From mid-May until June of this year, for over three weeks, we stayed at Park 101 Hotel & Suites on Carrera 101 in Bogotá, Colombia. Our room was a family suite with two bedrooms, one with a king bed and crib and the other with two single beds. This suite had two full baths and a kitchen with a mid-sized fridge, microwave, stove, oven, and the biggest rice cooker we’d ever seen. It had a living room and dining room. We stayed at this hotel for 40 days and 40 ni… just kidding. We stayed for 24 nights total.
Most of our days in Bogotá had flow and rhythm. In the mornings, we would wake up around 7:30am and putter around until everyone was dressed. Then we would head down to breakfast.
The hotel had a complimentary buffet breakfast seven days a week. The food choices slightly varied from morning to morning, but we generally knew what to expect. Lunch is the largest meal of the day in Colombia, but breakfast is also important. And Park 101’s breakfast buffet showed us just how much emphasis Colombians put on their first meal of the day.
The buffet had a brothy potato, meat, and cilantro soup which Mila loved and ate every morning. They had fresh coffee and delicious hot chocolate. They had platters of fruit – watermelon, cantaloupe, honeydew, papaya, and pineapple. They had lunch meat, ham and salami. They had white American cheese, gouda cheese with a red waxy cover, and a thick squeaky cheese we didn’t know the name of. They had small bread rolls made of various flours and flavors. They had eggs cooked in different ways; some mornings they were scrambled with peppers and onions and other mornings they were hard boiled. They had arepas (corn cakes) with some meat and vegetables. They had short stubby hot dogs that were cooked until they split. And they always had rice.
Sometimes the rice had chicken in it, sometimes beef or pork. I remember one morning in particular it had a dark, almost black meat in it. It was darker than any meat I had ever seen before. Giving in to curiosity, I asked the waiter what kind of meat it was. His answer was “sangre.” Blood. Blood sausage probably. As Brandon overheard, he cast a scowl in my direction and for the rest of breakfast, he communicated in curt words through pursed lips. He was irritated with me as the thought of blood dampered his appetite and he couldn’t stomach eating the rice dish that morning. After that I agreed to stop asking about curious-looking foods and just enjoy the delicious Colombian dishes in blissful ignorance.
After breakfast, we’d usually head out to the park or go for a walk. There was a small green space and park right beside our hotel. Some days we’d coordinate and meet up with other adopting families. Other days we just played with local Colombian children who happened to be at the park. I’d often chat with other moms, grandmothers, or caregivers. Not many spoke English, and I frequently had a hard time understanding the Spanish muffled behind double masks. Our conversations were usually basic and had a lot of gestures and voice inflection.
I distinctly remember one little boy, about age four, with his mother. He was energetic and excited when he saw us entering the gate at the playground area. I heard his mother telling him a string of sentences littered with “inglés.” I knew she was telling him that we spoke English. He just couldn’t understand, though. He couldn’t understand why my boys didn’t answer when he plainly asked them, “¿Qué vamos a jugar?” I tried to translate some for the boys, but eventually the kids ran together, chasing each other, playing without words.
Another park excursion I remember well is when we decided to bring balloons to the play area. It was a bit windy and we had trouble keeping them from blowing away. A little girl about three was at the park with her dad. She saw the balloons and kept yelling “Bomba!” I had the idea of giving her one of ours but we were having enough trouble holding them in the wind ourselves. The dad and little girl didn’t stay long, and we eventually made it back inside our hotel with all the balloons we had brought out.
Yet still another park memory happened one morning when Brandon was working remotely in our hotel room and I took the kids out for a bit by myself. We wore our rain jackets and brought bubbles. But it was dreary, rainy, and everything was wet. The slides and ropes were wet. The seesaw and tunnels were wet. The sky was a gray haze of low hanging moisture that seemed to envelop us. We stood outside the gate of the playground and blew a few bubbles until the sky overflowed with rain that popped the delicate floating circles. The rain continued and became heavy as it pelted and plinked off our rain jackets. Sucking through our masks, we took in a few last breaths of fresh wet air and trudged back under the safety of the hotel awning.
To enter the hotel, a doorman would greet us, spray the bottoms of our shoes, and sanitize our hands. I assume this was extra Covid precautions and not standard procedure. We surely felt safe inside Park 101 as the hotel was inaccessible to outsiders. The front desk and door staff kept a close watch and often locked the doors.
During our weeks in Colombia, there was an ongoing nationwide protest. From my non-political outsider understanding, the protests began when the Colombian president put a tax on bread and basic food items. This tax caused an uproar amongst many who felt it was making it even harder for the poor to recover from the devastating effects of Covid. The president quickly rescinded the tax, but the uproar and protesting continued. Some of these protests were turning violent and our adoption agency monitored the situation closely. As such, there were many days when we were directed to stay inside our hotel for safety.
It was on these protest days and rainy days in Bogotá that we had to get creative. My meticulous packing lists had included what turned out to be ample art supplies for our whole trip. We had stored all these supplies on some upper shelves in the boys’ hotel closet. And on indoor hotel days, we pulled out drawing pads and coloring books. We got out water color paints and blank paper, Color Wow sheets and markers. We slid the blue clasps and opened the clear container to find the scissors and glue.
We painted, drew, cut, and colored pictures of views outside our hotel windows. There were streets and cars. There were stories-high apartment buildings and hotels, some with interesting Terracotta roofs below and high buildings in the distance. Beyond the city, we could see the Andes mountains. Some days the mountains were hazy as the humidity and rain lingered above Bogotá. Other days the green peaks were accentuated by blue skies and white clouds.
Whether it was rainy or sunny, outside our hotel windows we could see and create art. We hung our artwork on the walls in the hotel kitchen, and before leaving I packed them away to bring home. The art from our days at Park 101 in Bogotá are now keepsakes.
We had also brought chapter books and devotionals. We finished reading “Hatchet” and stories from “Wisdom and the Millers.” I had brought school materials as well, but quickly found both the boys’ and my attention span and patience for school was minimal. We did a few math and reading lessons but decided finishing lessons through the summer once we got back home was a better option.
We hadn’t planned to stay at Park 101 for our whole trip. For our court date, we were supposed to have traveled to a tropical area called La Mesa and stayed at a hotel with an outdoor swimming pool. However, due to the protests, we were advised not to travel and our adoption court proceedings were done remotely. In many ways we were grateful that we didn’t have to pack up from one hotel to unpack at the next, but we also had feelings of disappointment as we faced the monotony of our daily schedule.
Of course our ” daily schedule” was also interspersed with adoption appointments and meetings. Some of these required our whole family to go and took up a whole day, while others just required Mila and one parent to head out for a few hours. Between appointments and finalizing the adoption, we did have a lot of down time.
We hadn’t really given much thought to the amenities at Park 101 as La Mesa was going to have plenty of rambunctious activity and pool days. But with La Mesa canceled and protest days keeping us inside Park 101, desperate times called for desperate measures.
Park 101 had a spa that we had no intention of even visiting until we got desperate. But somehow, in a language not our own, we inquired of the doorman if children were allowed to use “la piscina.” A nod of the head told us it was possible for “treinta mil cada persona.” 30 mil for each person sounds really steep to our American minds, and actually, it was pretty steep in Colombian prices too.
But they said we could swim, and we didn’t mind paying a price if it meant a good hotel activity for the kids. We got on the elevator and pushed – 1. As we got off the elevator, we saw the spa to the left. The sign said “abierta,” but it was dark and no one was there. Brandon found a hotel worker who came up and showed us the spa after he asked about the pool.
No lights were on and the pool was dark and hard to see. We knew it was small but decided it would be sufficient for the kids.
That evening we got the kids in swim clothes, snorkeling vest, water wings, and goggles, got on the elevator, and once again pushed the button – 1. As we got off, it became apparent that the spa was now attended. I heard running water and soft ambience. Oh no.
A spa attendant came out as she saw us and closed the door behind her. She didn’t speak any English but only fast muffled Spanish behind her mask. I asked about the kids swimming. She said it was “ocupados” and that we needed an appointment. We rode the elevator back up to the 5th floor with the kids in dry swim clothes and not even a splash. They were upset, but didn’t whine too much as we explained the situation and told them we had made an appointment for 4pm the next evening.
Neither Brandon nor I looked forward to the spa appointment. The lady that spoke no English and the dark spa that obviously wasn’t made for children did not seem appealing at all.
The next evening when 4pm neared, Mila was still napping, and Brandon heroically volunteered to stay with her while I took the kids. The boys put on swim clothes, snorkeling vest, goggles, water wings, flip-flops, and we tried again. On the elevator. Floor – 1.
The bell dinged and the doors opened as our flip-flop feet flapped off the elevator. I was holding my breath. The spa attendant saw us and smiled behind her mask. I let my breath out hoping this would go better than our last attempt. The attendant opened wide the sliding doors beckoning us to enter. I tried to breathe normally as I ushered my three boys into the dark ambient spa with running waterfall walls.
We passed massage tables and parlors as we followed the attendant to the tiny rectangular pool. I glanced beyond and saw rooms of showers and saunas.
It was then that I saw them. A young couple was occupying the pool, and I felt panic creeping up my neck into my masked face. They were relaxing on the far end (which in a tiny pool isn’t very far away), drinking frou-frou umbrella drinks, and conversing in mellow harmonious tones. A horrid image of my boys splashing and hollering all around this smooth and tranquil couple quickly dissipated as the attendant called to them saying their time was up.
Relief washed over me as they handed over their drinks and pulled themselves out of the pool. I don’t know their exact thoughts as they saw who had come to bring their spa time to an end. Surely they saw us as my boys stood in colorful swim clothes with swim vests and floats. The attendant offered them towels and ushered them to dry in a sauna as she motioned that the pool was ours.
I use the term “pool” very liberally, but I didn’t really know what to call it. It was so tiny but deeper than my boys were long. I don’t know the exact depth as it wasn’t marked in feet. There was one intimidating jet that blasted water. My twins swim quite well, so they immediately took to the warm water. Allen was scared as I coaxed him to get in. I told him he would be fine, but my fully dressed self did put my phone aside just in case I needed to jump in to make a rescue in the tumultuous waters. After some minutes, Allen found himself comfortable in the water, and I sat by the side as I watched them finally splashing, swimming, and playing.
All in all, our spa visit went smoothly. The boys enjoyed the warm water, monstrous jet, and the waterfall walls. After an hour, I told the boys our time was up and helped them change into dry clothes. I gave in to their curiosity and let them spend a minute inside the wooden plank sauna before we headed back to room 504. We paid 90 mil Colombian pesos for all three boys to swim and filed this Park 101 spa trip away in our memories. It was worth every peso.
Next time you see the boys, you should ask them about our hotel days. They will mention how they ordered and drank café negro every morning for breakfast. They will mention playing at the parks and painting in the hotel room. And surely, they will be excited to tell you about swimming in the tiny pool at the Park 101 Spa. For all these hotel days at Park 101 in Bogotá, Colombia have turned into memories we won’t soon forget.
stillsmallfaith.com 