Well, I know it has been an awful long time since I have written anything on here, so I’ll be surprised if anyone really sees this, but for those of you who do, let me try to quell your frustration at my inattention to this blog by a fun activity about shopping in Venezuela.
It’s really difficult to exchange money in Venezuela, sometimes… especially since Chavez blocked all of the websites that let you know what the parallel rate of the dollar is… so I got down pretty low in cash recently, to about 60 BsF (or roughly $8) earlier this week.
So when my friend wrote to me and said that as soon as I got home he would change money for me, I decided to go all out and spend about 7 of the 8 dollars, leaving me enough money to get to and from work on the bus… so what did I buy?
First I decided that I would buy avocados. I spent about 75 cents and got (1/2/4) avocados (circle the correct response). I kept walking, and decided that I would like to buy a gift for a friend as well, I found some lovely, bright red coconut shell earrings and made a grand purchase of one pair of earrings for approximately ($1/$1.50/$2). I continued on my way, and saw a sign for tomatoes, 10 BsF, so I bought a bag. I did not have any idea how many tomatoes there were until I got home and counted them. For about $1.50, I had purchased (16/21/29) tomatoes. I continued on and saw bags of onions, peppers, and all kinds of other things. I purchased two 5 BsF (about 75 cents) bags—of (3/5/8) onions and (3/5/8) peppers. Finally, as I continued walking I decided that the last thing I was to purchase was going to be mangoes. So I found a $1.50 bag of mangoes, and loaded it all on the bus. At home I realized the bag had (10/16/21) mangoes in it.
So check your answers. With my $7, I bought…
- 2 avocados
- 1 pair of earrings ($1.50)
- 29 tomatoes
- 8 onions
- 3 green peppers
- 21 mangoes
Now things are not always this cheap. In fact, though it doesn’t appear to be true from the story I just told here, food can be really expensive in Venezuela. For example.
- 1 apple -- $1.50-$2
- 1 pear -- $2
- 1 two-person pizza -- $10-12
- Can of soda -- $1.50
- Sugar – priceless, because you can never find it
- Oil – priceless, because you can never find it
And the list of priceless things can go on and on. That is the other thing about shopping in Venezuela… Many things just don’t exist. The first time that I bought sugar in Venezuela was about a month ago, simply because it was the first time that I had ever seen it for sale. Some weeks there is no milk, some weeks no flour of any kind, sometimes no candles, sometimes no meat…
The problem in Venezuela is perhaps more that wages are extraordinarily low and do not keep up with inflation, than the fact that food is extraordinarily expensive. There are two national subsidized food programs in Venezuela, Mercal and PDVAL. While most people would agree that these programs are good, they undoubtedly have their problems. For example, a few months ago when I was visiting Maracaibo, there was a line that wrapped all the way around the block. This is not unusual – bank lines, government office lines, and other lines often wrap around three sides of a block here. But this line was to purchase federally subsidized food from the Mercal program. I went and asked people how long they had been in line, “We spent all night here,” was their answer. And at the same time, the other week in Venezuela, 22,000 tons of federally subsidized food were found spoiled. That’s a perfect example of the problems with the Venezuelan “socialist” system-- People starving and waiting in line for 24 hours for food that is sitting in storage containers spoiling.
So what have I been doing for the last several months, I’m sure you are wondering…? I guess my best answer would be just living life. It is amazing how much of a life you can create for yourself in a new place in just a few months. I know so many people here, have seen so many places, have so many things to do… just like living a life anywhere. Of course it’s slightly more dangerous, more colorful, there’s more music, and it’s all in another language, but for the most part things have sort of normalized. I’ll be coming home on August 18th (the question that everyone asks…), though I leave Venezuela on July 17th. I will be traveling for a month with a friend through Ecuador and Peru before returning home… and what’s in store when I get home…? WHO KNOWS!?! Love you, and see you soon!
19 June 2010
26 March 2010
Caramelo?
After 6 months and some of living in Venezuela, what happens when someone offers you a piece of candy is still weird to me.
The conversation usually goes as follows:
And then they reach into their pocket and pull out a thing of Halls cough drops. They hand you a sticky menthol lozenge, and you take it begrudgingly, and have to eat it to not appear ungrateful...
Everyone eats cough drops like candy. They may eat and entire package of cherry cough drops within an hour just because they like them. Once again, the strange things that happen here in Venezuela.
The conversation usually goes as follows:
¿Quieres un caramelo?,They say (do you want a piece of candy?)
Sure! Thanks!you reply enthusiastically, thinking that you will receive a delicious sucker or maybe a jolly rancher or something...
And then they reach into their pocket and pull out a thing of Halls cough drops. They hand you a sticky menthol lozenge, and you take it begrudgingly, and have to eat it to not appear ungrateful...
Everyone eats cough drops like candy. They may eat and entire package of cherry cough drops within an hour just because they like them. Once again, the strange things that happen here in Venezuela.
25 March 2010
I need help.
An excerpt from one of my students´ exams:
At least he was honest. The funny part is that I´m not sure he bothered to ask the girl who was dictating an answer to him WHAT exactly his answer might mean. Hilarity continues in Valera.
Sorry I have been MIA for a while. My plan is to start writing again soon. It´s just a testament to how busy I have gotten here, I swear. My mom and step-dad come tomorrow, so I am sure there will be many tales to tell about that adventure. :) Later, dudes.
I have a problem. I don´t know what to write in this paper, I shouldn´t have thought about my girlsfriend, I could have studied more english because I sure that I don´t know nothing about english. I need help.
At least he was honest. The funny part is that I´m not sure he bothered to ask the girl who was dictating an answer to him WHAT exactly his answer might mean. Hilarity continues in Valera.
Sorry I have been MIA for a while. My plan is to start writing again soon. It´s just a testament to how busy I have gotten here, I swear. My mom and step-dad come tomorrow, so I am sure there will be many tales to tell about that adventure. :) Later, dudes.
09 February 2010
...and they emerged with an armful of anaconda...
In November, I sort of had this vision that I would spend almost all of my December holiday in Valera. Because what else was I going to do for 4 weeks? This was sort of appealing— spending time with all of my favorite people here, going out all the time, meeting families, etc... But somehow my December and January just turned out differently. It was definitely more eventful than that, much more full of adventure and excitement than I think my original plan would have been, though I guess I will never know. When I got back from the beach, it was a big surprise to hear that although my boss had told me we went back to class January 4th, we didn’t actually go back until the 11th. So, having the patas calientes (hot feet—a nickname my friend gave me) that I do, I decided to hop on a trip to Los Llanos that my American counterparts had planned from Merida.
I met a friend at the terminal who was also headed for Merida and we hopped a carrito together. We spent the whole trip chatting, laughing at the way the bag of plantain chips I had bought puffed up like an overinflated balloon and how my water bottle exploded in my face as we climbed in altitude up the mountains. In Merida, we were greeted at the terminal by the wonderfully familiar faces of my American Fulbright friends…
In Merida the next day we went to a destination that I have been meaning to check out for a while, the zoo! It was really nice, but I think there were probably less than 10 animals in the whole zoo that I recognized. Some of them were vaguely familiar, others completely absurd looking. I felt the same way about the people walking through the zoo—there were two large events happening simultaneously in Merida—a paragliding competition and a motorcycle rally. Put together eccentric Venezuelans, parachutes, motorcycles and exotic zoo animals, and let me tell you, the people-watching is arguably better than the animal watching… even at the zoo.
After a lovely afternoon in the park, and drinking a very thick, elmer’s-glue-white, vaguely alcoholic and very sweet concoction called, “vitamina,” we returned back to Emma’s (Fulbrighter) apartment. We made an American feast for dinner (including chocolate chip cookies!). Several of Emma’s friends arrived to say hello. As soon as one of her friends walked in, I was really sure that I knew him, but couldn’t figure out from where. “This is Edwin…” Hm, he seemed vaguely familiar…
Edwin was quite the character. Very giggly, talkative, energetic, hilarious, exaggerated, and OBSESSED with Emma. I think in a single night he must have recounted at least 80% of the total time they had spent together … in detail. She had warned us that he might be a little much, but it very quickly became evident that maybe she felt that way because he was so obsessed with her. I remembered that I had met him several months earlier in a bar/café in Merida. We had a great night together in the apartment. As per usual there was no electricity, so we stayed in, listened to music from the battery powered laptop and had our own little private dance party instead of venturing out to the disco that surely would have had no electricity. As the night progressed, a suggestion was made that Edwin should come on our trip. Immediately after he said yes, that he wanted to, Emma made the throat slitting gesture. “No, Edwin you can’t come we planned this trip a long time ago and it’s too late to make a reservation…” Lies, but it was clear that she didn’t want him to come and that he picked up on the not-so-subtle hints she was giving. No flamboyant, excited, energetic, silly, overly affectionate Edwin on the trip. No debate.
The next morning we woke up early and went to the tour company. The first surprise was that our tour guide was not going to be the gentle, kind, young man who had been affectionately nicknamed the “Cherub” by those who had met him, but rather a young, large, somewhat stoic Scottish man. The second surprise was we were going to have others join us on our tour. And the last, but CERTAINLY not the least surprising, was when, with open arms, and a goofy grin on his face, in walked Edwin, dropping his duffle bag on the floor. “SURRRPPP--- RRRISEEE!!!!” he exclaimed, making a wide sweeping gesture with his arms. Believe it or not, he made his own arrangements to join our tour. Needless to say, all of our jaws dropped and we burst out in giggles. “This is NOT good but SO hilarious...” I thought… We would all spend the next 4 days randomly and uncontrollably bursting out in laughter just remembering the moment…
The nine hour drive to los llanos was full of music, photo shoots, snack breaks, and good company. We arrived at our camp in good spirits, said good night to the caimans and crocodiles in the river next to our camp, and hopped in our hammocks. The next day we went on a boat tour to see wildlife--- mainly a variety of incredible birds, turtles, amphibians, capybaras, caimans, and the famous PINK FRESHWATER DOLPHINS! That’s right, pink dolphins… I must admit, when I first heard of the pink dolphins I thought it was a joke. But they are real. They are not THAT pink, but they are definitely pink, really big, and very dolphin-y. Incredible, really. The highlight of the boat trip, though, had to be when our guide, who was poking a long stick along the bottom of the river suddenly appeared to have fallen into the pirhana-, caiman-, and crocodile-infested river. We watched dumbfounded, as he batted away piranhas and dove headfirst into the muddy water. I was sure that our guide was a gonner, when he emerged with the nastiest, weirdest, worst smelling turtle that I have ever seen. It was like a creature from another planet. We helped him, and his newfound turtle back in the boat and breathed/giggled a sigh/laugh of relief. And plugged our noses.
After an afternoon siesta, we went out anaconda- and capybara-searching. For those of you who don’t know what a capybara is, it is the largest rodent on earth. It looks kind of like a hugely overgrown gopher, and not only do they swim, they leap through the water in little packs. They’re really pretty undeniably cute, though I hear that they are pretty aggressive. After seeing a lot of capybaras, our fearless Scotsman really focused in on the goal: find an anaconda for the tourists. Anaconda searching was a lot like searching for the smelly turtle. It just involved walking through the caiman-infested swamp poking around with a stick until you found one. Needless to say, I stayed on the sidelines, appreciating the experience from a distance.
After a half an hour or so of stick poking, it became clear that there had been an anaconda sighting. Suddenly our favorite Scotsman and the other guide went chasing after something. The Venezuelan guide suddenly plunged into the water (the same guide who got the turtle, mind you) and emerged with an armful of anaconda. They both threw their bodies at the anaconda, yanking as hard as they could, when they shouted out for help. Swearing a lot in Spanish, they yelled at everyone to come help. We all debated, looked at one another, and stayed put. As they continued to yell for help, Antoni (a fellow Fulbrighter) and Edwin took off to go help hank. The four of them got the snake under control and carried it over. The snake was 6 METERS LONG (ie about 20 feet) and it was SO HEAVY. They draped it over our necks, we took pictures and they released it. It slithered off into the water like nothing had happened. Impressive. We ate a celebratory cantaloupe, hopped back on top of the jeep, and held on tight like we were told to do (aggarense duro!) and sped off into the sunset.
The next day we woke up and went horseback riding. The horseback ride was surprisingly dull. We saw a deadly snake and a lot of trees, but several of the horses appeared to be half asleep they were so slow. Our destination was a little pirhana fishing hole along the river. I’m embarrassed to admit that after an hour or so of fishing I didn’t actually successfully catch a single piranha. Here’s the thing—they fish for piranhas with a line and hook by just yanking on the line when they feel a bite. Simple, right? Wrong. I got several piranhas out of the water, but it was nearly impossible to actually hook them, so they just flopped back into the water. Failure. Back in the camp, after eating all the pirhanas that we (by which I mean everyone else) caught, we casually walked out towards the river, where our guides casually grabbed a caiman out of the river in the pitch black. We touched it and stared deep into its menacing eyes. With a swift toss, it was back in the water and we were on our way back to camp, where we sang and danced the night away to all the latest Baliwood hits that Edwin naturally had saved in his cellphone.
The trip back was long. 9-10 hours back to Merida, 6 hours back to Valera… the thing about traveling in Venezuela is that although a trip might only take 3 hours normally, on a bad day you may sit in a traffic jam that doesn’t move for 6 hours, or occasionally indefinitely. This could be for a variety of reasons. Perhaps there was an accident, perhaps there was construction, perhaps some sort of integral piece of infrastructure suddenly collapsed, perhaps there are people protesting in the streets, perhaps there is a party, or perhaps there is no reasonable explanation at all. My favorite explanation so far for a traffic jam that lasted about an hour or so was that we couldn’t get through because they sold really good chicken in this place. ?? It did smell pretty divine, but I was not humored by the explanation at the time…
Life in Valera has re-commenced and is back in full swing. I have lots of classes again—two classes of level 2 English students at the university and I am continuing giving classes at the rural elementary schools with the Bibliomulas program. I also moved about a week and a half ago and am much happier with my new living arrangement. I am very grateful towards the family that I was living with before for treating me so well, but I really felt like I wanted to live more independently in a safer part of town. I am much happier living in a house that does not have other people renting rooms—I live with one other woman who is very intelligent and very passionate. I am also living right in front of the nicest park in town—and am able to go jogging or join in on the dance therapy classes there every day. In this house I am now buying all my own food, cooking for myself, and I have my own private room and bathroom (not to mention flat screen TV and cleaning lady haha) that are gorgeous. I also feel much freer to go out on the town—transportation is closer, it is safer to arrive after dark here, friends are closer… It has definitely been an upgrade in the living situation and location. Between my new classes, my new independent living situation, and the fact that I finally feel like I have friends, I am basically always really busy now. It’s a good feeling. It makes me realize why there are so many people with hired help here...
I make a concerted effort on this blog to not talk politics, but I just want to take a moment to calm any potentially worried minds. If you follow Venezuelan news, you probably have heard a few things in the last weeks, 1) That there are severe shortages of electricity and water in the country (directly related since nearly all the countries electricity comes from hydroelectric dams in the eastern part of the country), and which led the government to implement a schedule for rolling blackouts and turning off the water throughout the country, 2) That the government shut down a major opposition news channel, resulting in major protests in most Venezuelan cities, in which multiple people have died, 3) The vice president and his wife (also in a position of power) both stepped down from their offices last week for “personal reasons” which happened to coincide nearly exactly with the appointment of a Cuban militant to be in charge of fixing the infrastructure problems related to the lack of power.
So, all this and I can imagine what you’re thinking… but let me reassure you that while the situation here is complicated and dangerous, I am staying in safe environments. Last week I was only able to teach two days, given that the entire state shut down all schools from Wednesday-Monday because most of the roads in town were blocked off for traffic. Everything has mostly calmed down in Valera, but it remains like the wild wild west in other parts of the country. I spent the last several days in Caracas visiting with almost all of the other FUlbrighters, and when I arrived on Thursday morning, an 8 hour bus ride turned into a 13 hour bus ride because there were flocks of people dressed head to toe in red headed to Caracas from all over the country. In the city, all the roads were blocked off and groups of Chavistas were walking all over the streets- even through traffic on the interstate. Everything is really heated up right now, and it is unclear what will happen in the following months before the September legislative election… We shall see.
On another note, I was just in Peru! The Fulbright program organized a conference for us in Mexico! So naturally, our flight from Caracas to Mexico City went through Lima…? That’s the furthest south I have ever been, I believe. It seemed pretty normal. J
Well, I will keep you all posted on the situation here. Love you all.
I met a friend at the terminal who was also headed for Merida and we hopped a carrito together. We spent the whole trip chatting, laughing at the way the bag of plantain chips I had bought puffed up like an overinflated balloon and how my water bottle exploded in my face as we climbed in altitude up the mountains. In Merida, we were greeted at the terminal by the wonderfully familiar faces of my American Fulbright friends…
In Merida the next day we went to a destination that I have been meaning to check out for a while, the zoo! It was really nice, but I think there were probably less than 10 animals in the whole zoo that I recognized. Some of them were vaguely familiar, others completely absurd looking. I felt the same way about the people walking through the zoo—there were two large events happening simultaneously in Merida—a paragliding competition and a motorcycle rally. Put together eccentric Venezuelans, parachutes, motorcycles and exotic zoo animals, and let me tell you, the people-watching is arguably better than the animal watching… even at the zoo.
After a lovely afternoon in the park, and drinking a very thick, elmer’s-glue-white, vaguely alcoholic and very sweet concoction called, “vitamina,” we returned back to Emma’s (Fulbrighter) apartment. We made an American feast for dinner (including chocolate chip cookies!). Several of Emma’s friends arrived to say hello. As soon as one of her friends walked in, I was really sure that I knew him, but couldn’t figure out from where. “This is Edwin…” Hm, he seemed vaguely familiar…
Edwin was quite the character. Very giggly, talkative, energetic, hilarious, exaggerated, and OBSESSED with Emma. I think in a single night he must have recounted at least 80% of the total time they had spent together … in detail. She had warned us that he might be a little much, but it very quickly became evident that maybe she felt that way because he was so obsessed with her. I remembered that I had met him several months earlier in a bar/café in Merida. We had a great night together in the apartment. As per usual there was no electricity, so we stayed in, listened to music from the battery powered laptop and had our own little private dance party instead of venturing out to the disco that surely would have had no electricity. As the night progressed, a suggestion was made that Edwin should come on our trip. Immediately after he said yes, that he wanted to, Emma made the throat slitting gesture. “No, Edwin you can’t come we planned this trip a long time ago and it’s too late to make a reservation…” Lies, but it was clear that she didn’t want him to come and that he picked up on the not-so-subtle hints she was giving. No flamboyant, excited, energetic, silly, overly affectionate Edwin on the trip. No debate.
The next morning we woke up early and went to the tour company. The first surprise was that our tour guide was not going to be the gentle, kind, young man who had been affectionately nicknamed the “Cherub” by those who had met him, but rather a young, large, somewhat stoic Scottish man. The second surprise was we were going to have others join us on our tour. And the last, but CERTAINLY not the least surprising, was when, with open arms, and a goofy grin on his face, in walked Edwin, dropping his duffle bag on the floor. “SURRRPPP--- RRRISEEE!!!!” he exclaimed, making a wide sweeping gesture with his arms. Believe it or not, he made his own arrangements to join our tour. Needless to say, all of our jaws dropped and we burst out in giggles. “This is NOT good but SO hilarious...” I thought… We would all spend the next 4 days randomly and uncontrollably bursting out in laughter just remembering the moment…
The nine hour drive to los llanos was full of music, photo shoots, snack breaks, and good company. We arrived at our camp in good spirits, said good night to the caimans and crocodiles in the river next to our camp, and hopped in our hammocks. The next day we went on a boat tour to see wildlife--- mainly a variety of incredible birds, turtles, amphibians, capybaras, caimans, and the famous PINK FRESHWATER DOLPHINS! That’s right, pink dolphins… I must admit, when I first heard of the pink dolphins I thought it was a joke. But they are real. They are not THAT pink, but they are definitely pink, really big, and very dolphin-y. Incredible, really. The highlight of the boat trip, though, had to be when our guide, who was poking a long stick along the bottom of the river suddenly appeared to have fallen into the pirhana-, caiman-, and crocodile-infested river. We watched dumbfounded, as he batted away piranhas and dove headfirst into the muddy water. I was sure that our guide was a gonner, when he emerged with the nastiest, weirdest, worst smelling turtle that I have ever seen. It was like a creature from another planet. We helped him, and his newfound turtle back in the boat and breathed/giggled a sigh/laugh of relief. And plugged our noses.
After an afternoon siesta, we went out anaconda- and capybara-searching. For those of you who don’t know what a capybara is, it is the largest rodent on earth. It looks kind of like a hugely overgrown gopher, and not only do they swim, they leap through the water in little packs. They’re really pretty undeniably cute, though I hear that they are pretty aggressive. After seeing a lot of capybaras, our fearless Scotsman really focused in on the goal: find an anaconda for the tourists. Anaconda searching was a lot like searching for the smelly turtle. It just involved walking through the caiman-infested swamp poking around with a stick until you found one. Needless to say, I stayed on the sidelines, appreciating the experience from a distance.
After a half an hour or so of stick poking, it became clear that there had been an anaconda sighting. Suddenly our favorite Scotsman and the other guide went chasing after something. The Venezuelan guide suddenly plunged into the water (the same guide who got the turtle, mind you) and emerged with an armful of anaconda. They both threw their bodies at the anaconda, yanking as hard as they could, when they shouted out for help. Swearing a lot in Spanish, they yelled at everyone to come help. We all debated, looked at one another, and stayed put. As they continued to yell for help, Antoni (a fellow Fulbrighter) and Edwin took off to go help hank. The four of them got the snake under control and carried it over. The snake was 6 METERS LONG (ie about 20 feet) and it was SO HEAVY. They draped it over our necks, we took pictures and they released it. It slithered off into the water like nothing had happened. Impressive. We ate a celebratory cantaloupe, hopped back on top of the jeep, and held on tight like we were told to do (aggarense duro!) and sped off into the sunset.
The next day we woke up and went horseback riding. The horseback ride was surprisingly dull. We saw a deadly snake and a lot of trees, but several of the horses appeared to be half asleep they were so slow. Our destination was a little pirhana fishing hole along the river. I’m embarrassed to admit that after an hour or so of fishing I didn’t actually successfully catch a single piranha. Here’s the thing—they fish for piranhas with a line and hook by just yanking on the line when they feel a bite. Simple, right? Wrong. I got several piranhas out of the water, but it was nearly impossible to actually hook them, so they just flopped back into the water. Failure. Back in the camp, after eating all the pirhanas that we (by which I mean everyone else) caught, we casually walked out towards the river, where our guides casually grabbed a caiman out of the river in the pitch black. We touched it and stared deep into its menacing eyes. With a swift toss, it was back in the water and we were on our way back to camp, where we sang and danced the night away to all the latest Baliwood hits that Edwin naturally had saved in his cellphone.
The trip back was long. 9-10 hours back to Merida, 6 hours back to Valera… the thing about traveling in Venezuela is that although a trip might only take 3 hours normally, on a bad day you may sit in a traffic jam that doesn’t move for 6 hours, or occasionally indefinitely. This could be for a variety of reasons. Perhaps there was an accident, perhaps there was construction, perhaps some sort of integral piece of infrastructure suddenly collapsed, perhaps there are people protesting in the streets, perhaps there is a party, or perhaps there is no reasonable explanation at all. My favorite explanation so far for a traffic jam that lasted about an hour or so was that we couldn’t get through because they sold really good chicken in this place. ?? It did smell pretty divine, but I was not humored by the explanation at the time…
Life in Valera has re-commenced and is back in full swing. I have lots of classes again—two classes of level 2 English students at the university and I am continuing giving classes at the rural elementary schools with the Bibliomulas program. I also moved about a week and a half ago and am much happier with my new living arrangement. I am very grateful towards the family that I was living with before for treating me so well, but I really felt like I wanted to live more independently in a safer part of town. I am much happier living in a house that does not have other people renting rooms—I live with one other woman who is very intelligent and very passionate. I am also living right in front of the nicest park in town—and am able to go jogging or join in on the dance therapy classes there every day. In this house I am now buying all my own food, cooking for myself, and I have my own private room and bathroom (not to mention flat screen TV and cleaning lady haha) that are gorgeous. I also feel much freer to go out on the town—transportation is closer, it is safer to arrive after dark here, friends are closer… It has definitely been an upgrade in the living situation and location. Between my new classes, my new independent living situation, and the fact that I finally feel like I have friends, I am basically always really busy now. It’s a good feeling. It makes me realize why there are so many people with hired help here...
I make a concerted effort on this blog to not talk politics, but I just want to take a moment to calm any potentially worried minds. If you follow Venezuelan news, you probably have heard a few things in the last weeks, 1) That there are severe shortages of electricity and water in the country (directly related since nearly all the countries electricity comes from hydroelectric dams in the eastern part of the country), and which led the government to implement a schedule for rolling blackouts and turning off the water throughout the country, 2) That the government shut down a major opposition news channel, resulting in major protests in most Venezuelan cities, in which multiple people have died, 3) The vice president and his wife (also in a position of power) both stepped down from their offices last week for “personal reasons” which happened to coincide nearly exactly with the appointment of a Cuban militant to be in charge of fixing the infrastructure problems related to the lack of power.
So, all this and I can imagine what you’re thinking… but let me reassure you that while the situation here is complicated and dangerous, I am staying in safe environments. Last week I was only able to teach two days, given that the entire state shut down all schools from Wednesday-Monday because most of the roads in town were blocked off for traffic. Everything has mostly calmed down in Valera, but it remains like the wild wild west in other parts of the country. I spent the last several days in Caracas visiting with almost all of the other FUlbrighters, and when I arrived on Thursday morning, an 8 hour bus ride turned into a 13 hour bus ride because there were flocks of people dressed head to toe in red headed to Caracas from all over the country. In the city, all the roads were blocked off and groups of Chavistas were walking all over the streets- even through traffic on the interstate. Everything is really heated up right now, and it is unclear what will happen in the following months before the September legislative election… We shall see.
On another note, I was just in Peru! The Fulbright program organized a conference for us in Mexico! So naturally, our flight from Caracas to Mexico City went through Lima…? That’s the furthest south I have ever been, I believe. It seemed pretty normal. J
Well, I will keep you all posted on the situation here. Love you all.
16 January 2010
What do you mean you are going to fix the runway in 15 minutes?!?!
…and I continue with part 3. Much later, but better late than never, right? No but seriously, sorry if you have been waiting with bated breath. The past 6 weeks ended up being pure rumba (translated: party time) for me, and I think I saw about 60% of Venezuela in about 3 weeks... So I will pick up where I left off, in Roraima.
From our minor car accident, we came zooming back into Santa Elena, where we had delicious celebratory pizza, took very much needed showers, and caught yet another night bus to Ciudad Bolivar. Ciudad Bolivar was a very strange place for me—colorful and bustling, with aggressive street vendors everywhere. It was pleasant during the day—you could stroll along the rio (river), visit the many statues of Simon Bolivar (the ubiquitous liberator of Northern South America—people are OBSESSED with him), and his historic residence. But the thing was, when we read in the Lonely Planet that everything closes early in Ciudad Bolivar, we did not realize that this meant that by about 5:30 or 6 EVERYTHING would close. We walked around, innocently looking for a place to have dinner, when street vendors started to grab at me… so we bought some skewers of beef and another mystery food, some apple sodas and hustled on back to our little posada, trying to avoid molestors. We bought the movie Milk, only to realize when we put it in that it was actually a pirated copy of X-Men. Gotta love pirated materials… So we snarfed our shishkabob things and hopped into bed.
The next morning we woke up bright and early to go to the airport to take our very own 5 passenger plane in the general direction of Angel Falls. As we gained speed on the runway, the windows were flapping open and the pilot was fidgeting with some maps and the 1400 controls in front of him. We flew low over the mountains, our pilot gesturing wildly at structures that were obscured behind clouds. The man in the front seat was taking pictures, and suddenly the pilot started shouting at him. In one swift movement, the pilot took the camera from his hand and sent the plane into a brief nose dive. The pilot took some pictures with his recently acquired camera, returned it, and restored the plane to its correct angle (I freaked a little). We passed through thick layers of clouds, bumping around a lot more than one would like, and landed gracefully on the runway in Canaima. Upon looking out the window, the first two things that I saw were a plane that had lost its landing gear, and the gravel runway next to us. I gave a little prayer of gratitude to an unidentified being, and I gave it with gusto.
In Canaima, we were taken on a boat and hiking tour of the nearby waterfalls. We were taken under and through several waterfalls, trying like the ridiculous tourists that we were to take pictures without slipping on the slimy rocks beneath the falls. I watched a few people with their cameras scrambling to not fall down, and in the end, all of us but one left with cameras intact.
The next day, we woke up bright and early for our boat tour to Angel Falls. We were told that if the water was low, “we might have to get out and push…” But little did we know that this meant that our 4-5 hour boat ride would be turned into a 7 hour one, predominantly because we spent the difference attempting to push our way over arguably innavigable waters. In the end, though, the fact that some people had to get out of the boat every 5 to 10 minutes didn’t really affect me that much. You see, being a woman in Venezuela, it was not my responsibility to push. When we encountered rapids, only the caballeros (gentleman) were told to get out and push. It was a rare occasion when we were all invited out of the boat, and only happened a handful of times… One of my favorite moments of the trip, however, was when one of the guides shouted with exasperation to another, “Jesus, it’s the time of female liberation, we’ve gotta give them a chance!!”
One of my favorite things about taking organized tours when abroad is the entertainment of putting a group of foreigners together and expecting them to make friends immediately. The dynamics of our tour group to Angel Falls were certainly more interesting than the group to Roraima. There were much more severe language and cultural barriers, though maybe I just imagined them… It was pretty funny how we all really fulfilled the stereotypes of our countries… The wild Brits with dry humor, the loud Americans, the high maintenance Venezuelan, the solitary Polish group, and the overly adventurous Germans so eager to explore that they went missing in the forest (this is true). At one point I watched our Venezuelan guide attempt to pass the German explorers, which actually sent them all into a fast trot and then run. The guide wanted to pass them, and yet the Germans did not want to be passed… We (meaning all the foreigners) spent the night sleeping in hammocks which they put puzzlingly close to one another, so close in fact, that all night long the German guy sleeping next to me kept crashing into my hammock. More than once I looked over to see his little German head, adorned with oversized, very thick, perfectly round glasses peak over the edge of his hammock in my direction to investigate. Talk about awkward…
Angel Falls was just as spectacular as I’m sure you all might imagine. But while Angel Falls itself is beautiful, the landscape of the entire region is truly spectacular. The tepuis are stunningly solitary—enormous plateaus jutting out from seemingly nowhere, speckled with frigid rivers tinted red from all the tannins flowing through them, thick forests, bare rocks. At the base of Angel Falls we got to swim in the frigid waters of a pool formed by the plummeting water. It was reeeaaaallll cold. Or should I say refreshing?
The trip back relatively uneventful, the highlight being when the pilot of our CESSNA gave me permission to sit in the passenger’s seat in the plane for the trip home, and then ultimately in the pilot’s seat for a photo shoot that Zach told me was lame. Whatever. I enjoyed it… and my Brit friend was happy to take pictures, though my favorite travel partner was slightly desanimado about it… (TQM, Zach).
After our little adventure in Angel Falls, we hopped a flight back to Caracas. This was relatively smooth, until we actually got into the plane (my favorite place for plans to falter). We were told that there was a possibility that we couldn’t take off, because they had to “fix the runway,” but they would tell us in 15 minutes if we could leave or not… Oh, okay… but WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY ARE GOING TO FIX THE RUNWAY IN 15 MINUTES??!! Tell me, please, what you can do to fix a runway in 15 minutes?! Well, to this day I have no idea what they did, but whatever it was in those 15 minutes, it fixed the runway and we left.
From Caracas I went straight for Valera, which consisted of waiting for about a gazillion hours in the terminal with Zach (thanks!) and another gazillion in the bus. In the end, I arrived sleepily to my very own bed, relieved to be back home safely without incident.
I arrived back in Valera something around the 21st of December, which gave me a few days to chill, wash my rotting clothes, and enjoy the holiday season. It was a very odd Christmas for me here, not bad, just very off. It never quite felt like Christmas simply because it was so hot, I didn’t hear any Christmas carols, I didn’t eat a single Christmas cookie, houses didn’t smell like spruce boughs and cinnamon, I could go on and on… basically, celebrations were really different from what I am used to. I was told that at 12 o’clock on Dec 24th, you usually have a big meal with your family, and then afterwards you rumbiar (ie party). Being the gringa that I am, I kind of assumed that they meant that you would have a big meal with your family at 12 in the afternoon… but to my great surprise, at noon, nobody was home. At midnight, several people arrived, ate really quickly, and by 12:30 we were on our way to a wild party. I decided I would just stay up all night, and talk to my American family in the morning before going to sleep…
As planned, we danced and danced in a friend’s apartment until the sun came up. The fireworks lasted all night, until they were just sounds of explosions against the colorful sunrise. I got home at about 7:30 AM, dozed a little, and talked with the fam back home.
The day after Christmas, I went (yet again) on vacation!!! At about 9 PM Yervio, Antonio, Susana and I hopped a bus to the beach where we were to meet several of my American companions! After many hours of intestinal anxiety and freezing buses, we arrived to our little apartment for 7 in Chichiriviche (that’s a mouthful). Chichiriviche is known for its Cayos (island beaches) that form part of Morrocoy National Park. I was SUPER excited to go there, because Morrocoy is supposed ot have the best coral reefs in Venezuela… So I packed my snorkel and mask in my little backpack before leaving and couldn’t wait to take them out.
The beaches were spectacular. Beautiful, though frighteningly overcrowded, which (along with the fascinating beachwear fashion sense) made for excellent people watching all week. Clowns performed on the shore, hippie kids sold homemade jewels, bronzed women sunbathed, couples played ping pong at the water’s edge, and our group of Americans/Venezuelans attempted to play something like volleyball and monkey in the middle, to the entertainment of many. I really enjoyed the company of my American and Venezuelan friends, and between our blonde hair, embassy paraphernalia, and very American looks, we attracted quite a bit of attention, and created an equal amount of mischief…
In the US, Christmas is very family oriented, and New Year’s is the wild party—but in Venezuela it is the opposite. Christmas is cray cray, New Year’s is all about the family. So imagine 3 American girls wandering the streets of Chichiriviche, Venezuela on New Year’s Eve, stumbling upon party after party of drunken Venezuelan families. I don’t feel like I really MET anyone that night, but I know that I had my picture taken with a lot of strangers, was dressed up in a lot of hats and other accessories, was danced around in circles by a lot of unknown men, and had multiple new facebook friends the next day…
While I had a wonderful time at the beach, I was plagued by a series of very severe and inexplicable maladies. Typical intestinal woes, combated only by immodium and ciproflaxin, but more interestingly, I think I may have gotten mange… weird, right? I have never itched so badly so consistently for so long in my life. I don’t know what it was, but for some reason my stomach and back were unbearably itchy for almost a week… Too itchy to sleep, to itchy to sit still, too itchy to do anything but scratch. If you have ever heard of such a problem and know the cause, I am very curious and very far from any doctors that I would trust to give a correct diagnosis. Thank the lord above that after about a week it went away…
From the beach, I spent 2 days at home once again, washing my once again rotting clothes, before heading out YET AGAIN on vacation to Merida! More about this to come!
From our minor car accident, we came zooming back into Santa Elena, where we had delicious celebratory pizza, took very much needed showers, and caught yet another night bus to Ciudad Bolivar. Ciudad Bolivar was a very strange place for me—colorful and bustling, with aggressive street vendors everywhere. It was pleasant during the day—you could stroll along the rio (river), visit the many statues of Simon Bolivar (the ubiquitous liberator of Northern South America—people are OBSESSED with him), and his historic residence. But the thing was, when we read in the Lonely Planet that everything closes early in Ciudad Bolivar, we did not realize that this meant that by about 5:30 or 6 EVERYTHING would close. We walked around, innocently looking for a place to have dinner, when street vendors started to grab at me… so we bought some skewers of beef and another mystery food, some apple sodas and hustled on back to our little posada, trying to avoid molestors. We bought the movie Milk, only to realize when we put it in that it was actually a pirated copy of X-Men. Gotta love pirated materials… So we snarfed our shishkabob things and hopped into bed.
The next morning we woke up bright and early to go to the airport to take our very own 5 passenger plane in the general direction of Angel Falls. As we gained speed on the runway, the windows were flapping open and the pilot was fidgeting with some maps and the 1400 controls in front of him. We flew low over the mountains, our pilot gesturing wildly at structures that were obscured behind clouds. The man in the front seat was taking pictures, and suddenly the pilot started shouting at him. In one swift movement, the pilot took the camera from his hand and sent the plane into a brief nose dive. The pilot took some pictures with his recently acquired camera, returned it, and restored the plane to its correct angle (I freaked a little). We passed through thick layers of clouds, bumping around a lot more than one would like, and landed gracefully on the runway in Canaima. Upon looking out the window, the first two things that I saw were a plane that had lost its landing gear, and the gravel runway next to us. I gave a little prayer of gratitude to an unidentified being, and I gave it with gusto.
In Canaima, we were taken on a boat and hiking tour of the nearby waterfalls. We were taken under and through several waterfalls, trying like the ridiculous tourists that we were to take pictures without slipping on the slimy rocks beneath the falls. I watched a few people with their cameras scrambling to not fall down, and in the end, all of us but one left with cameras intact.
The next day, we woke up bright and early for our boat tour to Angel Falls. We were told that if the water was low, “we might have to get out and push…” But little did we know that this meant that our 4-5 hour boat ride would be turned into a 7 hour one, predominantly because we spent the difference attempting to push our way over arguably innavigable waters. In the end, though, the fact that some people had to get out of the boat every 5 to 10 minutes didn’t really affect me that much. You see, being a woman in Venezuela, it was not my responsibility to push. When we encountered rapids, only the caballeros (gentleman) were told to get out and push. It was a rare occasion when we were all invited out of the boat, and only happened a handful of times… One of my favorite moments of the trip, however, was when one of the guides shouted with exasperation to another, “Jesus, it’s the time of female liberation, we’ve gotta give them a chance!!”
One of my favorite things about taking organized tours when abroad is the entertainment of putting a group of foreigners together and expecting them to make friends immediately. The dynamics of our tour group to Angel Falls were certainly more interesting than the group to Roraima. There were much more severe language and cultural barriers, though maybe I just imagined them… It was pretty funny how we all really fulfilled the stereotypes of our countries… The wild Brits with dry humor, the loud Americans, the high maintenance Venezuelan, the solitary Polish group, and the overly adventurous Germans so eager to explore that they went missing in the forest (this is true). At one point I watched our Venezuelan guide attempt to pass the German explorers, which actually sent them all into a fast trot and then run. The guide wanted to pass them, and yet the Germans did not want to be passed… We (meaning all the foreigners) spent the night sleeping in hammocks which they put puzzlingly close to one another, so close in fact, that all night long the German guy sleeping next to me kept crashing into my hammock. More than once I looked over to see his little German head, adorned with oversized, very thick, perfectly round glasses peak over the edge of his hammock in my direction to investigate. Talk about awkward…
Angel Falls was just as spectacular as I’m sure you all might imagine. But while Angel Falls itself is beautiful, the landscape of the entire region is truly spectacular. The tepuis are stunningly solitary—enormous plateaus jutting out from seemingly nowhere, speckled with frigid rivers tinted red from all the tannins flowing through them, thick forests, bare rocks. At the base of Angel Falls we got to swim in the frigid waters of a pool formed by the plummeting water. It was reeeaaaallll cold. Or should I say refreshing?
The trip back relatively uneventful, the highlight being when the pilot of our CESSNA gave me permission to sit in the passenger’s seat in the plane for the trip home, and then ultimately in the pilot’s seat for a photo shoot that Zach told me was lame. Whatever. I enjoyed it… and my Brit friend was happy to take pictures, though my favorite travel partner was slightly desanimado about it… (TQM, Zach).
After our little adventure in Angel Falls, we hopped a flight back to Caracas. This was relatively smooth, until we actually got into the plane (my favorite place for plans to falter). We were told that there was a possibility that we couldn’t take off, because they had to “fix the runway,” but they would tell us in 15 minutes if we could leave or not… Oh, okay… but WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY ARE GOING TO FIX THE RUNWAY IN 15 MINUTES??!! Tell me, please, what you can do to fix a runway in 15 minutes?! Well, to this day I have no idea what they did, but whatever it was in those 15 minutes, it fixed the runway and we left.
From Caracas I went straight for Valera, which consisted of waiting for about a gazillion hours in the terminal with Zach (thanks!) and another gazillion in the bus. In the end, I arrived sleepily to my very own bed, relieved to be back home safely without incident.
I arrived back in Valera something around the 21st of December, which gave me a few days to chill, wash my rotting clothes, and enjoy the holiday season. It was a very odd Christmas for me here, not bad, just very off. It never quite felt like Christmas simply because it was so hot, I didn’t hear any Christmas carols, I didn’t eat a single Christmas cookie, houses didn’t smell like spruce boughs and cinnamon, I could go on and on… basically, celebrations were really different from what I am used to. I was told that at 12 o’clock on Dec 24th, you usually have a big meal with your family, and then afterwards you rumbiar (ie party). Being the gringa that I am, I kind of assumed that they meant that you would have a big meal with your family at 12 in the afternoon… but to my great surprise, at noon, nobody was home. At midnight, several people arrived, ate really quickly, and by 12:30 we were on our way to a wild party. I decided I would just stay up all night, and talk to my American family in the morning before going to sleep…
As planned, we danced and danced in a friend’s apartment until the sun came up. The fireworks lasted all night, until they were just sounds of explosions against the colorful sunrise. I got home at about 7:30 AM, dozed a little, and talked with the fam back home.
The day after Christmas, I went (yet again) on vacation!!! At about 9 PM Yervio, Antonio, Susana and I hopped a bus to the beach where we were to meet several of my American companions! After many hours of intestinal anxiety and freezing buses, we arrived to our little apartment for 7 in Chichiriviche (that’s a mouthful). Chichiriviche is known for its Cayos (island beaches) that form part of Morrocoy National Park. I was SUPER excited to go there, because Morrocoy is supposed ot have the best coral reefs in Venezuela… So I packed my snorkel and mask in my little backpack before leaving and couldn’t wait to take them out.
The beaches were spectacular. Beautiful, though frighteningly overcrowded, which (along with the fascinating beachwear fashion sense) made for excellent people watching all week. Clowns performed on the shore, hippie kids sold homemade jewels, bronzed women sunbathed, couples played ping pong at the water’s edge, and our group of Americans/Venezuelans attempted to play something like volleyball and monkey in the middle, to the entertainment of many. I really enjoyed the company of my American and Venezuelan friends, and between our blonde hair, embassy paraphernalia, and very American looks, we attracted quite a bit of attention, and created an equal amount of mischief…
In the US, Christmas is very family oriented, and New Year’s is the wild party—but in Venezuela it is the opposite. Christmas is cray cray, New Year’s is all about the family. So imagine 3 American girls wandering the streets of Chichiriviche, Venezuela on New Year’s Eve, stumbling upon party after party of drunken Venezuelan families. I don’t feel like I really MET anyone that night, but I know that I had my picture taken with a lot of strangers, was dressed up in a lot of hats and other accessories, was danced around in circles by a lot of unknown men, and had multiple new facebook friends the next day…
While I had a wonderful time at the beach, I was plagued by a series of very severe and inexplicable maladies. Typical intestinal woes, combated only by immodium and ciproflaxin, but more interestingly, I think I may have gotten mange… weird, right? I have never itched so badly so consistently for so long in my life. I don’t know what it was, but for some reason my stomach and back were unbearably itchy for almost a week… Too itchy to sleep, to itchy to sit still, too itchy to do anything but scratch. If you have ever heard of such a problem and know the cause, I am very curious and very far from any doctors that I would trust to give a correct diagnosis. Thank the lord above that after about a week it went away…
From the beach, I spent 2 days at home once again, washing my once again rotting clothes, before heading out YET AGAIN on vacation to Merida! More about this to come!
24 December 2009
La Gran Aventura, Part 2
... Continued... Start with the previous post if you don't know what I am talking about.
We woke up the next morning, with shivering blue lips, in the Gran Sabana (Great Savannah). This part of the country is somewhat legendary around the country. It seems like everyone in Valera has something to say about it, though hardly anyone has actually visited it. People told me stories about insects the size of birds, overgrown toads that eat rats and cabybaras, and mosquitoes the length of your arm that swarm the entire area. They also believe it is the most beautiful and oldest place in the world. While I feel like I can say fairly safely that few Venezuelans have an accurate impression of the Gran Sabana, I definitely think that all the hype it attracts is deserved. It is really a very stunning place. There are enormous, ancient Tepuis (tabletop mountains) that tower above the clouds in every direction. These tepuis are remnants of the Guyana Shield, some of the oldest rock formations in the world (they were formed during the time when the supercontinent Gondwana existed). To give some perspective, these rocks are so old that although they once formed the seabed (you can still see the ripples in the rocks), there are no fossils in them because they were formed BEFORE any organisms that would leave fossils had evolved. Now that’s old.
In the Gran Sabana, we arrived to a little touristy city called Santa Elena de Uraien. We got our tour for the next day figured out— a 7 day backpacking trek up and down Roraima (see photo), one of the most spectacular tepuis. While we thought this might take all day, we ended up having everything figured out by about 9 AM. The tour guide mentioned that he was going across the border into Brazil for the day, and did we want to come with?? So we said, “duh!” and hopped in the taxi with him. It was strange how different everything was so suddenly. One minute you understand the language, recognize the food, are familiar with fashion and customs, and the next moment everything is new and foreign. Very strange. We ate a lot of meat, walked around a bit, and bought a few souvenirs, including some really ridiculous cowboy hats for our trek up the big hill. We excitedly spent the night in Santa Elena cooking a spaghetti dinner, playing cards and drinking beer on the second floor patio in the fresh night breeze.
The next morning we woke up early and went to meet the other hikers: a Dutch girl we had shared a room with the night before, a very friendly Polish girl, and two very personable Australian scientists. After a long, dizzying car ride and a quick lunch we were off on our big trip.
The hike was nothing short of spectacular. It was by far the longest, most ambitious backpacking trip that I have been on to date, and while it was hard and I came off the mountain shivering with blisters, soaking wet clothes, and smelly boots, I enjoyed almost every minute of the trek. The biologist in me was way overstimulated by the unbelievable ecosystem that exists on top of the mountain—the numerous endemic plants and animals, the carnivorous plants everywhere, brilliantly colored flowers growing in an unbelievably harsh environment, the strange animals that have evolved really bizarre characteristics (my personal favorite—the frogs that cannot jump. They walk/waddle instead of jumping. Super hilarious)… it was all like a dream.
We walked for two days to the base of the mountain, one day up, one day across, one day around and back (like 30 km + with packs!!), and for two days to come back. The top of the tepui was like a moonscape, with strange rock formations in every direction. I use the words walking or hiking, but really what we were doing was a lot of jumping from rock to rock, climbing up and down cool rock formations, and fording rivers in socks. We followed faint paths on the rocks, stones worn to a lighter color from all the people passing back and forth down the trails. It made it clear that so much of this enormous structure was left untouched, because if you left the trail you would surely get lost. We started to recognize the other hikers on the mountain, even at a distance, the French crew, the Brazilian women, the Germans…
During the day we explored some of the magnificent sites on top of the mountain—Crystal Valley, an unbelievable strip of perfect quartz crystals, El Foso, a huge cavern eroded by converging water sources, where you can swim and stand under a freezing waterfall, we went to the triple point, where Venezuela, Guyana and Brazilian territories converge in a single point, to Lake Gladys and to the site of a helicopter crash where you see only the remains of the aircraft. At night, we stayed in caves and ate dinner and played cards in good company, talking about the differences in politics, health care and economics between our countries.
Most of the time on top of Roraima it was really misty and wet. The clouds would pass by, above and below and on every side of you, drenching you although it never really rained. Leaving things out to dry often left them wetter than they started. When the sun came out it shined brilliantly, creating full rainbows that you could follow all the way to the ground on both sides. From the cliff at the edge of Roraima, when the sun shone momentarily through the clouds you could see forever, giving you butterflies and making you feel faint only for a moment, until it all disappeared behind the clouds again.
At the end of our trek, they greeted us with lunch, watermelon, coke, and beer. We hopped back in the car for our trip back to the city, exhausted and feeling much more comfortable with each other than the previous time that we were all in a car together. For me, the drive was terrifying. The driver drove like an absolute maniac down these sketchy dirt roads, with cars approaching in an equally crazy manner in the other direction. It was clear how nervous we all were, when suddenly as we drove head on past another vehicle the glass on the side window of our car shattered violently. The driver stopped the car immediately, started swearing and sweeping glass out of the car. We all waited silently, unsure of what to say. Turns out the cars were passing each other so closely that their side view mirrors collided and swung around to smash the window in an impressive explosion. As many of you know, moving vehicles of any sort are my biggest fear in life right now… this did not help. The driver continued on, driving just as crazily until, on behalf of all of the hikers in the car, I said in my politest Spanish, “Excuse me sir, we are all very, very uncomfortable back here, do you think you could slow down just a little bit???” It worked. The power of manners.
Part 3 will be on its way soon enough. I must go eat lunch! If you have facebook I posted a bunh of picture from the trip. If not, I will put a link up here soon so that you can all see them.
OH YEAH!! And Merry Christmas! I almost forgot given the lack of anything I associate with Christmas here… Except I did see a man dressed like Santa driving like a psycho down the street today in a car with only one door and no glass in the windows. A little reminder. Love you all and I really wish I could be there to celebrate with you!
We woke up the next morning, with shivering blue lips, in the Gran Sabana (Great Savannah). This part of the country is somewhat legendary around the country. It seems like everyone in Valera has something to say about it, though hardly anyone has actually visited it. People told me stories about insects the size of birds, overgrown toads that eat rats and cabybaras, and mosquitoes the length of your arm that swarm the entire area. They also believe it is the most beautiful and oldest place in the world. While I feel like I can say fairly safely that few Venezuelans have an accurate impression of the Gran Sabana, I definitely think that all the hype it attracts is deserved. It is really a very stunning place. There are enormous, ancient Tepuis (tabletop mountains) that tower above the clouds in every direction. These tepuis are remnants of the Guyana Shield, some of the oldest rock formations in the world (they were formed during the time when the supercontinent Gondwana existed). To give some perspective, these rocks are so old that although they once formed the seabed (you can still see the ripples in the rocks), there are no fossils in them because they were formed BEFORE any organisms that would leave fossils had evolved. Now that’s old.
In the Gran Sabana, we arrived to a little touristy city called Santa Elena de Uraien. We got our tour for the next day figured out— a 7 day backpacking trek up and down Roraima (see photo), one of the most spectacular tepuis. While we thought this might take all day, we ended up having everything figured out by about 9 AM. The tour guide mentioned that he was going across the border into Brazil for the day, and did we want to come with?? So we said, “duh!” and hopped in the taxi with him. It was strange how different everything was so suddenly. One minute you understand the language, recognize the food, are familiar with fashion and customs, and the next moment everything is new and foreign. Very strange. We ate a lot of meat, walked around a bit, and bought a few souvenirs, including some really ridiculous cowboy hats for our trek up the big hill. We excitedly spent the night in Santa Elena cooking a spaghetti dinner, playing cards and drinking beer on the second floor patio in the fresh night breeze.
The next morning we woke up early and went to meet the other hikers: a Dutch girl we had shared a room with the night before, a very friendly Polish girl, and two very personable Australian scientists. After a long, dizzying car ride and a quick lunch we were off on our big trip.
The hike was nothing short of spectacular. It was by far the longest, most ambitious backpacking trip that I have been on to date, and while it was hard and I came off the mountain shivering with blisters, soaking wet clothes, and smelly boots, I enjoyed almost every minute of the trek. The biologist in me was way overstimulated by the unbelievable ecosystem that exists on top of the mountain—the numerous endemic plants and animals, the carnivorous plants everywhere, brilliantly colored flowers growing in an unbelievably harsh environment, the strange animals that have evolved really bizarre characteristics (my personal favorite—the frogs that cannot jump. They walk/waddle instead of jumping. Super hilarious)… it was all like a dream.
We walked for two days to the base of the mountain, one day up, one day across, one day around and back (like 30 km + with packs!!), and for two days to come back. The top of the tepui was like a moonscape, with strange rock formations in every direction. I use the words walking or hiking, but really what we were doing was a lot of jumping from rock to rock, climbing up and down cool rock formations, and fording rivers in socks. We followed faint paths on the rocks, stones worn to a lighter color from all the people passing back and forth down the trails. It made it clear that so much of this enormous structure was left untouched, because if you left the trail you would surely get lost. We started to recognize the other hikers on the mountain, even at a distance, the French crew, the Brazilian women, the Germans…
During the day we explored some of the magnificent sites on top of the mountain—Crystal Valley, an unbelievable strip of perfect quartz crystals, El Foso, a huge cavern eroded by converging water sources, where you can swim and stand under a freezing waterfall, we went to the triple point, where Venezuela, Guyana and Brazilian territories converge in a single point, to Lake Gladys and to the site of a helicopter crash where you see only the remains of the aircraft. At night, we stayed in caves and ate dinner and played cards in good company, talking about the differences in politics, health care and economics between our countries.
Most of the time on top of Roraima it was really misty and wet. The clouds would pass by, above and below and on every side of you, drenching you although it never really rained. Leaving things out to dry often left them wetter than they started. When the sun came out it shined brilliantly, creating full rainbows that you could follow all the way to the ground on both sides. From the cliff at the edge of Roraima, when the sun shone momentarily through the clouds you could see forever, giving you butterflies and making you feel faint only for a moment, until it all disappeared behind the clouds again.
At the end of our trek, they greeted us with lunch, watermelon, coke, and beer. We hopped back in the car for our trip back to the city, exhausted and feeling much more comfortable with each other than the previous time that we were all in a car together. For me, the drive was terrifying. The driver drove like an absolute maniac down these sketchy dirt roads, with cars approaching in an equally crazy manner in the other direction. It was clear how nervous we all were, when suddenly as we drove head on past another vehicle the glass on the side window of our car shattered violently. The driver stopped the car immediately, started swearing and sweeping glass out of the car. We all waited silently, unsure of what to say. Turns out the cars were passing each other so closely that their side view mirrors collided and swung around to smash the window in an impressive explosion. As many of you know, moving vehicles of any sort are my biggest fear in life right now… this did not help. The driver continued on, driving just as crazily until, on behalf of all of the hikers in the car, I said in my politest Spanish, “Excuse me sir, we are all very, very uncomfortable back here, do you think you could slow down just a little bit???” It worked. The power of manners.
Part 3 will be on its way soon enough. I must go eat lunch! If you have facebook I posted a bunh of picture from the trip. If not, I will put a link up here soon so that you can all see them.
OH YEAH!! And Merry Christmas! I almost forgot given the lack of anything I associate with Christmas here… Except I did see a man dressed like Santa driving like a psycho down the street today in a car with only one door and no glass in the windows. A little reminder. Love you all and I really wish I could be there to celebrate with you!
22 December 2009
La Gran Aventura, Part 1
I find the task of trying to share the details of the last several weeks with everyone somewhat overwhelming, and perhaps that’s why I haven’t done it yet. So let me just start by saying that trip I just came back from was absolutely amazing and I think that it merits more than a single blog post, but I’ll try to keep it a reasonable reading length.
So on my last day of work about 3 weeks ago, I told my classes that we were going to have parties with snacks, games, movies, etc. to celebrate. The previous day, I had told everyone that an amigo of mine was coming and we were about to embark on a grand adventure, to which they all just responded, “ooooooh profe es su novio!!!!! (your boyfriend).” I said no, that in the US it is somewhat normal to have friends of the opposite gender, and to hang out with them platonically. So when Zach arrived about a half hour before the classes started, I decided that the best thing to do would be to just bring him, and entertain the classes by letting everyone ask him whatever they wanted, given that they were already somewhat fascinated by him.
Well it turns out that Venezuelans are unbelievably gullible. When the students arrived, they had apparently forgotten about the “boyfriend” and started asking me who he was, so naturally, the answer was, “my BROTHER, of course!” Now I was shocked that they believed me for several reasons, 1) I had TOLD them the day before who he was, 2) they have seen multiple pictures of my brother and he clearly was not the same person, 3) Zach told them that he LIVES in Merida, and 4) did they really think I wouldn’t say anything beforehand if my brother was coming? Anyways, through this lie I think we both created and averted a great deal of confused chaos regarding the identity of this strange American boy, but it’s kind of sweet that they all now think that they know my brother (sorry Luke, I really wish you were here).
So 4 hours of moderately controlled chaos later, I was released from my duties at the University for 6 weeks! Zach and I got down to business organizing things for our pending departure. Several simple tasks: transfer some money, buy some bus tickets, pack, and make sure we informed the right people about where we would be when. Easy, right? Mas o menos.
Purchasing tickets for traveling here is really ridiculous for two reasons. First, people wait until the absolute last second to buy tickets, and then everyone makes a frantic, mad dash to get tickets ALL AT THE SAME TIME. This results in massive, totally unnecessary lines. Second, when you say I want a ticket to such place from such place, the person selling the tickets might say, “Ok, here’s a ticket for 10 o’clock,” and not until later do you realize that there were actually 4 or 5 different choices of tickets for different times which they most certainly never mentioned.
So we went to the bus terminal the day before our trip to buy bus tickets to Caracas, waited in line an hour or so (in the dark because the electricity went out), only to discover that we could not buy tickets until the next morning. So in the morning, Zach and I split up, I braved the line in the bank (where some crazy man sang happy birthday to the bank tellers for at least 1 hour while I was waiting) while Zach braved the one in the bus terminal. When he returned, he told me that actually we were not able to buy tickets until the bus actually arrived later that afternoon. So we went to my house to pack, to the university to put up grades, etc. etc., and returned a few hours before the bus was to leave only to discover that we were actually not allowed to buy tickets at all because there was no bus. So, royally fed up, we found some other tickets on another bus line (which were of course never mentioned by the lady we had talked to 3 times previously). Tickets in hand, we went home to get everything together and embark on our journey. To our grand surprise, when we arrived back at the terminal with our bags packed, right alongside our bus was the bus that we had planned to take. The nonexistent bus. Feeling puzzled and indifferent towards the sight, we got on the new bus and continued on our way.
The buses here are really pretty awesome. They are called “Buscamas,” Bus meaning bus and cama meaning bed. So, though these buses tend to be anywhere from about 10-14 C (aka FREEZING), they are super comfortable, with footrests and seats that recline almost horizontally. Very posh. I was somewhat puzzled when I saw people entering the bus with thick blankets and wool sweaters, beanies, scarves, maybe some mittens… but when the temperature gauge read -12 C on the last bus we were on, I felt much more envious than confused towards the people bundled up in their winter gear (this temperature reading is not a lie, though I am fairly certain that the thermometer was poorly calibrated). On the buscamas, they also tend to play either very vulgar or violent movies for your enjoyment until maybe 1 AM and then again starting at about 5 or 6 AM, but in general, the trips are quite pleasant. So we rode the night away, the first bus of many to come, and arrived in Caracas at around 6 AM.
Caracas is one of those places that is just so notoriously dangerous that I have made a point to just avoid it altogether when at all possible (note: creepy recent NYT article about grave robbers in Caracas). On our short taxi drive from the bus terminal we saw a body under a tarp, someone apparently killed in a recent car accident. The danger and political turmoil noted, I also think that it is a very dynamic, interesting city with a LOT of culture and complicated politics. In Caracas, we were fortunate to receive wonderful hospitality from a couple that works for the embassy. We rode the Teleferico, a really awesome cable car that takes you to the top of the tallest nearby mountain. At the top of the mountain you find many strange things, like people dressed as fairies, strange candies, LOTS of fruit and whipped cream, chocolate, and most importantly some stunning views of the city.
Caracas is a hugely populated city crammed into a single mountain valley, the city “planning” is absolutely horrendous, and from way up high you can just see the chaos manifested in the architecture. Buildings apparently stacked one on top of the other on top of taller buildings next to skyscrapers behind abandoned warehouses in front of mud shacks stacked 6 tall surrounded by ghettos of tin roofs. Complete disorder and poorly constructed buildings. The city is really quite a sight, the poverty is inescapably apparent, as is the fear people feel towards authorities there. On our way home, as Zach and I sat in a little restaurant on the side of the street eating bland bowls of chicken soup, every so often, someone would shout something about the police and everyone would go running behind cars, looking for shelter, or at least back up against some sort of building. A moment later, 5 or 6 motorcycles with cops on them would come zooming through the neighborhood, and once they passed everything would return to normal. Very different from the world that I am used to.
Anyways, we had a lovely night of good company, Lebanese food, and belly dancing in Caracas, and our friends very graciously took us to the airport the next morning to send us off on our next leg of the trip. We flew to Puerto Ordaz, the city where the two biggest rivers in Venezuela come together, the Orinoco River and the Caroni River. There were some spectacular waterfalls, unbelievable parks, and we had our first sighting of an animal that we had never seen before. We are still not entirely sure what it is, but definitely some sort of huge rodent capybara like thing. See for yourself…
After spending the day lounging in parks, we established with our taxi driver as a meeting place the largest centro commercial (read: mall) that I have seen to date in Venezuela. The first reason why this was a mistake: there were SO MANY PEOPLE! How does one go about finding a solitary taxi driver? The second reason: Malls are mostly just overwhelming for me, and Latin American malls even worse…. Anyways, we entertained ourselves by watching the signs that rolled independently down the hallways and people watching. After hours of entertaining ourselves, tracking down missing taxi drivers, and running around the city, we arrived at our next Buscama, where we kicked back, relaxed, and enjoyed the ride.
… Part 2, plus pictures, to come… I post this now only to satisfy my most demanding readers. Watch for the rest. I’ll try to put it up asap.
So on my last day of work about 3 weeks ago, I told my classes that we were going to have parties with snacks, games, movies, etc. to celebrate. The previous day, I had told everyone that an amigo of mine was coming and we were about to embark on a grand adventure, to which they all just responded, “ooooooh profe es su novio!!!!! (your boyfriend).” I said no, that in the US it is somewhat normal to have friends of the opposite gender, and to hang out with them platonically. So when Zach arrived about a half hour before the classes started, I decided that the best thing to do would be to just bring him, and entertain the classes by letting everyone ask him whatever they wanted, given that they were already somewhat fascinated by him.
Well it turns out that Venezuelans are unbelievably gullible. When the students arrived, they had apparently forgotten about the “boyfriend” and started asking me who he was, so naturally, the answer was, “my BROTHER, of course!” Now I was shocked that they believed me for several reasons, 1) I had TOLD them the day before who he was, 2) they have seen multiple pictures of my brother and he clearly was not the same person, 3) Zach told them that he LIVES in Merida, and 4) did they really think I wouldn’t say anything beforehand if my brother was coming? Anyways, through this lie I think we both created and averted a great deal of confused chaos regarding the identity of this strange American boy, but it’s kind of sweet that they all now think that they know my brother (sorry Luke, I really wish you were here).
So 4 hours of moderately controlled chaos later, I was released from my duties at the University for 6 weeks! Zach and I got down to business organizing things for our pending departure. Several simple tasks: transfer some money, buy some bus tickets, pack, and make sure we informed the right people about where we would be when. Easy, right? Mas o menos.
Purchasing tickets for traveling here is really ridiculous for two reasons. First, people wait until the absolute last second to buy tickets, and then everyone makes a frantic, mad dash to get tickets ALL AT THE SAME TIME. This results in massive, totally unnecessary lines. Second, when you say I want a ticket to such place from such place, the person selling the tickets might say, “Ok, here’s a ticket for 10 o’clock,” and not until later do you realize that there were actually 4 or 5 different choices of tickets for different times which they most certainly never mentioned.
So we went to the bus terminal the day before our trip to buy bus tickets to Caracas, waited in line an hour or so (in the dark because the electricity went out), only to discover that we could not buy tickets until the next morning. So in the morning, Zach and I split up, I braved the line in the bank (where some crazy man sang happy birthday to the bank tellers for at least 1 hour while I was waiting) while Zach braved the one in the bus terminal. When he returned, he told me that actually we were not able to buy tickets until the bus actually arrived later that afternoon. So we went to my house to pack, to the university to put up grades, etc. etc., and returned a few hours before the bus was to leave only to discover that we were actually not allowed to buy tickets at all because there was no bus. So, royally fed up, we found some other tickets on another bus line (which were of course never mentioned by the lady we had talked to 3 times previously). Tickets in hand, we went home to get everything together and embark on our journey. To our grand surprise, when we arrived back at the terminal with our bags packed, right alongside our bus was the bus that we had planned to take. The nonexistent bus. Feeling puzzled and indifferent towards the sight, we got on the new bus and continued on our way.
The buses here are really pretty awesome. They are called “Buscamas,” Bus meaning bus and cama meaning bed. So, though these buses tend to be anywhere from about 10-14 C (aka FREEZING), they are super comfortable, with footrests and seats that recline almost horizontally. Very posh. I was somewhat puzzled when I saw people entering the bus with thick blankets and wool sweaters, beanies, scarves, maybe some mittens… but when the temperature gauge read -12 C on the last bus we were on, I felt much more envious than confused towards the people bundled up in their winter gear (this temperature reading is not a lie, though I am fairly certain that the thermometer was poorly calibrated). On the buscamas, they also tend to play either very vulgar or violent movies for your enjoyment until maybe 1 AM and then again starting at about 5 or 6 AM, but in general, the trips are quite pleasant. So we rode the night away, the first bus of many to come, and arrived in Caracas at around 6 AM.
Caracas is one of those places that is just so notoriously dangerous that I have made a point to just avoid it altogether when at all possible (note: creepy recent NYT article about grave robbers in Caracas). On our short taxi drive from the bus terminal we saw a body under a tarp, someone apparently killed in a recent car accident. The danger and political turmoil noted, I also think that it is a very dynamic, interesting city with a LOT of culture and complicated politics. In Caracas, we were fortunate to receive wonderful hospitality from a couple that works for the embassy. We rode the Teleferico, a really awesome cable car that takes you to the top of the tallest nearby mountain. At the top of the mountain you find many strange things, like people dressed as fairies, strange candies, LOTS of fruit and whipped cream, chocolate, and most importantly some stunning views of the city.
Caracas is a hugely populated city crammed into a single mountain valley, the city “planning” is absolutely horrendous, and from way up high you can just see the chaos manifested in the architecture. Buildings apparently stacked one on top of the other on top of taller buildings next to skyscrapers behind abandoned warehouses in front of mud shacks stacked 6 tall surrounded by ghettos of tin roofs. Complete disorder and poorly constructed buildings. The city is really quite a sight, the poverty is inescapably apparent, as is the fear people feel towards authorities there. On our way home, as Zach and I sat in a little restaurant on the side of the street eating bland bowls of chicken soup, every so often, someone would shout something about the police and everyone would go running behind cars, looking for shelter, or at least back up against some sort of building. A moment later, 5 or 6 motorcycles with cops on them would come zooming through the neighborhood, and once they passed everything would return to normal. Very different from the world that I am used to.
Anyways, we had a lovely night of good company, Lebanese food, and belly dancing in Caracas, and our friends very graciously took us to the airport the next morning to send us off on our next leg of the trip. We flew to Puerto Ordaz, the city where the two biggest rivers in Venezuela come together, the Orinoco River and the Caroni River. There were some spectacular waterfalls, unbelievable parks, and we had our first sighting of an animal that we had never seen before. We are still not entirely sure what it is, but definitely some sort of huge rodent capybara like thing. See for yourself…
After spending the day lounging in parks, we established with our taxi driver as a meeting place the largest centro commercial (read: mall) that I have seen to date in Venezuela. The first reason why this was a mistake: there were SO MANY PEOPLE! How does one go about finding a solitary taxi driver? The second reason: Malls are mostly just overwhelming for me, and Latin American malls even worse…. Anyways, we entertained ourselves by watching the signs that rolled independently down the hallways and people watching. After hours of entertaining ourselves, tracking down missing taxi drivers, and running around the city, we arrived at our next Buscama, where we kicked back, relaxed, and enjoyed the ride.
… Part 2, plus pictures, to come… I post this now only to satisfy my most demanding readers. Watch for the rest. I’ll try to put it up asap.
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