Salsa is not my jam.....yet

I am not very good at salsa.  My seeming ease at working the Reggaeton dance floor gave me a false sense of dancing talent, which quickly dissipated on Friday when I went with Ivan, Gordon, Walli and Jason to a free salsa concert at La Estancia.  La Estancia is a beautifully maintained plantation right in the middle of the city.  The grounds are maintained by the government and they have free concerts and events on the property throughout the year.  Friday, the headlining act was an EXCELLENT salsa group from Puerto Rico.  For three hours the group of us, plus Ivan's Mom, Dad and friends hung out and tried our hand at salsa-ing.  Ivan's Mom and godfather were incredible, and on the other end of the spectrum was me.  I was spending so much time trying to get my feet right I forgot about the rest of my body!  And the tempo of the music was so fast, I never really got my feet right, even though there are only a few steps!  The evening was really fun, despite my shameful attempts at dancing, and I really want to keep practicing until I can look half way decent at it, as Salsa is a very popular pastime here in Caracas.

Saturday a large group of us attended Hash #2!  The block of ice returned and I found myself in a middle of the hash circle quite a few times.  Ivan received his Hash name after six years of attending Hashes- he is now, forevermore, Smelly Goat.  I think Gordon and Catherine are next for naming- Gordon because he's, well, Gordon and Catherine because she has been Hashing for four years.  The naming is not a pleasant process though, as you could probably expect from a group that forces binge drinking while sitting on a large block of ice.  They basically douse you in beer and corn flour while making you drink with no hands. If you thought that frat hazing ended in college- you were wrong.  I have found my new fraternity and it is awesome to be mere months from turning thirty and getting to be a pledge again.  

Sunday we did some shopping to complete the stocking of my apartment and hung out by the pool, and these first two days of work have been remarkably manageable.  I realized this was probably because I did not stay up until 5am both Friday and Saturday nights, so for the first time since I arrived, I have kept a reasonable sleep schedule. So there's the trade off- I engaged in planned binge drinking yet am getting enough sleep. Sorry Mom, but it sounds like a fair trade to me!  

Happy Monthiversary to Me!

Oh man what a great week!  Though this was technically the second full week of school, it was my first full week, due to my unfortunate stomach condition last week.  School has really been awesome.  There is a lot to do, and I am still trying to figure everything out, but I am slowly gaining more and more confidence as the days go on.  It's going to be a long building year, but I am feeling like I have more and more of a grip on it as time goes by. Meanwhile, my weekday evenings are turning out to be as full as my weekends.  Mondays after school I have Spanish lessons with dear, sweet Isabel.  Isabel is 68 years old, and though she could be my grandmother, she is as lively and spirited as a much younger woman.  What's more, her spirit is so kind and patient.  I suppose you must be kind and patient if you are going to deal in language acquisition and gringos, but Isabel really has a gift of empathy and is incredibly disarming.  Not like I am EVER self conscious, but Isabel helps me not feel bad when I struggle or make a mistake....like when I was trying to say "I was embarrassed" but instead said "I was pregnant".  Stupid false cognates!  

Tuesday, I went to a birthday party for a fellow new hire who works on the elementary side, whose name is also Isabel.  Isabel was turning 30 and her boyfriend, a local Lebanese restaurant owner, invited Isabel's friends to join them at his restaurant for a celebration.  I was feeling tired and antisocial on Tuesday, so made a pact with my boss to "only go for an hour".  Please note: one cannot just attend a birthday party in Venezuela for one hour.  Also, you had better have on your dancing heels and a hungry tummy, because these people are NOT playing around.  As the restaurant was Lebanese, the courses came out one after the other: hummus, dumplings, stuff stuffed with stuff, salad, things I cannot pronounce or label that were delicious and of course, wine wine wine.  On a Tuesday.  Hey, a birthday is a birthday and this country goes BALLS OUT. After stuffing our faces, Isabel's boyfriend surprised her with- what else- but a belly dancer!  She was beautiful and very talented and wanted very much for us to try out our dancing skills with her.  We obliged, tried our best, and had a great time. One of the things I love about this country is that people are more comfortable with uninhibited behavior, in that, you can pretty safely make a fool out of yourself without fear of judgment.  As long as you are having a good time, people are pretty responsive and supportive.  Speaking of responsive or supportive, I will try to upload a great video for your viewing enjoyment once I get a better internet speed!

Wednesday was my day of rest, though I had to turn down Gordon's invitation to Curry Club in order to get my eight hours of sleep.  Thursday was definitely the highlight of my week.  Ivan and his Mom, Nereida, invited me to a Venezuelan musical trio performance.  The theater was in Mercedes, a larger suburb not far from our little Los Samanes.  The theater itself was quite small, like a black box theater, and the group consisted of a drummer, upright bass and guitar.  The music was amazing. It was a mix of jazz, samba, merengue and what I could best describe as Venezuelan folk.  And all of it had a Venezuelan flair to it, no matter the style.  The whole experience was just what I needed. Just hearing the music and letting the sound wash over me, not having to worry about translating language, relaxing and just feeling the music.....gosh it was just so great.  The concert lasted over two hours, and even featured a few singers who were just phenomenal.  I want to spend every Thursday at the theater!  It's good for the soul!  And even better for my soul- and stomach- were the arepas Ivan, Nereida and I had after the concert. Since it's perfectly acceptable to eat dinner at 10pm in this country, we enjoyed dinner and conversation after the concert.  Nereida is trying to learn English, so we were quite the pair, me asking her questions in Spanish and her answering in English and visa versa.  Ivan (rightfully so) refused to help us, so there was a lot of hand wringing and helpless giggling, but in the end, we realized that we could actually communicate remarkably well!  I learned about her travels, of which she has done a lot, and that our birthdays are ten days apart, so we are both Aries. This gave me some insight as to why we get along so well...and why we both can't sit still or stop talking....classic fire sign behavior!

The fun doesn't stop here- in mere minutes I am off to a free salsa concert at a park in Alta Mira.  And tomorrow, it's Hash #2!  Happy one month in Caracas anniversary to me!  

"Hairless gringa in bootyshorts that smells like vinegar"

Everyday here I feel like I learn or discover a new tidbit that I have to incorporate into my "Venezuela" schema.  For example, we clean everything with vinegar here.  Or drinking tap water or anything cleaned in tap water can give you parasites (see post from August 15).  This weekend I learned two more tidbits for my schema: my hair hates this place and don't wear jeans on Saturday nights out.

Let's start with hair.  Mine is acting very funny.  First thing I noticed, about a week in, was that my eyelashes were breaking off.  This is different than the time that I got drunk and accidentally ripped out an entire eye's worth of eye lashes. No no, this time, on both my lids, a chunk of my eyelashes right in the middle are half as short as the rest, like someone took a pair of scissors and gave them a lash cut.  My mom insists that I have just been using my eyelash curler too much, for for heavens sake I've been using the damn thing since puberty, so why it decided to go all Edward Scissorhands on my lashes a week into my life in a new country is a mystery.  The whole thing smells fishy.  I think there is an eyelash eating parasite that nibbles on my lashes at night.  Meanwhile, another hair-ruining parasite is giving me HORRIBLE ingrown hairs in my bikini line.  Since I, you know, have a pool and all, I have had to make sure I am bathing suit ready at all times for impromptu pool parties.  Unfortunately, I have yet to be pool ready because I am having a terrible time with very painful ingrown hairs.  And try asking for a name brand product in this country like Nair.  I dare you. It probably exists, but has an entirely different name that sounds and looks nothing like Nair. I need a Venezuelan beauty consultant, stat.  Thank God the hair on my head hasn't decided to fall out in mass, but who knows, that's probably coming next.

In other news, I went out on Saturday to two FABULOUS night clubs.  We started the night at a club playing house and electronic music that was celebrating the birthday of my friend Mike and his wife's friend.  Whew. Mike and Elsea were nice enough to invite a bunch of us out to the party, and it was really a great scene!  Around 1am (because yes, in Venezuela, the party is just starting), we made a change in scenery to a club that played all types of music- salsa, meringue, hip hop and Reggaeton. Ivan showed me how to meringue and Mike helped my dance the salsa- what great partners for my first time trying both dances!  Omar, who is the fabulous dancer of the group, showed me some Reggaeton moves, and I could really keep up! I think Reggaeton was my favorite style, because all you really have to do is shake your butt, which I apparently do well enough for a white girl.  Which leads me to my second point: no jeans on Saturday nights.  I was dancing my face off, and in a tropical country with limited AC, jeans are a TERRIBLE choice for dancing your face off. I am getting my Mom to send me my old college skirts that I could never wear in the US but are perfect for this climate. Thankfully, no one here expects you to dress your age, so 30 is the new 19 when it comes to club wear. 

To wrap up my weekend of Venezuelan schema building, I went out with a group for a Cachapas brunch this morning.  I don't know what these things are made of, besides glory and awesomeness, but this Venezuelan delicacy is the PERFECT morning-after brunch food.  It's basically a pancake with cheese and meat inside, smothered in butter and fresh crema. And of course, you can always get a delicious fruit smoothie to wash it all down.  After nearly a week of not eating anything and/or eating bland and white, this was JUST what the doctor ordered.  Ivan, glorious man that he is, even ordered me some of the favored Venezuelan desserts to take home for later. I need to get the names from him, but one I will call "chocolate and milk fantasticness" and the other "Passionfruit Tart of Joy"- suffice to say, both were great afternoon snacks.

To conclude, I am on the mend for sure, excited for my first actual full week of school, and learning more everyday about what my life is going to look like living in this country. So far we have "hairless gringa in bootyshorts that smells like vinegar".  That's a good start, right?

Clash of the Amoebas

Warning: Graphic descriptions of poop ahead

When I went to work this morning, I felt like I had been hit by a bus.  Or an 18 wheeler.  Or the whole Ringling Brothers and Barnum Bailey Circus.  And I was pissed about it.  Had I not done nothing but sleep since Monday night?  Had I not drowned myself in fluids?  I should be getting better, not worse!  By 8:30 my superintendent Carmen took one look at me and sent me home. Call it Mom's 7th sense, but she knew shit was getting real.  Literally.  At home I slept on and off between the many noises that constantly grace the Caracas landscape- children playing, renovations, reggatone emanating from apartment windows, conversations had four decibels too loud.  Around 10, my housecleaner arrived, and god bless her, she knows less English than I do Spanish.  Thankfully, the school secretary had called her and prepped her for my situation.  She stared furtively into my refridgerador and then out tumbled a mass of Venezuelan Spanish that I could not understand even to save my own life.  She got the school secretary, Lourdes, on the phone.  

"Tracey, you have nothing healthy in your refrigerator   I told her to make you a soup, but you have nothing to cook with."

"Lourdes, I live off of turkey sandwiches, beer, and cereal".

"Tracey, this will not help your situation- give her Bs 300 and send her to the store."

::Tracey makes walk of shame to her wallet and laments total lack of kitchen skills::

Through our exchanges with Lourdes, word must have gotten back that my condition was deteriorating   I didn't say anything, but I guess, like always, I am more obvious than not.  And indeed, the stomach cramps were becoming more severe and nausea was setting in, punctuated by strange stabbing feelings in my back and joints.  

Carmen called around 2pm and said "I think it's time I take you to the doctor".  Not wanting to overreact, I hemmed a bit, claiming I could sleep it out until tomorrow, while really I was thinking THERE IS SOMETHING F---ING WRONG WITH ME OMG AM I GOING TO DIE OF VENEZUELAN PLAGUE!!!!

Carmen saw past my hemming and told me to get dressed and get outside.  So I did, painstakingly, but ever so gladly.

And so, in less than three weeks since my arrival, I ended up in a Venezuelan hospital.  Had I been on my own, I would have likely sat for 12 hours and ended up getting diagnosed with chlamydia and died of Venezuelan plague.  But since I was with Carmen, I lived to tell this tale.  She sat me in the waiting room of an internist's office.  She left for ten minutes, returned, and five minutes later we were called back.  Dude was IN THE MIDDLE OF ANOTHER APPOINTMENT, stopped what he was doing, examined me, pushed on my stomach, declared that I was fit to return home but that I most definitely was suffering from a bacterial stomach episode.  Then he went back to his previous appointment.

I asked Carmen how long I must live in this country in order to do the magic she does.  She said, as long as she is around, I will never have to. God I love this woman.

In and out we were from the lab, taking a stool sample and bloodwork.  Then to the pharmacy, where Carmen locked me in her minivan and went to work her magic again, returning with all three medicines I was prescribed- a miracle in shortage-driven Caracas.  In under two hours, Carmen had saved my digestive track from an untimely death. She said that I must be the lucky one, because the ease of our adventure was unheard of.  I told her it wasn't luck- it was the armor of Jesus because my Mom prays for me so gosh darn much!

Back home, my housekeeper had just finished making the most delicious chicken soup I had ever had....not to mention she somehow procured a large pot from somewhere, because gosh knows I have not spent the time stocking my kitchenwares.  With my Cipro and Fadigyn by my side, with my soup, and god bless my house cleaner, a freshly made bed, I figured I just might survive my first bout with the 3rd world stomach ilk.

Around 6, Carmen called to ensure I had taken my meds as prescribed, and also confirmed that the lab results indicated I was indeed the host of a bacterial family that was tearing up my innards.  How she managed to get lab results in three hours, well, I guess she's just good like that.  And I am so lucky to have a second Mom in Caracas.  Being blessed with Carmen will also help my Mom sleep better at night!  Speaking of sleep, it's about time to rest and let that Cipro do it's dirty work.  Begone bacteria!  I have a job to do and weekend fun to have!

The Price of Invincibility

Moving to a place that the State Department thinks is going to implode at any moment can give one a false sense of invincibility. I am suffering the repercussions of this falsehood as we speak, having come down with some sort of cold/flu/stomach virus combination that, while it has not been so bad that I can't make it to work, has required that I sleep for the remaining 16 hours in the day. But- I will look on the bright side.  I now feel comfortable navigating a Caracas pharmacy and buying Gatorade in bulk, so all is not lost.

And really, since I am not missing work and not necessarily dying (thanks to packing enough Imodium to prevent the runs for the rest of my life), it is kind of worth it considering all the life I've lived since I have arrived here.  This weekend, for example, was awesome.  Holly, Jason, Walli, Gordon and I met up with our Venezuelan friends Angelica and Ivan to hike "El Aliva" on Saturday.  El Avila is the rather daunting mountain that looms protectively over all of Caracas.  No matter where you are in the city, you can always see it.  It runs the length of the city and beyond, separating Caraquenians from the ocean, and likely providing us with a lot of the wonderful, temperate weather we enjoy.  El Avila also provides Caraquenians with a source of natural, free exercise, as it seems the entire population of the city descends upon the mountain every Saturday and Sunday for a hike.  Please, gentle readers, do not assume that this is a gentle hike up a gentle peak. This is a straight up rock scramble that requires the utmost vigilance   One does not stop to enjoy the view for fear of a misstep that could land them in a Caracas hospital, which, let's be serious, nobody wants that.  But at the top, the view is magnificent and well deserved after such a strenuous hike.  And then, to reward our treacherous descent, we drank these delicious coconut smoothies at the base of the peak- SO DELICIOUS. My friends who had done the hike before said the "grande" of the coconut drink was too much- advice which I obviously ignored since I figured they did not know me well enough to be accustomed to how much I eat-but low and behold, it was too big for me to finish!

After our hike, we missed the rain by mere minutes and enjoyed Arepas and Cachapas at a nearby restaurant. These are Venezuelan specialties that basically involve wrapping meat and cheese in delicious doughy goodness. I really cannot get enough of the food here.  Right now, my stomach would likely claim a different opinion, but as soon as it stops protesting, I will be back at it with a vengeance for sure. 

In other news, I am happy to report that on Saturday night I invited people over to enjoy tasty beverages and, to my great glee, Cards Against Humanity!  My friends here LOVED it.  I even had a few people over who were not necessarily English speakers- and one of them won!  It was great, and only a few cards got thrown out for being too "American" for people to understand   Gordon, in all his Scottish glory, probably knew what less of the cards meant than the native Spanish speakers!  On Monday, I was surprised at the candidness of some of my co-workers are they explained the game to those who weren't able to come on Saturday.  Since my Mom reads this blog, I won't repeat the cards that were being talked about, but safely assume that the language used at Venezuelan school lunch tables is more open than what I am used to in the US!

As hump day is almost over and I lament my wimpyness, at least I can reflect on the fabulous weekend I had, and really, the fabulous time I have had here so far.  Hopefully I'll shake this ilk in time for another fun weekend!  

La Fin de Semana

Gracious dios es viernes!  Thank God it's Friday!  The kids have officially started school and us newbies, along with our more seasoned counterparts, all survived the first couple of days.  My school is really a phenomenal place.  The staff is incredibly knowledgeable and professional; I am wowed on an almost hourly basis by their expertise, creativity, professionalism and zest with which they do their jobs.  I am so lucky to be here. It is sometimes intimidating to be around so many incredible educators.  My principal is literally an educational rockstar- I've never seen someone multitask quite like her- and she does it with a grace and fortitude that can only be cultivated by years of doing everything with absolutely nothing.  I have so much to learn and so much to do, and while it is going to be stressful and I am going to make mistakes (correction: make A LOT of mistakes), this will be an incredible professional journey for me.  

I am encouraged by some of the veteran teachers, who have told me that this batch of newbies have brought with us an energy and positivity that has been warmly appreciated among the staff.  Venezuela is not an easy place to live.  It is not always an easy place to stay positive.  I am happy we can bring that energy, and I hope we can still keep our chins up when some of the more manic parts of life here start to wear on us. 

Even though I blog regularly, I feel that I can't blog enough.  Everyday something new, funny, endearing or strange happens, and all of it warrants comment.  Maybe I am just long winded (correction: I am long winded), but truly, there is just so much worth sharing. Like today, I gave a wonderful lesson to the ninth grade class, and they were so clever and thoughtful and patient when I talked too fast*.  And yesterday, I employed my first ever cleaning lady!  It was amazing to come home to a house so spotless- I could never hope to accomplish such spotlessness in a million years.  What was less nice was not being able to find my expresso maker or anything else in my kitchen, but I will gladly accept her kitchen cabinet organizational method in exchange for how shiny she somehow makes my floors.  However, I will have to figure out how to say in Spanish the following: "Martha, my friend, red wine does NOT NOT NOT go in the fridge!"..."Martha, mi amiga, el vino tinto no no no va en la refrigerador!"...or something to that effect.  Also yesterday I went on my first adventure by myself.....to the Centro next door to get my nails done.  The adventure ended with pretty nails, a few new friends, and the very important knowledge that one should NOT wear a dress when getting a pedicure.  I'll leave that tidbit to your imagination but suffice to say the pedicure system is a little different here than in the US.

I don't know if there is an old saying to this effect, but if there's not, I'll take the credit.

Many little adventures can add up to a lifetime of sheer joy.

--- Anonymous and slightly naive twenty-something gringa

I wish I could harness my curiosity and excitement and keep it with me for the lower times, for there surely will be the lower times. And like I said, I wish I could share ALL of it, ALL the time, with ALL of you. Instead. I'll have to be content with this paltry blog.  

Pero, esta bien.  Es la fin de semana y vida es buena.  

The Day I Was Shamed By All-Natural Cleaning

I think it's time we paused to talk about vinegar. In my previous life as a young woman living in Virginia, I did not consider vinegar a very useful daily tool.  It was something you sometimes cooked with, maybe mixed up to make a salad dressing or tossed in cold pasta to liven up your favorite summer picnic dish.  My friends, it is safe to say that vinegar has a far greater purpose here in my adopted Caracas home.  There is, in fact, a whole half an aisle in the grocery store dedicated to just one vinegar- your run-of-the-mill white distilled vinegar.  It maintains its place of honor along with the other half aisle of rice and beans because Venezuelans use vinegar for absolutely everything.

-Out of windex?  Use vinegar!
-Need to clean your wood floors that are painted with a freaking half an inch of varnish? --Use vinegar!
-Need to clean the ilk that give you parasites off your vegetables?  Use vinegar!
-Having health problems?  Warts, the plague, heart disease? Take a shot of vinegar daily!

I was skeptical, gentle readers, about the near religious adherence given to vinegar.  Then, I came upon domestic a problem I could not solve.

So, I bought wine glasses before anything else.  Actually, I bought the coffeemaker first, then wine glasses.  Priorities.  Anyways, the glasses I bought were plastic, so I could take them to the pool.  Again, priorities.  But when I bought them, they were covered in a cloudy film.  I figured they were just dirty (like many things you find in the store are here), and I could just wash off the film at home.  I tried three times to scrub them down wish dish soap the evening I got them and the film was untouched.  Since they seemingly do not sell sink stoppers in the whole of Venezuela, I couldn't soak the little boogers, so I figured myself stuck.  Stuck forever with icky, cloudly plastic wine glasses not even fit for poolside, bottom shelf vino.  What's a girl to do?

This girl grabbed a toothbrush, that damned bottle of vinegar and started scrubbing down.  Literally, without much elbow grease, the film disappeared.  No, said I.  This can't be!  The glasses will dry and we'll be back to square one!

I sit here, up way too late, drinking water from my clean, clear wine glass.  Why not drink wine, you ask?  Because I bought the vinegar first.  Priorities people!

My Initiation to the Caracas Hash House Harriers

It's Saturday, it's 6pm, and I'm sitting on a large block of ice being yelled at for being a virgin who committed one of the holiest of hash crimes- tattling while in the circle. 

My Saturday plans began innocently enough, with an email from Gordon, inviting me to go "hashing".  I had heard of the infamous Hash House Harriers from my Venezuelan guidebook, so I immediately knew that I was not being invited to some sort of drug party, but instead a "running club" of sort. Since I made a pact with myself to not turn down any social invitations, I readily agreed to go, even though I am not much of a runner. Much to my glee, I soon learned that running wasn't exactly the focus of the Caracas Hash House Harriers.

For those unfamiliar, the objectives of a Hash House Harriers are as follows:

• To promote physical fitness among our members
• To get rid of weekend hangovers
• To acquire a good thirst and to satisfy it in beer
• To persuade the older members that they are not as old as they feel
• Source- Wikipedia

Offhandedly, the HHH are often referred to as a "running club with a drinking problem" or conversely, a "drinking club with a running problem", but either way, I was very excited about my invitation to the Caracas Hash House Harriers.

Gordon, Jason, Jackie, Wallie and I took a cab to one of the more famous squares in east Caracas- Altamira.  There we met up with what could only be described as a motley crew of expats, locals and pretty much everything in between.  We socialized for a bit before we took to the streets, and the elders of the club were very pleased to see some "new blood", even if we were all mostly Americans*.

We were split into walkers and runners, and I immediately took the low bar when I saw that only boys were running.  We were led by our bold and fearless leader, a 70 year old Venezuelan gentleman with a very, very loud horn.  He fearlessly began our walk, literally stopping traffic with his horn every time we had to cross the street.  It was lovely to see a little more of the city at a casual walking pace.  In a group, we all felt safe, and even more reassuring was the number of people out and about, working out in the parks, walking to and fro.  One cool thing about this part of Caracas was the number of parks.  They were nearly on every corner!  And each part had exercise equipment. The kind of machines you would find in gyms in the US were scattered about the part, made of metal, almost like children's play equipment. What an ingenious idea!  Wouldn't that help the American obesity rate? Take note, Michelle Obama!

Half way through our walk, we met up with the runners at a corner market and had a beer.  Why not?  There I chatted with some of the boys, who were working hard at convincing some of the girls to join the runners.  I met Ivan, who was there with his mother, who I proceeded to call "mi mami" for the remainder of our hash.  Both were very interested in practicing their English, and of course I am out for Spanish practice, so we were just a match made in heaven, they asking me questions in English and me responding in Spanish.  As we were about the take off, I took a last minute impulsive dive and followed the runners.  Thank God mi mami, Jackie, and Catherine all joined immediately- apparently we were all intimidated to be the only girl!  

The boys basically lapped us, and Catherine, a fellow CIC teacher, and I quickly figured out that our 12 minute mile pace was not going to help us keep up, so we fell into pace and resigned ourselves to losing the pack.  Thankfully hashing requires a trail laid out before the run, so Catherine, a veteran hasher, was able to follow the trail that had been laid with corn starch, through the streets.  We passed the fancy mall, Centro St. Ignacio in San Marino- and by passed, I mean we ran through it, including restaurants and a McDonald's drive thru.  Hashers are, shall we say, not super timid?  They tend to like to let people know that, well, dammit, we are running!  LOOK AT US WE ARE HASHERS AND WE ARE RUNNING!  The boys group was kind and waited for Catherine and I to catch up at various points, and sweet, sweet Ivan kept running back to check on us, which, while reassuring, did hurt my pride some.  As soon as the lights of Plaza Altamira appeared, I was thrilled, but even more thrilled to see the hashers crashing, shoes on, into the fountain in the plaza.  I had the good sense to remove my shoes, and the water felt HEAVENLY.

Back at the camp, we all grabbed a beer because apparently grabbing water is a "hash crime". I soon learned that there are many more crimes in hashing and I was, unfortunately, very guilty.  In the hash circle we all stood, and the litany of crimes committed were recognized.  Texting while hashing, taking off shoes before traipsing through the fountain, getting lost, and talking while in the circle all led to one being thrown in the middle and forced to drink while the others sang to you. Hash "virgins" were particular targets for hash crimes due to our ignorance in the hash justice system. So ya, a hash circle is kind of like a birthday party?  At least the kind of birthday parties I go to.  Mostly, the fun thing to do is take a sip and then fling the remaining beer on the person standing behind you in the center of the circle.  This led to good-natured shoving and everyone staying a little more sober, at least for the meantime.  True hash crimes- the 1st degree murders of the hash justice system- were dealt with quickly and strongly, as we were forced to sit on a large block of ice until another person committed a mortal sin and was sent to relieve us and serve their sentence.  Where they got a block of ice big enough for two adults to sit on in CARACAS is a mystery to me, but I will tell you this- it was cold and my butt was wet for hours.  But I will never again tattle in a hash circle- ever.

After the circle, we all got to eat, and let me tell you, the hot dogs they served were the BEST HOTDOGS EVER.  The remainder of the evening consisted of dancing, drinking, and chatting.  For hours we did this and the time simply flew by.  Everyone was just so interesting and interested in getting to know you.  The boys were eager for gringa dancing partners and we were eager to start learning the dancing- salsa, merengue, whatever else was playing.  Mi Mami and I also had some GREAT english/spanish translation errors we all got a laugh at.  At one point, I held a piece of ice to my face and said "Oy, my cama es calliente!"  What I meant to say was "Mi cara es calliente"- my face is hot.  What I said was "my bed is hot".  Awkward. Palm Tree.  A while later, mi mami decided to top me when she said that the "porn" was for my hotdog instead of the "corn" being for my hot dog. The glee that ensued from these interactions proved that all of our minds were in the gutter, but at least we all had good company while spending our time in the gutter.

As it turns out, Jackie and I were so excited about the fun we were having, we volunteered to host the next Hash!  So expect a post in early September about my first experience hosting a Hash!

Our evening ended on a high note- we took a cab home and then proceeded to a house party.  These Venezuelans party like it is freaking 1999.  I cannot keep up!  But everyone reassures me that this was the last hoo-ra weekend.  With school coming on everyone puts on their game faces.  Thank God.  Otherwise I don't know if I could keep my pact with myself!

*Note: it is NOT the Venezuelans that give the Americans a hard time- the Brits do!  They can't stand our English! But don't worry, we defend ourselves and our slang.

Surviving and thriving without Trader Joe's- It's a Miracle!

I wish I could chronicle every waking minute of my life here in Caracas.  First of all, everything is just so new, different and interesting that it all deserves a thorough description to do it justice.  Secondly, I am so happy and having such a good time that I will want to read back on all this when I am horribly depressed four months from now to remind myself how much I really do like it here. 

It's been exactly a week since I arrived in Caracas and things just keep getting better and better. I've tackled a grocery store by myself without incident, toured the city via bus, metro and taxi (in groups! don't panic Mom!), survived my first official day of work and managed to make a number of friends both Venezuelan and Expat alike.  Wednesday night I had the distinct pleasure of going with my teacher mentor Gordon to the local expat hang out- Curry Club.  A restaurant hosts local expats and feeds them delicious curry and of course copious adult beverages.  Clearly they were not ready for our caliber of drinking, as they ran out of beer before 11pm.  At Curry Club, I met some really wonderful people that I am already looking forward to seeing again next week, include three older English gentlemen named Graham, Nigel and Paul, a lovely and fashionable Indonesian Santi and Zeke, a Venezuelan reporter who has since taken a very strong liking to Jackie.

I am finding a few oddities worth pointing out, but let it be known that in general, I think there are far more similarities than there are differences between Caracas and my homeland.  One of the first glaring differences was what you can and can't find at the store.  While most things are readily available- kitchen items, foods, clothing, shoes, housewares, there are a few things I can't find.  My search for a fan has already been well documented, but along with a fan, I am also searching for a sink stopper, dryer sheets, and windex. Speaking of spending money, you can't spend it in any store without first providing the cashier with you passport number, name and usually the urbanizacion you live in. I can't find anyone who can tell me why stores engage in this practice, whether it is for demographic purposes, government spying etc, but it's pretty consistent no matter where you go.  Also curious is the fact that while almost every building uses open windows for air and ventilation, almost none of said windows have screens. Gordon told me you can pay people to make a screen for individual windows in your apartment, but there are no screens to purchase that readily fit windows in homes. This is curious, as there are no dearth of mosquitoes, flies and other creepy crawlers that I would not like to have in my house, so I find myself constantly choosing between fresh air and insects visitors.

All in all though, I've found the adjustment to the day to day much easier than I was expecting. The lines may be longer and the language barrier is obviously a stumbling block, but with a little patience and an open mind, I think I am going to continue to do just fine.

My first 48 hours in Caracas

It is overwhelming to realize that I have only been here for 48 hours.  So far, it has been everything and nothing that I expected. 

In the airport in DC, I thought I was going to have to take a clonazepam.  My stomach couldn’t decide if it was going to throw up my McDonald’s lunch or loudly digest it all at once.  Before I could decide on the best medicinal cocktail to deal with my unruly stomach, the usual DC crowd rushed the gate and I knew I had to run in elbow out if I was going to make it on the plane with my carry on.  Once on the plane, my stomach reasserted itself, but by the grace of god the nice (and may I say attractive?) man in the seat next to me began to speak to someone on the phone in Spanish.  This peaked my interest, distracted my stomach and thankfully provided me an opening to start a conversation that lasted the entire flight to Atlanta.

Tracey- 1, Nerves- 0

Once in Atlanta, I leaned on my already acquired ATL Navigation System (thanks Brendan/Delta flights to New Orleans!) to get me from terminal A to terminal E- the international terminal!  There I found the closet bar and largest Sam Adams possible.  There I also met the new love of my life- Jackie!  Jackie is from California and will be serving as the high school history teacher at CIC.  Jackie also told me shortly upon meeting that she spent $35 in the airport buying candy, which alerted me to the scientific fact that Jackie was probably awesome.

Our flight was delayed about an hour, but this gave Jackie and I time to chat and eat candy.  After we boarded, I was handed multiple customs documents that required more attention than I really could muster, so I chose to instead distract Jackie with mindless chatter while she tried to fill out her forms.  Thankfully my exuberance attracted the attention of nuevo amor numero dos- Jason!  Jason was from Seattle and will be teaching middle school history.  The flight was not full, so the three of us new besties got to sit together and learn more about each other.  Both Jackie and Jason were coming from other schools in South America- Jackie from Peru and Jason from Brazil. I learned that Jason had previously done Peace Corp in Africa and Jackie had been airlifted out of her last site by helicopter soon after having intensive ankle surgery.

Jason and Jackie’s street cred- 1, Tracey’s street cred- 0

The flight was only four hours and before we knew it, we were setting our watches to Caracas time!  Based on state department posted information, the Caracas airport is basically the most dangerous place on earth, on par with the whole of Syria and walking alone at night through Taliban infested Afgan deserts.  When we arrived, it was as quiet as you can expect an airport to be at 11:30pm.  Soccer stars adorned the walls and to my surprise, the air condition was plentiful.  I went through customs within 10 minutes without incident.  We arrived at the baggage claim and immediately acquired all of our bags- Jackie’s seven, my five and Jason’s two.  To our relief, all bags were intact and no worse for wear.  We lugged our lives onto luggage carts, pushed our bounty through the detectors and made it through to our new home.

Our new school director, Mrs. Carmen Sweeting, arrived to take us home.  Carmen is basically the most charming, genuinely caring individual I have ever met in my life.  She has subsequently become Mama Carmen and is kind enough to let me call her that to her face.  She arrived to claim us with a van and three pickup trucks, and once the able-bodied men in the airport realized this, they were all more than willing to help us load the trucks- for a small price, of course.  We were in and out of the parking lot and off to our new home without incident.  The drive from the airport to our houses was about 45 minutes.  Caracas at night is almost like fairyland- mountains and hills pop up of nowhere and all are covered in twinkling lights.  While I am not naïve enough to think that Caracas is a fairy land full of gumdrops and rainbows, it was reassuring to experience the land for the first time through this lense- all lovely and subdued and a little enchanting. 

I called my Mom from Carmen’s phone on the way home and learned later that she subsequently Paul Revered many of my friends the next day to let them know I was alive.  I love my Mom.  We arrived around 1am at our new home- Apartamentos Sierra Blanca en Los Samanes.  Los Samanes is in the south east suburb of Caracas and is home to mainly apartments, a small shopping center, a few small parks and not much else.  It’s basically the Burke of Caracas and that is FINE BY ME.  Our gaggle of helpers assisted as we lugged our luggage into the small elevators from the parking garage into our new apartments.  Our building has four towers labeled A-D and Jackie and Jason lived in B while I held down the fort in A.  We visited Jackie’s apartment first.  It was a lovely one bedroom with a nice kitchen, big windows, a desk, kitchen table, bed and couch.  Oh, and king sized bed.  Jackie has since lamented that it is too big and makes her toss and turn.  I told her I saw that as a situation ripe with opportunity, and she obviously agreed.  Next was Jason.  His apartment was a bit more furnished with an arsenal of wicker furniture and, to my delight though it didn’t seem to interest him as much as me, a built in wine rack.  Finally, Mama Carmen and I made it over to A wing to my new apartment.  As we walked in I went ahead and broke the seal and swore in front of my boss for the first of what would probably be many times.  My apartment was sick.  Large, well-furnished and well beyond my expectations.  I obviously went to bed a happy girl….as soon as I found my pajamas.

Saturday morning I woke after a restless sleep.  My adrenaline never tapered off and made my sleep rather unproductive.  Besides, we had a lot to look forward to.  We were going to visit the school, get our cell phones set up and go shopping for food and supplies!  Carmen and our new secondary principal, Kelly and Kelly’s husband Denny came to pick us up at 10:00am.  While we waited for our ride, Jackie and I chatted with Phillipe, the jefe de securidad for Sierra Blanca.  He was very kind and patient with my broken Spanish and I felt good about him leading the helm of our security at the apartments.  When the posse arrived they also had in tow two other new teachers- the bold and fearless Colleen, a new elementary teacher, her precocious and energetic eight year old son Sean and David, our new humanities department chair, former seminary student and longtime teacher in the international system.  David was coming from Brazil and Colleen from South Africa.  Kelly and Denny were coming through Wisconsin as Kelly worked on a doctorate, but they had led a long and fruitful career abroad in places like Ecuador, Thailand, China etc.  Though Kelly and Denny had only been in Caracas for about a week, they navigated the landscape like locals and had an air of fearlessness and confidence that could only be cultivated by years of being scared shitless in foreign countries. 

Our visit to the school was delightful, and soon enough we found ourselves at lunch in the shopping center by our house.  I had the pleasure of sitting by Gernan, CIC’s jefe de tranportacion. Gernan clearly was getting a big kick out of me, and even took me down to the first floor while we were waiting for our food to show me where I could find arepas.  The joke was “en un mes, yo estoy gorda!”- In one month, I am fat!  Our food was absolutely delicious and I washed it down with a Coke Light.  We talked during lunch about the exchange rate on the parallel market and suffice to say I still don’t quite understand it, but I do know that NO ONE could live off of the official rate- all prices are set on the parallel rate, which is right now six times higher than the official.  The currency- Bolivars or B’s for short, looks like monopoly money and is in high denominations, making it troublesome to figure out how much I am actually spending.  Lunch was 275 B’s- making it less than $10 at the parallel rate and close to $30 at the official.  Es muy differiente!

Next, we were off to the grocery store in Trinadad, an urbanizacion due south of Los Samanes.  The grocery store was packed, since it was the weekend, and very big.  My Trader Joe’s grocery shopping perspective has made me very easily overwhelmed in large grocery stores, so my stress level immediately shot through the roof when I found myself in a large store and could barely navigate the crowded aisles AND had to try to read all the product labels in Spanish.  Thankfully, Jackie was by my side to help and after parking the van Gernan was by our side very quickly.  He had the good sense to know we were absolute disasters and likely needed his direction and protection…from ourselves, not other people.  I was so tired by the last aisle I bypassed the red wine without even looking.  That is how tired and ready to go I was!  But we had quite a bounty and I knew I at least wouldn’t starve for the next few days.  Oh, and I bought a coffee maker.  Priorities, people.

Speaking of priorities, the next thing on my to-do list was go swimming in my apartment complex pool!  After a long day of shopping and trying to get by on paltry Spanish, getting to float as the evening drew near was just what the doctor ordered.  What I didn’t expect was the view I would get from the pool.  The pool sits in quite possibly the best spot possible to see  the sunset, and let me tell you friends, there is no sunset I’ve seen that is quite like a Caracas sunset.  The colors, the views, the sheer magnitude is just overwhelming to the senses.  Is God at work even in this crazy place?  I think yes.