Finding a Routine

Tomorrow we celebrate our one-month anniversary in Colombia.  It’s been an interesting time, full of ups and downs, and while we’re feeling much more settled, there is a lot of adjusting left to do.

We’re still living with my in-laws, Rubén and Gaby. Their new condominium was supposed to be ready on August 17, but the family who is vacating that condo is unable to move into their new building because there were problems with the remodeling.    Having Rubén and Gaby’s belongings at our house has been helpful, however, because we are still waiting for our dishes, clothes, toys and other household items to arrive on the ship from Houston. The boxes that left our house on June 28 arrived at the Port in Cartagena just last Friday evening, and they should be moving through customs sometime this week. After the port agents go through the stuff, and charge whatever they want for processing, the pallet will make the 700-mile trip up the mountains to Bogotá. The shipment we originally thought would take 3 weeks and cost $5000 will end up taking three times the time and nearly twice the cost we anticipated. The good news is that we didn’t ship furniture!

Living with Rubén and Gaby has been helpful in more ways than just borrowing their things. They have both been a tremendous help to us in caring for Catalina and Gabriela. Rubén makes Catalina’s breakfast every morning, heating the the milk on the stove, cutting fruit with careful precision, and serving the bowl when she says, “Abuito - quiero avena.” (“Grandpa, I want oatmeal.”)  Gaby can’t get enough of her namesake. She pushes Gabriela around the house in the stroller and makes her fruit and veggie purees.  The baby is much more comfortable with both grandparents now and, though she still prefers Mommy over anyone else, her eyes light up when she sees them.

We found a great preschool for Catalina just a block away from the house. Cometas (kites) is located in a big Spanish-style house that has interior and exterior green space visible from every classroom. We knew it was a good fit for Catalina when we went to visit the director, and our daughter didn’t spend a minute by our side. She explored the playgrounds, read the books and helped all the teachers set up their rooms. She was an instant hit with the teachers, and they all greet her by name every day. Unlike in the US, where Catalina was always one of the smallest kids, she’s the tallest in her class. She’s slightly older than most of the other 13 students in her group. Some of them haven’t turned four yet, and those who turned four last winter and spring have moved on to pre-kindergarten at elementary schools. We think that having Catalina in a preschool close to home is a good move for the next few months. Being taller and older than the other kids help give her the confidence she needs while she improves her Spanish skills and adapts to the culture. She’s learning new words every day, and she’s come home happy, carrying the arepa she made in cooking class and showing us moves she learned in beginning ballet.  One day she attended and English class, where the students learned about the letter A.  They made alligator masks as a craft, and Catalina came home talking all about her “cocodrilo.”

Though I don’t quite have the home, work, childcare routine down pat yet, I have found a great place to exercise. (Those who know me know how important that is!) There’s a big gym called BodyTech about five blocks away from us, and it’s the closest thing Bogotá has to the 24 Hour Fitness I left in Houston. Body Tech is big on monitoring the medical progress of its patrons, so Juan Carlos and I both had appointments with a doctor when we signed up, and personal trainers developed exercise routines for us. We have the routines on a paper, and we’re supposed to take them to the trainers so they can follow our progress. Being monitored is a little strange for both of us, who are used to exercising on our own, but I guess it’s a good system to keep clients both safe and motivated.

As in most countries I’ve visited, the first activity I participated in at the gym was group exercise classes.  It’s always interesting to me to see how the classes reflect the culture.  Classes here start 10 to 15 minutes late, so I’ve stopped bothering to arrive on time. Students and instructors greet each other with kisses, and there is more stopping for chatting and drinking water than there are in most US classes. Also, the aerobics instructors here seem to be more concerned about having participants learn the routines than in getting a good workout for themselves. They stop frequently to make sure the students know what comes next, and sometimes they sit at the front of the room or walk outside while we do the entire routine by ourselves.

So far, in the eight or nine different classes I’ve taken, all of the instructors have been men. There are many more male participants here than in the US, and I’ve never seen men so good at step aerobics! The step classes here, not surprisingly, are less athletic and more choreographed than their US counterparts, and that has been an adjustment for me. I get strange looks when I put the step up higher than everyone else, but I know I have to do that to get my heart rate up. Though the step and dance-based classes aren’t very physically challenging for me, they do give my brain a workout. There is a lot of syncopation, with twists and turns that would leave most Americans dizzy. I’m determined to leave my gringa-ness behind though, so I keep going until I can do the classes without having to think so hard. Fortunately, we have Body Pump, spinning and kickboxing at the gym too, so I can get some intensity when I need good stress relief. 

Some stresses are different here; some are the same. Just like in the US, Juan Carlos and I keep each other in check and put the everyday nuisances and frustrations in perspective.  Fortunately, that’s not difficult to do. We’re blessed to have a supportive family, a lovely home and two children who are God’s greatest gifts to us. We’re humbled by and grateful for the opportunities we have and the chance to make this once-in-a-lifetime journey together.

First days in Bogotá

It’s Saturday morning in Bogotá, and there’s a blue sky with white puffy clouds over the mountains to the East. That means no downpours, so it’s sure to be a good day.

Nearly two weeks ago now, we made our big move from The Woodlands, Texas to Bogotá, Colombia.  It’s been a whirlwind really, completing paperwork completed and opening accounts, getting used to horrible traffic, high altitudes and wearing sweaters in July.  

I’ve once again gotten a taste of what it’s like to be a foreigner. My blonde hair and 5’ 6” stature help me stand out in a crowd of people who tend to be shorter and have darker hair than I do.  More than once people have asked where I’m from, and they seem to be surprised when I speak Spanish. Our 9-month-old Gabriela has blonde hair too - at least  the little hair that she does have - and her blue eyes stop people on the street. Every time we take her to the store or anywhere else in public, women and men alike smile and tell us what beautiful eyes she has. Our 4-year-old, Catalina, has light brown hair and brown eyes, and she could pass for Colombian easily if she didn’t talk to everyone in English. After ordering food in English, saying “hi” and “thank you” and asking kids, “Do you want to play with me?” she’s finally starting to realize that her vocabulary won’t work well here.  Slowly, her Spanglish is starting to include more Colombian words, though she still gets frustrated that she can't communicate everything she wants to say in Spanish. “I don’t speak español,” she tells me. She’ll get it eventually, especially when we get her enrolled in preschool, hopefully sometime next week. We'll all be happier when she can get out of the house and spend time with other kids a few hours a day!

Juan Carlos, both a Colombian and US citizen, is coming to grips with readjusting to the culture he left behind 12 years ago. He’s frustrated by the way people drive on crowded streets, by the time (and number of times) it takes to go to the bank to complete simple transactions and by the slow, unforgiving pace of bureaucracy.

We had a good taste of bureaucracy this past week when we registered both girls as Colombian citizens. After four lengthly trips to the notary - being told to bring more and more documents - and presenting certified, translated versions of birth certificates and results of lab tests confirming blood type - we finally got the Registro Civil, the official documentation for Colombian children. The documents are still completed on a typewriter, and when the notary makes a mistake, she has to start again. Getting the two papers typed up took an hour, both because of the technology and because of the fact that the notary stopped to visit with everyone who stopped by the window.

My documentation was even more involved. Like in the US, foreigners can get residency in Colombia if they’re willing to pay, and to be patient and persistent.  Juan Carlos has been working on the process for months - obtaining certified copies of the marriage license from Alabama’s Secretary of State, having it translated by an approved Colombian translator, then having the document notarized, certified and registered. (I still don’t understand the difference.) We took that documentation along with my passport to the Foreign Ministry and applied for a visa for me. (US citizens can enter Colombians as tourists, but they have to get a visa within 90 days.)  We originally planned to apply for a Spousal Visa, which must be renewed annually, but a helpful lady at the Foreign Ministry told us that, since I’m married to a Colombian and have Colombian children, I automatically get a Resident Visa.  That was fantastic news. Now I can stay legally in Colombia as long as I want as long as I don’t leave for more than 23 months at a time. I can even apply for citizenship in two years if I choose to do so.

Unfortunately having a resident visa isn’t enough to function here. Anyone who wants to do anything in Colombia, must have a cédula, national identity card, which serves as a driver’s license, photo ID and form of registration for everything from supermarket discounts to gym memberships.  Apparently they don’t worry much about identity theft, because the cédula numbers are everywhere! After getting my visa, we had it “registered” at the Immigration Office. I had to give 14 sets of fingerprints, hand over three photos of myself and have another one taken in the office. After all that, I did get my cédula number, but the card itself won’t be ready for 15 business days. It will actually be closer to a month because we have two holidays in August.  Until I get the cédula, I can’t open a bank account, buy a car or have a cell phone account in my name. Fortunately, Juan Carlos and my in-laws are here to help me, but I can’t help but wonder what foreigners do when they come here without family.

Though the first couple weeks have been an adjustment for us, we’ve all had a very good time.  My in-laws Rubén and Gaby are thrilled to death to be with their granddaughters; both girls melt their hearts like butter. Thanks to Skype, we’ve been able to have face-to-face conversations with relatives in the US, including my grandmother - whose smile looks exactly like Gabriela’s - and my parents. I got a lump in my throat a few nights ago when Papa Greg told Catalina bedtime stories, and she finished his sentences for him.

I feel tremendously blessed to live in the same city as my sister Abby, who is working with churches and families in Bogotá. Last week, Juan Carlos, Catalina and I accompanied her to a feeding program in the slums outside Bogotá. I was impressed by  her servanthood and her leadership as she taught English, passed out food, and hugged the children whose eyes lit up when she walked in the room.  I also enjoyed celebrating Abby’s birthday with her. We went shopping and had fun whispering outsider observations about the people and things we saw. Our favorites included the store Solo Blusas (Only Blouses), which advertises specials on jeans, and a two Chinese import stores that have the strangest collection of fabrics and prints we’ve ever seen. When I had visa photos taken and they offered me a coffee mug, I asked Abby what one had to do with the other. She smiled and said, “Some things just go together, like the makeup samples they gave me when I bought a washing machine.”

I don’t know how long both Abby and I will be in Bogotá, but I’m grateful for the time we have together. These are once-in-a-lifetime experiences, and we’re committed to learning all we can from them.