Two Beaches Side by Side

My plane arrived in Santiago from Caracas at about 11:00 pm. Finally, I had returned to Chile since my studies in Concepcion and Santiago three years ago. My year studying abroad in Chile had a big impact on me, yet many other experiences had occurred since then: graduation from college, a few short jobs and internships, a seven month period living in Mexico, among others. Most recently, I have adjusted to the culture and, to a lesser extent, the tropical climate of Venezuela. Though they are both South American countries, the difference between Venezuela and Chile is like night and day. And though Chile always occupied a special place in my heart, I felt nervous before my arrival as many questions simmered in my head: Were my memories and love for Chile embellished and dated? Would Chile sweep me off my feet the way that it did once upon a time? How do Chile and Venezuela compare with one another side by side?

To answer these questions, I have to take you to two beaches: Mochima in Venezuela, and Llico in Chile. The first might be confused for a steamy version of paradise upon first glance. If you look at your feet, which are probably bare, you see fine white granules of sand, free of garbage, seaweed, and other types of detritus. Looking down further, a soft breeze tosses the crystalline water into gentle waves; a handful of ostentatious yachts rest not far from the hot sand. Mochima is a protected national park near my current residence in Cumaná, Venezuela. On occasions such as this, life feels good, and I cannot kvetch. I am lucky to have the company of my Venezuelan friends Eliana, Roamir, Pablo, and Rachel, another North American English teacher. Of course, we are not alone: other beach-going Venezuelans pack the shore too. Given the hot weather, everyone tends to minimize the amount of clothing worn. For better or worse, the women with bikinis have their speedo-sporting male counterparts as well. "To each his own," I think. The beach in Venezuela typically is no place for modesty.

One can observe this effusive air by the anthropogenic sounds too. In addition to the soft breeze, the Latin beats of salsa, merengue, and reggaeton are as loud and inescapable at the beach as they are in the streets of downtown Cumaná. Moreover, my friends (mainly the male ones) constantly joke in a raucous manner without a concern for the volume of their voices. And why should anyone worry? There is no reason to hush one’s voice when children and adults alike scream as they play in the warm Caribbean water.

The second beach has a very different feel as I look down at my feet, closed toed shoes still on, and see that the sand is darker and less fine. Though it is on the same continent of South America as Mochima, one sees, feels and hears stark differences in the fishermen’s cove of Llico in southern Chile where I stand with my two good friends Lucho and Cristian Díaz*. Upon looking at the expanse of beach, I see a mosaic composed of seaweed, broken shells, black speckled sand and wind-swept bluffs. Wind is the operative word in this land because it is strong and inescapable, complemented by the crash of the waves. The large trees brave the wind’s force, yet there is certainly no Caribbean palm tree in sight, nor do the locals slurp down piña coladas to wash down their empanadas. Regardless, plenty of Chilean families enjoy the beach’s rugged beauty, though it is not as packed as its aforementioned Venezuelan counterpart. Locals test their nerves in the frigid water of the Pacific Ocean, yet taking a dip is less tempting for me, especially as I think about the tropical waters of Mochima. I am more than content admiring the scenery.

And certain acoustic qualities of the beach in Llico are apparent in every corner of the country. True to its Latin American identity, the streets in the Chile have the ongoing serenade of reggaeton and other Latin American pop music. However, the music is rarely heard at ear-drum bursting volumes that assault all who trot the streets of Venezuela. I have also noticed that people tend to speak at a slightly hushed volume in Chile, and the jokes told by Chileans come off as more tame and lack the double meaning that is characteristic of the Venezuelan sense of humor. Regardless, I have a wonderful time with Lucho and Cristian, who –like my Venezuelan friends Eliana, Roamir and Pablo – provide great company, local knowledge and their own well-rounded sense of humor. Based on such observations, Chile begins to feel as sincere as much as it is conservative, measured, and subtle in its style.

The juxtaposition of this tamed temperament and the coastal landscape creates a timeless allure in this country. In other words, one encounters warm and inviting people who are willing to share everything in the face of impressive yet less-than-paradisal landscapes. Neither better nor worse than the offerings of Venezuela, it is simply different. Llico absorbs me completely before long, tempting me to stare along the whole coastline as the wind jostles my hair. I cannot get enough of it.

*Lucho and Cristian are both from the fishing town Lebu, which is about an hour and a half from Llico. The pictures from Chile in this post were taken in Lebu.

Chutzpa and a Venezuelan Bakery

In Leo Rosten´s lexicographic classic The Joys of Yiddish, the reader can find ample synonyms for the word chutzpa: “gall, brazen nerve, effrontery, incredible ‘guts’,” all of which come from the ancestral Hebrew word for audacity (92-93). I find myself encountering a special type of chutzpa on a frequent basis in Venezuela, and it exists in the form of blunt honesty blended with an affinity to joke about people playfully and constantly. In Spanish, Venezuelans refer to this ubiquitous practice as echar broma, often involving a healthy dose of double entendre. I take you to the local bakery near my apartment in Cumaná to illustrate this.

One day late in the afternoon, I walked into the local bakery. The clerks at the display case were busy as usual while they served the steady flow of customers. “Here comes Harry Potter” I heard one clerk whisper to the other as I approached; nearly everyone in the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela has told me that I look like Harry Potter. Fighting my way towards the front, as is the standard, I gave my usual “hola, buenas tardes” to the young female clerk who was about to take my order. The clerks had already begun to make fun of me regularly, having been a customer for about a month and a half. This usually had involved exaggerated impersonations of my thick foreign accent. Yet today the practice of echar broma strayed from the limited realm of pronunciation, and the young woman took a different approach.

“Do you like to drink tomato juice,” the clerk asked me.
I responded sheepishly, “No, I do not like tomato juice.” I was a little surprised too.
“You don’t like tomato juice!?”
“No I don’t. Why do you ask?”
“Are you telling me that you never drink tomato juice!?!” she continued.
“He doesn’t like tomato juice,” chimed in a nearby clerk.
I began to feel more nervous, and everyone in line seemed to notice the banter taking place. My body temperature began to rise; someone had turned up the thermostat in eastern Venezuela. “Why do you want to know whether or not I like to drink tomato juice?” I asked vexingly.
“Because you look like a tomato!” she cried out, referring to my rosy complexion aggravated by the tropical climate and embarrassment. The other clerks and a few customers let out a series giggles as I stood at the front of the line speechless.

This chutzpa characterizes the art of echar broma, and I learn everyday that it is something to be embraced and reciprocated.

For this reason, Venezuelans fearlessly make their jokes in a back and forth fashion, pushing the stakes higher and higher. I would call many of their jokes border line harsh by the standards of the United States. In a similar fashion, most nicknames clearly point out a person’s physical imperfections. However, these jokes always end in reassuring and reciprocating grins no matter the degree of audacity employed in the joke.

So, the next day I figured that the clerks working the counter would have no problem with a photo shoot for my blog. I showed up at the bakery around closing time when customer traffic was minimal and explained to the clerks my reasons for taking a few pictures. They did not understand the concept of a blog during my spiel, yet they quickly revealed excitement after I asked permission to take some pictures. Suffice it to say, the photo shoot was successful.

Sometimes the Venezuelan style of echar broma can come off too boldly, especially since we tend to take jokes on physical appearance quite personally in the United States. Yet as I become more accustomed to these tendencies of Venezuelan culture, I realize that it is a two-way street requiring a proper exchange of quips. Accordingly, I try my best to joke back and with success; my grin seems to be wider and wider each time I leave the bakery.


Work Cited
Rosten, Leo. The Joys of Yiddish. New York: Pocket Books, 1973.

La Rumba de Una Boda Venezolana

My good friends Eliana and Roamir invited me to their wedding last weekend, giving me a genuine and incredible taste of a gigantic fiesta venezolana. Venezuelans commonly refer to a party as una rumba, and a wedding is probably one of the best examples. Think Jewish Bar Mitzva party meets Caribbean wedding, and Johnny Walker Whiskey substitutes the Manischewitz wine. After the church ceremony, the highlight of the evening was the infamous "hora loca" (crazy hour). This occurrence resembles carnaval more than anything else as masks, whistles and colorful hats were dispersed to the tunes of merengue, salsa, samba and tambor music. The rumba began to settle down by 3:30 am having begun around 10:00 pm. Take a look for yourself to get an idea of what it was like. You can see my album here. Though not a single champagne glass was broken during the evening, I offer a hearty mazel tov to Eliana and Roamir.

Election Night in Venezuela

Pictures from my Fiesta Electoral

On election night, my friends Albelk and Mery decided to humor me and went along with my idea of an election night party. We watched CCN en Español coverage of the election and tried to make the evening as festive as possible given the short notice and limited resources. Here are some pictures for your enjoyment.

How could the festivities be complete without red, white and blue? The occasion demanded creativity for a few reasons: M&Ms do not exist in Venezuela; the Venezuelan flag colors are red, blue and yellow; and, Venezuela does not represent a particularly large market share for the American flag producing industries.

The white bread of Venezuela: arepa.

Mery, Albelk and me before Obama won.

I waited for Obama to win the neccesary 270 votes in the Electoral College-what suspense!

Mery, Albelk and me after Obama won. I assure you all that dancing and celebration took place after this point, meaning that I learned a few new dance moves too.

Election Special

Anything Can Happen in Venezuela
Many Venezuelans have asked me questions about the U.S. elections since my arrival. Those interested wanted to know more about the two candidates and always asked me who I prefer between Obama and McCain. In light of the marked differences between the two candidates that will influence U.S. and Venezuela relations, one professor requested that I present an overview of the election to her class last Wednesday.

I prepared a PowerPoint presentation ahead of time, describing the backgrounds of the candidates and elucidating an abridged version of the Republican and Democratic Party platforms. During my preparation, the thought of self-proclaimed objectivity struck me as hollow at best, yet I strove to present the two candidates in the most balanced way possible. My self-imposed guidelines included: no irate denigrations of either candidate; no condescending remarks; and, no explicitly partisan references in my bibliography (i.e., MoveOn.org, The Family Research Council). More often than not, I cited the New York Times website for reference. I tried my best.

Before beginning the presentation on Wednesday, I asked the class first if they already preferred one candidate over another: thirteen decided, 2 undecided. Thirteen percent of the class electorate still had to choose, compared to four percent of Americans. After the presentation, the professor and I held two classroom wide votes. The first "vote" resembled a publicly held opinion poll, yet it was bound for error due to its primitive design. I asked those in favor of McCain to raise their hands – not a single hand when up. All students raised their hands when I asked who preferred Obama. Suffice it to say, third parties seemed inconsequential, yet a student had told me earlier that anything can happen in Venezuela (e.g., a socialist president rises to power, a businessmen boards a plane with over $100,000 in his briefcase, etc). Therefore, the professor and I decided to cast a secret ballot vote lest the Bradley Effect muddle the true will of the class electorate. We handed out sticky notes as improvised ballots to the students. The result: Obama fourteen, McCain zero, Chavez 1. "Chavez!" I exclaimed as the professor told me the outcome. Chavez – who does not claim much popularity among the English language students at the university – beat McCain in our class election. It later became apparent that the vote for Chavez in our class election turned out to be a joke, which explains why the whole class erupted into laughter. The student who claimed that anything can happen in Venezuela beamed.


Policy Changes to Come
For those interested, I offer some impressions from my U.S.–Venezuela policy grab bag. Take the differences between candidates with a grain of salt. Between Obama and McCain, the former hints a greater willingness to sit down and negotiate with world leaders that resist or besmirch U.S. foreign policy (i.e., President Hugo Chavez). I’m also told that Chavez tends to berate McCain more often than Obama, so Chavez may be less likely to curse the U.S. executive should the democrats take the country’s highest political office. Yet beyond the Chavez rants, U.S. energy policy of the next administration can shift significantly American and Venezuelan positions on the geopolitical map. Currently petroleum accounts for 80% of Venezuelan export revenues. The country exports much of its hydrocarbons to the United States, and the profits fund a large proportion of the Venezuelan government’s operations. The next U.S. president could change this. If the next commander chief decreases demand for oil imports, then the U.S. will depend less on Venezuela to sate its thirst for oil. And, Hugo Chavez will need another buyer to whom he can sell Venezuelan oil, though the specifics are still beyond my knowledge. Regardless, the next president will shape U.S. energy policy and demand for imported oil, which will shape the course of Venezuela´s economy and government without a doubt.

Stress or Lack Thereof?

My work in Cumaná entails an English Teaching Assistantship at the Universidad del Oriente, known by locals as La Udo. Two weeks have passed since my arrival, and I have spent my time getting acquainted with the teachers in the Department of Modern Languages, observing different classes and tutoring students. I have witnessed a sampling of inefficiencies that hamper the smooth function of the university — a hoo-ha here, a hullabaloo there. Yet people at the university maintain a low- or no-stress attitude and a care-free air. This is a counterintuitive curiosity to me.


In this last week alone, I have encountered a plethora of schedule blips and logistic snags that extend beyond the occasional tardy teacher or broken light bulb. For example, three classes that I was to observe – including one scheduled to commence at 7:00 am – never happened. No one showed up. Then there is the issue of electricity, which is something that is especially easy to take for granted. On Thursday, the school’s power went out on and off for about three hours. Lights go out, teachers´ technology dependent lessons are foiled, and air conditioning ceases to exist in the midst of 90˚ F heat. A professor told me that President Chavez claims the nation’s rolling blackouts to be the result of conspiracy from the political opposition; many see the blackouts simply as a symptom of overwhelming inefficiency and shoddy maintenance. All the while teachers and students shrug there shoulders and go outside to wait.

People continue to exude an unflappable and tranquil attitude, and that is exactly what most calls my attention.

Generally, most institutions in the United States run smoothly. Business obligations and classes tend to move along in a timely fashion, and public utilities deliver water, electricity and other resources expectedly and efficiently. And who would kvetch about the more temperate weather? Nonetheless, many people are excessively stressed-out in the United States. True, not everyone is on the brink of mental collapse at the exact same time, nor can I express quantitatively the degree to which people stress themselves out in the U.S. However, the relative absence of anxiety and tension here in the Caribbean city of Cumaná is so obvious, qualitatively speaking. Though the U.S. might be a haven for mental health professionals that specialize in stress disorders, Americans can still learn something in this area: a cultural norm to decrease stress.

Thus the age-old chicken-and-egg hypothesis comes into play: which came first, the logistical inefficiency or the low stress attitudes? In other words, do the inefficiencies in the country contribute to a decreased urgency, or does a relaxed lifestyle cause inefficiency? At the same time, I do not wish to glorify and romanticize the infrastructure problems that contribute to electricity failures and other public utility shortcomings. The black outs raise other pressing questions too. For example: to what extent do power failures have an impact on the quality of education in Venezuela? Moreover, must efficiency and a lifestyle characterized by low-stress be mutually exclusive?

Readers, please let me know if you think of any other questions worth asking Venezuelans. If you happen to be a Venezuelan reading this, then please do not hesitate to criticize my points. Perhaps only time, some casual investigation and a few more black outs will allow me to craft a more informed speculation.

Venezuelan Odyssey Adventure Number #1: Survival tactics in tropical climes

As my occasional use of Yiddish words might imply, I have a vivid and sincere respect for my eastern European heritage. My family roots go back centuries to a tiny shtetl in Poland, and I have read of the dire poverty and frigid weather that often struck similarly isolated towns.

Under these conditions the Ashkenazi Jews adapted ever since they first settled in that part of the world. But what happens when your fair-skinned Ashkenazi boychick, designed to brave cold winters and store precious body heat, is transplanted to tropical climes? Put simply: he begins to lose consciousness and starts to shvitz until a medium-sized Venezuelan city begins to flood. And if he doesn´t take a glass of water and Tylenol, he gets a headache by five o´ clock. I should be so lucky.

This brings me to the city of Cumaná, a medium-sized city on the Caribbean coast in eastern Venezuela. I will call it home for the next ten months, and it has been good to me so far. For starters, people go out of their way to help me settle down and feel at home. Cumaná has a much slower and laid back pace than Caracas, and a trip to a nice beach only requires a fifteen-minute car ride. However, it is hot. Oy vey, is it hot. On average, the daily temperature hits about 90° F. Some buildings have air conditioning, but this provides no respite from the heat when the power goes out. By the way, it goes out. A day´s worth of this heat sucks the energy out of any human being.

Venezuelans have invented an excellent mechanism to mitigate the mild case of heat exhaustion: the two-hour lunch break. Unaccustomed to this ritual, it took me about four days of late afternoon headaches and fatigue to learn the value of lunch plus a thirty-minute nap. Holding an electric fan less than a foot away from my head helps too. As I learn to adapt to the weather, I´m able to forsake the excessive nostalgia for “the old country.” But I didn´t want to get caught unprepared; I can always flip through my copy of Leo Rosten´s The Joys of Yiddish, which is probably the only one on the Caribbean coast. You never know when an emergency might pop up.

My plane hit the tarmac at approximately 5:15 am in Maiquetía Airport, and I had only slept about two or three hours since leaving San Francisco. Fortunately, the frigid yet smooth encounters with Venezuelan immigration and customs officials never fully registered because of my drowsy state. Bumper to bumper traffic and one and a half hours later (“¡At 5:45 in the morning!”), I arrive at the hotel. Not much exploring happened despite the fact that nothing was scheduled. Tropical urban jungle would be the first words that come to mind when describing Caracas. Yet adventures dodging maniacal drivers and standing out seemed like the agenda item for another day; sleep and down time had more appeal.

Thus I do not have any colorful vignettes to tell, nor much scenery to describe besides the concrete gray skyscrapers that I can see from my sixth floor hotel room. However, as I study the Caracas Yellow Pages and listen to salsa music on the radio station, I offer a few motley observations from the phone book that begin to affect my impression of Venezuela:

• Che Guevara has his special place in the Paginas Amarillas. The very first page of the yellow pages advertises “7 inaugurated companies of social property.” At the bottom of the advertisement, the Bolivarian Government of Venezuela asserts “¡Fatherland, socialism or death! … ¡We will triumph!”


• What do yoga studios, beauty salons and aesthetic medicine have in common? You can find them all in the fourteen-page section of yellow pages that bears the title “Aesthetic and Beauty Guide.” Venezuela is world renowned for its winning track record at beauty pageants, and its beauty-related industry is big business.


• How much do you know about Caracas? One advertisement in the phone book highlights the virtues of the plant for which the Venezuelan capital city was named. According to this extremely informative text, the Caracas plant can treat cases of diarrhea, fever, sore throat, dysentery, intestinal hemorrhages, excessive menstruation and parasites. Its leaves contain more vitamin A and Vitamin C than an orange, and provide various beneficial minerals. Fortunate for Venezuelans, the national production of flour, tea, pasta and crackers features this illustrious plant.

Language aside, could this plethora of information ever exist in a North American yellow pages guide? If the phone book is any indication, I have a hunch that my next ten months here will be pretty exciting and educational.