On the way out

Ok, top 10 things I will miss about Venezuela:

1. The people
2. 30 cent ice cream cones
3. Getting a little cup of coffee every time I visit a house
4. Wishing that gas cost 12 cents a gallon everywhere
5. The people
6. Bootleg DVD´s
7. Fried Plaintains
8. Speaking Spanish, sometimes
9. Being of above average height
10. Venezulanas

Top 10 things I won´t miss:

1. Flies, they´re everywhere
2. Arepas, duh.
3. Copious amounts of worthless change
4. Waiting for public transportation
5. Arepas
6. Walking past the cereal /chocolate milk powder aisle to get to the empty milk aisle
7. Crappy beer. I mean really crappy.
8. Over-enthusiastic car horn users
9. Music that features accordians
10. Farming

I´ve got two days left, then I´m out of here. Its been a great experience, but now that I know I´m leaving I´m really looking forward to being back in the states. Besides the obvious things like seeing my family/friends/dog, football, the english language, the holidays, and non fried-foods, there are a few other things that I´ve found myself looking forward to such as rugs/carpets, traffic laws, cracklin´oat bran, and reliable electical power.

As much as I´ve enjoyed Venezuela, I feel like I´ve gained a much greater appreciation for the U.S. I´ve had the same feeling in other countries as well, but this is the first time I´ve gotten to know the ins and outs of a normal local´s life well enough to spot the more subtle differences between countries. Like how much more difficult it is not only for people here to afford a university education, but how much more difficult it is to physically get to the university every day and how much harder it must be to learn from the limited materials and ill-equipped teachers. Or how much faster and better a damaged road gets repaired in the states, or just the lack of parks and ball-fields for kids to play in. I guess nowhere is perfect, but America is a damn fine place to live.

Ok, that´s it from Venezuela, see you soon.

I didn´t get my continental breakfast!

So I recently returned to Carorita from a little jaunt to the coast. That’s right, a jaunt. Anyhow, maybe little is the wrong adjective to use, as I just realized that I rode for varying lengths of time on 19 different public transportation vehicles, 1 private truck, and a boat. Basically I made a big loop that went along a good portion of the eastern/northern coast. I visited both places that I had wanted to see before I leave, Parque Nacional Morrocoy and Los Medanos de Coro. Morrocoy is a national park along the coast that includes a bunch of cays that you can spend the day on. It’s very pretty and supposedly there is decent snorkeling and diving, although I think I was on the wrong cay. Los Medanos (the dunes) are right outside the town of Coro on the neck of the odd looking peninsula on Venezuela´s northern coast. It’s a miniature desert; nothing but giant 75 foot sand dunes as far as you can see. I've never visited the Sahara, but I did see the movie (and Flight of the Phoenix), so I feel qualified to say that being in the medanos probably feels like being in the Sahara. So I saw what I wanted to see and in that regard the trip was a success.

You know how they say there are two sides to every story? Well here is the other side to this one. I divulge this tale knowing full well that if anyone actually reads this then I will be made fun of probably for forever. But I'm in a generous mood and am willing to sacrifice my pride for the sake of humor. Ok, here goes.

On the last bus ride of the first day of my trip I was sitting behind a guy who seemed to me like a foreigner. I mean, he had a blonde euro faux-hawk haircut and a big backpack. Plus, I’d noticed him looking at me earlier and thought I’d detected one of those nods you give other foreigners when you’re traveling. So we began to chat but it turns out he is Venezuelan after all and lives in the town to which I am headed. (Side note: I guess that there are 9 ± 8 Americans in Venezuela) I should have known something was up when I spotted the diamond stud in the side of his nose…red flag 1. Anyways, the bus actually only passes by the turn to the town, so this guy Jeshua (who will be hereto after referred to as Whaley in an act of long overdue blog vengeance), myself, and several other people end up waiting together to catch a ride the rest of the way. Even though I had left my house at 6:30 in the morning, it was getting dark at this time. Ok, so as we’re waiting, Whaley offers for me to stay at his house, I’ll call that red flag 2. I'm not a complete moron, so I told him thanks but no thanks. After a while, a truck stops and picks us up and heads towards town. After it stops and lets us off Whaley offers to lead me to a phone so I can call a posada. When I describe my whereabouts to the guy who answers the phone at the posada (which was full anyway), he tells me that I am in fact nowhere close….turns out I'm not even really in the town. I was under the impression that Whaley lives in town, most likely because that is what he had told me. But really he lives in a neighborhood a mile or two outside of the town itself…the part of town with things like hotels and posadas. It reminds of that part in The Wedding Singer….thing’s that could have been brought to my attention yesterday!

So by now it’s completely dark outside and I wouldn’t know how to get to a posada even if I had one to get to. At the same time, there’s this shirtless (red flag 3, he took off his shirt on the pretense of the warm weather) stranger Whaley waiting outside who has offered to let me stay at his place. Obviously this wasn’t an ideal situation, but I was pretty much out of options. So it turns out I am a complete moron after all….Ok, thanks for the offer weirdo I’ll stay at your place. So on the short walk between the phone place and his house, he asks me if I have any kids or a girlfriend. My gaydar was getting a pretty strong signal so I lied and said I have two girlfriends. I repeated the question to him and was met with the reply, ¨No, yo soy gay¨. At this point I deem that the look I caught him giving me in the bus was in fact red flag 1, I just hadn’t realized it. I like to think of myself as pretty open-minded, I mean I'm not homophobic or anything. In fact somebody’s sexual orientation really is of no concern to me in almost all circumstances….unfortunately for me, spending the night in a gay stranger’s house is an exception.

Well, Whaley lives with his 50 year old godfather Franco whose heterosexuality was confirmed when I spotted the nudie calendar in the bathroom, which I was quite relieved to see. Apparently the weather was still a bit warm for Whaley´s liking, because when I come out of the bathroom he has taken off his jeans in the middle of the den and is standing there in nothing but some tiny waaay-too-tight sky blue skivvies. Who does that!? So to recap so far, I've somehow ended up in the den of a gay nearly naked stranger’s house in Venezuela. ¿How did this happen?

Well, Franco and Whaley gave me some (what else?) arepas for dinner, gave me some advice about the beaches, and the three of us ended up talking politics for a couple of hours. One weird moment (ok, the whole thing was weird, but this was especially creepy) was when Whaley handed me a magazine that I think featured some clothes that he had designed. I looked at it for about 2 seconds before I saw, and you can’t make this up, a cartoon of Bart doing Millhouse. Turns out it was a magazine about being gay. Soon after, he gave me a bottle of coca oil and recommended that I rub myself down with it for protection from mosquitoes. Sometimes in a different country it’s hard to distinguish odd behavior from cultural differences….this was not one of those times. That guy was freaking weird.

So after a while I went into the room they had given me to go to sleep. To make up for Whaley’s lack of appropriate clothing, I slept fully clothed. To borrow a quote from that blog that I just read courtesy of the real Whaley, I figured pants were a ¨slightly better deterrent against ass rapery¨ (sorry to be uncouth, but this was a genuine concern of mine at the time). At about 3 a.m. I woke up because I heard a noise. It was the noise of a mattress being dropped onto the ground next to the bed. It was Whaley and in that moment I was sincerely frightened that he was in the same room as me. It was storming outside, and Whaley told me a tale about how his room gets flooded when it rains so he came to sleep on the floor in my room. Somehow in my sleep-shrouded mind this made a bit of sense at the time, although now I realize that this is obviously a ridiculous excuse. I mean, does it fill with 3 feet of water, enough to get you wet on top of the bed? What about one of the other rooms in the house? You’re telling me the only dry spot is the one closest to me?

I was pretty freaked out, and certainly in no mood for sleep. So at about 5:30, as soon as I could see light in the sky, I got my stuff, wrote a lame note, snuck out of the house, and eventually found the safety of a real town. Gracias a Dios, everything turned out fine.

It’s not really a great story to have in the old repertoire. I mean, if I'm ever playing a game of Never Have I Ever, and somebody says ¨never have I ever pillow talked to a nearly naked oiled up flamboyantly gay guy¨, I will be obligated to take a drink. You never know, it could happen.

Ok, that’s enough for now. I could write more, but you readers probably have something better to do. I’ll keep my blog points for a later entry. Chau.

Winding down...

Well, its been awhile, and I figure its time for an update. Its hard to believe that I´ve only got a few weeks left in Venezuela. Things have been tranquilo lately for the most part. Oh my gosh, I´m watching the replan of the Auburn v. LSU game right now and Jerraud Powers almost just took that fumble to the house, that was awesome I´m about to cry. Ok, back to Venezuela. One day last week some local guys had stacked a truck high with boxes of cabbage that they had just cut. They were on a dirt road that goes (TD Carl Stewart, war damn!) through some of the fields. Now, the fields are really steep, I´d guess they´re at least 45 degrees. And because in the mountains it rains a lot, these dirt roads stay pretty soft. Well, part of the road gave way and the truck rolled down the hill, killing one guy. It was a really terrible accident. The pictures in the paper the next day were pretty graphic, its just another one of those little cultural differences.

On a more positive note, I went to my first baptism celebration recently. (Another positive note: Auburn´s wide receiver play) I don´t know about you, but I can´t think of a better reason to have 100 drunks at your house than the dedication of a baby to God. In fact, I´m not really sure the party had anything to do with a baptism. I mean, somebody mentioned something to that effect, but it could have been another game of ¨mess with the gringo¨. Which reminds me, my friend Alfonso convinced me that he and his sister-in-law have a one year old son together….Alfonso does not in fact have any children. Anyways, it was a good time. Also, my friend Coro came home from school this past weekend, so it was good to hang out with her again. (side note: congratulations to Quentin Groves).

I realize this blog entry isn´t full of excitement…..so if you´re reading this in hopes of living vicariously through my indiana jones adventures, I owe you an apology. But this is entry is more indicative of life in Carorita. What it lacks in excitement it makes up for in quality time with quality people. I´d be lying if I said I was never bored here, but at the same time I wouldn´t trade the experience for anything. That being said, having a lot of free time is condusive to being pensive, so here´s some blog points:

• Last week as I was returning from Valera, I was again delayed in Mendoza (see previous blog entry). There was a funeral going on, and I guess the procedure is for there to be a slow town-sized procession up the middle of the highway for a mile. The result of this is the continuous honking of hundreds of delayed people. This is another one of those subtle cultural differences. I don´t know about you, but I´d rather the predominant emotion at my funeral be something other than irritation.
• Has anybody else noticed how ugly LSU strong safety Craig Steltz is? I hope for his sake that ESPN just has a bad picture of him.
• Wendy´s frosty´s are equally delicious no matter where they are eaten.
• Did you know that Enrique Iglesias sometimos records the song in both English and Spanish? Man, what a talent…

Ok, I´m taking a trip to the coast soon so check back for pictures and whatnot.

Mérida y Los Llanos

Sorry I haven´t written in awhile, but I have been on a little vacation. Can I call it that? I mean, can you take a vacation from what is in a way already a vacation? Either way, I was out of town.

I took a trip to Mérida and to Los Llanos (¨the plains) for a week. I saw some really cool things and met some really nice people. Mérida draws a lot of foreign tourists as a sort of base for a lot* of different outdoor activities. (*as this is Venezuela, ¨a lot¨ is a relative term ; it would probably be better to say that Mérida draws some foreigners period) It also has the worlds highest cable car, which unfortunately was closed. But I enjoyed the town itself and spent one day watching a cool mountain bike/motorcycle/paragliding competition.

After two days in Mérida, I left with a tour to Los Llanos. The crew consisted of 4 Germans, 3 Basques (apparently very different from Spaniards, which is what it says on their passports), 2 French (C'est la vie!), and 1 American (that would be me). It was a good trip with good people and good food. We went rafting, rode horses through the plains, went fishing for piranhas, swam in a river with freshwater dolphins, and saw a ton of cool animals and birds. The anteater is by far the strangest animal I´ve ever seen not on tv, its got this huge fat tail and a really long skinny snout, and its tongue is at least a foot long. I took lots of pictures, you can see them by clicking on the picture below.

Mérida and Los Llanos

Here´s some blog points:

• According to the World Tourism Organization, Americans receive on average 13 vacation days per year. In contrast, Italians recieve 42 days, Germans 35 days, and Canadians 26 days. America is a wonderful place to live, but I´ve got to say that I think those other folks might be on to something. My German friend Leo suggested that maybe this explains why he never meets American travelers on his trips.
• This past weekend was significant for several reasons. One, Auburn won. Two, the first day of October means that I´m 75% through with the year of running every single day. Three, I went 4 days in a row without eating an arepa. ¡Bien hecho!
• I´m not sure if its a political party, or somebody´s initials, or another type of organization, but somebody is spraypainting the acronym F.A.R.T. on rocks and walls and such in a town between here and Mérida.
• What was the most popular song that was played in the bar one night in Mérida? Not a salsa song, or that 1 damn reggaeton song that I hear 3 times a day......no, it was easily a 50 Cent song.
• If you´re ever sick, call me and I´ll let you borrow my DVD with all 4 Die Hard movies. Trust me, a big dose of John McClane is the best medicine.

It shouldn´t be this difficult...

So yesterday I went to Valera to get a few things. I got a late start because I was supposed to go with Francisco at 11, but at 10:53 he decided he couldn´t make it. So, I set out by myself.

Anyways, to get there from Carorita requires catching a transport jeep to La Puerta and then a van or bus for Valera. It’s pretty simple, but it takes about an hour and a half with all the stops. After I ran my errands and visited the internet café in Valera, I headed back home.

Every time I’ve made the trip from Valera I’ve gotten on a van that then drove straight to La Puerta. So when the van pulled into a town, I assumed that it was La Puerta. This was confirmed when I saw the town square next to the church and police stations. As it is most convenient for me to get off at the last stop in La Puerta, I stayed put in my seat. Of course, then the driver proceeded to steer the van back onto the highway and head straight out of town. I was a little confused, and by the time I got him to stop and let me off we had gone at least a mile up the hill. So I began to hoof it back down.

So 30 minutes later, I walk into the town square in La Puerta. Only, it looks a little different. That’s because it is the wrong town. It´s Mendoza, which I´m guessing had the same city planner as La Puerta. At this point I started to curse. So I figured the only thing I can do is turn around and start walking in the direction I just came from and hope that another transport van drives by and picks me up. An hour later, at least 10 of them have driven by, but the problem is that none of them have picked me up. Are they full? Not all of them. Do they hate gringos? Maybe. Is giving the thumbs-up hitch-hiking sign and waving your arms really offensive in Venezuela? It´s entirely possible.

So at this point its pretty dark, I´ve nearly been hit by at least 5 cars, I´m pretty sure I´m not even close to La Puerta yet, I´ve got flip-flop blisters between my toes, and I´ve already missed the last transport up to Carorita. Oh, and at one point a little dog attacked me.

Finally a truck responds to my waving and slows down. I ran up and saw a middle aged guy with his family. I ask him if he can drive me to La Puerta, and he responds, in perfect English, ¨Of course, no problem!¨. He is exactly the 4^th Venezuelan that I have met who speaks English. I hop in the back and after 10 minutes at 60 mph have confirmed my suspicion that I was not even close to La Puerta. Then, when I get to the transport stop in La Puerta, I see a man whom I had met before who also happens to be going up to Carorita. He tells me there is another kind of transportation that will take us, which turns out to be I think an old army truck.

Anyways, I made it home. The best part was when I explained what happened and Emilio made me set it out.

I’m not sure yet if this affects my plans to take a long and complicated trip to the coast by myself. I mean, how hard can it be?

More Photos

Hola. I was able to post some new photos today when I was in Valera....check them out through the link on the right.

This week Adones and his wife Patricia returned to the house with their 4 year old Santiago and their newborn Isabela. There are now 12 people living in the house, and Auxi is pregnant with number 13. I love having the new folks around, especially Santiago. It just doesn´t get old watching him slug Stewart.

There was a request for more details concerning the food, women, and pets. Well the food is pretty good. I´d say at least 70% of what goes into my mouth is an arepa (The law of diminishing returns does apply here....but when in Rome....). Besides that there is lots of rice, plaintains, chicken, potatoes and other hardy stuffs. Not a lot of salads. (a bit surprising given most people make their living farming lettuce, spinach, and cabbage) My favorite thing is a bowl of corn flakes with powdered milk and previously boiled water. Also, the hamburgers are good, but it always throws me off when they ask if I want a meat or a chicken hamburger.....why would I order a hamburger if I wanted a chicken sandwich?

There are tons of dogs around. At our house we have a german shepard and a rottweiler who like to fight each other, so they have to stay penned up separately....definitely not part of the family. But other people treat their dogs like we do in the states, only they tend to keep the dogs outside. My favorite dog is called Beethoven....i think he got into a fight last year so now one of his ears is always flopped over like a lab´s and the other sticks up like a boxer´s.

In other news:

• It seems to be pretty funny for the locals every morning when I go jogging. I don´t think they do much of this here, plus the road is really steep and I´m always wheezing, so I get lots of ¨that gringo is strange¨looks. (For those that aren´t aware, I´m running at least a mile a day for 2007 to raise money for my friends at Orphanage on the Rock in Haiti....if you want to contribute, let me know!) But yesterday, about halfway up the hill, I came upon a couple of local guys. One of them (we didn´t exchange pleasantries) was still passed out in the muddy dirt road at about 10. The other guy, Nelson, had removed his friend´s watch and seemed to be under the impression that it was a cell-phone. I´m not sure who he was speaking to on the watch, but I ended up having a nice conversation with him/her as well.
• I will always laugh when somebody meets Stewart and says, ¨¡oh, Estuart Little.....el ratón!¨
• There´s probably not a better value out there than a dvd including 5 Chuck Norris movies for the equivalent of $2.30.
  
• One advantage of having a really old car is that if you are turning around, and there is a wall of earth behind you, you can just back up until you bump it....no problems.
  

Ok, hope everyone is well. Until later....

-Coop

1-0!

So the college football season started a few days late down here, on Monday. That was when Stew and I were able to get to Valera to watch the first Auburn game on the internet. We were lucky to get a ride in the back of a friend’s pickup truck for the hour-long drive. At the time Stew remarked that it is a different way to get to the game, although now I realize that traveling via truck bed isn’t that unusual in Alabama. Anyways, at least watching the game in an internet café is a different way to watch. The game had been over for 2 days, but I had no idea who had won. I managed to get the game playing even though I was shielding 95% of the screen so as not to accidentally see the score. About 10 seconds later, the final score scrolled across the bottom of my screen. I spent the next three hours pretending to be really tense for Stew’s sake. Even though the surprise was ruined, I was really glad to be able to watch the game. I’m also glad to be in a place where I don’t have to hear what I can only assume is a ridiculous amount of over-optimism by the bama fans.

Ok, on to the more important stuff.

• I never thought I’d see it, but it is possible for a man to wear a white denim jacket and be a cool guy.

• Every time someone here wants to get on a public transportation vehicle, they first open the door and peer inside as if they are asking themselves, “is this thing full already?”. Then, every single time, they crawl in. I understand them getting in, but what’s with the curious gaze? Come on people, you’re not fooling anyone.

• Acceptable going-out attire for guys here includes capris, a sweatshirt, and a fannypack in case the pockets of the capris aren’t large enough. Also acceptable is a nice shirt tucked into adidas soccer shorts.
  

• One day I tried to take a shortcut from my friend Alexandro’s house back to my house. Within those 150 yards, I was attacked by one dog that fortunately was chained up, I fell in the mud, and then I was attacked by another dog who was also tied up. Thanks to everyone who was pointing and laughing.
  

• The other night I was sitting around talking with some friends when one girl made some kind of dumb comment. Then, without any hesitation, another girl looked at her and told her to set it out. At least now I know that I’m giving something back to the people here.
  

Ok, thanks for reading, I´ll write again soon.

-Coop-