Travel

In the interest of this ambassadorial endeavour and my own sanity, I have decided to escape Caracas frequently. While Caracas is the cultural, economic, and political center of the country, it does not represent all of Venezuela. Many Caraqueños realize this when vacations come around, considering it a punishment to be stuck in the city during the holidays. So far I have done a fair share of exploring. On one mid-January weekend I visited La Guaira, a costal town that lies directly north of Caracas. My housemate and I were in search of the pristine Venezuelans beaches described in our Lonely Planet travel guide but when we finally found one we were a bit disillusioned...it was pretty freaking dirty. Trash everywhere and very crowed. It was still nice to smell the sea, listen to the waves, watch the surfers, taste the salt, and dig my fingers into the sand. While not impressed with the beach we were taken by the people. As the sun set we found a seaside kiosk serving fried fish, plantains, and rice. With reggaton (Spanish rap music) blaring in the background, we got to talking to the locals and learned of the 1999 mudslides that left over 50,000 people covered, destroyed much of the town, and left the once beautiful beaches a mess never to be completely cleaned up. These coastal towns have never been the same after The Tragedy. Typical Venezuela style, our new friends started buying us beer after beer until it was pitch dark and we were the only remaining beach goers left. After declining an invitation to go back to their house to dance the night away we accepted their invitation to walk us to the bus station. To top off our first adventure of the year the bus fittingly broke down on the way home.

On another Saturday afternoon my housemate and I took the cable car to the top of El Avila, the mountain the looms over Caracas. On a clear day you can see Caracas to the south and the Caribbean to the north. We were not fortunate enough to enjoy such views from the top and contented ourselves with a hike through the misty cloud forest that covers the mountain. We did, however, see Caracas from our cable car on the accent, before entering the clouds. It is a blessing to have El Avila National Park so close. On the mountain one can breathe deeply, hear the songs of the birds, and feast on the color Green. On the mountain, the stresses of the city evaporate into thin air.

For Carnaval (1st week of February), some new friends from the university and I visited Colonia Tovar, a Germany colony several hours outside of Caracas. In 1843 a group of Germans immigrated to Venezuela, where the government was encouraging Europeans to settle and work in Venezuela to help revive a post-war economy. For a century the colony was isolated from the rest of the country due to the lack of roads and rules prohibiting marriage outside the community. Consequently the community preserved their German language, culture, and architecture. It was not until 1940 that Spanish finally became the official language. We tasted fresh strawberries with cream, candied apples, German sausage, and coleslaw, meandered through open-air markets of colossal carrots and huge heads of broccoli, and mingled with blond-haired, blue eyed Tovareños, effectively transporting me back to rural Indiana and Maryland and even to the Germany I’ve never visited.

I ended my crazy Carnaval adventure with what some might call a “hot shower.” The day after we got back from Colonia Tovar I was finishing up a routine shower when suddenly the electric water heater directly attached to the shower started to sputter, growl, smoke and whoa, sparks started flying and a steady flame made itself comfortable right above my befuddled head. Still soaked and not exactly sure how to handle the electric fire blazing above me, I grabbed a towel, rushed to my cell phone and called my landlord Yolanda next door. No answer. I tried her home number. It’s busy. Oh my gosh, the house is going to burn down, what to do, what to do. So I raced next door in nothing but a towel (the way Yolanda tells the story I’m wearing nothing but a skimpy dish towel, but she likes to embellish, or in this case diminish) and inform Pichicho, Yolanda’s husband that the house is on fire. He (not me) streaks down the stairs and into the bathroom, which is now full of smoke and grabs the first thing he sees on the floor with which to smother the flame, my dirty boxers. My boxers don`t quite get the job done so he yanks the cables, cutting the circuit and extinguishing the fire. Phew, that was close! I vowed to Yolanda that I would not take a shower again until I returned to the United States. Too risky to shower in Venezuela.

Just two weeks ago I accepted an invitation from Predro, a Venezuelan friend and fellow Frisbee fanatic, to visit Morrocoy National Park in the north western part of the country. It was a great trip, brimming with beauty, convenience, and relaxation. Pedro graciously drove us to Chichiriviche where his family owns an apartment 10 minutes from the coast. All day Saturday and Sunday we enjoyed the whitest beaches and the clearest, bluest waters I’ve ever seen. The beachscapes were truly out of a Caribbean travel brochure, boasting shades of blue that don’t exist in Indiana or Maryland and a serene but intense beauty unique to the tropics.

Holy Week starts tomorrow and I’m off on a road trip with Kamil, Pedro and Steph. From Caracas to Coro to Maracaibo to Merida, where we’ll spend a few days before returning to reality.

The University

La Universidad Simon Bolivar (USB), founded in 1970, is a state school that is world renowned for its excellent science and engineering programs. I don’t think there are even any humanity programs at the undergraduate level. However, the graduate program in political science is well respected and supposedly quite good. Many Venezuelan politicians have passed through the program, including Hugo Chavez, who began a Masters in Political Science at USB in 1990 but never finished after being imprisoned for leading an abortive coup in 1992.

USB has a gorgeous green campus with plenty of open, inviting grassy spaces on which to sprawl out after a three hour discussion on participatory democracy or the particulars of the Bolivarian Revolution. Plenty of palm trees give the campus a tropical, relaxed feel, not exactly conducive to a rigorous study schedule. Out of the 12,424 students enrolled in the university, 9,524 are undergraduate students and 2,810 are graduate students. I’ve noticed that the government takes care of the students fairly well here. For one, food is subsidised. I pay a whooping 15 cents for a lunch consisting of soup, salad, a main dish, fruit, bread, and juice. Although extremely inefficient, transportation to and from the university is free. The down side is that I have to wait 30 minutes plus at the bus stop inhaling low emission standard exhaust from an endless line of bumper to bumper traffic. More often than not a sympathetic fellow student offers me a lift. Other times I walk and arrive before the bus does. Finally, the undergraduate students don’t pay tuition. Besides a $15 or so registration fee, university is free. What a bizarre but attractive concept.

I am enrolled in two graduate political science classes: Understanding the Bolivarian Revolution, a doctoral level class opened to masters students and Democracy, Society, and Citizen Participation in Venezuela: Student Movements, an undergraduate opened to masters students and supplemented with additional reading material and research projects. So far the classes aren’t as rigorous as I imagine graduate school in the US would be. The biggest challenge so far hasn’t been the quantity of reading but the fact that the reading is in Spanish, which will undoubtedly become easier as the year goes on.

Politically, USB identifies as an anti-government school. This is partly because the majority of students are middle to upper class and in Venezuela class and political affiliation are closely connected. However, it also probably has to do with the fact that Chavez has lost much of the initial support he enjoyed from the autonomous intellectual community. They say it's difficult to find an intellectual that supports Chavez, outside of the Bolivarian Universities. My professors seem to strive toward objectivity in the classroom, but everyone has their opinion and even they acknowledge that their biases will inevitably seep through any attempt at disinterested discourse.

But while the USB community is largely opposed to Chavez it should not automatically be associated with the “opposition,” that is, the opposition media and political parties. Although tempting at times, I am trying to avoid placing people into simplified political categories of either Chavista or Opposition. While it’s true that extreme political polarization exists here there’s also a political spectrum that tends to be overlooked. The student movement, for example, has proven to be less radical and more rational than the opposition media. The other day I met a student at USB who voted for one block of the constitutional reform and against the other (the reform was presented in two separate blocks). While perhaps rare, there are people here who recognize both the negative and the positive of the Chavez government.

Living Situation

I live in a gated community called El Placer (The Pleasure), about an hour outside the center of Caracas and five minutes from the university. It’s an upper middle to upper class neighbourhood, perched on the side of the mountain boasting breathtaking views of El Avila and the city. Palm trees line the quite, deserted streets.

I share a spacious, comfortable independent annex with three other international students who attend La Universidad Simon Bolivar. Kamil is a Polish-Canadian undergraduate chemical engineering majors from Ottawa, Stephanie is a 4th year undergraduate Urban Studies major from New Mexico, and Juliana is a Panamanian doing an intensive month long professional internship. We are renting the annex from a warm, welcoming Venezuelan family. The mother, Yolanda, acts more like our host mom than a landlord. She takes us grocery shopping, occasionally makes us coffee and arepas for breakfast, and worries when we’re not home before dark. We enjoy cable, a fickle wireless internet connection, a stove with one functioning burner, irregular hot showers, and a washing machine.

First Week In Caracas

Since yesterday marked my first month in Venezuela, it seems like an update is long overdue. In an attempt to break up this entry some I’ll write and post my following ruminations by theme (e.g. university, politics, culture, travel, etc...).

I spent my first week in Caracas a few blocks off la Plaza Altamira in a clean, white-washed, sunny hotel room with bamboo furniture. Altamira is located in the Eastern part of city and is one of the few zones where I feel comfortable walking the streets alone at night. So while the price was a bit steeper than what I’m used to paying for Latin American hotels, it was a safe place to start out my stay.

I happened to find myself in Caracas during the New Year break and a week before I could move into my house due to a stroke of miscommunication. The first acceptance letter that the political science department sent me back in November stated that classes would start on January 7th. So, wanting to have a least a week in the country before I hit the books I though it would be a good idea to arrive on the first. It turns out classes didn’t start until the 14th and I couldn’t get into my house until the 8th. I decided to use this idle time to learn about the new city and country, which for the next year I will call home. Each day I set off on a new mini-adventure. A stroll through an 82 hector former hacienda, turned recreational park, complete with duck ponds, baseball fields, botanical gardens, and even places where it’s possible to escape the din of traffic and hear the leaves rustle. A jaunt to the city zoo, where monkeys range free and will snatch the hat right off your head if you’re not careful. A visit to a gigantic five story mall, supposedly the largest in South America, where I lost myself in the sea of shoe stores. A walk along cobble stone streets lined with quaint cafes and vendors selling traditional Venezuelan food in the more authentic Sabana Grande. I discovered that when you seek out authenticity you should expect both the good and the bad. It was in Sabana Grande that I had my first encounter with authentic Venezuelan police. As I was walking along two young male officers stopped me, asked to see my passport, search my things, patted me down thoroughly and then proceeded to give me advice on how to “hook up” with Venezuelan women during my visit in their country. Their treatment of me seemed superfluous, especially considering the high crime levels in Caracas.

When I wasn’t out exploring I holed up in my room or found a bench in the nearby Plaza Altamira and read. Venezuela Politics in the Chavez Era, Changing Venezuela by Taking Power, and Cowboy in Caracas are all very informative books about the political situation here.

Preperation to Leave

Welcome to my blog everyone! For those of you who are less familiar with how I ended up in Venezuela, I'll give you a little history. Back in March 2006 I applied for a Rotary Ambassadorial Scholarship, to study international relations in Latin America for a year (Rotary asks you to submit 5 preferred study institutions and my top five were in Colombia, Venezuela, Argentina, Chile, and Nicaragua). After I was awarded the scholarship, Rotary assigned me to my last choice, Nicaragua. Just as I was getting excited about spending a year in this beautiful Central American country with a rich political history, I discovered that the university I requested to attend decided not to offer their international relations program this year. So, I opted for a choice higher on my list. I was told that Colombia was out of the question due to the present civil war and asked to study in Venezuela instead, a country with a volatile and polarized political climate. The request was approved and it was now up to me to apply to the university, get accepted, apply for the visa, get the plane ticket, obtain int'l health insurance, and find housing. The good part of this story is that my Rotary scholarship covers all of my expenses (room, board, round trip ticket, tuition) except health insurance. Luckily Venezuela essentially has universal health care coverage. Not only is health care affordable in Venezuela, but education is too. I was shocked to find that the international health care plan that Rotary recommended costs more for the year than tuition at Universidad Simon Bolivar ($700), one of the best schools in the country.

Since the university only accepted applications for the Jan-April trimester at the end of October, I sent in all my materials the day before I got my wisdom teeth out and a week later found out that I had been admitted!!!

After Thanksgiving break, on the way back to Manchester I marched into the Venezuelan embassy in Washington, D.C. and proudly presented all my required documents, expecting to quickly leave with either my visa or a promise that it would be processed within a week or two. Instead, my application was REJECTED!!! Ouch! It turns out that the official letter of acceptance from the university did not specify that I planned to study for a year, as required. So, instead of walking out with a visa, I left with the job of obtaining another letter from Univ. Simon Bolivar. After I got back to Manchester, Indiana, I placed a call to Caracas, explained my situation to the receptionist and was informed that it would be taken care of right away. Actually the word she used was "ahora," which I later read in the Venezuela Lonely Planet travel guide can mean anytime in the indefinite future. I soon found that out, for my letter did not arrive the next day, nor the next, nor the next. So I place another call to Caracas, speak with the receptionist and learn that they are working on the letter and they will send it out tomorrow. Of course, the word she used was "mañana," which according to Lonely Planet can also mean any time in the indefinite future. Each day the letter does not arrive I become more and more anxious. I send e-mails, I call and talk to the director of the program and each time there's a different reason as to why it hasn't been sent coupled with an assurance that it will be sent soon. Desperate and frustrated, I seek assistance from a Rotarian in Caracas who sends a few of her own e-mails with the text in ALL CAPS. Apparently that was effective because the next day (the day before both Manchester College and Univ. Simon Bolivar let out for the holidays) I get a new letter of acceptance, specifying that I will spend not 4 months, but one year studying in Caracas. I immediately dispatched the precious letter to the embassy, hoping there was sufficient time to process the visa before I leave on Jan. 1st.

In addition to the visa 'crisis' the university needs 'legalized' copies of my Manchester transcript and diploma. So, after finally finding out what 'legalized' meant and in between more calls to Caracas I got the documents notarized and then paid a visit to the Secretary of State of Indiana in Indianapolis to get an Apostille of the Hague (some obscure seal that attests to the authenticity of the documents) placed on the documents. Since the documents are not in Spanish I then had to find someone to do an official translation and find someone else to attest to the accuracy of that translation.

Despite all the anxiety this processed caused, I was relieved to receive my visa in the mail a few days after I returned home! This whole time I kept saying to myself that I knew it would work out; it usually does. This is reassuring knowledge since I still have no idea where I will be staying when I arrive in Caracas on New Years Day. The home stay that has been arranged for me through the int'l student office at Univ. Simon Bolivar begins on the day the university resumes business as usual, Jan. 7th.

Well, if you made it this far, thanks for reading. I hope to keep this blog updated throughout the year. Stay tune for the next entry, probably live from Caracas.