Fase Tres

It wasn’t exactly how I expected my Monday morning to begin, but when I found myself mopping up the remains of Yali’s breakfast from my going-to-the-court dress at about 8:45 that morning on the road to La Mesa, I figured it was just one more thing to test my resolve.

And I guess it turns out that Yali is taking after his dad in the carsick department. After he settled himself back in my lap for the rest of the drive, another hour and a half or so, we approached the mountains again as he fell asleep.

So there we were – careening through the Andes – Yali and I both a fine mess, sitting beside our attorney in her nice suit and leather briefcase on the way to meet the judge.

Eventually, the Program Director called her son, who was both our driver and interpreter for the day (and also creates dragon sculptures for a living). After hanging up he laughed a little, “My mom has put GPS on my phone since I was a kid. So she always knows where I am. I lahv her.”

Around 10:30 we arrived in the village about .3% the size of Bogota, nestled in the middle of farmland: corn, mangoes, tangerines. An old village of Spanish tiles somewhere from the “I Love Lucy” era, sandwiching the Catholic church in the square.

And, yes, I met the judge while wearing my vomit dress. There really was no other option. I don’t think she had any idea, though. She sat at her desk, smiling at us, welcoming us, rosary held in both hands, sympathizing with our desire to move along the process as quickly as possible. The decree would be ready Thursday morning at 8:30.

Our hotel was wedged at the edge of a hillside, in the middle of some ridiculous mountain landscapes. Word on the street said that – when the skies were clear – we could see the one mountaintop always crowned with snow.

We meandered down the street to Monte Carlo’s for lunch, a small restaurant around since the 1950’s I’d guess by photographs on the wall – plates stuffed with pork, pesto, spaghetti, rice, salad, and fried plantains. Odd combinations, but they worked somehow; very good.

We stayed around the hotel into the afternoon. Yali waded in the cold water of the pool; loved it. Oxbear made another trip down the street for yet more ham and cheese. We chatted with Gloria and Puck back home, Puck fresh off a jumbo set of Tootsie pops from Grandma Combs. (It’s nice having conversations in English.) Oxbear tucked Yali in for the night in our cracker box room.

When I looked up again, it was dark. Church bells, children laughing and playing under street lights, dogs barking in the valley below. It all sort of felt like being at summer camp, with the Andes mountains for backdrop.