Hello Loves!
I traveled to Colombia, South America a lot as a child. Out of all of my adventures, these stories are the ones people tend to be most skeptical about. So, I am going to start off with some details about these adventures, in the hopes that it will help.
**All pictures in this post are not mine. We have very few actual pictures of our travels to Colombia; those we do have are not digital (and stored somewhere at my parent's house in Tennessee). These pictures are representative of my memory.**
Why Columbia?
When I was little (early to mid 1990's) my Mom was traveling to Colombia for 7-10 days every two months. She would stay in Bogota and do individual and group therapy for missionaries there. During her time there she would stay in a safe, monitored compound: bullet proof glass, two manned gates, brick building, etc.
We found fly to Bogota as a family and usually spend a night at the missionary compound there. Then, my Dad and I would leave the next morning for the jungle camp known as Lomalinda.
He and I would board a small Cessna airplane and fly out over the mountains and the jungle to the 'jungle camp.' Which was barely more than a square mile jungle town surrounded by the Colombian army.
The Details
Every couple of trips my Mom would take, my Dad & I would go with her. I would be pulled out of school for a week to a week and a half; asking my teacher to prepare my lessons ahead of time so that I could keep up with my class while we were out of the country.We found fly to Bogota as a family and usually spend a night at the missionary compound there. Then, my Dad and I would leave the next morning for the jungle camp known as Lomalinda.
He and I would board a small Cessna airplane and fly out over the mountains and the jungle to the 'jungle camp.' Which was barely more than a square mile jungle town surrounded by the Colombian army.
Lomalinda a.k.a. the "Jungle Camp" or "The Compound"
Lomalinda was (it no longer exists) a small jungle town that occupied just over a square mile in the Amazon Rainforest. To get there, we had to fly in a small Cessna airplane that was equipped with oxygen masks for flying over the mountains. The planes would also be loaded with all kinds of supplies, food, and necessities bound for the remote community.
The airport consisted of a couple of open air hangars and a service shed for protecting the tools. Also in that shed were crates of various pop in glass bottles (which I would visit every day after school).
The Airport
We would land on a small, dirt runway and be greeted by a varying number of American missionaries who lived there. The moment the plane door opened, you were hit with the thick, hot air of the jungle. It smelled like plane exhaust, gasoline, and humid jungle air.
The airport consisted of a couple of open air hangars and a service shed for protecting the tools. Also in that shed were crates of various pop in glass bottles (which I would visit every day after school).
Transportation
Being at an isolated jungle camp, transportation was different. The only vehicles on the compound were golf carts (covered, uncovered, and ones with truck beds), dirt bikes, motorcycles, and mopeds. The only full-sized vehicle was the single fire engine, housed at the fire station. Sounds like every child's dream, right?!Housing
The housing or 'huts' were all of different sizes, shapes, and made out of different materials. Mostly tin/metal, clay, and wood. The hut that we stayed in had a small kitchen, living room, two bedrooms, and a small bathroom. All very basic. Up the back of the hut, a beautiful flowering vine grew that had stunning pink flowers all over it; covering the back wall and some of the roof tiles (my Mom's favorite part of the hut).Daily Life
While my Dad and I were in Lomalinda we each had our own daily schedule.
My Dad (or My Mom, when she was 'in town') would take me to school on our borrowed motorcycle, or one of the neighbors would pick me up in one of their golf carts and take me. While there, I would complete my assigned work from home and also participate in the daily lessons (especially the Spanish lessons...wish I remembered more). The school was small, there was only one boy in my grade. So, we shared a classroom with another grade, which was very different than my school in Illinois.
My Dad would spend his days at the airport helping with repairing, inspecting, and maintaining the small squad of Cessna aircraft; the life line for the community. He LOVES any kind of large machinery, but airplanes hold an extra special place in his heart.
Every day for lunch, the whole community would meet at the cafeteria and eat a meal together. It was a great experience, one of those things that doesn't happen in most places.
After school, we would usually go swimming in the lake. It was usually somewhere around 100 degrees, in the shade. So, we swam a lot! The lake was attached to a river that supplied it with all kinds of wildlife.
It was a beautiful motorcycle ride out to the lake, down a dirt path, surrounded by tall trees, the humid jungle air hitting my face. I always looked forward to the afternoons spent there.
There were some precautions we had to take when swimming in the lake, there were piranha and some alligators (yes, really!) in the water. As long as the alligators were sunning themselves on the island, we could go swimming. We just had to keep an eye on them.
As far as swimming with piranha...they are scared of sound and movement ("scared-y cats!"). So, we would scream and splash around in the water before actually getting in to swim. The piranha would 'run' away. If we were floating and not making enough noise, they would come nibble on our toes...but all you had to do was kick and they would swim away. Yes, seriously.
For dinner, my Dad & I were 'scheduled' to make the rounds, so we would spend the evening somewhere different every night. Maybe they knew that my Dad does not like cooking (we lived on microwaved hot dogs and eating out when my Mom was out of town)? More likely, they were being gracious hosts for guests.
My Dad (or My Mom, when she was 'in town') would take me to school on our borrowed motorcycle, or one of the neighbors would pick me up in one of their golf carts and take me. While there, I would complete my assigned work from home and also participate in the daily lessons (especially the Spanish lessons...wish I remembered more). The school was small, there was only one boy in my grade. So, we shared a classroom with another grade, which was very different than my school in Illinois.
My Dad would spend his days at the airport helping with repairing, inspecting, and maintaining the small squad of Cessna aircraft; the life line for the community. He LOVES any kind of large machinery, but airplanes hold an extra special place in his heart.
Every day for lunch, the whole community would meet at the cafeteria and eat a meal together. It was a great experience, one of those things that doesn't happen in most places.
After school, we would usually go swimming in the lake. It was usually somewhere around 100 degrees, in the shade. So, we swam a lot! The lake was attached to a river that supplied it with all kinds of wildlife.
It was a beautiful motorcycle ride out to the lake, down a dirt path, surrounded by tall trees, the humid jungle air hitting my face. I always looked forward to the afternoons spent there.
There were some precautions we had to take when swimming in the lake, there were piranha and some alligators (yes, really!) in the water. As long as the alligators were sunning themselves on the island, we could go swimming. We just had to keep an eye on them.
As far as swimming with piranha...they are scared of sound and movement ("scared-y cats!"). So, we would scream and splash around in the water before actually getting in to swim. The piranha would 'run' away. If we were floating and not making enough noise, they would come nibble on our toes...but all you had to do was kick and they would swim away. Yes, seriously.
For dinner, my Dad & I were 'scheduled' to make the rounds, so we would spend the evening somewhere different every night. Maybe they knew that my Dad does not like cooking (we lived on microwaved hot dogs and eating out when my Mom was out of town)? More likely, they were being gracious hosts for guests.
Hopefully all of these details will help my adventures in Colombia be more vivid in your imagination and make everything I write about my time in Colombia more real for you.
Adventures to follow.
<3 Always,
Kat
