Venezuela – Part Two

(Originally posted August 2010)

Greeting from the Houston International Airport where I am sitting out a five hour layover waiting for the last leg of the journey back to Minneapolis. I’m currently enjoying a full size cup of coffee rather than the shot glass sized plastic cups I’ve been downing the past few weeks.

My last days in Mérida were filled with more visits with old friends and coffee with my old professor, Malena. This week I also went shopping at Mercado Principal to bring a little bit of Venezuela back to the new apartment in Minneapolis.  Francisco, Elimar and I wandered down to the Plaza de las Heroinas.  We looked at all the artesano’s work, bought some earrings and ate obleas. Obleas are a sweet treat often sold from a cart in a park or a plaza. Two big wafers (picture enormous hosts from church) are sandwiched together with a caramel like glaze with more glaze on the top wafer covered with chocolate or tutti-frutti sprinkles, coconut or peanut pieces. Yum. Again this week, the rumba continued to Garage, Racing, Poco Loco, Gradas, El Hoyo de Queque and even a night out at the bowling alley (which culminated with Francisco and I cooking arepas at 5:00am).

A “new” addition to merideño transportation is the long awaited “Trolebus.” It’s been under construction for four years and is only half-way completed.  Luckily, the part that is finished provided free transportation to Carmen Luisa’s house. (Thanks, Chávez) Remember to check the time before waiting for the trolley, in true Venezuelan style, the trolley takes a 4 hour lunch break.

On Sunday afternoon, I said my goodbyes to Eduardo and Carmen Luisa’s family. At 8:00, Eduardo, Chino and I boarded a double decker “bus cama” rumbo a Choroní (the beach). We bundled up in sweaters, hats and scarves for the chilly journey through the night on the overly air conditioned bus and woke up at the bus terminal in Maracay, a steamy 90 degrees.

The bus from Maracay to the beach town of Choroní is always quite the adventure. Imagine a brightly painted, broken down school bus with extra speakers blasting reggaeton and salsa. Leaving Maracay the bus starts a series of hairpin turns leaving the passengers looking out the window to a view of a sharp drop off or a close up of the side of the mountain. One hopes that driver has had his coffee…and isn’t drinking like half his passengers. Around each blind curve, the driver blasts the horn to warn oncoming traffic as only one vehicle can pass through at time in most sections of the highway. The bus creeps up and up until the air cools and the clouds seep into the windows. Then the bus points downward and the road follows switch backs lower and lower until it reaches sea level in Puerto Colombia/Choroní.

Rain, lightning and thunder come over the mountains shortly after our arrival at the beach. We take cover under some palm trees and an umbrella and enjoy the ocean as if the raindrops were rays of sunshine. Fortunately, the rest of our beach days are full on sunshine.

In the evening after showering the salt water out of our hair and the sand from between our toes, we head to the malecón for a bite to eat. I had a hot dog (standard with French fries and mayo on top) and Chino and Eduardo have hamburgers (standard with a fried egg, of course).

Listening to the waves and car speakers of local residents and vacationers, we pass through the work of local artesanos and relax on the boardwalk. Walking down the town street, we pass a small plaza where a group of local musicians are heating drums over a small fire of cardboard. We took a seat on the concrete bench. Tambores are about to begin. We listen to song after song of the call and response of the singer and the rhythmic beating of the drums. Adults and kids start to dance around in circles to the music.

We spent the week at the beach listening to music, drinking cold beverages and playing in the waves. After several relaxing days, Eduardo had to return to work in Mérida and Chino and I continued on to Caracas.  Back up and down the mountain to the bus terminal of Maracay. We find a breaking down, rusty old bus with few working windows going to Caracas….then we learn that we can take the “executive” bus for an extra 30 cents. We choose to ride in style with AC (way more than necessary), curtains, reclining seats and added security (a hand-held camcorder records everyone’s faces before leaving the terminal).

In Caracas we are suddenly inundated with the crowds of hurried caraqueños scurrying in every direction. We leave La Bandera Terminal, walk two blocks in the rain to the metro.  Crowded is an understatement to describe the pushing and shoving to get an inch of standing room on the subway during rush hour. Chino and I manage to board two trains with backpacks and a suitcase, not an easy task. Surfacing at El Capitolio, we wait in line for 40 minutes for a bus to La Guaria.  During the hour long ride the woman at my side tells me all about Caracas and her feelings toward their current leader. She whispers “Chavez” whenever she says his name so those around us might not realize she’s bashing the president. I don’t think she was fooling anyone but her feelings of the censorship regarding speaking out against the government were clear. By the end of the journey to La Guaria she gave me a hug and a kiss and invited me to her house anytime. Despite my disinterest in the enormous city, distaste for the stressed out transportation system and the distrust everyone insists I should have in the city; Caracas, like Merida and the rest of Venezuela, is filled with some of the warmest and more welcoming folks around.

It’s been a great three weeks and I can’t believe it has been four years since I was last in Venezuela.  I have so much love for my Venezuelan friends and family. I promise that it won’t be long before I am back again.  Chau.