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It’s not really a big deal here, but some folks like to roll out the red carpet for Halloween. Halloween also happened to be the birthday of my host sister’s boyfriend, Luis. He turned 22. My roommate and I thought we should buy him a little something, so we picked up a bottle of Venezuela’s most popular beverage, Casique rum.
To our surprise, they already had two bottles in the fridge, and another sitting on the table. We stuck around for a rum and coke, then took off for the little halloween shindig at Venusa. One of the gringos in the group noticed that my roommate happened to look a lot like the Roman emperor Haydrian, hence his costume. Anyway, here’s us in costume.
There was dancing, followed by more dancing, and then eventually a trip to everyone’s favorite grungy bar, Birosca. Dancing and alcohol consumption followed. This is a picture from earlier in the night in Venusa, mime = Antoni & young lady = Kayla.
Today I woke up at 7:20, bright eyed and bushy tailed from my early bedtime the previous night. Some of my colleagues were not so peppy, so I considered myself lucky to just be slightly fatigued. Had a test in one of my Spanish classes, had a little chat about my flights back home, and hung out with the host family for a while. I figure I’ll have a section on them coming up soon, but just as a little preview, you can check out this rockin’ pic of Esperanza, Alonso, and Camila. Camila’s the dog, but I don’t know what kind she is, other than sorta cute and pretty stand-off-ish.
Other than that, I’ve been killing time at the chemical shop across the street from my place talking with Angel, a young 20 something Venezuelan-US American. Time runs in short bursts, and then stops for a breath only for a second. I’ve been wishing lately that I had more time here, that I could go back and tell myself things before I came here. I’m still nervous about using my Spanish, although I know that it has improved a great deal. I’ll have more to come soon.
HAIR!
I want you all to know that when I use anywho, I do it on purpose. Just FYI. I’m more than a stickler for good spelling, but I’m all about regional expressions. Thus, I use both “anyhow” and “anywho.” Just keep it in mind.
Rafting was a lot of fun. We did class three and class four rapids. It was a two day, one night trip. Both days involved several hours of driving though mountain roads, made possibly even more difficult by our full bellies and tiredness.
The rafting experience itself was uneventful, apart from the gigantic rapids which tossed and turned our little inflatible dingy. We had three guides with us, who constantly reiterated how important it is to stay in the boat and hang on to your paddle. We obeyed, cluthcing our paddles and taking care to keep our gringo behinds in the boat. But by the end of the second day, one guide had fallen out and another had to fish out his paddle.
We stayed in a posada owned by a couple that reminded me of Lucy Kruesel’s parents, for those of you who know who they are. The husband spoke French, Spanish, and enough English to get his point across. He was exceptionally proud of some little bag of dry pasta, which was evident only because he showed it off not only at dinner (when we had spaghetti) but also at breakfast the next morning. The mistress of the house was also very kind and helpful, and was a terrific cook.
A good weekend, topped off with a good dinner upon arrival home. I didn’t bring my camera with me for fear of having to take all of my belongings in the raft, but as it turned out my fear was unfounded. I did have a good time, anywho.
I went to a Mcdonalds today with my pessimist friend from Pennsylvania, Ryan. It was quite possibly the nicest McDonald’s I’ve ever been to, and probably the second nicest place I’ve seen in Venezuela. There was two floors complete with grand staircase, an elevated walkway, a spot for you to study and plug in your laptop, and an entire second counter just for desserts. Amazing. That’s the only word I had for it. It felt good to be home.
I got a 6 piezas McNuggets, which of course brought back a significant portion of my childhood. Afterward, we hit up the dessert counter only to find that the specialty chocolate dipped softserve cone which I had come to McDonald’s for in the first place was sold out. I bought a normal cone for 3500 Bs, and prefacing that I only had a 50,000 Bolivares bill, was served with quite possibly the strangest expression ever.
In a normal Venezuelan establishment, paying with a 50 thousand and asking for more than 20 thousand worth back in change is practically suicide. Here in McDonald’s the cashier gave me a look somewhere between “Why the hell would a 50 thousand matter?” and “Doesn’t he know that this is a MCDONALD’S??!!” I was expecting to be refused service or to wind up receiving a dozen ice cream cones as “change.” I was pleased that change was not a problem, and shrugged off the look by reassuring myself that sometimes it’s okay to be a gringo.
All McDonald’s’ aside, while I was walking home with my new backpack, I saw a powerline spark like a firework and split in two. It was pretty crazy. It’s totally understandable just by looking at each utility pole here in Merida, but shocking nevertheless. Get it?
