IV Memories

"You know the name of it!  You know the name!" I was amazed to see my usually serene sister jumping up and down in her chair with excitement and joy.  I had just told her that my childhood friend, Joan Marie, who had come to Bogota for the wedding was wondering if the "Arlequin" bakery was still functioning.  Apparently my sister, Gloria had been trying for around 40 years to locate the bakery we used to visit once a year or so when as children we were brought to Bogota.  She had not been able to find  anyone who remembered the  race cars, rocking horses, swans, and many other interesting shapes made of chocolate by this German family bakery.

The internet provided the address and phone number and we all piled into two taxicabs and made the trip across the city.  I remembered the chocolate alligators with their white-sugar teeth, and the swans which gave the most candy for your money since they were filled with nonpareils, but I had completely forgotten the huge chocolate beetles which were my brother's favorite and which we had assumed were cockroaches.  I had also forgotten about the restaurant and tearoom upstairs where my mother and her friends would have the rare treat of a pastry and a cup of tea.  This bakery had seemed an impossibly magical place to us when we made an occasional trip from the jungles where we lived to the big city of Bogota.

After visiting the bakery, Joan Marie, Ben, Victoria, and I went for a little walk through the neighborhood where we had first arrived in Bogota which we had not seen in 35 or 40 years.  The early memories flooding into my mind were quite negative, from my first horrified encounters with grimy beggar children and my terror at the warnings I had heard about blond children being prime targets for kidnappings, to my reluctant attendance in a little preschool where I was shocked when the teacher used my skirt to wipe my nose and disappointed when a classmate's birthday cake turned out to be an incredibly dry and inedible fruitcake.  I remember hiding behind the couch reading the only book I could find in English.

But there were also good memories from later years when my culture shock had worn off of playing "kick-the-can" in the street and running down to the corner store to buy a piece of bubble gum. And the crazy teenage memories of pranks such as throwing a lit firecracker out of a third-story window into a neighbor's window where they were having a loud party that was keeping us awake.

Bogota's cold climate (it is located high in the Andes mountains), crowded urban setting, and sophisticated, cultured population had always been a fascinating change from the isolated rural setting and hot climate of the mission center where we lived most of the time.  I used to think it was such a shame that ice cream was only available in the cold city and not in the hot jungles.

III Mother of the Groom

In preparation for decorating the hall for the wedding reception Fr Peter was sent on a quest to find fake snow.  He traversed many blocks of shops in a really sketchy neighborhood, and was led  repeatedly down lonely alleyways and even into a strange attic, only to come up empty-handed each time.  He did not give up and eventually arrived triumphantly carrying a huge bag of tiny Styrofoam pellets, looking a bit like Santa with his beard and red sunburned face.

Anny had a wonderful idea of making a heart on the dance floor from real rose petals and the fake snow was placed around the heart.  The cake which was made by Ben's cousin, Lisa was really tasty and decorated quite spectacularly with real flowers. Lisa also captured some lovely photos.

As we were waiting for the wedding to begin I was introduced to Anny's cousins and their boyfriends, who greeted me in perfect English.  I answered them politely in my best Spanish, even complimenting (in Spanish) their English.  I was to find out later they live in Florida and do not speak any Spanish.

Fr. Peter and I were the choir since there were three Colombian priests serving.Victoria, Nic's wife, did a great job as best man switching the rings and such since Nicolas, because of issues having to do with his attempted renunciation of his Colombian citizenship, was unable to be there.

Anny had fractured her ankle a week before the wedding and was in a cast.  She sat serenely in a chair while Ben stood beside her.  When the time came for the couple to walk three times around the table with their hands tied together, the priest told Anny to just stay in the chair and let Ben walk by himself, but Ben had a different idea and carried her around three times.  This touching scene really made for a memorable wedding.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eZ6I6mQLKlk&feature=youtu.be
Fr Mixael said in his sermon that in marriage the two people must take turns carrying each other and just as Ben carried Anny because of her injured ankle, she will need to carry him, at times, when he is weak.

Anny's relatives are all great salsa dancers and really put on a show on the dance floor.  Ben's cousin, Russell  made a touching toast welcoming Anny to the family.  Suzzy, Anny's sister, and Alethia, Ben's cousin were both resplendent in their lovely dresses.

II Milky Way

"Yes, we have milk, but it isn't good to drink, it's only good for putting in your coffee", the smiling flight attendant seemed determined to protect me from what he seemed to think would be an unpleasant experience, but I continued to gently ask until he reluctantly handed me a small box of milk saying, "You won't like it."

I pulled a small glass jar out of my purse and opened the plastic bag inside of it. Carefully, I plopped the gooey yellowish-white globs into the jar and poured the milk over them.  As I replaced the jar in my purse, I wondered if the quiet lady sitting next to me might think I was concocting some explosives, but she didn't ask, so I didn't tell.

Several hours later, on a different flight, I had to drink the yeasty-smelling fermented milk and replace it with a new little box of fresh milk, but I did manage to get the kefir grains all the way to Bogota alive and functioning where I put them in Ben's fridge.

Now I just had to find some large glass jars to ferment them in and I would be able to leave a healing food remedy for Ben's chronic illness
and his cousin's possible Crohn's disease.  This proved to be much more difficult than one would expect.  It seems that in Colombia there are no large glass jars.  I guess if one needs a large amount of, say, pickles, or mayonnaise, one has to buy a lot of small jars of it.

I decided instead to buy some glass pitchers, but could only find many, many styles of clear plastic ones.  It seemed that to get one glass pitcher it was necessary to buy a whole set of 12 or so drinking glasses.  This didn't seem workable since I needed several pitchers and these sets are expensive.  What to do?  I decided to look for glass vases.

I started pounding the pavement, looking desperately for some kind of glass or ceramic containers.  At one point I considered buying some fish bowls, but decided it would be too hard to pour the fermented concoction out of them.  In one day alone, I walked 61 city blocks, dodging bicycles, and doggedly resisting the colorful and no-doubt tasty tropical fruit cut and served by street vendors who obviously have no place to wash their hands.

In the end I found the perfect little glass pitchers with plastic lids at a pretty decent price.  The friendly young man just placed them into plastic bags with no padding of any kind, but I managed to get all four of them home to Ben's house in one piece by hailing a taxi.

I was now ready to actually start fermenting some milk, but after a few days I realized that the temperature in Bogota was just too cold.  The whole city is like a huge refrigerator.  There is no heat in the homes, in fact, when the sun is shining it tends to be colder indoors than it is outside.  I knew that sunlight would kill the culture bacteria, so I finally hit upon a plan to place the pitcher in the sun covered with a towel, thus getting the warmth from the sun without the disinfecting light.  Ah, the sweetness of success!

I Much Ado About Luggage

"We need to locate the source of the gassy smell", the airline employee eyed us suspiciously as she hurried to call her boss.  The nice boss lady determined that one of our suitcases had a small wet spot and smelled of gasoline.  She said we couldn't take the gassy suitcase on the plane, but assured us it wouldn't be a problem and produced a new suitcase which she said we could borrow for our trip.  We quickly transferred our belongings, amazed and encouraged by this painless solution to what looked at first like a huge problem.

"You'll have to pay extra and check these two bags.  They're too big to carry on."  The helpful manager lady had somehow disappeared while we were repacking and now we were faced with a very unfriendly man.  I had to show him repeatedly how our carry-on luggage did, in fact, just barely fit into the measuring box.  He finally walked away muttering under his breath, and we proceeded to the security checkpoint.

All seemed to be well as we chatted happily with some fellow passengers at the gate, but at the last minute I noticed  the nasty man (looking smug) and the nice lady (looking concerned)  beckoning me to approach them.  I guess they didn't want the other passengers to hear our conversation.  They said I couldn't take my stuff on the plane, even in the borrowed suitcase.  They suggested I go without my belongings.  At this point I started to blubber incoherently about wedding crowns, tears streaming down my face.  

I had to go home and repack in a third suitcase and take a separate flight from Fr. Peter, but we did all get there in the end, including the wedding crowns.