Monteria Bound

I said my good-byes to Valentina at the airport on Sunday afternoon and I was left at the gate. I think it really was the first time that it had hit me of my whereabouts as suddenly my support was gone. There would be no more translation, there would be no more assistance and explanations, and I was to fend for myself here on out.

Checking through immigration was a bit of a trip though. You see, I packed a carry-on bag specifically for Milo. The contents included some of his food, shampoo, toys, treats, toothbrush and nail clippers. Checking into Vancouver and Toronto, the x-ray picked up the nail clippers and both times my bags were searched. After a closer look, they decided that his clippers weren’t a potential weapon and let me through with no hassle. Colombia airport, however, was different. They investigated and then decided to confiscate the clippers as they figured that the hole was big enough to stick the tip of a baby finger in and cut it off. Needless to say, Milo is now minus his clippers and I have no idea if I will be able to find anything like it in Monteria.

I went to my gate, and decided that since there were few people there, I would go check out the smoking room. A brief conversation ensued with 2 pilots and then a university student. It was 20 minutes before the plane was about to leave and headed to Gate 9. My heart dropped when I saw only 2 people sitting in the area. I quickly found an airport staff and bastardized his language to find out that my gate was changed to 6. I hurried down the corridor, to find yet another area empty but two staff manning the doors.

My heart jumped a bit but I did ask if the plane was going to Monteria and all was good. The majority of people were boarded and they were doing a final call. Now, something that I was told, and was great advice, was before I ever physically get on the plane to have them call down to the cargo hold and verify that Milo was on board.

“Senora, esta possible per telephonar la cargo per mi pero” I asked, once again bastardizing and creating a French/Italian/Spanish hybrid form of communication.

“Si, claro, blah blah blah blahblahblahblahblah,” she replied at a break-neck speed with a reassuring smile. I waited while she picked up the walkie-talkie and once again sped through a language that is so very new to my ears.

The gruff voice on the other ended spewed more words I didn’t know, and the lady smiled at me, nodded and then said, “Si, blah blah blah blah blah blah?”

“Si, gracias,” I replied.

She then motioned for me to head down the ramp to the plane. I took about 2 steps and suddenly began thinking that maybe I had just agreed to have my dog taken off the plane. The doubt began to surface, but I then figured she would have asked a million other questions about taking the dog off the plane. As well, if Milo was left in Bogota, the flight is only an hour away and Val and her family live there.
I got onto the nearly empty plane, found my seat and got comfy for the ride. It was a quick flight with a few Colombiana drinks – a soft drink that tastes like red Fanta and 7-up. The ride was cloudy most of the way, but as we got closer to Monteria and away from the mountains it cleared up. As far as the eye could see, the land was green. As we got closer, you could see the division of land with bushes, you could see cows roaming free, and you could see palm trees.

Flying into Monteria was a bit shocking in a sense. All you could see were fields, farms and farm houses. I started wondering where the city was, or even if there was one at all. I started wondering why the hell did I agree to be in the middle of nowhere for the next 10 months. But just as the doubts were creeping in, I looked up from my window seat to see a large hawk circling and from the corner of my eye, there was a dragonfly that zipped past the plane. The doubts subsided and I knew things were going to be fine.

The doors of the plane opened and we exited down the stairs straight to the tarmac. With one step onto the pavement the humidity hit me like a wall and I could feel the heat creeping up my pant legs and the sweat begin to form as we walked to the airport.

“Muy caliente,” I said to the man walking beside me as I peeled my sticky shirt away from my chest. He laughed and in Spanish, he responded that this is Monteria, not Bogota. It reminded me of that line from the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy looks at Toto and says something like, “we aren’t in Kansas anymore.”

The airport was a meager brick building surrounded by palm trees and is one room. Think about the size of your local 7-11 and it is about comparable. The one conveyor belt looked like an antique and I grabbed a porter and we both waited. I looked outside for Margarita (my boss) and Deirdre (my colleague), I just wasn’t sure who they were and figured that they would find me.

Two teenagers came up to me and asked in English, “Are you Amanda?” “Margarita is waiting outside for you,” and they pointed to her outside. And they then asked me where my dog was. I found out later that both of these kids are my students.

The first load of baggage was unloaded and no sign of Milo. I ran outside to the man tossing the luggage onto the conveyor and secretly wondered where the slave was who cranked the handle to operate it.

“Mi pero?” I asked. He responded in Spanish to what I believe was the next load. My guess was good, because with the next load Milo appeared along with my luggage. He was chilled out yet again, but panting almost as much as I was.

The meet and greet went well. My boss seemed nice, and the colleague as well. We piled into the car and dropped everything at the apartment. I was then escorted to the shopping area where I was fed and watered and told a few things about the school.

We stopped at the supermarket, more like a Wal-mart, and Margarita bought Milo a welcome gift – dog food and a big water dish. And that is when she told me that more people are fascinated by a Canadian dog being in Monteria than a Canadian girl.

The day passed quickly and turned to night. Deirdre and I were back at the apartment and all I wanted was a beer and a smoke. We went out, and to all my Foggs friends, I found the best bar ever! Besides the beer being about $1.25 a bottle, it is all open air. The staff is great and within 20 minutes we met Jorge, Jorge, Jorge (NOT a typo), and Edwin.

I actually told Jorge (barman 1) that this was going to be my 2nd home. He laughed, but later after a yawn and an apology he replied, “It is OK, this is your home, you do what you want.”

A few hours later and it was time to head home and catch some sleep. It was a restless sleep – the sounds of geckos, crickets, cockroaches, and other critters that live in the tropics, and the heat was unbearable. The ceiling fan just spun the warm air and cooked me like a convection oven. Milo found the coolest part of the apartment and splayed out on the floor, and I think tonight, I may just join him…

Until next time…my first day of school.