Las Ultimas Semanas

On Saturday, we hiked the smaller Pan de Azúcar for the last time and then headed up to la Culata to rent a cabin with some friends. Twelve of us took a bus to the cabin we stayed at previously, which was unfortunately full for the night (they did not look remotely full; it was probably a case of not wanting a bunch of gringos hanging around). We found another one, which was also full (this place was an immense complex of cabins, but had a bunch of Maduro signs so that probably explains how they are “full”). On the third try, we found an amazing place for really cheap (~$4/person). We ate a bunch of fruit, grilled chicken kabobs, and cooked banana boats on the stove. This past week was spent checking off to-do list items like exchanging for the last time, buying a plane ticket from El Vigia to Caracas, and finishing the last of my academic requirements. I also went back to Francisco's place to get some of his music. We ended up sitting down for a few hours and he showed me almost his entire music library. I now have about 5GB of 90's Latin American acid jazz and plenty of other music to listen to. I am thoroughly enjoying my new homestay, especially my own room with a bathroom and internet. It would have been nice to switch about halfway through the semester in order to enjoy both the antics of Cointa and all the comforts of my new place. The host mom is a professor of literature at the University and an extremely nice woman. She is somewhat owl-like and walks around the house singing in a high-pitched (but pleasant) voice, and asks "Cómo le fue???" whenever we return home. She has a great patio outside where we can hang out and do homework. We are now in the midst of the rainy season, which is something I have never experienced. Sometime last week, it started raining one day after not having rained for probably months. Every day since, it has rained starting at about 3PM. Friday night we went back to the sushi restaurant to celebrate a friend’s birthday and to wrap up the semester. A couple friends even came up with high school yearbook-style awards for everyone; I received “least likely to be wearing a shirt” and “best person to be stuck on a desert island with.” Saturday we went on our second of two Venusa-organized day trips. This one was a trip to the Llano del Hato astronomical observatory in the páramo. Unfortunately, I could not focus as much as I would have liked to since I was pretty affected by the altitude and had to sit down at one point. Although a lot of the observatory is now somewhat of a museum, they have some pretty sophisticated telescopes, are credited with a few important discoveries, and work with quite a few other institutions worldwide. The fog on top of the hill was fantastic and I enjoyed the views almost as much as the observatory. I am starting to get really excited about returning to the states, being useful, and doing meaningful work again. 

Las Elecciones

The elections took place on Sunday and when I went to bed that night the result had not been announced. I was awoken around midnight by the banging of pots and pans, the caserolazo, indicating that Maduro had won and the Caprilistas were rallying. I looked outside and sure enough, Cointa was leaning out the window banging on her pot. I found out in the morning that the margin was less than one percent (on the order of 200,000 votes) although the polls had Maduro with a double digit lead. The head of the CNE (Consejo Nacional Electoral) had declared that the results were permanent many times on TV, but Capriles responded almost immediately calling foul and demanding a recount. There were reports of Chavistas escorting people into the polls and coercing them into voting for Maduro. According to the Jimmy Carter Foundation, Venezuelan elections have a great deal of integrity and this election was most likely very legitimate. To me, the state money, resources, personnel, and media time used by Maduro in his campaign are more troubling. Who knows what kind of effect this unfair access and financing had on the election? Anyway, Capriles went on TV in the afternoon saying if Maduro is proclaimed the president, the Caprilistas should peacefully protest at 8PM with the caserolazo. We were eating at a restaurant with a TV and when Capriles announced this the whole restaurant erupted in applause. Later on, we were driving down la Avenida de las Americas and we came across a mob of Caprilistas blocking the streets. Everyone started whipping U-turns and driving over the median, classic Venezuela. Things only got worse from here; once we got home we heard reports of riots and fires in the Centro. Later on, Cointa let us join her in the caserolazo downstairs so from 8PM-9PM we banged on pots and pans with the rest of the neighborhood. Venusa had called and notified us that we would be quarantined in our houses for the night and the whole next day. On Tuesday, Mérida got pretty violent. The Caprilistas gathered on la Avenida Urdaneta and the tupamaros (the government motorcycle police charged with “keeping the peace”) violently broke up the demonstration. From pictures I have seen, it appears that there were many confrontations throughout the day between Caprilistas and the National Guard. They cancelled classes Wednesday and mandated that we stay in our houses again, so we were cooped up with Cointa for another day. Although the Venusa director called and instructed the host moms to make us lunch, Cointa refused and would not let us leave to find food either. Upon hearing this, the Venusa director became angry and demanded that Cointa let us leave for lunch. Later in the day, we received a message notifying us that we would be moved to a new home stay in less than two hours. Although it was weird to leave Cointa so abruptly, I would agree that in the past month or two she has begun to treat the host role as a business and has become somewhat disengaged and aloof.  We had many good times with her, but ever since she contracted dengue and a bad case of gripe, she has been more grumpy and not quite herself. Anyway, now I have a room to myself with a bathroom in a house with a very nice woman, so I'm not complaining. Today classes resumed and we were escorted by a private bus to school, totally unnecessary. I think most of this quarantine business is pretty overkill. It's analogous to the Republican National Convention in Saint Paul.   Most, if not all, neighborhoods were quiet and relaxed, everyone was going to work as usual, and anyone who didn't want to get shot with rubber bullets could easily avoid areas where there were demonstrations. Basically the folks in charge of the program and those at the University of Minnesota mandated that we stay in our houses so they weren't liable if anything happened. Anyway, Maduro is president and Capriles and his supporters are still working on a recount which will never occur. A recount would not do anything since the vote itself was legit; the only unfair part is the power Maduro wielded as president to maintain his position. Given his lack of experience and charisma, he probably will not be around for long and the opposition will inevitably gain power in the next few years. 

La Culata Otra Vez

This past weekend we headed back to la Culata with a crew of five, including one guy who had done the trip with a guide and would be relying on his memory to lead us through the mountains. The plan was to follow the route we had already hiked and then go further to Pan de Azúcar, which we were unable to climb last time. The tricky part would be finding the path after Pan de Azúcar to las Aguas Termales, some hot springs on the other end of the park that Adam only vaguely remembered. We rolled out early on Friday morning with a couple extra friends who were day tripping with us. We had a nice warm, clear day and by about 11AM had made it past Valle el Muerto. Around noon, we approached the Segundo Refugio, soon after which our friends headed back and we continued on to the waterfall where my friend Andrew and I had left off last time. As we approached the waterfall, Adam pointed up a steep slope and said, “we just have to climb that to get to our campsite.” The ridge ended up taking us over an hour since it was so steep and the altitude was starting to get to us. I was hit with occasional spells of dizziness and had a permanent lightheaded feeling. I needed to take about forty slow steps and then take a break in order to keep my breathing at a normal rate. Around 2PM, we arrived at our campsite on the top of the ridge just as the daily clouds and fog were rolling in. This spot would be our base camp for the climb of Pan de Azúcar the next day. This round we brought a stove so we whipped up some black beans and rice for dinner, and then since the fog had lifted somewhat we walked out to a point near our site and noticed for the first time the awesome peaks surrounding us on two sides and the deep river valley in front of us. Later on that night after playing a round of O´Hell in the other tent, Andrew and I looked in the distance and noticed some crazy lightning illuminating the entire southern sky orange. I was reminded of a scene in the Two Towers when Frodo, Sam, and Gollum look toward Mordor and see a red, fiery storm behind a chain of jagged peaks. We walked back out to the point and noticed a thick, eerie fog creeping toward us from the valley below at a supernatural speed, so we called it a night. In the morning, we got up for the sunset and I took lots of pictures of the surrounding mountains since it was clear and the light was good. After some avena, we started the climb up Pan de Azúcar. There was not really a path at first so we were just climbing through the brush, which is generally pretty thin since only the hardiest of shrubs live in the páramo. Eventually we reached a point where the vegetation stopped and rocky sand began. This is the part of the páramo usually categorized as superpáramo, a world of rocks, sand, and sometimes snow where few creatures can live. Somehow I got in a really good rhythm and continued for about an hour until I was just a short climb from the peak. I have discovered my preferred mountain climbing strategy is comprised of slow, short steps with few breaks. After a bit of legitimate climbing (hands and feet involved), I arrived at the windy peak and looked out on the mountain world surrounding me. From the peak, I could see Pico Bolívar, Pico Humboldt, and hundreds of other peaks scattered in all directions. At 4680 meters (15,350 feet), Pan de Azúcar is the ninth highest peak in Venezuela. It seems kind of insignificant, but Pico Bolívar is at 4978 meters and numbers two through eight are all in the vicinity of Mérida. On the way down from Pan de Azúcar, we slid much of the way on the sand and were able to get back in an hour or so. We broke camp, had a small lunch, and headed down the path Adam remembered. He had mentioned we were looking for a trail that went uphill for a couple hours, across a mountain pass, and then into a wide valley with a few lakes where we could camp. After a couple hours of walking, Adam told us he no longer recognized where we were, and we decided to cross the next ridge and head down the valley beyond. After another hour, we still had not reached the valley Adam was looking for so we found a cool lake and set up camp there. The site had a rock overhang under which past campers had built fires so we did the same and cooked our dinner on the fire. We also enjoyed the luxury of some limoncillo tea. When I woke up in the morning on Sunday, I went on a small adventure up a hill to try to find our elusive route into the valley. I developed a sort of “just over the next ridge” mentality and ended up climbing for a couple hours. I eventually got high enough that I could see the valley we were looking for over the ridge, but there was no path to be seen; we had somehow missed the pass. At that point, I was finally resigned to the fact that we would have to turn around and head back the way we came. The fog rolled in just as I was climbing down and it started to rain, probably around 9AM. At one point, I thought I heard the dull purr or growl of some large animal but then turned around and noticed a hummingbird just feet from my head. I am always amazed when I come across wildlife in the páramo; it’s such a harsh environment that any signs of other animal life are very encouraging. By the time I got back to the campsite it was raining pretty steadily so we stayed in the tents. If you remember from my last Culata post, the weather tends to be clear and sunny all morning and then foggy and rainy beginning around 3PM, so this rain at the beginning of the day thing was pretty strange. It subsided around noon so we headed back the way we came. Since we had abandoned our efforts to reach the hot springs, we decided to return a day early. We took a shortcut over a ridge and discovered we were about an hour walk from where we had camped the first night. We booked it down the steep ridge from day one, continued on past the refugios, and made it to the end of Valle el Muerto around 3PM. We arrived at the trailhead around 4PM, caught some taxis, and headed straight to a cheap Chinese place for dinner since Cointa had refused us dinner on such short notice (she has gotten pretty feisty recently). It was pretty strange walking out of the Culata; there was a sense that this would be the last time we would ever see this fantastic area. We have been making mad plans of returning to Venezuela, but with the current president and the way things usually turn out with people's work schedules, girlfriends etc. I am guessing it will not happen any time soon. 

Henrique Capriles Radonski

Today Henrique Capriles Radonski came to Mérida and thankfully our politics class was canceled so we could go check it out. I was wearing gym shorts and a tank top I bought in the Centro the day before. It looked a lot bigger when I bought it, but when I put it on, I discovered that quite a bit of my gut was hanging out. Around 9AM we started walking up la Avenida Urdaneta and caught a bus which took us about ten blocks from the viaducto where the concentración would be. When we arrived, there were already thousands more people than had been at the Maduro rally. Afterward, they said somewhere around 250,000 people had gathered on the streets, rooftops, and the viaduct for the event. Similar to the Maduro rally, it was somewhat of a party atmosphere with music and plenty of beer. We developed a system where people would pass money to those selling the beer and then pass the beer back so no one would have to push through the crowd with cups overflowing with foam. There were signs representing every area and organization; my favorite was Páramo la Culata con Capriles. For those who watch Game of Thrones, there was a sign with Eddard Stark and the words “Progreso is coming.” Another interesting one said Revolución with the R crossed out. A note on the word revolución in Venezuela: it is associated exclusively with the Chávez government. They refer to the Bolivarian Revolution as something that began with Chávez and will continue with Maduro; although nothing is changing, it has a kind of “we’re going to keep sticking it to the man” connotation. There are often pictures of Chávez alongside Che Guevara and Simon Bolívar, despite the fact that Bolívar was a rich, white criollo who wanted independence from Spain for financial reasons. The music was very enjoyable; they played a mix of salsa, joropos recios (the music of los llanos played on the cuatro and harp; their equivalent of bluegrass), and Capriles songs (algo nuevo está pasando! Somos miles y miles y miles con Capriles, hay un camino, con Capriles somos todos Venezuela…) which are strangely reminiscent of a Disney soundtrack. We learned a few chants while we were there as well, the most popular being “se ve, se siente, Capriles presidente!” People were getting creative with their choice of spots to see him; some were even climbing over a wall with barbed wire and shards of glass and then walking across a tin roof. One guy fell through the roof and had to get carried out. The roofs and balconies of pretty much every surrounding building were full of people; it was pretty amazing experiencing all of the energy. My friends lifted me up to the point where my feet where at the height of their heads and I got some great shots of the crowd. I unfortunately needed to use the bathroom once, which was a twenty minute affair pushing past people and then waiting for a chance to open the door when people were not pushing past. We ended up waiting for about three or four hours for Capriles to arrive; he was scheduled for 10AM so we assumed around noon, but it was not until 2PM when the truck emerged at the end of the viaduct. Since we had been waiting so long, it was chaos when he finally arrived. As with Maduro, the truck passed about fifteen feet from where we were standing and then we jumped into the river of people following it. He was wearing a soccer jersey with the national petroleum company PDVSA printed on the front and his classic tri-color hat. He did the usual routine of handing out his hat, putting on a new one, and then throwing the new one into the crowd. There was a veritable current of people pushing towards the front, so my friend Adam and I went with the flow and ended up about fifteen feet from the podium where he would speak. At this point it was a mosh pit atmosphere with plenty of pushing and shoving, which I actually enjoyed because I was taller than most people there. I am used to having to put forth a little more effort to hold my own in a crowd. There were so many people that the truck did not make it all the way to the stage; he had to get out and be escorted through the crowd. It was hard for him to get a word out for the first ten minutes since everyone kept erupting into cheers and chants. The speech was filled with much of the same rhetoric as Maduro’s, but he spent quite a bit of time talking about Mérida-specific issues like the teleférico which has been out of commission for five years, the lack of hospitals in El Vigia, the airport which is not open for commercial flights, the unsafe streets at night, and the unnecessary importation of potatoes and milk. Since he speaks very clearly, I understood about 95% of his speech. It was much easier to cheer for Capriles since I agree with many of his policies and most of what he said. In my opinion (which matters very little in this case), he would be a great choice for Venezuela, but for many people he is associated with money and the United States, which is not very palatable for poor Venezuelans. Although the US is the number one importer of Venezuelan heavy crude oil, and Venezuela turns around and buys it back after being refined in the states, one of the biggest tools of Chávez and now Maduro is maligning the US as imperialist pigs and talking about this so-called fight for patria. We found out later in the evening that a woman was killed by the paramilitary government police that ride on motorcycles (can’t remember their name at the moment); they did not give us any details, but crazy man! In other news, we are heading back to la Culata this weekend for a four day adventure. The elections are Sunday so we have school off Monday for whatever reason. I had been thinking about trying to summit Pico Bolívar and Pico Humboldt before I leave, but the trips are pretty expensive and there is not much interest, so as of right now, looks like I’ll be back in Minneapolis on May 4^th! 

El Principio del Fin

Another solid weekend; I am to the point where I maintain a list of things I need to do before I leave (sadly) and slowly check things off. Friday was devoted to Botany: in the morning we hiked into la Culata to collect information about the biodiversity of the Páramo ecosystem and then to Caparu on the opposite side of Mérida, which is a sort of desert area with orchids and giant cactus epiphytes. I did not mind in the least that the day was devoted to school; hiking in the mountains is exactly how I want to spend my Friday. That night we returned to Emu to check out some live music and eat sausages at the German place next door. For about $1.50, you get a fantastic fire-grilled sausage with the sauce of your choosing, which in my case is curry Berlin. Saturday I exchanged some money for the last time (at a rate of 24 bolívares to the dollar!) and then we headed to a public pool for the afternoon until the daily clouds rolled in around 4PM. That night we ate at one of the two sushi restaurants in Mérida. The place ended up being really fancy and we splurged just a little bit (which here is about $8) and enjoyed two bottles of Chilean white wine. The highlight was definitely a smoked salmon, tuna, and mango roll. I also ate a big ole chunk of wasabi, which was surprisingly tasty and cleared up my sinuses nicely. Later on we headed to my friend’s host sister’s fashion event in the upper part of town (north and south do not really exist in Mérida; it’s all about up or down, bajando or subiendo). It was in a cool little courtyard café with a fountain, lots of flowers, and models parading around in fancy outfits, all put on by the ULA school of design. Venezuela is surprisingly big on their fashion and supermodels; getting plastic surgery is almost more common than not. Sunday we headed over to my friend’s place, ate some rice for lunch, and played cards on the patio. If Venezuela does one thing right, it’s backyard patios. This particular one features a garden of peppers, oregano, and an aguacate tree, and has a wood-fire grill under a sheltered area with a stone table. Capriles is supposedly coming to Mérida  on Wednesday, so there will probably be another installment Thursday morning.

Nicolas Maduro!

 

Last night Nicolas Maduro was in Mérida, so we hopped on a bus and headed into el Centro around 6PM. I quickly split off from the group in an attempt to draw as little attention to myself as possible. I found myself an elevated spot on the fringe of the rally, which at this point was somewhat of a concert atmosphere, complete with songs about Maduro, dancing, and lots of pushing and shoving. About fifteen minutes later, I decided to start moving closer when all of a sudden Maduro showed up in the front of a truck driving through the crowd. I was probably about fifteen or twenty feet from the guy, closer than I have ever been to a US presidential candidate. He was wearing a jumpsuit with the colors of the Venezuelan flag, waving and blowing kisses to the crowd, and displaying his thick mustache. After the truck came through, a bunch of space opened up in the center and the crowd started pushing closer and closer so I went with the flow and ended up pretty close. Alexis Ramirez, the governor of the state of Mérida, introduced Maduro with about five minutes of energized yelling. I maintained a minimal amount of enthusiasm throughout the whole affair in order to blend in as much as possible. Nearby was a guy dressed up with wings and face paint, dancing and yelling “viva el indigena!” Maduro’s speech was filled with even more yelling than that of Alexis and tended to focus on humor and good feeling. Venezuelans call ripe bananas maduros, so he made a joke about a guy asking him what he was eating and him responding, “oh just one of my cousins.” He spent about five minutes in the following format: “I love taxi drivers! I love students! I love workers!” and continued until he had named just about every occupation and demographic. The entire speech was focused on the legacy of Chávez and keeping the revolución bolivariana alive, without much focus on policy initiatives. My favorite play on words is the slogan, “Ahora somos Chavistas maduros!” (We are mature Chavistas) get it? While United States presidential visits and debates tend to involve plenty of emotional appeals, Venezuelan politics are almost completely emotionally-motivated. At one point, they played a video of Chávez instructing the people to elect Maduro if he were ever to pass away. Maduro really found himself in a great position: the most loved man in Venezuela dies and he gets to inherit all his supporters without much effort. According to the polls, Maduro is going to win by a landslide. Some things that really struck me were the extreme nationalism, the patriarchal role played by the president, and Maduro yelling until his voice was hoarse. I am really interested to hear Caprilles speak so I can compare the two. On my way home, I saw a bus that said Mérida-Ejido, the usual bus I take back home. As this bus was accelerating at an intersection, I jumped on and discovered that it was filled with people in red. The Maduro campaign had organized special buses to bring in supporters from villages surrounding Mérida, and I had unknowingly gotten on one of those buses. As I was getting some pretty weird looks, I asked a lady nearby if the bus was going to Ejido. She said yes and seemed pretty okay with me being on the bus, so I sat back and waited for my stop. I tried to give my 2.50 Bsf. to the driver as I was getting off, but he just waved his hand and muttered, “baja chamo”. Definitely got my fill of Chavistas for the day.