Journey to Marco Part 1: Travel to Colombia

(TO READ FROM THE BEGINNING, CLICK HERE)

If you know the adoption process, you know it is anything but straight and predictable. This is the case for every single adoption and many wise counselors have conditioned us to expect surprises and chaos. We waited a month to find out our travel date. As we did, we prepared for our travel, which Erin made look easy given her globetrotting nature. Of course in the Pfeiffer house children get passports weeks after birth. Lucy and Silas both have passport photos from early, early infancy because you never know when Erin might want to cart one off to Africa or Latin America. This is Silas’ third trip abroad, fifth if you count in utero!

We wondered if we would attend our church’s retreat Labor Day weekend. All we had to wait on was a letter from Immigration Services and Erin hounded the mailbox each day. When it looked like the church retreat was on for us, I decided I would ride my motorcycle up the Carolina mountains, since I knew such rides would not be frequent when Marco comes home. I packed my waterproof bag, cinched it to my seat, zipped my jacket, put on my gloves, buckled my helmet and began my journey from our driveway across the back roads of the Blue Ridge. It was 10am and our mailman always comes in the late afternoon, so waiting was futile. As I turned 5 feet out our drive, the mail truck stopped at our house.

I walked the bike backwards and waited…of course the letter would come today! And it did. Our agency prepared us that we would travel 10-14 days after receiving our letter. As I rode up the foothills, I thought about how I would be in Colombia in two weeks. After about an hour of riding, I stopped at a gas station in the midst of a lonely expanse of pines and rolling hills. Sweaty and dusty, I pulled off my helmet and strutted into the storefront. I bought a Red Bull and topped off my tank. As I leaned on my saddle, I pulled out my phone. Erin had texted me, “Beth says we can travel Wednesday! Maybe your dad can help us find flights?”

It was Friday the week before, I knew it was unlikely we would travel in 5 days, but I obliged. Erin is shy, I did not think she would just call my dad and I did not think a realistic flight could be found. I rode on through mountains of southwest North Carolina and as I rolled up and down, banking left and right, I continued pondering our exciting future in two weeks. I was wrong on all accounts. Erin’s tenacity to see Marco trumped her bashfulness and she and my dad schemed to get us flights 3 business days later. When I pulled off in Chimney Rock, I again checked my phone. “Have flights for Wednesday.”

img_7333Wednesday sounds like “sometime during the day Wednesday.” It was not. Our flight left Raleigh at 6am. We woke-up at 1:45am in Winston-Salem, piled our backpacks, umbrella strolled, pack-n-play (which was been to Guatemala and now Colombia), suitcases, and kids. We picked up Erin’s mom at 2:15am. She graciously drove our car back to Winston-Salem. img_7331We checked-in our circus of gear and made our way to a plane to Miami. From Miami we flew to Bogotá.

At 1pm we arrived in Bogotá and met our driver Jairo. We wound through the bustling city sans car seats…or should I say sin car seats?img_7341 We arrived at our apartment around 3pm, too early to move-in. So we ditched our bags in a back room and wandered through Parque de la 93, our chic Bogotá locality. It is cosmopolitan with playgrounds, a beautiful green space, coffee shops, boutiques, and a sort of Whole Foods-inspired tienda. It felt like Paris or Manhattan.

When 5pm rolled around I was beginning to get testy. Not knowing the place or the language disoriented me and Erin was miles ahead in comfort. Our apartment (video tour here) was a welcomed sight. Our landlord, German (pronounced “hare-MON”), was so friendly. When he checked our TV remotes, the batteries were dead so he ran to a store and returned to replace them. Then a light bulb burned out and he did the same. After settling in we ventured out to find a grocery store. We got lost on the way, but fear not. In a city of 8 million, we ran into German, who along with his teenage daughter, walked us to a store.

The kids melted in the store and I also my lost rational mind. At this point, Erin was the lone confident wayfarer. We ate quickly, we slept early, and the next morning awoke ready to go meet Marco.