Cúcuta

After an oh dark-thirty airport arrival, we took off from Bogota just after sunrise

It was seven am when we arrived in Cúcuta.

a few army choppers...typical in most airports here

Gasoline is very inexpensive on the streets here. It shares the border with Venezuela, so people travel across the border, fill up their containers  with gas, return to Colombia and sell it. They make money and the price is one tenth that of the local gas stations. Our taxista said he likes to buy it because he can see what he is buying. In the stations you cannot see how much you really get. (James pointed out that the real reason is because of the price difference.) All the towns next to Venezuela have this gas marketing technique. 

Note below that it is almost 'just exactly like a gas station'... perhaps a little more labor intensive. This 'service station' attendant is holding up the gas 'tank' to speed delivery.

  

Walking toward the clinic, we spotted a plastic container shop... we keep our eyes open  continually scanning the street sides to see what is available, one never knows exactly where you will find something you have been looking for for months. The delivery boys were just arriving as we passed.
                 I thought this 'graffiti' was pretty lovely...as were the brickyard demo walls below.

We remembered this clinic from our last mission. It is the only one with a fountain like this... it had a brand new director who did not even have her business cards yet. She is no longer there... and the new secretary let us wait a half hour or so before telling us she would have the director call us--today or tomorrow.

We thought this fountain was interesting.

Yes, we were hungry, but try to make a policy to not eat on the streets... unless they have something we really  want, like fresh chips.

This is also a local restaurant chain in South America...James read that their corporate income is in the top two restaurants in Bogota... and Crepes & Waffles is 3rd.

Below are some of the scenes of Cúcuta.. much warmer than Bogota and filled with many motos.

So the beginning of our real farewell to South America began on our journey to Cúcuta early Monday morning. Leaving our apartment before five, we almost missed our flight after being dropped at the international airport at the insistence of our taxista-- ‘Avianca flights to Cúcuta depart de aqui’. It is a little confusing with the new airport. We taxied to the city early in the morning, after sincere advice from our seatmate of a urology doc who could advise for all needs. We walked all over town in the heat all day, wondering who the Lord had in mind for doctors and how He would lead us to them… after unanswered calls and visiting the empty clinic of the Traumatologo--the places we planned to get referrals. Doctors would not return our calls or were ‘out of the office’. Secretaries in clinics stonewalled us, allowing no access to directors. It seemed there were road-blocks everywhere. What a day. We silently prayed for what to do next. The president’s wife had pled with us-- “Please find someone to call when I have sick missionaries.”

Yet as always, a way was prepared for us. We stopped again at a doctor’s office—he wasn’t there, but James was impressed to visit a radiologist’s office down the hall. The lady at the desk talked to her doctor and ushered us into his inner sanctum. James explained what we needed. He listened and then mentioned a young doctor

How could we not love this young doctor--
he is Colombian/Lebanese :)

who worked across the street, said that he was young, but he was sure he was the man we needed. James said, “But who do I call when he is on vacation and I can’t reach him?” A little more contemplation, and he named a doctor who worked downstairs in the next building, “He is the one you want, he has much experience, much family here, and does not travel much. He will be available when the other doctor is away.” ...all in Spanish por su puesto—how blessed we are to be able to understand. We bid a hearty farewell with ‘mil gracias’ to this ‘angel’ who had prepared a way for us.

Before we could reach the office next door, the doctor had been apprised of our visit. His girl-friday, checked with him and ushered us back to visit for a few minutes between patients. He ‘would be most happy to help us   with patients and referrals to other doctors when needed’ and asked if we would be speaking to his ‘amigo’ around the corner. When we responded, ‘yes’, he prompted his receptionist to show us the way to his office and called his friend across the way. After waiting a short time next door, we were greeted by an energetic young man, who will be happy to talk to the president’s wife when she calls and make referrals or see the missionaries. How did we ever doubt? The way is always prepared for us if we but listen. Still no call from the clinic… oh well, James saw it last trip. We will just look up the information on line, and call the clinic to make sure everything matches—this is the day of internet--even here.

We made our way back at the hotel to write everything before we got confused. When the writing was done, we made our way out to the street to buy water, find dinner, and see a little of the real Cúcuta. We gradually made our way to the downtown street markets, where it seemed that all the locals were gathered. There were venders two and three deep on each side of the streets.   They were selling everything from avacados, pineapple, hot arepas, eyeglasses, flippers, spiderman teeshirts, princess coloring books, to anything else you can imagine…we dodged between carts, people, buckets, children, only stopping to buy a pair of glasses for 7 mil (I forgot to bring any) and 2 pair of flippers for T., and to look at handpainted ‘genuine’ and synthetic leather purses. We avoided stopping to shop; it seemed to take away from the ambiance of the evening. We were loving the cool evening air, the hoards of local people, the drawing darkness, and the hubbub  on the streets. This was a time for the locals, not for tourists; yet it seemed we drew few stares and were able to wander unnoticed and blend in this Colombia that we love--maybe it was the dark.  As evening encompassed all, we started toward the hotel, hardly wishing to go. We bought a 5 litre bag of water, had roasted chicken (James has wished for it since we arrived and I have continually dragged my feet— afterward he suggested that 'next time' I remind him that 'spinnin' chicken' is not really THAT great.

We stepped across the street to the hotel and tried to get some computer work finished before the Elders arrived at 9:00. It was a treat to see those young men—so very excited to be there! They love their area—love the people, who grab them and ask to be taught. And the elder with the ‘knee problem’ works hard all day, and (according to his companion) rarely complains. One mentioned that we are ‘living every missionary’s dream’—to return to his mission with his wife.' We are indeed grateful to be ‘living the dream’ and delighted that we really are enjoying every minute.

We awakened early the next day and went for a walk on the malecon (river side). It really was lovely...

The plants are a bit different from Bogota...many euphorbia and cacti... and lots of lizards. Many lizards are small and quick... a few are larger and bright turquoise--these were a bit too quick for the camera.

Three little kittens were looking (not for mittens)
 but for their mommy when we crossed the little footbridge
above them...we were not much comfort. 

This great bird statue was in honor of the police force.

The next day the clinic director really did return our call and apologized over and over for missing our call the day before—we got the needed contact info, told her we had no time to visit now, but we would have our contractors call, and thanks so much. We talked with an orthopedist—out of town for a meeting.   While James finished the writing and typed--I went for a quick dip in the pool, showered, and packed up & out of the room. We enjoyed a great salad under the mango tree in the patio, checked out, and took a taxi to the airport.

We took no photos of the market—it was dark,  and we now know that no number of photos can begin to encompass our memories of Colombia…