Week 26-28: Saying Goodbye to Colombia

The White Lotus

A three-week downpour

Thoughts Ahead

The White Lotus
Yesterday at eight in the morning, we arrived at the port of Cartagena. The hustle and bustle of World Cup t-shirt sellers, beach shoes, and waterproof phone cases. We stood in line for our boat, and I immediately spotted the future victim. It remained to profile the other guests on the boat and start marking a list of suspects. A couple of parents with a cute baby, four men on their way to a bachelor party, and at the last moment, a couple boards the boat - possibly a father and daughter, possibly partners with a significant age difference. Colombian appearance, but when he sits down, you hear the French and immediately mark him as suspect number one. Two hours of sailing, and we arrive at a piece of paradise.

After three weeks of farewells, last trips that are really last, attempts to minimize damage and close loose ends, and mainly internal storms rising and falling - insult, anger, frustration, but also acceptance, gratitude, a desire to make the most of it, disgust from the position of the pleasure-seeking tourist, worries and expectations for the future, pleasant family ties and suffocating family ties.

A feeling of restlessness and a sort of dual tremor peaked in the humid, frantic, and vibrant Cartagena. On one hand, I’m tired of it, I’m impatient, and I want to go home already; on the other hand, I’m so bummed that it’s almost over. How is it that these two experiences do not balance out to tranquility? A minus and a minus can sometimes be a bigger minus.

We descend to the small dock, with clear water in the right shade. The boat boy throws the bags to me. The bachelor party quartet disembarks to the beach and doesn't bother to collect their bags - the porters will take care of that. We walk on the white sand. At the end of the path, we receive a cup of fruit cocktail. The hostess leads us to reception and gives the eclectic group a briefing that wouldn't embarrass a military recruits class, while everyone lounges in wooden chairs, overwhelmed by the heat. The quartet, full of 'let’s get going' energy, claps at the end of every sentence, and the expected victim asks an annoying question about room service. It takes time, but after two hours we are already in the water with a cocktail in hand, this time alcoholic, the energies and frenetic nature of Cartagena wash away with the waves, tranquility and calm take their place. Peace of the type you find in Sinai - when the heavy heat slows movement and thoughts. Food is ordered at the bar, and we go to lounge by the water. Instead of a Bedouin rug, there's a sea bed in the shade of mangrove trees, instead of newspaper with questionable green or yellow matter and full of seeds, there are cocktails that sound just right: Piña Colada, Mojito, Tequila Sunrise, and Margarita. We're in the freaking Caribbean! How did this happen without realizing it? My recent favorite drink is actually a michelada: beer with lime, ice, and salt.

She is currently collecting white sand from the bottom of the water and massaging the victim's scalp with the sand, a completely bizarre image, but later we tried it ourselves, and it’s very pleasant - mineral sand feels nice to the touch. While doing so we hear them talking about the white lotus themselves.

The dad discovered about the daughter when he angrily threw a random book from the library about the older son, and a letter fell from the Italian servant to his lover - his wife. That same Italian boy who fled Sicily on a ship to Colombia, and the Colombian gentleman, who was only a few years older than him, adopted him into his family and raised him like a son. The favored son. True, he cheated on his wife with countless women, but the betrayal from the favored son, the feeling that he lost both his beloved daughter and his faithful wife broke him.

In the morning, Yoala and I go on a tour of the island. The resort is fenced on all sides, and when we walked inside, it felt a bit like walking in circles in a prison yard. At the end of the resort, there is a small locked gate from which we exit for a tour of the tiny island. We turn right and arrive in less than a minute at a small village; there are people actually living on this island. A dirty and poor village. Two children offer us a tour of the island; we politely refuse and wander on our own, among heaps of trash, shacks, and clotheslines with Chicago Bulls shirts. And still, at the end of this world, two local boys, barefoot and with tattered clothes, sit on a branch with their legs in the water and each looks at his phone. We reach huge piles of 'marine debris', beautiful shells along with fishing nets, plastic bottles, and old buoys. We turn back and arrive back at the gate. This time we continue straight to the public beach. After a few minutes of walking among coconut trees, iguanas, and hawks, we arrive at a crowded beach, full of restaurants, music, bars, stands, and many locals who probably came for a few hours' visit to the rustic side of the island. We buy a necklace, a bracelet, and guava juice and return to our pen.

Finally, after three weeks, I want to write again. Michael asked me why I hadn’t written when so much happened in the last three weeks. I answered that I didn't feel like it or had anything interesting to write about, and as time passed, the events accumulated into a shopping list.

So three weeks ago, school ended. The last week was dedicated to many tests and assignments for Matis and Michael. On the last day of school, Matis had two tests. They don’t receive certificates on the last day but finish the tests and the teachers write grades directly onto a virtual certificate the following week. We didn’t look at the certificates. I hope that in their next school, they won’t ask for them.

Michael prepared a project on Mesopotamia, and I tutored fifth grade in preparation for next year... We drew a map together, added texts we learned from the chat, and cut out a ziggurat pop-up (I cut, and Michael watched me). It was really fun.

Michael almost single-handedly won the elementary school basketball championship finals, so his class decided to give him the cup to take home. He attended the elementary school graduation party, a disco party with a DJ and colorful lights. From the pictures and videos, we discovered that even in Colombia, the girls dance, and the boys stand aside awkwardly waiting for it to end.

Two days after school ended, Michael celebrated his birthday, and we took him to iJump Petah Tikva with two friends from school. One of them, a Colombian Jew who speaks Hebrew quite well. A curious and cute kid, with a knack for languages who feels more comfortable around adults than kids. One day, he will visit Michael in Israel.

Ofri prepared cookies for kindergarten (Yoala made them, and he watched), and we arrived with him on the last day for a woodworking activity and farewell - Yoala, Judy, and I prepared wooden keychains with them. We sawed, sanded, and decorated. It was really lovely, and it was truly fun and exciting to work with children again. He distributed a cookie to each boy and girl, and they blessed him and us. A heartfelt ending to this chapter for him.

My school ending was the conclusion of chess. I said goodbye to the workshop with great sadness.

A week later, we went on a farewell trip with Judy to Lake Guatapé. One day, we traveled to some stream, and on the way, we saw many soldiers with long weapons guarding work on the road. We invented a story that they must have found gold near the road, and they are digging in the area and are afraid of robbers. When we got to the stream, Yoala’s radar started working, and she confidently said: They really are looking for gold here! Since we arrived in Colombia, she has become much more assertive and confident in various assertions she throws out, and I reacted with disbelief until we saw people next to us bending into the water with an aluminum tray, collecting sand and searching for gold. It turns out that the stream is rich in tiny gold flakes, and it's a local hobby to dip into the freezing waters to collect gold.

After Judy flew out, we organized a farewell trip to Martirito - our town. With the glow kids and Roy - another Israeli from school who lives in town. He took us on a beautiful water trail in wild nature just meters from home - where have you been hiding for the past six months?? A final meeting with all sorts of butterflies in every size and color.

And then we flew to Cartagena for a final trip before the final trip to Costa Rica - Jaco here we come.

Yoala interrupted me while I was writing. I need to go see a France game. On the way, I got caught in a workshop for making Caribbean ceviche. It was delicious, but with all modesty, my ceviche is tastier... From there we went on a night cruise among the tiny islands here and swam at night with plankton - it's like a sponge. When you pass by them, they activate a fluorescent light defense mechanism. I didn’t understand all the details, but in short, you swim in the water, and every movement creates a shimmering puddle of light. One of the wonderful experiences we had here - small to large, we swam in the dark water and spread light everywhere. What more could we ask for?

What remains is to ask to return to the country and spread light. In a few hours, the annual Waldorf teacher training for teachers begins in the country, and I'm not there. Last year I was at the training for first-grade teachers, but then life happened. A few days later, Yoala flew to Costa Rica for ten days, to check out an option that seemed absurd. She sent unbelievable pictures of sunsets over the Pacific Ocean. Tomorrow I won’t be at the training, but my head is already there. I already have a new class waiting for me in the country. In the light, as in the light, everything is mixed up, and some parents in the class (and their children) are the most enthusiastic and loyal readers of the blog.

It also remains for me to wish myself to leave enough space for myself and not to devote myself only to work as I did until I left. I’ve already registered for the next Midburn.

I wish for Yoala to bravely cope with the annoying phase of job hunting, knowing that she is not returning the same person who set out on this journey a year ago.

I want to end with a song that has accompanied me for the past month - Ana Ana Ana, in a wonderful translation by Shlomi Shaban and a wonderful performance by Shai Tsabari :

So let me try again, I said
Let me try again
Let me have a generous spirit this time
Let me have a logical expression
Yes, please, please, please, please my love, come back to me
From my waters, I did not leave you, he said
I never left you
It is you who built temples
You covered my face
Yes, please, please, please, please my love, come back to me
And who will make sure this spirit is the song
Will breathe in pure freedom
And it will be an armor for you
Against the enemy and the cold.

See you