywhere you like here. The neighborhood is good, it is safe, no theft, the police will not even stop you,” The Program Director’s son – who looked exactly like his son – informed us when we had arrived. “This place you are staying at is like your home. You can do whatever you like.”
It sort of felt like we had just left Soviet Russia for New York City. Neither are one hundred percent comfortable, but a huge difference all the same. Not to mention those hot showers.
So we hit McDonald’s for dinner, across from an Office Depot Express and Papa John’s, next to a Krispy Kreme. I don’t even like McDonald’s that much, but it definitely beat sitting in our hotel room with another plate of ham and cheese.
Side note: Colombia also has dandelions.