All Monday and Tuesday, the three of us stayed in bed trying to recoup. When Dominic's 103 degree fever persisted a sixth night, we decided to take him to a clinic where we learned the ins and outs of socialized medicine. He got a free check-up and a chest X-ray to boot, but the check up didn't reveal anything conclusive and they didn't give him any bloodwork. Furthermore, the antibiotics they gave him were from Cuba. We soon became privy to that common knowledge of all Venezuelan citizens, that Cuban drugs are a death-sentence, and that no private clinic would ever even consider prescribing them. So we ended up paying out of pocket for the bloodwork (ouch!) which in the end was moot as his fever broke before the results came back.
The house we were staying in was located in Caracas and was built for Danny's grandmother and her family in the 1970's. The two-story building is now inhabited by Danny's uncle, Javier, and his family. Twenty years ago the second story was sealed off, making it a separate 4-bedroom apartment. Our house didn't have air conditioning and we didn't really miss it. The climate of Venezuela is like Miami's during a mild spring, but with less humidity. The front of the house overlooks a mountain upon which "ranchos" are forbidden, protecting the view. It's quite probable that any mountain not covered in ranchos at this point is a protected site.
The big meal of the day in Venezuela is lunch. Kids come home from school around 1:30, at which time the family eats together. While we were there, lunch was served everyday in the back patio of the Espinosa home. Guineas would sometimes accompany us- large birds that make a sound that sounds something like the cross between that of a turkey, and that of wet rubber boots being rubbed together.
Caracas is full of impressionable features and customs that are very different from those in the U.S. While we were in Caracas, the Venezuelan President, Chavez, was celebrating his 12th term. Democracy in Venezuela is a farce- the government seized control of the press a few years ago, and Chavez pushes forth legislation through his executive powers when he fails to achieve consent by popular vote. One of his initiatives which he "won" was to make Presidential terms unlimited. From the moment you step off the airplane in the Venezuelan airport, you are saturated in socialist propaganda. The great "victories" of socialism are declared from 20 foot tall red banners along the airport halls, it's painted on all the concrete walls along the highways and plastered on billboards. (I would have taken pictures but the men in fatigues and red berets that patrolled the airport were scary as all get out.) "Hecho en socialismo" is even written on the milk boxes, or at least, the one milk box we got to see. There was no milk in Caracas while we were there (ironically, not hecho in socialsimo.) As socialist societies redistribute wealth, the effect seems to always be to eliminate it altogether instead. Poverty and crime have become big issues in Caracas. (Every morning we would awake to the calls of the neighbor's macaw and every night we'd go to sleep to the sound of gunfire.) One result of this poverty has been the construction of ranchos. Unlike the favelas of Brazil, Venezuela's shanty towns are made of brick.
The land on the mountains is unowned, and building on it is permitted. People take advantage of this to build large, foundation-less communities. (There are no roads or proper infrastructure, or mail service.) When there are heavy rains, sometimes whole communities are wiped away in landslides (which psycho-Chavez blames on capitalist nations, I kid you not. Read news story here.). It seemed to me that about half the mountainsides (of which there are many, Caracas is located in a valley,) were covered in these homes.
Our first trip out, fever-free and fancy, we went to San José, an old part of Caracas with its colonial houses. The home that Danny's grandfather lives in was built over 100 years ago and has been in the family for over 70 years. Danny's grandfather lives and works there- he is a chandelier cleaner and restorer. (Most homes in Caracas have chandeliers. )
Our second day out we went to El Hatillo, a pueblo known for its restaurants and gift shops. Danny's grandfather happened to arrive as we were on our way out so he joined us for the stroll. Dominic and Noemie played in and around some of the larger souvenirs.
The ranchos here are more colorful.
Another marked difference between Venezuelan and American cultures is that theirs is far less litigitous. The result: they still have those awesome playgrounds that us 80's kids knew and loved: 30 foot high metal slides, knock-your-teeth out see-saws, and those fling-a-kid-a-majjigers.
Another result, is that seatbelt and carseat rules are either non-existent or not enforced. One afternoon after school, Danny's uncle came to take us to "El Avila", the largest mountain in the mountain chain that separates Caracas from the Caribbean Sea. Nine of us packed into his Toyota 4Runner and made our way to the "teleferico," a cable car lift that takes you to the top.
Caracas seems to stretch on forever. (The population is 4 million, about twice the population of Dade County.) At the top of the mountain, there are Andean natives selling berries, hot chocolate, and dulce de leche, as well as charmed rocks that ward away evil spirits, and small beaded drums spray-painted with Lightning McQueen. There's also a humongous Venezuelan flag, and the defunct Hotel Humbolt. On a clear day, you can see La Guaira (the city where the airport is located and where Danny's great-grandparents are buried) on the other side of the mountain, with the ocean behind it. But this day was not a clear day. There was a cloud squatting on the mountain and you could see nada.
The following day Danny's uncle came over again and took the kids to a petting zoo, where, again with the whole no-rules thing, the kids hand-fed macaws, camels, midget ponies, and an ostrich which did in fact mistake Dominic's thumb for a carrot. I was spared the incident as Cristovan finally succumbed to our germs and I stayed at home with him.
On Sunday, we celebrated Danny's cousin, Marcos', 6th birthday. Marcos' dad barbecued steak, chorizo, and blood-sausage. I had steak. Sunday marked the halfway point of our trip, and we were finally on the mend! But Dominic was still had some mending of a different kind to do. With all of us feeling so lousy, all my sacred rules had gone out of the window, as had my desire and ability to enforce them. Any time we were at the house, (and in their uncle's 4Runner) Dominic and Noemie sat glued to the television. By the time we left, Noemie knew the Disney Jr. channel line-up by heart. Furthermore, their sugar intake was totally un-checked, and bed times were run amuck. Subsequently, Dominic was anti-social, not wanting to be touched or hugged or kissed or even spoken to. Worse, he was downright mean-spirited, and Noemie got the brunt of it.
Monday we went to Caricuao to visit Danny's grandmother. She made us guava juice. Fresh juices are standard Venezuelan fare. While we were in Venezuela, we also had homemade watermelon and guanabana juices; our fresh orange juice we bought at the corner market for $.75 a liter. Besides being remarkably fresh, foods are also remarkably cheaper there.
On Tuesday we went to Maracay, a city outside of Caracas (unlike San José and Caricuao which are located inside Caracas). Maracay is about an hour and a half drive toward the west, a more arid and desert-like region.
Having expected cooler temperatures, we didn't have much to wear in the way of shorts or short-sleeved tops. I wore jeans, which Dominic soaked with juice on our drive there. We had lunch at Danny's grandmother's half-sister's house, where we found a portrait of Danny's great-great grandmother. After lunch, we went to Danny's grandfather's cousin's house where I had a field day filling in dates and names in the family tree, though the tension headache that had been plaguing me for several days got a notch worse. On our way to the next house (belonging to Danny's grandmother's half-sister's daughter), Toby's diaper leaked on me. By the end of this particular day, I smelled particularly awful and decided I would be ok if I never visited Maracay again.
The quest for genealogical data intensified as our vacation wound to a close. We were anxiously anticipating the localization of the infamous albums once stored in Danny's grandfather's closets. Some photos were rumored to have wandered and we were trying to track those down as well. We went to visit Danny's great-aunt Eli in El Cafetal. All of Danny's family were exceedingly welcoming, forgiving of Dominic's terrible attitude, and good cooks. Quien quiere arepas?
Arepas, tequeños, cachapas, and sliced off the block...Venezuelans eat an unreal amount of cheese. On Wednesday we made a quick stop in Altamira Plaza to replicate this photo of Danny's abuelo Segundo and friends taken in 1949.
After nap time on that day, we took a last-minute trip up El Avila again so that we could see the view on a clear day. The view was much better!
Early Friday we made the two hour drive to the other side of El Avila, to Club Puerto Azul where Danny's aunt's father is a "socio." This was hands down everyone's favorite part of the trip.
The Club grounds cover several acres, much of which is woods and green space. There are three 14-story buildings, several swimming pools, billiard rooms, restaurants, and beaches, as well as a playground, a movies-under-the-stars venue, a marina, fishing piers, soccer and tennis courts, and once also boasted a mini-golf course and bowling alley. But multiple landslides have destroyed the facilities and the bowling alley was too expensive to rebuild a third time.
Caracas is much nearer to the equator than Miami is, and the sun is proportionately more intense. We had to apply sunscreen every two hours and even still we all came out like chicharrones.
A boulder was left to serve as a monument to the most recent tragedy where the entire resort was declared a loss. The Club community was committed to its restoration and the resort was rebuilt.
Venezuelans are refreshingly easy-going, friendly people. If they get cut off in traffic they just brake a little and keep talking casually as if they didn't notice. I never heard anyone talk bad about anyone else. I hope some of those qualities rubbed off. Two weeks without cooking, washing dishes, or picking up little toy cars, surrounded by people who are happy you're there...There are not sufficient words to express my gratitude to all of Danny's family in Venezuela who received us so warmly and without pretension, generously housing, feeding, and chauffeuring the five of us for 14 days. I am humbled by their graciousness!
And am soooooo thankful! It was a vacation much needed.
But it's good to be home.
3 comments:
Sounds awesome, and cool pictures! Glad you guys had fun!
ps nice ending picture, lol
Thank you for sharing this. I especially love your description of Chavez, and of the playground.
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