"...What kind of animal is it from...?"

I can`t believe how long it has been since I have written on here. There is so much to catch up on that I don`t even know where to start!

First things first… Probably the most dramatic thing that has happened to me in the last two weeks was a recent occurrence related to food— it happened only two days ago. I was Skyping on Monday evening with my Dad and Donna, happily chatting away when I was told that the dinner someone had made me was getting cold. In Venezuela, the biggest meal of the day is lunch. People eat a big bowl of soup and a heaping plate of food for lunch, and for dinner they often just eat a piece of bread with cheese, nothing, a piece of fruit, or more typically, an arepa (basically a thick corn tortilla) with meat, eggs, cheese or something else. I often prepare my own dinner, and sometimes dinner for the whole family, but lately Tarary who has proven to be among the sweetest men in the world, has been making us delicious dinners of fried empanadas, arepas with avocado and cheese, elaborate sandwiches, and many other fried delicacies that I don`t know how to explain. So I was not surprised by the news that someone had made me dinner.

In the kitchen, everyone was standing around, some eating, others already finished, some choosing not to eat dinner, when they gave me a plate. On the plate was an arepa with little chunks of some sort of meat in some sort of red sauce. I eat a lot of things that I don`t recognize here, sometimes eventually figuring out what they are…. OH! It`s sardines! Or OH! It`s spam! Or OH! This chicken noodle soup has oatmeal in it! Or OH! It`s that weird hairy vegetable that I saw in the market the other day… or OH! That potato is purple and I guess I just have NO IDEA WHY! So I asked what it was, and they said it was chicken. Ok, likely story given that it looks NOTHING LIKE CHICKEN.

So I started eating it, everyone watching a little too closely. It was sort of the texture of squid… a little spongy, with a little bit of gristle on it. Too spongy for chicken, too tough for poultry. I kind of stopped eating the meat and just ate the arepa… “This does not taste like chicken,” I said, “What is it??” I already had an idea of what it might be. I suspected that it was something that I had seen in the supermarket, something that I hoped I would never, ever be served, but I didn`t want to accuse anyone of lying to me so I kept with the questions.

“What part of the animal is it from??” … We don`t know what it is called in English. “What kind of animal is it from?” … A vaca, okay, a cow. “What is it called?” “Mondongo.” AHHHHH! My suspicions were confirmed. I was, in fact, eating a big plate of COW INTESTINES. Awesome. Four years of vegetarianism, and now I am sitting here with a plate of COW INTESTINES that I am expected to eat. I decided to draw the line. I said I couldn`t eat anymore, that this would be REALLY weird and considered really disgusting in my country, and I just couldn`t get past it. They were like, “But WHY? It isn`t like it`s a weird thing to eat or anything…”

“In my country, it would be just as weird to eat cow intestines as it would be to eat crickets, or to eat a snake…” I told them. “EW! I would NEVER EAT THOSE, THAT IS SO WEIRD!!!!” they responded. And so they took my cow intestines, and told me that they would eat them for breakfast because they were too full from the huge plates of intestines they had already eaten to eat them now. And we laughed… and I felt a little gross…

In other news, I feel REALLY busy lately. My typical week has been to wake up around 6:30, leave at around 7:30 for work (either teaching English classes to elementary aged kids in rural schools with Bibliomulas or tutoring at the American Corner). I am there from about 8 until 12, when we face the horrible colas (translated: traffic jams) to go home for lunch. Susana, my host mom, makes us lunch, which is typically very good, though there are always some slightly different things. Want some ketchup on your rice? Mayonnaise on your pasta? Lime on your green beans?

I then come back to the university for my level two English class, from 2-4, and my children`s class from 4-6. I absolutely love my level 2 class. It is so fun, we always laugh, and it is really great to see how much they have learned in 11 weeks (most of my level 2 students are from my level 1 class)! My little kids class is challenging, and I will be relieved when it is over. Afterwards, I sometimes stay in the University until around 8 correcting exams and homework and planning classes, or else I do it in my house. I make dinner, hang out with the family, sometimes skype a little, and go to bed pretty late. Add in hand-washing all my clothes and trying to keep up with foreign correspondence and HAVING FRIENDS. It`s a lot.

The good news is that without a computer, I have certainly had lots of time to hang out with friends, travel, and experience many, many different (cough) cultural activites. I went to Maracaibo last weekend, where I found myself at a professional baseball game, drinking watery beer with a whole bunch of ex-professional baseball players (as in they played in the US) in our own VIP box. Below us, we could see people throwing beers through the stadiums, mascots dancing salsa and merengue out on the field, people shouting unfamiliar chants in Spanish. The vendors brought us fried plantains, churros, whiskey and other foods that I wouldn`t expect at a baseball game, but that were fabulously delicious. After the game, I went out to a gay club with friends. I would leave out the detail that it was a gay club, except that it meant that I was in the unique situation of feeling comfortable in front of nearly all the men I saw. We danced the night away, until the sun rose and the lights were turned on. We ate a breakfast of pastelitos (essentially mozzarella sticks in circular form) before we went to bed, finally collapsing in our beds at about 8 in the morning.

I have also had the opportunity to attend some musical and dance performances. I`m sure it will come as a surprise to many of you that Venezuela has one of the most progressive music education programs in the world. In Venezuela, there is a program called El Sistema, which essentially funds music education for poor children nationwide. There are youth orchestras in every city, including Valera, and they are incredibly talented. Many conductors for some of the most famous orchestras in the US are Venezuelan-born and participated in El Sistema. SO, needless to say, there are many very talented musicians here. About a week ago, I went to an event which was essentially American Idol for the university where I teach. University students and professors competed for the title of best voice in the university. Every single person who participated was very talented, though some were truly incredible. The most impressive group was a vocal quintet at the end which sang some of the most interesting and tight harmonies I have ever heard in a small ensemble. There was also a mediocre, somewhat strange dance performance at the end. It involved a lot of girls, some Shakira songs, and some sparkly scarves. A strange way to finish off the night, but nonetheless entertaining.

I also attended a showcase of Flamenco dancing about two weeks ago. The dancing was really entertaining. I could barely sit still in my seat on the stairs while watching the women dance. It made me want to wear a flowing skirt and stomp my feet… the awkward part of the night, though, was that the friend of mine who invited me to the event was a participant in the dance. You know how in every dance performance, there`s always that one person who is spinning the wrong direction, and gives an extra three stomps after everyone is stopped… well that was my friend. Painful to watch, but definitely a really fun event!!! It made me want to take Flamenco classes.

So that about brings us up to date. My classes end next Thursday and I have planned a fantastic trip to Angel Falls, the tallest waterfall in the world (and one of the natural wonders!!), and to several other places in the Amazon/Orinoco River delta on the other side of the country. I am also planning to spend a week on the beach after Christmas! So I am peachy as can be, awaiting the delivery of a new computer that my Dad and Donna so graciously and generously sent to me this week, correcting homework and learning new Spanish slang every day. I hope you had wonderful Thanksgivings! Hasta luego!

What´s a girl to do???

I would like to think that if I ever saw someone stealing a car, I would interfere in some way, shape, or form… But I now know from experience that when witness to car theft, I don´t do anything. I just stare in disbelief as I watch someone wheel away a car that is not theirs.

You see, last Saturday, I watched someone get their car stolen. How strange, huh? At about 5 in the morning, when we were standing outside our house, we watched a group of about 4 or 5 boys pushing a car that was clearly not theirs down the street... But in retrospect, I really have no idea what we could have done. I sure wasn´t about to intervene physically in their sketchy nighttime activities, I have no idea how I would call the police even if I wanted to, chances are the license plates would be useless, … what else is a girl to do when witness to grand theft auto? Keep her mouth shut and stay away from the dangerous people, right? Maybe that´s a cop out, but it is what I chose to do…

I was talking with a friend here about theft, a common theme in this country. I told him that I felt confused because I felt like the time I spent in Africa made me aware of how to hold my possessions so they won´t get stolen, how to behave so that I won´t get robbed, and how to exist in a city where thefts are common. And yet, everything that I have is being stolen repeatedly. In the airport, from my bedroom, when I go out… He said something that really left an impression, ¨The difference is that in Africa, people steal for necessity, while here, people steal for pleasure…¨ It´s a game. It´s an addiction. Ain´t that the truth.

In other bizarre theft news, the guy who stole my computer and camera and skipped town recently friended me on facebook. There is no rational explanation for this behavior, in my mind. I have concluded that he is totally out of his mind… He won´t respond to my emails or texts, but he wants to be friends on facebook?? MAYBE YOU SHOULD HAVE CONSIDERED THAT BEFORE YOU STOLE MY STUFF YOU CRAZY PSYCHO! Whew, glad I let that out publicly. But seriously, wtf, right?

In other news, there has been a recent breakout of tropical diseases among my acquaintances here. Some of the diseases have been identified, others of have not. A student of mine has dengue, the boy who was helping me with my class of devil children has hepatitis A, the director of the language center has something really fierce, Yervio has a sinus infection, … I am just waiting to see which one of my at least 12-15 vaccinations fails me. Haha, it wouldn´t be traveling if you didn´t get sick at least once, or so I tell myself. We´ll see.

Alright, so this time it was my fault...

I have been robbed not once, not twice, but now three times. The first two I feel were out of my control. Last night, though, was just foolishness. I brought my little bag, that contained nothing more than about $10, my cheapo cellphone, keys and cough drops to the bathroom when we were out dancing. I left it in the bathroom without realizing it. About 5 minutes later, when I realized and went back, it was gone.

So I have officially lost all contact to the outside world both foreignly and domestically.

The most liberating part, though, was that I really didn´t even care anymore. I no longer have any material attachments, I think. So I just kept bailando until 5 in the morning, like they do here... salsa, merengue, reggaeton, gaita, cumbia, without a care in the world...

Oh no, you killed an alligator!

I noticed a kind of funny smell when I walked through my doorway the other day. There are lots of funny smells in this country, though, so I thought very little of it.

Yesterday, as Yervio walked past my room he said, "Oh no! You killed an alligator!"

"What?" I thought... this is making no sense.

"Or, how do you call that?" he asked.

I walked over to the doorway, and sure enough, squished flat between the door and the doorframe were the remnants of a tiny lizard.

Ooooh... an alligator. I get it. That`s really sad.

"La gente esta mirando yo!!!"

There are so many things I want to say to you all, and yet so little time to say them, given that I work between 10-12 hours a day and I don`t have a computer. So the quality and quantity of these blog posts may decline significantly in the next few weeks/months while I deal with my little computer issue, but I will try my best to keep you all up to date.

About the pictures I just put up— Needless to say, my hiking trip this weekend was absolutely incredible. Late last Thursday night I decided to skip out on an optional Friday morning meeting, opting instead to wake up at 6AM to leave for Merida. The weekend before last Zach went hiking at La Sierra de la Culata National Park to scout out potential hiking trips. He decided this park would make for a lovely hiking trip, and it also happens to be one of the only national parks outside of Merida where you are not required to have a guide to go backcountry camping.

So I rolled out of bed on Friday morning, excited and sleepy, and went solo down to the terminal. I waited a short while, took my somewhat uncomfortable spot in a crowded car that smelled strongly of gasoline and artificial air fresheners, and we were off. Even though I have now experienced the ride between Valera and Merida four times, I still think it is spectacular. It was different this time, though, given that I wasn’t concerned about capturing images to send home. I noticed that the views change each time you travel the route, mostly because different peaks are obscured by clouds each time. A simple hill may be visible on one trip, but on another trip, in the same place you might see enormous craggy mountains dusted with snow directly behind that hill that you thought stood alone.

The trip went quickly, somewhat uneventful. As usual, I was shocked by things I saw, like a sheep dangling from its hind legs along the side of the road, or the man carrying an enormous, bloody cow carcass on his back. I was amused by things, like seeing the acronym F.A.R.T. spray painted in five-foot-tall letters on the side of buildings. As usual, I hung on for dear life throughout the majority of the trip, as we took turns so hard that the dashboard upholstery slid off the dashboard. I stared out the window in awe of the mountains, noticing that in this country houses, like flowers, can be any shade of any color of the rainbow. We stopped for a short break, where a nun appeared out of nowhere and offered me some toilet paper. I was strangely touched by the gesture. Back in the car, I noticed people in the taxi take interest in me. I put on my ipod, thinking that, “today, I just don`t want to be interesting to anyone….”

In Valera, Zach and I immediately got down to business. We had to find me a sleeping bag. The word around town was that a man named Manuel had a business downtown where he rented camping gear. “Cheap rentals, steep deposits,” they had said. While waiting for Manuel, we stumbled upon an enormous graveyard. We walked through it, admiring the large, elevated tombs adorned with nylon flowers. We speculated about the ages of the tombs, how they had been placed together in such a tightly woven maze. The graveyards here are eerily beautiful, seas of catholic symbols and weathered stone crosses. Most graves are elevated at least a few feet above the ground, with headstones no shorter than chest height. There appears to be no order to how graves are placed, nor any clear indication of how old the graves might be.

We finally tracked down Manuel, I rented a sleeping bag for slightly less than $2 a day, and we went to go stock up on supplies. We spoiled ourselves, buying fresh strawberries, avocados, star fruit, dried apricots, almonds, candied peanuts, fresh breads, Chilean wine, fresh cheese and fine Venezuelan chocolate. The next day we woke up early, and took a bus to the entrance of the park. The hike was almost completely straight up, some parts like stairs, others more gradual, but it was absolutely stunning. The first hour or two were nice, but the hike started to become really incredible when we arrived at our first peak, to overlook the deep valleys below.
The majority of the mountainous land in this area is fairly arid, almost desert-like, but here there were verdant valleys interspersed throughout the arid land. The dirt in these river valleys was some of the darkest I think I have ever seen, and the ground blossomed with various flowers, mostly yellow, pink, and purple. The first of these valleys we saw was so impressive that we stopped to take a photo. Suddenly we heard, “La gente esta mirando yo!!!” (The people are looking at me!!!) only to see a naked man frolicking through the stream, attempting to make himself decent. We laughed and continued on.

We continued upwards. Up, up, and more up. We were exhausted, and it started raining, a gentle, cool rain. Zach loaned me his rain pants, a gesture that will definitely not be forgotten. We arrived at another pass, to look down upon yet another verdant valley, this one filled with cows and clouds, and a refugio (shelter). We walked on, crossed the river, reaching for each others` hands so we didn`t trip on the slippery rocks into the frigid water. As the weather cleared up, we were shocked by the view that was revealed. Behind the beautiful rolling mountains that we could see immediately in front of us were enormous peaks, towering far, far above the hills we had been admiring. The peaks of the mountains were craggy, impossibly vertical.

We went to bed early, after eating spaghetti with our fingers (we forgot forks). The full moon was a mixed blessing, beautiful, but it prevented us from taking full advantage of the star chart that I had brought. Another trip, I thought. Because there will surely be more.

When we woke up the next morning, my body was like an enormous shivering ice cube. I was joking that I wondered if there was frost outside, only to realize about a half an hour later that there really was frost on everything. We were up and gone by about 6:30. Frost… In Venezuela… still weird. We warmed up quickly once we got moving, and were soon down to a single layer. We walked out in about half the time it took us to walk there. The trip back to Valera was quiet again, uneventful, and yet unbelievably stunning at the same time.

On another note, it is odd to imagine all that is happening in the US while I am here. I have been here for almost 2 months now, but it really doesn`t seem like it. I know that it is now starting to be winter in Minnesota, that many things have changed at home in the last few months, and that I am missing important events that pass without me even knowing.

I was particularly peeved about missing Halloween, given that it is one of my favorite holidays. Knowing that I would miss it, I decided to throw Halloween parties in the American Corner for my classes at the university (I have two classes now, a class of level 2 English students, and a class of children that are mostly kids of people who work at the university). I dressed up like a black cat, to the enjoyment of basically the entire university, and everyone brought treats in to share. Some students dressed up, but very few. Most students brought candy, but a lot of them brought tequeños, which are something like mozzarella sticks. Very delicious.

My students read about the history of Halloween (I learned a lot). We listened to scary stories, attempted to watch the Michael Jackson Thriller video…. And then they asked me to rap for them in English. I don`t know why I obliged in this moment, but for some reason the rap from the King Burger YouTube video came to me in full force, and I embraced the moment… rapping for them… eating candy and cheese sticks, dressed like a cat in a room with walls painted like American flags, a life-sized cutout of Obama watching me as I shared the best of American culture with these unsuspecting Venezuelan university students. “Now this is what the Fulbright is really about,” I thought….

Look at these pictures!