"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!