9.9.24
I have passed a whole week with zero eventful bites. I was called to see a black widow, one of the two poisonous spiders in Colombia. Much like the previously sighted tarantula, this was neither a black widow, nor was it alive.
Whilst we are in Chinchiná we are trying to see the surrounding area. There is a volcano in the Nevada del Ruiz national park. It’s not too far away, it’s not inactive, neither is it especially active. Its last eruption was in 2016, and its most deadly eruption was 1985. Maybe that is why they were so strict about their ages limit, 6-70. Lotem is 5 and 8 months and they wouldn’t be blagged. There is also the altitude. Although the trip was mostly in a van, with a few stops on the volcano, the start is at 4000m, the end at 4400ish metres. High enough to feel the shortness of breath, high enough for some to vomit and for others not to feel much difference at all. Tali drew the short straw and stayed with Lotem at the visitors centre with a pack of cards and no WiFi, whilst I went with the other two. Teva managed to muster enthusiasm for 2.5 seconds, Negev for a bit longer until he yakked. This was the second of the day, the first neatly in a bag by Teva, car sickness. The third slightly less neat by Lotem – combo of car sickness and altitude – but contained into my warm layer that she happened to be wearing. It was particularly well timed though, near a little rest stop that had a big outdoor stone sink, a scrubbing brush, and a huge bar of soap. Perfect for removing chunks of salami, apple, oats and yogurt.
Sorry to anyone who is not as comfortable with vomit as I am. Like sleeping, I am a very very skilled vomiter. In fact it’s quite a source of pride for me. It is also a source of pride that I have bequeathed this skill to my kids. Negev can hold it in until he gets to the toilet as happened in the restaurant or until his head is out the window as happened during the journey. The schlepped nachas was real. I received a compliment on my reaction response time to their impending vomits. The pride was real.
Back to the volcano and its majesty. The flora changed from lush and brightly coloured to sparse and grey the higher we went. Lunar like I imagine. I love seeing the difference in rock colours and formations. In think I’d have been happy as a geologist. Bits of rock we found were very light and full of little holes. There was disappointment at not seeing any snow – a badly managed expectation, but this was overshadowed by a stop at the most gorgeous, colourful little town. Real rural Colombian. Old men standing around the colourful plaza in ponchos and sombrero style hats. Paths within the plaza lined with upturned, brightly painted plastic bottles and tyres and dogs. Dogs everywhere sniffing around for food and attention and love, no sign of the territorial behaviour displayed by my biter. I will definitely be ending this trip with some sort of hat and some sort of poncho.
We ate for peanuts in a rustic local restaurant with bamboo walls, dried coffee plant trunks decorating the ceiling and Sopa de Abuela – Grandma’s Soup, a hearty rich potatoey thing, with fried plantain, rice and a protein of your choice on the side. Considering we’d somehow skipped breakfast and it was well passed lunch time, we were all more than ready for this feast. The drive to and from the volcano to this village was one of the more beautiful drives I’ve experienced. Undulating hills/mountains of varying sizes higgledy piggledy all around with farm houses dotted within them here and there and waterfalls popping out from hillsides., resulting from being part of the Andean Volcanic Belt. It was stunning. The road was narrow and windy and apparently a hotbed for cool looking racing cars.
It’s been about three weeks since we got to Colombia. In one respect I feel quite settled. We have a routine:school, pool, screen, dinner, bed, explore a bit on weekends. It has become clear though, that we don’t want to stay in this town. Aside from the school aspect, which if you ask the children is terrible, there isn’t much for us here. The town is homogeneous local manual labour Colombian. The majority of employment here is linked to the coffee industry. There is also quite a large number of overly skinny, vacant-eyed glue-sniffers on the streets. Not all over the town, but definitely on the walk between where we are staying and school and into the main square. It’s a little bit on the discomfiting side. Couple this with the fact that I’m finding it hard to understand how the kids will learn Spanish and not enjoying watching the kids struggling in school, we are brainstorming our options.
Lotem spiralling downwards in school. She is attached to me at the best of times, but the thought of me not being around has turned her into super glue. When I leave her alone, even for a short amount of time, even if she knows where I’m going, even if she knows I’m coming back, I return to find her work tear stained and wet at best, near hyperventilating at worst. As I write this, Lotem is sat on my knee at the back of her classroom , crying her heart out because she misunderstood the instruction, agot the colour she was meant to be using wrong and now she doesn’t like her work. Live quote, “when are we moving house because I don’t want to go to this shutting school. I want to go to wildwood with Olivet and Roia for the whole term” Shutting is lotem’s made up swear word. I’ll take that, because the alternative is actual swearing, which I have to admit is not unheard of – here I would insert a shame emoji if I was an emoji user.
Teva is seemingly managing well at school, she’s independent and trying to fit in but she tells me on a daily basis she hates her life. Negev is so hot he can’t learn and tells me how bored he is, but mostly stays in his class.
I know that in time they will all get used to it, but I’m asking myself what is the value of this for them? I find it hard to see the children suffer, even if it’s for the greater good. Not too dissimilar to cry it out sleep training. I just couldn’t do it. This may be part of the reason my children are often (always?) the worst behaved kids around (maybe not true but it often feels that way). If I just left them at school what’s the worst that would happen? Lotem would cry and the school would have to manage it? Lotem wouldn’t go to her own class and would go with one of the others to their class, and the school would have to manage it? This may well be more my issue than theirs, or an unwanted behaviour in them that I am facilitating. I don’t want them feeling bad, but I end up getting angry, with myself for putting myself in this position, but then taking it out on them, because they are relying on me and I am feeling trapped. A self made trap. This is a familiar pattern. The million dollar question is, will I be able to change the pattern and what would that look like in this situation? Probably with me not being in school with them during the day.
As a result of the school stuff and Chinchiná not being a place we can visualise living in long term, we’re thinking about a change of tack. We have very few aims/expectations for this trip; for the children (and me) to learn Spanish and for it to be a positive experience. This is quite liberating. There is nothing keeping us anywhere. As long as where we are has internet and Tali can work, South America is our oyster. We are thinking something along the lines of online schooling and travelling instead of staying in one place. I am researching options. I found a family Spanish course in the Peruvian Amazon, but it turns out that it’s for students not families, irritatingly incorrect advertising. This fantasy lasted about 12 hours, but each thought and dream takes me somewhere. Meanwhile, I am in that familiar place of people telling me that as long as I’m around, the children will lean on me. I know, I know, I will try and change the pattern before we leave here. We have 6 weeks before we have a trip back to the UK. That’s six weeks of opportunity to change a familiar pattern (and to come up with an alternative plan).