La Transición

We are going through somewhat of a transition between being visitors and residents, going from vacation to life. A girl in our group left the country two days ago due to her brother being hospitalized from a car accident involving the ice storm in Minnesota. Although it is clearly going to be difficult for her to leave and hard for us to see someone leave with whom we had started to become close and were looking forward to spending the semester, I think we have managed to turn it into something positive, a renewal of purpose, a reminder why we are here and what we came to do. A few of our cultural differences have kind of come to a head, mostly conduct on the Trolebus. In the States, when the front of the bus is full, people move back to make space for others getting on the bus. However, people here will stay put and force others to pack in and often wait for the next Trolebus, even though there is room enough in the back to do a little salsa dancing. Up until now, we have just put in our headphones and ignored it, but I think we will start trying to find a way to politely ask others to move back. I suppose this is part of the learning process. Anyway, we are heading to some beaches in the Caribbean this weekend, looking forward to it! 

Cointa

I thought it would be good to spend some time writing about Cointa, with whom I will be living for the next few months. She is a good Catholic woman about five feet tall, full of energy and quick with an animated lecture about the dangers of drinking beer or something of the sort, which we tend to heed, albeit with a grain of salt. I had a sore throat the other day (probably from the automobile fumes I inhale any time I walk outside), and she explained to me how the sickness entered through my feet since I had not been wearing shoes in the house. She first made me some Flora de Jamaica tea and then had me gargle warm water with lemon and salt, which ended up working very well. She is full of those ideas/warnings/remedies one picks up with experience. Earlier today, we asked her if she liked the Chinese food in Mérida (after Chavez made an oil deal with Hu Jintao in 2005, Venezuela has seen an influx of Chinese), and she responded, “Cuando un Chino se muere, lo comen” (When a Chinaman dies, they eat him). We had also asked about where to buy a frisbee in town and she responded, “Los venden los Chinos, pero fabrican cosas malas.” (The Chinese sell them, but they manufacture bad things). Clearly jokes with just an ounce of lighthearted racism. She greets us every morning with “¡El desayuno!” (Breakfast!) and “¿Cómo amanecieron?” (How did you wake up?). Before every meal she will say “Buen provecho” (more or less Bon Apetít), asking us if we would like more, explaining the details of what she has made for us. Her Spanish is very lively, and she’ll frequently say things like Ayyyyyyy! Que chico! She is a fairly good resource regarding where to find places and things in Mérida, but she does not quite know how to use a map, so she usually gives us verbal instructions. After dinner, we typically sit around for a while chatting and teaching her English words while she teaches us some Spanish ones; she speaks virtually no English, but is interested in learning. Earlier this evening, we had some tea and talked about the recent news about a fire in a Discoteca Brasileña (¡que lástima!), and she launched into a speech about the dangers of going to bars and clubs. We also talked about bull fighting as the Carnaval is coming up next week. She is very against the slaughter of the bulls, and I have to say I agree. Although I have not yet witnessed a bullfight, I do not really see the sport in the whole thing. The other day her godchildren visited from Caracas, and when they showed up outside the apartment, Cointa lowered the keys down from the top floor in a bucket, yelling in rapid Spanish the whole time. The radio was playing some merengue so I had the chance to do a little dancing with Cointa. She is an ardent Anti-Chavista and will frequently trash talk him (I don't want to speak too soon, but from everything I have observed and learned thus far, I am already of the Anti-Chavez sentiment myself). Every time we go out for a night, she’ll warn us about the Venezuelan girls, saying how crazy they are and how they just want our money. She is really great old lady, the classic caring Latin American woman, and I am very glad to have landed a spot in her home this semester.

Páramo y la primera semana en Mérida

 

Although today is only our sixth day here, it seems like much longer. I lack a phone, but otherwise we are pretty acostumbrados to Mérida. I have had two of my five classes: Phonetics, Latin American Politics, Latin American Civilization, Business Spanish, and Botany in the Andes (in English). Wednesday night we checked out a spot near our apartment known as La Candelaria, which is mall-like place with a food court and a bar upstairs called El Alambique (The Still). Outside is La Plaza Bolívar, of which every town in Venezuela has at least one. During the day on Thursday, I went on my first run. A friend and I ran to a pool near Venusa, which is unfortunately only open to students of La Universidad de los Andes. However, we found a large market nearby with all types of fruit. The aguacates (avocados) here are about two or three times the size of those in the states and don't have the bumpy outside, but taste mostly the same. I still had a bit of energy left so I ran back to our apartment, which I think did more harm than good since I was running on a main road inhaling exhaust. In the future I will probably run either at a softball stadium near Venusa or mountain paths once our local guide shows us the best routes. I would live in this city in a heartbeat if it weren't for the congestion and pollution caused by the artificially low gas prices (~$.06 per gallon at the official exchange rate). Otherwise, no complaints! That night we met the Venezuelans who are learning English at Venusa and learned how to dance the salsa. I am more of a fan of the merengue since it is quite a bit easier, but the salsa is still pretty fun. Friday during the day (we don't have classes on Fridays) we took a trip to the Páramo (desert), which is an area about three hours bus ride into the mountains. We stopped at a touristy restaurant that had a playground in back with monkey cages. One of the monkeys was out of his cage and put on a little show for us; we gave him a little peanut butter. We enjoyed a fantastic lunch at a fancy restaurant near Mucuchies, where I had the trout and a friend and I shared a bottle of Vino de Mora (blackberry wine), made in Mérida. I feel bad often because we are essentially able to live like kings due to the exchange rate, while the Venezuelans are just scraping by. After lunch, we went to a national park called Parque Nacional Sierra la Nevada, which I would describe as the North Rim of the Grand Canyon meets Glacier National Park, where I swam in a stream briefly. Friday night we headed back to El Hoyo del Queque with the intention of testing our salsa skills. However, they only played dubstep, third wave ska, hardcore, and then classic rock, in that order, so we did not really have to step out of our comfort zone. It was fun to have an opportunity to do a little skanking, which the Venezuelans did not recognize.The bars tend to play one genre for a while and then move on to another. One type of music that I was surprised to hear quite a bit around Mérida is American pop from the 90's. The music here is extremely pleasant and fits the ambiance very well. They play quite a bit of reggaeton, salsa, and traditional Venezuelan music on the cuatro. Everything from shopping to a ride on the bus is made infinitely more lively by the great tunes. On the bus ride into the Andes, the driver was playing pretty typical Latin American music and I had one of those "Wow I'm in Venezuela!" moments. I forget every once in a while since I already feel at home.  Saturday during the day we checked out El Mercado Principal, which is a mall where people sell mostly handmade items. I picked up a purple striped shirt handmade in Ecuador. Later on, we met up with a Venezolana and hung out at a cafe. Last night, we headed to a bar called El Café Mojitos for a girl's twenty first birthday, where I had my first Mojito, as well as a pretty tasty Piña Colada. Today we made an adventure over to a sports complex with quite a few gyms, tennis courts, and a pool, which we jumped in briefly despite the fact that it is only for "training". We're thinking about finding some used rackets in town and playing some tennis. We stumbled upon an Italian restaurant close by, where we met a woman from New York living with her Venezuelan husband, who studied at a Presbyterian college in Tennessee while Venezuela was ruled by a dictator. Right now I am at another mall-like place called El Millenium using the internet. Just a few random observations in no particular order: It's really interesting to see the different skin colors, which vary from European white to the native brown and everything in between. La herencia española truly is an integral part of Latin America, much more than la herencia Inglés is in the United States. I have learned to close doors very quietly; the Venezuelans hate it when people slam doors. Although the streets and buildings tend to be dirty and dilapidated, inside spot are much nicer, muy parecidos of America.There is a strange contrast of luxury in the midst of hardship. The houses all have walls with broken glass affixed to the top, sometimes barbed wire or an electric fence. Also, "inside" is a somewhat relative term; many places will be sheltered but open to the outside since it is 70-80 degrees year round. I still have yet to pick up a sense of temperature in Celsius; my host mom will say "Está treinta grados hoy; hace mucho calor!" My Spanish is improving dramatically; I carry around a little notebook to write down the new words I learn. In the past couple days I have learned about six different ways of saying "fireworks" since there are constant fireworks during the evening due to a celebration of the new year. The word chévere roughly means "cool", but the Venezuelans use it for pretty much everything. How are you? Chévere. The aguacates are on sale at the Garzón (kind of like Walmart). Chévere. My sister is in town for the weekend. Chévere. You get the picture. I also picked up the phrase, "Como vaya viniendo, vamos viendo," which is the equivalent of "let's play it by ear." A direct translation would be something like "As it may come, we see." The hardest part for me is understanding the Venezuelans; they typically don't pronounce the "s" at the end of most words, so Venezuelan Spanish is much more smooth and lyrical, but also more difficult to understand. The house above is not where I live; I saw it on a walk and liked the flowers. Above is my host mother with her umbrella. The politician advertised above was Chavez's opposition in the 2012 election. Most of the walls on the main road are painted with political ads. Typically the opposition's will be littered with graffiti, while those of the Chavistas are not defaced. Guess who the statue is! Hasta luego.

El Primer Día en Mérida

We woke up early yesterday morning for an orientation at 9AM. Cointa had made us each two sandwiches for breakfast composed of ham, mozzarella, tomatoes, and plenty of onions, as well as Papelón con Limón, a pretty tasty, traditional Venezuelan juice. Since sugar is not imported into Venezuela, Papelón is usually substituted. Like sugar, it comes from a cane plant, but is typically purchased as a molasses-colored liquid. At the orientation we learned the details of life in Mérida, including the academics, the homestay, and quite a few anecdotes of students who have gotten themselves in trouble. Lunch at Venusa was a zucchini soup, chicken, and potatoes. Venezuelan food so far has been phenomenal; it has a very characteristic smell and taste, which I think comes mostly from the onions that are included in most meals. After lunch the whole group took a walk to the park across the street. Everyone has been vibing really well so far; we seem to be on the same wavelength, although Spanish fluency varies quite a bit. A note about streets in Mérida- there is really no speed limit and red lights tend to be optional except during busy times. One needs to be extremely careful when crossing streets since motorcycles weave in and out of traffic and can come out of nowhere. We use the Tromerca (Trolley) to get to Venusa, which is essentially a long bus that runs on wheels and is powered by electricity.  It drives down a lane separated from normal traffic, is always packed, and has been free so far, although I don’t quite understand why. I suppose it is the oil dollars hard at work. After these times, we use busetas and taxis (a ride from Venusa to our place on El Calle Canónigo Uzcátegui costs about 40 Bolívares, which at our exchange rate comes out to about three dollars). The official exchange rate is 4.3 Bs. per dollar, although the parallel rate right now is about 15 Bs. to the dollar. This parallel rate arises because Chavez has restricted the amount of American dollars Venezuelans can have to about $500, so most people will pay more for American money. We are forbidden from exchanging at Venusa since the government will solder the door shut if they find out the organization is helping us break the law.Yesterday afternoon, we went on a tour of downtown Mérida, which is across the river from us. Mérida is a very long city nestled in a valley carved out by the Chama river, the most dangerous part of the city where most of the thugs hang out. According to the statistics, however, the University of Minnesota’s Minneapolis campus has a higher crime rate than Mérida. There has been one rape and no stabbings since they have been recording crime statistics. If you are held up, they will take your money and leave you alone. We live in the south part of the city, known as La Parroquia, downtown is in the north, and Venusa is in between. There are two main drags in the city, La Avenida Urdaneta and La Avenida de las Americas, which are on either sides of the river. We visited El Catedral de Mérida as well as La Universidad de los Andes, the second largest university in Venezuela. About every five feet downtown there is a statue of Simon Bolívar, who, if you haven’t already figured it out, is the hero of Venezuela and especially this town. Downtown pictures will have to wait; I forgot my SD card during the tour. It was a pretty cloudy day anyway, and I will undoubtedly be back there within the next few days. We finished the tour at a bar known as El Hoyo del Queque, which sells the usual beers (8 Bs. or about $.50), as well as a drink known as a Bomba (bomb). It costs around 60 Bs. and is a mixture of beer, tequila, vodka, and juice served in a bucket. Following the tour, we went home for a dinner of chicken, rice, and a creamy soup with broccoli and mushrooms, after which we gave Cointa our gifts and had a nice long conversation since we had been so rushed the night before. She is a wonderful Catholic woman, very Anti-Chavista, who worked as a purchaser for the municipal government until a change in leadership, and then at a school. Venezuelan Nativity scenes, which by American standards are pretty gaudy/kitschy with their flashing lights, are maintained well into January. Last night, Hector’s friend Bruce took us back to the Hoyo del Queque, which is full of lively salsa dancing at night. Hector has a small crew of locals who don’t technically work for Venusa, but are essentially in charge of introducing us to the city and organizing some recreation and trips outside of the city. Bruce has been driving us around in his bus and showed us some of his moves last night. His other friend Toto will be showing us some mountain paths this weekend, which could not be any sooner, as having the mountains nearby has me itching to climb them. At the bar, we shared a bomba and a cerveza or two, danced for a couple hours, and then headed home fairly early since we have class this morning at 10AM. So far I've been noticing many of the similarities between Venezuelans and Americans; we're pretty much people doing the same thing in different places. Above is the view from my bedroom window, as well as the shower. 

La Llegada

When I arrived in Miami, I spoke to the cab driver in English and it soon became clear that he did not speak a word of it.  This was the first time I was forced to speak Spanish, the first time I really needed to accommodate another’s language, and it was very hesitant. After the plane touched down in Caracas, however, we were surrounded. We first needed to speak with the immigration and customs agents, and after a four hour wait to be checked in to our connecting flight with ConViasa Airlines, we were ordering food and drinks, asking for wifi passwords etc. Even after just a few conversations, the words started flowing more naturally, quickly, and confidently. By no means were we able to hide our American-ness, as demonstrated by the stares received upon walking through the terminal. While enjoying a beer at an airport bar, we must have made it obvious that we were American students celebrating our first South American cervezas, as an old Venezuelan gentleman bought us a round and refused to let us return the favor. A note about Venezuelan beer: there are just a few kinds --Polar Ice, Zulia, and Solera Azul-- which all taste pretty much the same (similar to a Miller Lite), come in 8 oz. bottles, and are served ice cold. Indeed, while we were munching on some pizza later (we had been advised to stick with the pizza given past students’ reactions to the airport food), a boy around ten approached us and exclaimed, “You’re from the United States, right? Welcome to Venezuela!” We also ran into a couple of UST students and another group of Minnesotans around our age and exchanged pleasantries. The rest of the evening was spent waiting around in the airport, flying from Caracas to El Vigia, and then taking a bus to Mérida, which careened down a curvy mountain road at about 40 miles per hour. The group had been pretty lethargic all day since we were running on very little sleep (in my case none at all since I spent the last night bumming around the Miami airport), and had spent the day waiting in lines, sitting on planes, picking up luggage, and camping out on the airport floor. However, once we looked out the window and noticed the dark, looming figures of the Andes foothills, the energy started to build. Two hours later, we arrived at Venusa greeted by a group of eager host families. My roommates Mitchell and Andrew and I soon found Cointa, our host mother, who received us with a flurry of excited Spanish and introduced us to her friend who lives in the same apartment and would be housing other participants in the program. We arrived at her flat on the top floor of the building, known as the Residencia Azteca, and were briefly shown our rooms and showering arrangements as it was getting fairly late and Cointa needed to get to bed. As I was taking a quick shower, I glanced out the window and saw the city of Mérida laid out in front of me, a sea of lights scattered across the side of a mountain. It was breathtaking, even at night, and ignited an excitement within me to wake up early and see the city in the full light of day. There is an energetic sense of anticipation running through the group, everyone wondering what the next few months hold for us, or even the next day or two. My roommate Mitchell and I have made an agreement to only speak Spanish while at home (Cointa only speaks Spanish to us), which I think is somewhat ambitious, but definitely within our capacity. Even after just one day, my mind is flooded with Spanish words. We have been occasionally forgetting, but the other one will usually remember and set us back on the right track. Right now I am going to sleep to the pleasant sounds of grillos (little black insects that make an almost birdlike noise), dogs barking, and the occasional honk of a horn.

The above was somewhat of a stream of consciousness vomiting of thoughts from the previous 24 hours which I wrote last night in bed and posted this morning, since our apartment does not have wifi (thankfully). I apologize if there are any hyphen, colon, parentheses, or comma purists out there in the audience. The above is my set up at the homestay, delightfully simple in my opinion. 

Greyhounds, Gainesville, Gospel, & Gators

I said farewell to Brian early Thursday morning and embarked on a grueling bus adventure down to Florida. The trip became a bit more interesting after meeting a sassy great-grandmother from Chicago on her way down to Nashville to meet up with some family before heading to President Obama's inauguration. I learned that virtually every Southern town has a street named after Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and that I have no desire to spend any more time in Gary, Indianapolis, Louisville, or Atlanta. Needless to say, Aunt Elizabeth greeting me at the Gainesville Greyhound station was a refreshing sight. We began our visit with a walk at the Devil's Millhopper (a sinkhole near her place), some tasty homemade Coconut Curry Sweet-Potato Ginger soup, and a performance of The Amen Corner at the Actors' Warehouse with Elizabeth's good friend L'Tanya. Today we headed to the gym before enjoying some Almond Flour Pancakes topped with a mixture of yogurt, blueberries, raspberries, and mangoes. The afternoon was spent at Payne's Prairie checking out the gators and the view of the prairie from atop a 50' observation tower. We received a two-for-one deal at the UF student-frequented Mi Apá thanks to Elizabeth's membership at the local radio station 89.1, on which I later received a shout out courtesy of Elizabeth. Tomorrow we will probably make one more trip to the Millhopper before heading back to the Greyhound station. Many thanks to Elizabeth for her hospitality, gourmet food, great conversations, and many herbal supplements. I am very glad I spent the extra time heading down to Miami; I feel much more mentally prepared to go abroad. 

Farewell Minneapolis, hello Chicago

After a sandwich with Mom, I rolled out of Minneapolis around noon Tuesday and had a nice eight hour Megabus trip to think about how much I'll miss Minneapolis and all the great folks there. These feelings soon subsided as I arrived in Chicago, slowly transitioning into travel mode. I am staying two nights with my friend Brian on North Halsted in Boystown Chicago. Today we had a walk by the lakefront, ate a fantastic Reuben at the New Modern Grill on Halsted & Belmont (modern being the period; it's an old mom and pop diner), and wandered around downtown while Brian's friend Nick led us on the poor man's architecture tour. Although we disagreed on the merits of Art Deco-style ornamentation, we could all agree that Frank Gehry's Jay Pritzker Pavilion is one of the worst things to ever happen to Chicago and architecture in general. Above is the view from Brian's rear balcony; you can see the Red Line in the distance. 

I spent most of Monday running errands with Ziggy and packing my backpacks. My friend Charlie, who lived in Mérida in 2010, gave me quite a few gifts to bring along (see small orange/pink bag and poster) so I'm surprised that everything fit into two bags. I ended up skimping on clothes and shoes since I plan on finding some cool ones in South America. Special shout out to the folks at my old place on 8th Street for hanging out and documenting my last night in town.