August 3, 2013

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.



July 26, 2013

Departure morning

I'm a little overwhelmed by the peace I have inside today.  I figured on D-Day I would be shitting bricks, panicking, desperately seeking my last clonazepam, crying, calling people.  I've done all of the above over far lesser life changes.  But here it is, the morning of my departure and I awake with nothing but joy in my heart and a low humming excitement that seems to stretch from head to toe.  I am sure this peace and joy will last about as long as it take to arrive in the Caracas airport customs, at which point I will probably start to shit bricks.  But for now, I will enjoy it.  I will revel in it and take it as a sign that this decision is blessed.

My bags are packed, I'm ready to go....

August 9, 2012

Bag Lady

I have been living out of bags since March 30th, 2012. I figured this out after I couldn't really put my finger on why I felt this nagging sense of impending doom lingering around me all morning.  I went for a jog and did some pondering and I realized it was because I was anxious about again shoving my life into my Chevy Cobalt and heading out for another round of travel.  Let me be clear, gentle reader, about my life in bags.  This is not a case of back to back vacations or "business" travel as I hear some people outside the education field get to partake in where all their lodging and meals are free and at least four stars.  No, I have been living out of bags for survival in dark times.  It was a confluence of events that led me to become a 28 year old bag lady, and unfortunately the time and my mental perseverance will not allow for that story to be divulged in its entirety here at thisjuncture.  But you can safely assume that I am looking forward to not having a surf board, lamp, four pillows, a hiking backpack, two candles, six pairs of shoes, seven dresses, a broken Kindle, the 4th season of Battlestar Gallactica, and sundry bags of clothes and toiletries in my car at all times.

My life in bags will come to a temporary close by August 13th, but this experience has gotten my gears grinding about the bigger picture of my life inertia.  As my Mom pointed out to me earlier this week, my life has been in flux for, well, ever.  Since I left for college, I have moved eleven times. I changed careers before the age of 25.  I have been in love and cried bitter tears when love wasn't enough.  Whilst my peers were having children and buying houses, I was learning first hand the trials of the DC rental market and scoffing at the idea of buying furniture that requires a payment plan.  And while my Mom laments about my bad luck and prays daily for my life to finally "settle", I wonder: am I maybe just meant to be a nomad?

Let me clarify: I do not wish to be a bag lady indefinitely.  But, perhaps by the same token I also don't wish to have a house full of things and ties that bind me to one spot on this earth indefinitely. At least not yet.  I know that I have been fighting against the idea of being "unsettled" for years.  Maybe that was the wrong tactic.  Mayhaps trusting my life's inertia will lead me to a more "settled" place, even if "settled" still requires a few bags. 

May 7, 2012

Still a wino in a small town?

Ahhh, how much I took for granted being a wino in a small town. It's hard not to reminisce as I re-read my  previous angst filled blog posts that are overflowing with indecision, ripe with self-deprecation and flavored with just a hint of earnest self-pity that can only be cultivated by a comfortable mid-twenties lifestyle.  My former self would tell my present self  "Well, at least all that self-imposed suffering was worth it- you made it to the big time!  Big city life and big girl job!  Now lose a few pounds and finally learn to cook you big complainer!"


My former self would be mostly right.  The school and work paid off and here I am serving the public, paying all my bills on time and treating myself to frozen yogurt whenever the spirit moves me.  I have made it.  It's most unfortunate that my public service career bars me from writing about much of what happens in my day to day grind, but I am sure I can change some names to protect the innocent and bring you a few stories here and there that will put a smile on your face and fear in your heart about the state of public education.  Nonetheless, in the end, I know this blog will hardly be read and my meanderings about my life and losses are mainly for my own benefit.  


But in case anyone has been thoroughly miffed at my radio silence, consider yourself caught up to speed.  Along with my gainful employment and my move to the DC area, I have maintained a stellar relationship with a fabulous man, who unfortunately is in grad school deep in the bowels of the American South.  In his absence, I've made lots of great new friends at my work to keep me company, along with my many dear old friends who live in the area.  I managed to live with the craziest person in the DC area, and subsequently found myself squatting with none-other than my bold and fearless former roommate Grahame and his wife Caroline.  I tried Dahn yoga, coached my school's quizbowl team, sprained my ankle, helped my Mom through brain surgery and learned how to work a DVR.  My goals at present include joining a softball team, finding a permanent dwelling, taking advantage of more out-of-school volunteering opportunities and continuing to explore the amazing bike trails this area has to offer.  I also would like to rekindle my former passion for dancing with reckless abandon in weird places, including my kitchen, car and unsuspecting metro platforms.


It's certainly true that I miss my life as a wino in a small town.  But I think I'll keep the name.  Who knows, the time may come when I will be a wino in a small town again.  Besides, it sounds better than "school counselor in suburban hell", don't you think?