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Published: November 12th 2008
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... a big, fat, roasted, crunchy ant. It was a Colombian snack brought to me by one of my students so I simply had to try it. Although it tasted surprisingly much like a peanut I was not quite able to get over the fact that it was actually an ant and for the following half hour I couldn't stop feeling like Mowgli from the Jungle Book. But at least now I can tick 'eating ants' off of my list of things to do before I die. So far Venezuela has provided me with plenty of first time exeriences but for some reason some of them stand out in my memory more than others... like:
Filling up a tank for less than a pound. The idea that petrol is basically free here surprises me everytime I pass a gas station, which, due to the insane Venezuelan car dependency, happens all the time. Venezueans litteraly live in their cars. As most people here spend about an hour and a half in traffic every morning and just as long every evening, only to get to and from work, it's not surprising that they have come up with many innovative ways of
Taxi!
What do you need to become a taxi driver? ... a sticker. making time pass. Reading not just the newspaper but a proper book, or having breakfast whilst applying make-up are only a few of many car passtimes. In the morning rush the highways also fill up with salesmen calmly walking around in between the cars, attempting to sell anything you could possibly imagine (or need) - newspapers, snacks, beers, cleaning utensils, toys... you name it and they'll have it! So it's probably very lucky that traffic is so slow in the morning as I'm convinced a load of people would lose their lives every day if the speed was even marginally higher. Before ariving here I had seen a maximum of maybe five neck braces i my life - now I see two or three every day! To sum up; in Caracas whiskey is king, drunk driving is virtually unheard of and the only traffic rule seems to be 'there are no rules'. At best, traffic lights are considered optional guidance.
Chavez completely taking over public air time. I came home from work one evening and decided to turn on the TV for a bit of distraction whilst cooking my dinner. Unsurprisingly the first channel showed Chavez holding one
Cloudy beach
Chichiriviche, Morrocoy of his famous little tv shows in which he addresses the people in what has been described by someone else as a mix between Castro and the Oprah Winfrey show. Anyways, I wasn't quite in the mood for Chavez, so quickly reached for the remote, only to realise that the next channel was showing the same thing... and all the other channels as well! Hugely disappointed not to be able to watch any of the daily top quality telenovelas that are usually on TV at night I gave up and reached for the radio instead, only to find that Chavez had taken over all the radio channels as well! It was an increadibly bizzare feeling of being forcefully surrounded by the socialist visions of a power crazed semi-dictator.
The dancing bus driver. After spending a short but wonderful weekend in Chichiriviche we found ourselves in Valencia having to catch a bus back to Caracas before the onset of the massive sunday traffic jams. As we arrived at the bus terminal I could see a glow of scepticism growing in the eyes of our Venezuelan friend Sergio as Melissa and I ran for the first bus we could
find, which happened to also be the cheapest and most heavily decorated bus in the whole terminal. Not only did it have holy crosses and virgin Marys dangling from every possible corner, but it was also blasting out Reggeaton music at the loudest possible volume. We quickly settled in just behind the driver and had just started our return back to the capital as we noticed that this particular driver was not happy with just listening to the music and occasionally singing along - he was actually dancing along too! For the whole two and a bit hours it took us to get back home we had constant entertainment in the form of a hip girating driver shaking his stuff right infront of us!
95 mosquito bites on my bum. It was that very same weekend trip to Morrocoy that will forever be stored in my memory as the trip with the killer mosquitoes. I swear mosquitoes are actually the eartly representation of the devil himself and their sole mission is to singlehandedly drive people to suicide. In Morrocoy they don't even have the courtesy to wait until dark falls but they start their offensive already on the
beach. After only 20 hours in the supposedly paradise like national park I was literally covered from top to toe in itchy, red bites and I felt as though my whole skin was on fire! Apparently these guys are already immune to insect repellant as our regular showers in 'OFF' spray seemed to make no difference what so ever (other than making us stink of chemicals). But I guess looking at the bigger picture we are all lucky that at least they were not malaria mosquitoes...
Powder milk and avocadoes the size of footballs. Before ariving here I had never considered myself lucky for always having access to fresh milk. Now I do. Due to widespread imports of food, domestic Venezuelan production is almost nonexistant. This is most noticable on fresh produce such as milk and the people have simply resorted to the dry milk in powder format which is mixed with water to make something that is just about passable as milk. This powder and water mix is relatively ok for the breakfast cereal but it would never pass as companion for a cookie!
The one thing that is pretty good here on the other hand is the fruit. (Well... the few fruits which are actually local and not plastic wrapped with surgical precision and imported from far away.) But it did take me a while to figure out what was what here. With green oranges and lemons and yellow passion fruits it was not exactly easy to get it right at first. But the most surprising thing still was the avocadoes. Bright green and the size of footballs it actually took me about a week to understand that they were even avocadoes (someone had to point them out to me!). But after some practice I got the hang of it and as long as you're not too squeemish and won't panic over the occasional worm or bug, fruit and veg is pretty good here.
My first baseball game. I once read an article comparing Venezuela to Iran. The article quickly concluded that although the two countries are officially both anti-american there is one major difference, namely the fact that if Chavez ever tried to actually act on this by applying some sort of American boycott, the people would riot. On a sub-political level Venezuela is absolutely infested with American dreams, ideals and businesses and elimiating these from the national soul would probably be impossible. Fo me this wannabe americanism is best summed up in one word: baseball (or beisbol as they call it here). Embedded deep in the heart of every venezuelan is an undying love for this peculiar sport. A couple of weeks ago my boss invited me to one of the first games of the season and suddenly I was able to experience first hand, the exitment, bear drinking and hot dog selling spectacle that is a beisbol game. Alhough I did have a really good time (watching the silicone enhanced, latino shaking cheerleaders was a favourite) I fear I might have made myself somewhat unpopular among my Venezuelan friends the day after by unintentionally gravely offending their national sport by comparing it to chess. Apparently I don't yet understand the physical expertice and skills needed to stand around on a field watching someone try to hit a ball...
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alejandro
non-member comment
XD
Have you ever thought about studying antropology? you`re pretty good at it, and you`ve a storyteller feeling that`s totally cool. One can only hope that your adventures here won`t end soon. I totally agree with you, baseball is the most boring game ever, unless you`re drunk. But then again, everything seems to be better when you`ve danced with Mr. Booze a little too much. Take care.