The beach rat: Coto. Another success story. Adopted from a garbage pile in the streets of Boca del Rio, he was destined to be the Cotorrero, guardian of the Cotorra, an endemic island parrot. That destiny didn't work out, so Chucho brought him to the beach to live at his family's rancheria. When Chucho's dad had to leave fishing behind (see story below), the family down the beach decided to adopt him and re-named him Negro (Black). Here he is getting to know his newest brother. Notice the dreadlocks in his tail and leg hair :)

Luna luna lunita. I found her outside the fabric store in Boca del Rio and decided to take her home to accompany the other dog I had adopted. She was sickly for most of her young life and friends would sneak her antibiotics to get rid of various infections she had as a pup. I had to leave her when I left Venezuela and Chucho told me he would take her to his family's home. I had seen the way they took care of their animals and loved them and was hopeful that Luna would be happy. Sure enough, she has to be the only dog in the whole Macanao peninsula who gets to sleep on the bed, sit on laps and eat arepas and fish out of her owners' hands. What a relief!

Sunrise at La Restinga beach.

The situation in Venezuela

Let me share 2 stories. Two stories of friends in Venezuela.

The first is about Chuito, the father of my good friend, Chucho. He is a fisherman who lives in the small town of San Francisco de Macanao, the only town on the Macanao peninsula of Margarita Island that is setback from the ocean, nestled in the mountains. The family has a small rancheria down the road at a beach called El Tunal. Under the thatched roof of the rancheria, the family has two boats, La Vichita and Cleidis del Mar, but no engines. He applied for a government loan from the Chavez government about 3 years ago and has been promised the money to buy a boat engine so that he can fish and provide for his family of 7 children, 3 grandchildren. When I met him, he was fishing with a neighbor and friend of his on a boat he did not own and was barely able to meet the needs of his 10 dependents. Unfortunately, his friend passed away recently in a car accident – hit by a drunk driver. Chuito not only lost a friend, but his livlihood - he can no longer fish without access to a boat. To make ends meet, Chuito's wife works as well – two different jobs in town. They have a small house of 4 bedrooms for all 12 of them and a small piece of land that allows them to grow some squash, peppers and have chickens and pigs. Somehow they get by. Two boat engines cost around 5 million bolivares (about $2,200) and they have been waiting for the money to come through for over 4 years now. They continue to be hopeful but Chuito is growing older and it is difficult for him to find work. When I saw him most recently, he was employed by the sand mining company, guarding the huge machine that uproots native trees that are in such a delicate balance with the harsh, dry climate of the dry forest ecosystem. He works from sundown to sun up and sleeps in a hammock outside, alone, every night. He dreams of being able to get back out on the water and fish again. It pains him every time he has to pay money for fish that he used to sell. And yet he remains hopeful that the government will come through with the money. Everytime I speak with him, he says, “It shouldn’t be too long now.” They have no telephone, so to inquire about the status of the loan, he must make a trip to the capitol city after a night of guarding the machine in the mountains. On public transportation from San Francisco it takes about 2 hours (an hour of which is simply waiting for the bus to arrive) to get the office where he inquires about the status of the loan. And every time they tell him that there are too many loans, that his time is coming and it shouldn’t be more than a couple of months before the money finally arrives. In the house, they always have the Chavez TV station playing and Chuito talks about how important it is to redistribute the wealth of the country, to share knowledge, resources and opportunities equitably among all citizens. And he believes this is what Chavez is doing. And so he waits patiently for his loan so that he can do what he has always loved to do: fish. Meanwhile, in Caracas's wealthier neighborhoods, far from the salty waters of El Tunal where Chuito patiently awates the money for his boat engines, luxury homes and apartment blocks shoot up as a small elite, the "boli-burguesia", or Bolivarian bourgeoisie, make their fortune from high international oil prices.

The second story is about Emilio Perez, entrepreneur, map-maker, trekking guide. Emilio was raised in a poor mining town of Venezuela whose economy suffered the same fate as many mining towns. One of many children born to a struggling working class family, he recognized that there was no future for him in the town of his birth. Fortunately for Emilio, he had cousins in the US and was able to illegally travel to the States for a couple of years as a young man. He worked wherever he could and lucky for him, had a talent for English. He was also introduced to the internet in the States and he was able to learn about the world and research opportunities for success. Luckily, he landed a job as the manager of Latino workers, liaison between the general manager who spoke no Spanish and the Latino workers who spoke no English. He worked in a fireworks factory for awhile, then a circus, odd jobs in Boston. He saved his money and eventually returned to his country. He loves his country. He loves the spectacular natural beauty of his country. He managed to make a connection to someone who needed guides for Roraima and he started taking tourists up to the top of famous flat-topped mountains in Venezuela. While working with these groups, he became fascinated with maps and decided to try and make detailed maps, using satellite images to capture the contures of the tops of tepuis. Using the internet and through international networking, he was able to obtain the technical equipment he needed to start making his maps. He now has about 4 different maps of different tepuis and a physical and political map of Venezuela. All are in both English and Spanish. He sells them all over the country, to Venezuelans and tourists alike, but still struggles to make everything work out financially. He takes opportunities to guide now and then, he works on international documentaries that want to film in Venezuela, he does other odd jobs when they come to him. Throughout his whole life he has actively searched for opportunities that were not readily available to a person from his background. He has never waited for the government to solve his problems and feels extremely threatened by the current Chavez government and the direction that it is taking his country. He watches the independent TV channels that banter back and forth about the corruption within the current government. He understands that Chavez will never save him, but he may very well take away the wealth he has worked hard to achieve.

Extreme Hitchhiking

I was getting desperate for a plane flight back to mainland from Margarita Island so that I could catch my place back to the states. Saturday was full, Sunday was full and Monday would be too late. I was going to take the ferry as I had on other occasions but this trip usually cost me a full day and with so few days in Venezuela, I was not too eager to spend one traveling from Margarita to the Caracas. On Thursday morning I woke up and was going to go to Porlamar (the big city on the island) to try and find a way to fly to Caracas. Consuelo stopped me in the morning and said, “Chama! Don’t by your ticket yet… I have a friend who works at the airport who might be able to get us a free flight.” I thought, you’re kidding, right? You can’t possibly hitch a ride on an airplane, could you? But then again anything is possible in Venezuela! I didn’t quite believe it was possible, so I went to Porlamar in hopes of finding a flight… My friend, Alan, called a friend of his who works in tourism and he found a flight for more than twice as much as it should be, but I told Alan to go ahead a reserve it anyway. Before going to buy the ticket in person (which you must do to ensure you actually get on the plane), I gave Consuelo and Jose Manuel a call to see what their plans were and Consuelo said that her friend had found them a flight to Maracay which is only about an hour and half by bus from my final destination in the Caracas area. I still didn’t quite believe her, but I told her to sign me up anyway. Good thing I got my name on that list, because I spoke with Alan right after that and he said that my reservation had been taken. I was still unclear as to how one hitches a ride on an airplane (the image I had in my head was of me standing on the runway with all my bags, my thumb up, waiting for a plane to stop grab my hand and pull me up into the cabin) but I decided to go with the flow. All this planning took place on Thursday. I didn’t worry about it for the rest of the day and instead dragged Francis and Alan to the beach, where we ate 4 plate of oysters, drank beers and had a large lunch of grilled fish, arepas and platanos. YUM!!

At 7am Friday morning, after spending the night in “La Chica,” the field site for Provita (the environmental organization with which I worked for a year), Jose Manuel, Consuelo and I take off on a bus to the airport to catch a flight that supposedly leaves at 9am. We arrive at the airport at 8am. It turns out that the plane we will ride on is not a private airline, but the “Fuerza Venezolana Aerea:” the airplane of the Venezuelan military! When we got to the airport, the airplane had just arrived from Maracay, a military center of Venezuela, and a ribbon of red was pouring out the airplane; a loud ribbon of red. Chavistas. They were chanting, singing, they had speakers playing “pro-Chavez remixes” of popular meringue and salsa songs, they had Venezuelan flags waving and smiles. They flowed like water into all crevices of the airport, spreading their pro-Chavez message and bright red colors. Large trucks and jeeps equipped with huge speakers came to pick them up and the demonstration began. I have to say, Venezuelans know how to make politics fun. The music was enticing, the people were having a grand old time and the beer was flowing, as is customary on Margarita.

While we waited for the word from Consuelo’s friend, Tuco, I was busy observing and filming the demonstration. The Chavistas took off for another area to demonstrate (the elections are coming up on December 4) and Tuco appeared and told us to head over to the international terminal to wait for the place to take off. This was at 9:30am. Tuco told us that a man named William would come and look for us to check us into the flight and that we would leave at 10am. We waited and waited and Consuelo started to get very nervous, so of course, she just walked up and asked to speak with William. He appeared in full military uniform and red Chavez hat. Consuelo, the ultimate schmoozer, spoke with him and he came over and wrote down our names and our identification numbers and disappeared. We waited for another hour. 11:30am. (I kind of guessed that the plane would not leave at 9am!!) Finally, people in military uniform started to appear in the waiting area and we guessed that they must be on the plane. There were families of the miliary, a basketball team with a Cuban coach (Fidel and Hugo have an agreement where Venezuela exchanges oil for Cuban professionals and athletes), young military men, older executives in the government, Consuelo, Jose Manuel and the only “estadounidense”, ME.

Everyone gathered around the entrance to the plane and another man in military uniform called out names. At the very end of a list of about 100 names were ours and we passed through the first entrance into another waiting room. Finally at noon, we walked out to the airplane, put our bags under the plane ourselves and boarded the huge jet of the Venezuelan military. The seats were large with plenty of legroom, but Consuelo nor I had a seat belt. A nice lady walked by to get our names and check us off the list, they closed the door and without any mention of emergency plans or security, they closed the door and we were in the air. The plane ride was only about 45 minutes and we arrived in the military base of Maracay safely. A bus took us out of the base and we got a taxi to Jose Manuel’s mom’s house around 2pm where we were greeted by a huge traditional Venezuelan lunch: shredded beef, plantains, rice and black beans. YUUUUM.

Who would have thought that I could hitch a ride on the Venezuelan military airplane??!!

Arrival

After waiting for so long to return and visit Margarita, it was surprisingly easy to walk out my front door in Brookline, board a train to the airport and hop on a plane that took me to Caracas through Houston. It made me wonder, “Why have I waited so long to go back??” Probably a complicated answer. I arrived in the Caracas airport and after making my way through immigration, I felt immediately comfortable. I found a good black market exchange rate with a nice gentleman in the airport and marched my way down to the National terminal, Bolivars in hand. I probably have spent more time in this airport than I have in any single airport in the states. I stopped at Juliet´s for my favorite pastry, drank myself a strong espresso “cafecito” and waited to board my plane to Margarita.

I was greeted at the airport in Margarita by Jose Manuel and Consuelo who whisked me off to probably my least favorite place on Margarita, the huge, ugly Centro Commercial, SIGO… Consuelo and I bought all the food for 800 people for the festival while Jose Manuel went to run an errand… well, the errand ended up taking him a good 6 hours… so Consuelo and I have some quality time to catch up while sitting on a bench outside of shopping center hell. Not the ideal way to spend the first day in Margarita, but somehow fitting.

This country is spectacular! Why did I come only for two weeks???!!! I want to go everywhere!

More pictures and stories to come.

Consuelo, eres famosa!!

Consuelito! Por fin, eres famosa, como deberias ser!
Te quiero mucho! 

Going back to Macanao

See you all sooooon . . . 

La Cotorra Margaritena

Young islanders dressed up in the colors of the yellow-shouldered parrot for a performance in the 2004 festival.

Puppet show

The festival in 2004 featured a puppet show, depicting the situation of the endangered species of the Macanao peninsula. 

The Provita house in Boca de Río where we have our office, 2 bedrooms, the kitchen, the community center and our "virgen del valle" - the virgin of the valley, the guardian of the island.  

I am certified!!! WooHooo!!! Scuba is fun! 

Hiking in El Ávila, with my Caracas pals. Its good to have some gringa friends :)  

Mis panitas gringolas en Caracas, meaning, my gringa pals. Rebecca and Barbara (they call her La China even though she is from Korea).  

The entrance into the lovely IVIC (Instituto Venezolano de Investigaciones Científicas). Not bad, huh? 

The spectacular view from just above the ecology building in IVIC (Instituto Venezolano de Investigaciones Científicas), Caracas. When I am not on my Caribbean Island, I am here in cloud forest paradise.  

On a hike in the "Pozas de San Juan" with Melissa and her dad. This was the first time that I have swam in fresh water on Margarita!!!  

Hiking in Margarita can be very rewarding. It seems as if there are no trails but once you start up out of a town, you find trails criss-crossing every which way. Here Melissa and I were lucky enough to come across a spectacular view through the valley of San Juan of La Restinga and Macanao (my deserted side of the island).  

This is one of my very favorite parts of Margarita beach life. The OYSTERS!!! Yes, every beach you go to, you can find some nice, sometimes cute young man to feed you fresh raw oysters.  

I think I can safely say that this tree is my favorite spot on the island. Come visit and see it for yourself!!