4.10.24
We got chicks. Two of them, French Fry and Hey-Hey.
I had planned to catch up on our travels in my next post. We went to Salento – a beautiful, coulourful, lively town, also known as the gateway to the Corcora Valley, home to the tallest species of palm tree.
I had planned to tell you all in graphic detail about the weird-ass infection I got on my thumb, causing it to swell up to not quite double it’s usual sausage size or rather salchichas size.
I would have gone into great detail about the idyllic eco-lodge we stayed in, on a river, which a hilarious dog called Apollo – who loved to have rocks thrown in the river for him and got into bizarre, comical positions to scrabble out rocks from under the water in hs gigantic jaw.
I also would have spent time on the amazing ‘dis-battle’ or rapping competition that happened to be on in the main square in Salento. I felt like I was Eminem without mom’s spaghetti, or maybe with, I have no idea, as it was in Spanish and whilst my spanish now spans to salchichas and a decent understanding of the present tense and a tiny bit of the past tense, it is miles, maybe even 8, away from understanding Spanish rap.
The other thing I was planning to go into detail on was our Friday night dinner at Chabad in Salento – sadly and not necessarily usual for Chabad, it was everything I dislike. It started late – on time was already too late for us – because they were waiting for a minyan (quorum of 10 men) so they could pray. Women are not counted. The young rabbi’s wife didn’t engage with anyone and the other guys – the main rabbi was away – were sweet enough and tried, but it didn’t do anything for us, barring some amazing first course salads. The kids were asleep by the main meal, so gutted I was to miss it – we got them to give us a take away though, which saved us over the next day (or two).
Salento and Corcora were really something. Corcora Valley on which Encanto is based on and home to the world’s tallest palm trees. Palm trees that grow into the sky. But chicks…they trump everything. Two baby, around 5 week old, chicks are now travelling with us.
Admittedly, it wasn’t well thought through. An impulse buy really. The following weekend after the Salento, Corcora Valley, thumb infection, chabad that I didn’t write about, we decided to stay more local. We were gearing up to leaving Chinchina. Whilst Tali and I would have been more than happy to stick it out until mid October, before our visit home, we felt that it was unfair on the kids. Lotem had been in school for two weeks, without me coming in, and had refused point blank for those two weeks to go into her class. She could not be cajoled, bought, comforted or even forced. She is a lore unto herself, for better or worse. Probably for better for the older future her, for worse for me and Tali. When Lotem wasn’t in class she was either latched on to Teva or Negev, or sat in the head teachers office or latched onto Roy, a volunteer english teacher we met at the Narcos house. Negev was bored and Teva too. So despite having moved into a gorgeous, bright airbnb in town 10 days previously, where we had whatever we wanted a stone’s throw away – a fruit shop with a friendly dog which sold an amazing home-made picked, spicy, oniony, tomatoey thing, a tailor, a cobbler and an avocado cart and a super fun crossfit gym class, which I’ve always wanted to do – we decided to sack it all in and travel to a few different places before our visit home.
We’d heard about this thing called Maranitas. It is a type of flat board, with seats on it, on wheels, that goes along a disused railway line, powered by a motorbike. This was info we received from one of Tali’s conversations on public transport. So off we went to a very small town called Arauca, on the back of the jeep again. We got off the jeep, 45 mins later. It was a Sunday – we were leaving Monday – and Sunday is a particularly busy day – not the restful day Jesus prescribed, at least not in this area. It is the day people travel around and back to their places of work, coffee picking. There were throngs of ripped and grizzled men milling around waiting for jeeps to wherever. Our jeep made it in record time I’m sure, taking hairpin bends at a speed my arms could barely hold on with – I was stood outside on the back of the jeep. Tali and the kids were inside fending off car sickness.
We stopped to buy a coke – apparently a cure for all nausea – and then moved on, passed an agricultural shop with a huge four tiered incubator full of various sizes of chicks. At that moment something happened and Tali had four children. Shall we get one I asked? Then kind of pleaded, not of course that I need Tali’s permission to buy things – because obviously I am the boss of me – but I felt her support on this one was important. Being the excellent sport that she is and possibly feeling the tide was against her and on the back of losing the greenfinch Tea Cup the previous week, Tali agreed, and for the bank-breaking price of 80p we purchased our first chick, French Fry.
French Fry accompanied us, in her card board box home, on the Maranitas ride. This ride was pure joy. Not just because of French Fry. The track was enveloped by the river Caucau River on one side and vegetation on the other. There were lived-in houses scattered along the route. People living in such a completely different way from us. Cocoa plants, with huge fruits, coffee groves, greenery, huge bamboo, loads of dogs, cats and sometimes chickens and people, going about their lives. If ever I wanted authentic – which is generally always – this was it. And to add to that we had a new pet chick and everyone was in a good mood. It was bliss. When another Maraneta came in the opposite direction, our driver, his wife and 9/10 year old son would jump out to help lever and roll the oncoming Maraneta off the tracks for us to pass, then help to lever and roll it back on again after we’d passed. The lever used was a huge piece of bamboo, niftily kept in a snug place under the roof/cover of the Mariet.
On the jeep ride on the way to lunch, a woman with self-proclaimed experience with chicks was telling us (Tali) how to look after it, keep it warm and was asking why we only had one, because usually it’s good to have at least two, they keep eachother warm and they are company for one another. Well, I didn’t need to be told twice. After lunch the kids and Tali went horse riding (they cantered, without helmets) and I took myself off back to where we’d come from to buy another chick. This time, they didn’t give me a box, because I already had one, so I had the pleasure of holding this little chick – who I reckon was 5 weeks old, having read online: Your Chick – a week by week guide, honestly, it really exists – who was chirping away. This was Hey Hey.
So here I am, 5 days later, we’ve left Chinchina for good, which I have mixed feelings about. We are in Medellin, the chicks travelled well. We will take them to our next stop, Guatape on the bus and I’m desperately hoping that we will be allowed to take them on an internal flight. Otherwise it’s either goodbye or a 16 hour bus journey….
By the way, if you have ever wondered why chickens move outside, and are not usually found as indoor pets, it is because they poo non-stop, wherever they are. Along with all my repentance this time of the year requires, I am sending up a little prayer of gratitude that carpets are not common here.