Our Ecuadorean experience was just that… “ours.” From the time Greer first broached the possibility with the boys and me, to when we landed in Quito and had our first “adventure” - trying to clear immigration where the boys’ visa issues almost restricted entry - to when we put the boys on a plane back home, it was a shared experience. True, each of us experienced the adventures in our own way, but throughout, there was a metaphorical umbilical cord (of course it had to be metaphorical, a real one would just be weird) that bound us together. Our struggles with the language, our frustration with CNT – the Internet company, Grant’s appendectomy, and of course the laughs, trips and friendships, were all part of an intimate, emotional bond that few families get the opportunity to enjoy. However, that umbilical cord was cut when Grant and Garrett headed back home in early June to finish out their school year with friends, and when Greer went home in early July to fulfill a work obligation (and to get away from me?) and I stayed behind for a final month. How would I survive, alone, without my family to ground me, translate stuff, and provide support, security and lifeline that our umbilical cord provided? Well, like the child who is pulled from his mother’s womb, and backed with 11 months of feeding and nurturing, this child would do just fine on his own. But it was not without some struggle and heartache.
One of those heartaches was trying to parent from afar. Of course our kids were in good hands in New Jersey with my mother and sister. But who would make sure they kept up with their online math program? Who would stop them from eating chips, candy, pizza, soda and any other junk they could put their hands on? And certainly when Greer got home all of their emotional needs would be met as well. But I got a dose of what it would be like to be a divorced parent who lived far from his kids, and I did not like it. It wasn’t so much that I missed them (even though I did) but more that I could not be a responsible (and controlling?) parent from 3000 miles away. But if I thought that parenting from afar was challenging, well, marriage from afar was even worse. Greer was left to deal with multiple issues at home and though I did not cause any of them, and certainly could not deal with most of them, I bore the brunt of all of them. Yet, being without my family may have been the most challenging of all. All that being said… there’s something to be said for alone time - and parenting/marriage from afar was looking pretty good. And the view only got better. Unencumbered by the logistics, and costs, of negotiating and nitpicking the trivial and the consequential, I took to planning my final exit. And I was going out with a bang.
For much of the year, we did not do anything or go anywhere without first debating and discussing the how and wherewithal of our destination. Whether it was an adventurous trip to the Galapagos or just going to the supermarket, there had to be a strategic plan. Consideration had to be allotted for translation issues, safety concerns, travel alternatives, and bathroom options given the multitude of stomach viruses we suffered. So, when given the chance to plan a trip sans familia, I was on it like Donald Trump to a racist soundbite… And like the Donald, the trip was not without its controversy. I mean, what could go wrong on a trip to Cartagena, Colombia, unless of course you go with a Secret Service advance team prior to a presidential visit (“TWELVE secret service agents brought prostitutes to [Cartagena] hotel before Obama arrived”), or worse yet… you go without your wife. Apparently the Secret Service scandal broke when the agents wouldn’t pay up the full price for the not so ‘Secret’ Services rendered. My own scandal broke not because I was traveling to Cartagena to visit Katie, a 30-year-old female colleague, and her 20-something friends, but because I did so without my wife. Apparently I had a bigger transgression than the Secret Service agents.
Well, I can’t say enough about Cartagena. Part of it was just the ability to plan the trip myself without dealing with family logistics. Arriving at an ungodly hour to what looked like an abandoned apartment building at 2am threw me for a loop; and though it was somewhat unsettling, less so than if I had wife and kids in tow (In daylight, the building and apartment were occupied, clean and comfortable). Katie and roommates were expecting my late arrival, and despite their awakened slumber, they graciously helped me settle in. And while the Cartagena trip was outstanding, it was somewhat sad to experience it without la familia. But at the same time – it was awesome to experience it without la familia. Yet every time (okay, ALMOST every time) I did something I thought how much Greer and the boys would like it. I guess that was part of the joy of the trip – enjoying it on my own, yet being able to appreciate how much my family would enjoy parts of it. However, hanging at the hostels and clubbing at the nightclubs were all about me. Forget the fact that I was probably as old as the combined age of Katie and her roommate, partying with 20 and 30-year-olds until 3am was certainly a challenge, and one that I gracefully (or perhaps, ungracefully) accepted. There is something to be said for the free flowing frolicking that takes place among that crowd. There were the doctors from Brooklyn, young, handsome, smart, yet unpretentious and lots of fun. There was the awesome live salsa band at a local club with a mosaic mix of Colombians and Norte Americanos. Flirtations aside, it was uninhibited fun.
But the best was yet to come. Although Colombia borders Ecuador on the Pacific Ocean, Cartagena is on the Atlantic coast because it lies east of Panama. So our trip to Tayrona National Park was my chance at a Caribbean vacation. The well-preserved Parque Tayrona is a national treasure that opens out to the sparkling blue waters of the Caribbean Sea. But before you can get to the refreshing waves and sandy beaches there’s a rigorous four kilometer hike through some very tricky terrain. Yet the rigor was mollified by a lush, picturesque setting that hugged the jagged Caribbean coast, then wound through the luxurious, leafy landscape of a South American jungle, nestled in by the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta snow-capped mountains that surround the park. One website described it as “paradise.” I would not disagree.
The payoff for the long arduous hike was the beaches of Cabo San Juan. But as beaches go, this is a beach with attitude. Think Woodstock 1969, but instead of mud and rain there are white sandy beaches and crashing waves. And there was no shortage of dreadlocks, tie-dyed T-shirts, guitars, tents, and Frisbees to go with the rows of hammocks that provided nighttime sleeping accommodations as well as a communal, hippie vibe. It was just what the doctor ordered for patience, acceptance and tolerance. And sleeping through the night on a hammock was never so inviting, especially after a night of dancing and drinking (coffee and espresso, that is). The weight of the year in Ecuador all seemed to catch up to me on this trip. As relieved and relaxing as the beach was, the voices in my head would return to thoughts big and small. Yet determined to put them behind me, I prepared for much needed sleep and began to tune into a meditation tape on the iPod. As I settled into the hammock – iPod in hand, headphones positioned for optimum sounds to pipe in harmonious hymns through the tiny portals of modern technology, I had an epiphany - why tune into some digital meditation when I have a natural meditation all around me. The ocean was just meters away with the sensual sounds of pulsating waves washing ashore. For background music there were the soothing sounds of the tropical Caribbean breeze to lull me into a semi unconscious state where the soft, subtle sounds and light winds lifted away my worries and cast them out to sea, only to return with the incoming tide. Yet for those moments of bliss, I was in harmony and at peace. I was able to tune out those voices in my head and let the music of the world in. By morning I was well rested, the chirping birds and tropical tones served as the perfect alarm clock (much better than the roosters, car alarms and barking dogs I’ve grown accustomed to in Ecuador) and hammock sleep proved to be quite relaxing as my body collapsed into the equivalent of a comatose sack of potatoes. That’s what happens to a middle aged man who parties until 3am with 20 and 30-somethings. But thanks to the cultivating currents of the Caribbean Sea, sun, and sand, that sack produced one hot potato and I was rejuvenated for my final exit from Ecuador.
Perhaps what was most enlightening about Colombia was the shared experience Katie and I had. We discussed our frustration with work, as we both recognized the stereotype of the lazy Latino lounging for two hour-long siestas as a myth. And they expected the same of the gringos. Yet, traveling as a single 30-year-old woman, her experience was dramatically different. She did have the Spanish-speaking boyfriend Greer and I jokingly claimed we needed to become fluent, and it certainly worked for Katie. But that came with its own baggage, as she contemplated extending her stay for six more months to develop her relationship and finish her school year; or going back to the security of her job in the U.S. That was one thing we did not share in common. As much as the single life agreed with me on this hiatus, my family man status beckoned me home to be with my family, and that was exactly where I wanted to be. That being said, Katie and I agreed on one more thing, our Latin American experiences were life changing for all those involved.