Buff Nude Woman Rides Tapir

There she is, right in the middle of the urban Caracas arterial, a gigantic statue of a buff nude woman riding a tapir. Well, why not?! This is Venezuela after all. First (for those of you who didn't have Mrs. Mulligan for 9^th grade biology) a tapir is a big animal that looks like a giant pig with rhinoceros toes and a little elephant trunk. Tapirs live here in Venezuela along with nearly every other exotic animal that stepped off Jonah's ark. What's weird is that people normally don't ride them – probably for some good reason.

So who is she, this amazing woman in the statue? My detractors will no doubt suggest that I find something perversely erotically tantalizing about buff nude women riding tapirs. That of course is untrue; I am simply intellectually curious about how this seemingly mythic figure fits into history and weaves into the social fabric of Venezuela. After inquiring about her for nearly two years and getting nothing but shrugs from natives as well as expats, I got the brilliant idea to Google her. She is Maria Leonza, the central figure in a very blended Venezuelan religion sometimes referred to as a cult. The woman herself is supposedly a historic figure born of an important native chief in about 1502. According to legend she was a very buff woman and perhaps a goddess or queen. She was particularly noted for reigning over savage beasts and she liked creepy reptiles too.

Getting back to this religion that Ms. Leonza dominates, it combines indigenous Venezuelan, African slave Santeria (supposedly from the Yoruba of Nigeria), a touch of European spiritism, and Catholicism of course. It's got something for everybody, whether you like forest spirits, animal sacrifice, Jesus, or buff nude women who ride tapirs. It's no surprise that it remains popular. Maybe I'll convert. I think the Catholic part was a later add-on. The local priest missionaries here in the 16^th century didn't always follow the "my way or the highway" dictates of their management back in Rome. If they couldn't convert the natives, they'd at least mess with 'em and try to stuff a little Christianity into their native religion and a few genes into their gene pool. Accordingly they managed to give Ms. Leonza her proper Catholic name of Santa María de la Onza Talavera del Prato de Nívar, which means (I think) Saint Mary of the Jaguar Something Something Something.

Well, anyway, I'm just starting to copy stuff from Wikipedia and some other web articles now so I'll quit. If you find this interesting like me and have time to fritter away, Google it yourself. I have to go to the grocery store now.

They're watching us!

I have often mused that Venezuelans seem enamored with the United States. However their image of us seems glamorized much beyond reality. I have attributed this to movies and television. Many or most movies showing in Caracas are Hollywood products and roughly half of the cable and satellite channels feature USA movies or sitcoms with Spanish dubbed or subtitled. Even some of the local shows are knock offs of American TV shows like Wheel of Fortune and Candid Camera. Anyway this cartoon that appeared in the Caracas El Nacional Sunday magazine sort of validated my assumptions. So, we Yanks have to set a good example. They're watching us.

Pájaro del día

Monday Catherine played hooky and we took a hike in El Avila Parque Nacional. The trail head that we took is just a nine buck taxi ride from our apartment. In fact from the high point on our steep scramble we could see our apartment building with our binoculars. But, the first things we saw were several members of one of my favorite Venezuelan bird species, the Querrequerre. It is the Inca Jay in English. The Latin name is Cyanocorax yncas. These were almost tame, probably because of being fed by the hikers. You can click the picture to open a larger image.

After the hike we had a late lunch at Tarzilandia (Tarzan Land) just outside the park entrance. You enter and walk through a tropical garden menagerie with large birds, most notably three species of Macaw parrots. In the outdoor dining area it is white table cloths and waiters with tuxedos. The décor is jungle. Among the decorations were large Loggerhead turtle shells. I didn't want to think of how they got those but the restaurant has existed about the same since at least back to the 50's so I assume they were acquired legally and morally before the animal was known to be endangered. The food was great and reasonable, even considering the dollar's nose dive. We saved nine bucks coming home though by just walking down hill to the Altimira Metro stop and taking the subway free (because we're over 60) to Chacaito where it's just 15 more minutes walk to our apartment. Ahh, life is good when you are retired.

Douglasses Do Downtown

We went downtown Saturday. That doesn't sound like too big a deal but it's kind of a big deal here. Downtown Caracas is the old part of town where the offices of the federal government are located along with the Caracas city offices. Many gringos and even some Venezuelans won't go there because it is considered a bit dangerous. It is somewhat run down. It is also a stronghold for government supporters, and we all know the government position regarding the USA is that we are a bunch of dirty Yankee imperialists. I'm still not sure whether the alleged danger is more from ordinary pickpockets and street bandits looking to prey on anyone who looks like he may have a few Bolivares in his pocket or if its political animosity toward gringos. I think mostly the former.

We felt pretty safe because we were hosted by our new friend, whom I shall call Freddie (because I'm not sure he wants web publicity). He is a devout Chavista unlike most of the people we know here who are exactly the opposite. We did not see any signs of contempt or much interest expressed in us by anyone. We of course had dressed for obscurity by wearing simple drab colors and no jewelry of any market value. At Freddie's recommendation we had bathed well and put on all clean clothes before our departure because he said the locals can smell stale gringos. Freddie gave us plenty of safety warnings and had me stand guard with him behind Catherine when she made a quick photo sprint to take pictures of a dramatic wall mural that chronicled the history of Venezuela. Freddie said motorcycle bandits are skilled at purse and camera grabs. There were some places where he advised against showing the camera at all. At one point he had us abruptly change direction because he said a suspicious young man was walking too close behind us. Freddie is used to rough neighborhoods. He used to live in New York so some of his security habits may have come from that experience.

After we got off the subway in the downtown area we were confronted by a giant work of wall art. It is very common in Caracas. This example symbolizes much more than I can recall. It is notable because it shows Bolivar's beloved mistress whom he credited with being a great source of his strength.

We saw some good stuff including the Plaza Bolivar, and the presidential palace. Most of the government buildings date from colonial times. We were able to walk through the beautiful capital courtyard. We visited the Cathedral in which many important historical people are buried. The most notable by far is Simon Bolivar himself. Here's a picture of his tomb with the motionless guards armed with rifles and bayonets. Freddie said they're not just for decoration because several years ago when his ex-wife stuck her foot beyond the roped off area to get a snapshot, they came off their posts real fast to send her scurrying back. Oh, by the way, you can click the pictures to see a bigger image.

We visited the spot where the famous (or infamous, depending upon your perspective) movie "The Revolution will Not be Televised" showed some guys firing pistols into the crowd (or empty street, depending upon who you believe) in the coup attempt of April 11, 2002. There is a monument there now.

We also visited the birthplace and first home of Simon Bolivar. It is well maintained and filled with large paintings and murals illustrating important events in Venezuelan history. I have a picture here of one of the paintings that shows the abuse of the Indians by the Spanish on the left and the protection of the Indians by the Catholic Church on the right. It's looks like both sides of the picture may end up in the creation of more mestizos.

The downtown and the government buildings are undergoing some renovations. The government buildings looked great and there were some museums in historic buildings with wonderful historic paintings and narratives about Caracas and Venezuelan history. One museum was dedicated to the renovations that Caracas is doing in the area and also new public housing projects. A very sweet young red-shirted woman proudly showed us around and gave us the standard handouts. One was the pin button shown that says (translated) something like, "For love, we put a stop to the empire." We all know who the empire is. When we left she thanked us for coming and with a big warm smile said "Bye" in English.

We wound up our visit with a nice lunch at what I think was a very old restaurant in an old building. At least it seemed old compared to our own upscale ever-changing USA-emulating neighborhood of Las Mercedes. The restaurant was on an upper floor that we accessed through an elevator that looked more like a refrigerator than an elevator. Freddie warned us to keep our hands away from the door because there wasn't an inner door. The eating area was a delightful breezy balcony overlooking Bolivar Square. We were just opposite a Cathedral bell tower that chimed every 15 minutes. The bell was charming in the day time but Freddie said it would be less than charming if you were trying to sleep in the nearby hotel rooms.

So what do I think of Chavez now that I see how he and his supporters are spiffing up downtown? Well, I saw a lot of pride, hope, and energy in the downtown. Still Chavez strikes me as a bit of an impulsive, paternalistic, patronizing, populist demagogue. He hasn't succeeded widely at eradicating poverty in blighted neighborhoods like Petare, but who the hell could?! A long enduring culture of poverty is a hard habit to break. It seems that too many Venezuelans either feel he is the solution to all Venezuela's problems or that his removal by any means would be the solution to all Venezuela's problems. Perhaps he's a man of noble aspirations, astute political skills, pathological ambition, and flawed character like the Lyndon Johnson portrayed in the Robert Caras biography, only more so. Whatever, I don't think just finding the right president is going to improve a country like Venezuela or the USA. I suspect it takes a whole lot of people willing to provide leadership and work hard at all levels of government and community to eliminate corruption, improve education, clean up the environment, and achieve an enduring stable, fair, and prosperous, economy. I don't have the key to jumpstarting that.

Hobnobbing with Saudi Diplomats then Getting Bossed by the Maid

I'm doing computer housekeeping and I just found my journal entry of September 12, 2007. It predated inauguration of this blog so I didn't post it at the time.

My wife and I had an interesting evening last night (September 11). We were invited by the Saudi ambassador to a major reception commemorating Saudi Arabia's national day. My wife is his son's school librarian and several of the boy's teachers and school administrators were invited. It was in a real swanky hotel and there was food in every direction from appetizers to whole roast sheep to an endless variety of to-die-for desserts. At first I tried to eat only with my right hand but that was awkward because we were standing, holding little plates as well as our (non-alcoholic) drink glasses. Also, I soon noticed that nobody else was worried about that.

Lots of people were there from the Chavez government including the former Vice President of Venezuela. There were some American embassy people, and lots of business persons and other diplomats of various nationalities. Most of the women dressed fairly conservatively out of respect for the host but there were a couple of "over the top" (in every sense of the word) highly revealing cocktail dresses worn by a few of the Venezuelan women. We met the ambassador and several Saudi diplomats in the reception line. Generally they greeted us in Spanish and hospitably switched to English when they realized we were Americans. They were wearing those little red and white checkered head scarves and had the obligatory little mustaches and goatees. There were some other guys in robes and Santa hats who looked like the notorious blind Sheik. Most of the Arab women were wearing the full hair covering things but none were wearing veils. The ambassador's wife looked a bit more modern with some pretty bright clothes and a more moderate headscarf that allowed some hair exposure.

We had quite a long conversation with the only Chavez supporter that we know here and her husband. They're both very nice folks and revere Chavez just as much as all our other very nice Venezuelan friends despise him. There seems to be no in between.

It is interesting to see how amiably the Saudis and the Venezuelans get along seeing as the former are tee-totalers who hide their women under bags and the latter are party drinkers who glorify and display the sexuality of their women. I guess they are united by their common purpose to provide oil to the thirsty US at as high a price as possible.

The Saudis gave each guest a gift as we left. It was a large beautiful print of a Saudi Beach and a folder with material from the Saudi Ministry of Culture and Information.

Morning after now: It is maid day. That happens twice per week now but my wife still makes me wash dishes the night before. Maria, our young maid, usually has lots of questions for me and occasional assignments. She is a talented exterminator so my wife had asked her to zap the termites living in our cupboards and bar with her trusty cure-all chemical, "Vensol". That was not without complications as I have dramatized below, translating our dialogue into English.

Maria: Senor Johnny, can you fix this thing (showing me the hypodermic needle she uses to inject poison into the termite holes in our cabinets; it had a swelled and stuck rubber piston.)

I got it loosened and moving again with much friction.

Me: OK now, but you make suck much slowly. .

Maria: (later) It broke again.

Me: Oh. That sad.

Maria: What are you going to do about it?

Me: Uh

Maria: What are you going to do about it now?

Me: OK, I go pharmacy buy new one now. What it word?

Maria: Injectadora and while you're at it stop by the grocery store and buy some green plantains, potatoes, and chicken bouillon. (She's actually supposed to do the grocery shopping.)

Me: OK

Maria: Take your umbrella. It looks like it's going to rain.

Maria got the job done, even finding and harpooning one of the larva to show me. She fed me well, as usual. Yesterday's lunch was something like Beaufort stew except with chicken instead of shrimp and with a gigantic mountain of white rice. I have tried to tell her that I like her rice but that I prefer brown rice and much smaller portions. The only part that comes across is that I like her rice.

From the Sublime to the Ridiculous: Beach Paradise to Caracas Barrio

Following a weekend of paradise, alternately swimming in the surf and lying around like royalty under palm-thatched sun shelters drinking cold caipiriñas, we went home. Dang! I hate that. Entering Caracas from the east the first big thing you drive through is the Petare barrio. I think barrio just means neighborhood in some Spanish-speaking countries but in Venezuela, it means slum. The US Embassy and other rumor spreaders claim that most of the approximately 65 homicides in Caracas on an average weekend occur in the barrios. Petare is one of the biggest and the worst. I never know where truth ends and legend begins in this country but our friends' sweet and wonderful maid lives in Petare. She sometimes is unable to get to work because she's hunkered down in her house ducking a flare up of street violence. A few weeks ago her nephew was murdered there.

Although my cultural enrichment-craving wife is dying to visit a squalid barrio, I hope to steer clear of them. I prefer instead to keep them as romantic fantasies in my mind like pirate ships. Zooming past one at 100 km per hour on the autopista, while taking snapshots out the window, is plenty close enough for me. I am peppering a few of the snapshots in this blog post.

Being an engineer (retired emeritus) and not a sociologist, I am most interested in the structure and infrastructure of the barrios. In a word, it's scary! Around Caracas they are built on prime view property, i.e. perilously steep hills. They ain't exactly geotechnically engineered for this kind of terrain. In fact, we are told they are all squatters' habitations and sometimes wash away in the wet season. There seems to be a lot of public land in Venezuela and poor people are prone to just find a piece of it, get some of the hollow extruded clay tiles that Venezuela is made of, slap 'em together with some mortar, then presto…a house. If the bare land is all taken up, they may just build their house on top of someone else's…literally! We just heard the other day that someone's maid was agitated because someone else was building a house on her roof.

I don't know a whole lot about how the utilities work in the barrios. I don't think the plumbing is pretty but I can at least testify that by dusk they are twinkling with the light of modern efficient screw-in compact fluorescent lights. Charles Hardy, a Wyoming native and former Catholic priest actually lived in a very impoverished barrio ministering to the occupants during the early years of Chavez' administration. He reports on life and infrastructure there in his book "Cowboy in Caracas". See http://www.cowboyincaracas.com/. His description of the habitations that he and his neighbors lived in was even more dismal than what you see in the photos. He says they were desperation shelters provided by a former "benevolent" right wing leader, consisting of cardboard walls with tin roofs. The bathroom was wherever the lowest corner of the concrete floor was so you could take a whiz and it would run outside under the crack between the wall and the floor. You did your number 2 on a newspaper then discretely took it outside and set it across the road to wash away (wherever away is) in the next rain. Somebody brought drinking water in on a truck that didn't always arrive. I don't think it is an exaggeration to say that Charlie is a fervent believer in Chavez as a positive instrument of beneficial social change. I can agree with Presidente Chavez that his predecessors were corrupt right wing oligarch's and that his arch-enemy George Bush is an arrogant belligerent imperialist doophus. However, Charlie has a long way to go to convince me that Chavez has the intellectual capability and the genuine commitment to bring long term prosperity, stability, democracy, and an end to corruption and poverty. But, hey! I like the energy-saving screw-in fluorescents.

Caracas Breakfast with Macaws

In the middle of my scrambled eggs and ricotta cheese on the balcony this morning an impressive Blue and Gold Macaw parrot made a close pass. Soon I saw that there were three of them doing aerial maneuvers complete with the obligatory squawking. I was photographically unarmed on the first pass. I fetched my camera and took some pictures but I didn't get another opportunity for such a close shot. Here are three better shots out of dozens of so-so ones. See respectively an overhead pass, a wide shot of one alighted on a new palm tree shoot (Can you find it?), and a fully zoomed and cropped one of the bird on the palm shoot. Click any picture for a larger image. I'll miss these birding breakfasts when I'm back in the USA.

Bug Paradise

Bug Paradise, a.k.a Casa Maria. Those are two official names of the one superb posada 3.5 hours west of Caracas in Carabobo State where we just spent the weekend with several friends. It hardly seemed paradise for the bugs because the entomologist owner had huge numbers of them crucified in display cases.

(This picture and all the others are tiny in here but you can click to see them bigger.)
Also the numerous ponds on the premises were teeming with fish and frogs that made short work of any mosquito larvae so unfortunate as to hatch there. Ha! YES! Numerous other bugs met a grisly end when (attracted by the light) they sneaked into the screen cage teeming with golden orb-weaver spiders.

The posada as it exists today represents a 16 year labor of love of Bavarian immigrants, Norbert and Gabriele (Gabi) Flauger. Norbert is foremost an entomologist and ecologist but has obvious talents in horticulture and landscape and building architecture. Gabi is business manager, decorator, and master chef. Both are trilingual in Spanish, English, and of course German. Check out their website at www.bugparadise.com. To proceed from the home page, click the language of your choice.

Bug Paradise is not only a native plant horticultural garden but a menagerie of native animals including huge aquaria of salt and fresh water fish, a butterfly house, a sociable free flying Amazon parrot, a cute native possum, an impish Capuchin monkey, and two lethargic boa constrictors. The owners also deploy the right attractants of fruit and seeds to bring many flying visitors of the bird and butterfly sort. It was a paradise for Homo sapiens too. There was a small but picturesque swimming pool amidst orchid wrapped trees and dangling bag-like nests of the Crested Oropendolas. The sleeping rooms and the grounds were all maintained with stereotypical German fastidiousness. The feng shui was right on the mark.

You can hang out in the Garden of Eden premises if you're sedentary but Norbert can take you on naturalist excursions to the cloud forest and other locations on the Caribbean beaches or in the Los Llanos (plains). You can also take walks in the extensive orange groves up the hill behind the posada, enjoy the view, steal oranges, and get lost. We did that Saturday evening. On Sunday we took a lurching ride in the 1957 Unimog pictured at the top to a point higher up in the cloud forests. (No side impact airbags there.) In addition to Norbert, we had a distinguished German botanist guest Winfried (Vinnie) accompanying us.

Vinnie was inspired and inspiring, definitely a botanist worthy of a Gary Larsen caricature. He is cataloging the native species in Venezuela in the cloud forests from about 200 meters to 1000 meters I think he said. Here are some interesting specimens such as the compound Hibiscus and the walking palm tree.

We ended our adventure by going home, which is the way we end all adventures. These last two pictures are at a stop for fruit (mangoes and avocados). A very poor looking mother with a one year old baby came up and asked if I'd like to take her baby's picture. I didn't know what the deal was so I said no. Then I sized her up as truly needy and found a BsF 10 note in my nearly empty wallet. It's hard to know how much that's worth as both the dollar and the Bolivar race toward worthlessness. I think about $2.75. I gave it to her and she was crossing herself and giving me blessings of gratitude till we rode out of sight. It's cheap to feel generous in a poor country.

Caracas Daybreak in the Rain

Today broke with swirling clouds followed by misting rain. Perhaps the overdue rainy season is finally here. I look forward to the afternoon thunderstorms. For now though it's just nice sitting out on the covered end of our balcony having our coffee and peanut butter toast breakfast while enjoying the light sprinkle.

We had a visitor to the balcony before we ventured out this morning. It was one of the brash chacalacas, a bird in the same order with chickens and turkeys. They greet the sun with a deafening squawk of "cha ca LA' ca". Our balcony is a very good bird viewing location.

Maid Day! Maid Day!

Today is maid day. This is good because it gets our house real clean for only about ten or twelve bucks. It is bad because I am always slightly uncomfortable with Maria (not her real name) flitting about and sweeping under my feet. That's because I'm totally unable to understand anything she says and vice versa, a) because I don't speak Spanish, and b) because she speaks a mile a minute. For an outsider to Spanish it might sound like I know some Spanish but it's only when we stick to the script. The script (as it sounds to me) and the translation are almost invariably as follows:
8:30 AM
Maria: Senor John, BlalalalalalalalalaCadaBlalalalala Translation: Mr. Johnny, I'm ready to go to Cada (the grocery store) Can you give me the money.
Johnny: Si (handing over BsF 70.00) Sufficiente? Translation: Yes. Is this enough?
Maria: Si. BlalalalalalalaLlavesLalalalala Translation: Yes. May I have the apartment key.
Jonnny: Si
Maria: Ciao
9:30 AM (A while after she arrives back from the grocery store)
Maria: Senor John, BlalalalalalalalalalalaLlaves? Translation: Mr. Johnny, did I remember to give back your keys?
Johnny: Uhhh, Si
10:00 AM
Maria: Senor John, BlalalalalalaComerAqui o la escuela con Senora Cati? Translation: Mr. Johnny, are you going to eat here or at the school with Mrs. Catherine?
Johnny: Si, aqui. Translation: Yes, here.
12:15 PM
Maria: Senor John, BlalalalalalaComidaLalalalala. Translation: Mr. Johnny, your lunch is ready.
Johnny: Oh, Si (Johnny eats lunch on balcony. Maria eats hers on the bar in the kitchen.)
12:35 PM
Johnny: Gracias! Es muy delicioso comida. Translation: Thank you. It very delicious food.
Maria: Tee heh Translation: Tee heh.
2:30 PM
Maria: Senor John, Blalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala. Translation: Mr. Johnny, I'm done and ready to go.
Johnny: Oh OK, (handing over BsF 50.00.) Hasta Viernes. Translation: See you Friday
Maria: BlalalalalalalalHuevesLalalalalaTeehehCiao. Translation: See you Thursday. Can't you ever get your days straight?! Tee heh. Bye
Johnny: Ciao Translation: Bye

That part is easy. The tough part is when we go off script, which is a couple of times per day. Today she asked me if she could bring her camera on Thursday for me to upload some pictures to my computer. I don't know why; I didn't know how to ask. She also wanted to know if she could take a shower before she went home because she had spilled some cooking oil on herself. That led to some considerable charades and confused communication. I won't even go there.

I know very little about this woman except she is a 26 year old Colombian, has a husband, a 4 year old son, and lives in La Guaira an hour's bus ride away near the airport. How does she make it on a two hour round trip to work for people for BsF 50 per day? Does her husband have a job? Does she live in one of the tiny clay brick huts, without window glass, clinging to a hillside in some dangerous barrio with poor or non-existant plumbing like so many of the poor people here? I'm poignantly aware that she is about the same age as my own daughter. Does she have aspirations for a better life? Is she happy to anticipate being a domestic for the rest of her life? What chances for a better life does her son have? I'd like to invite her to lunch with me on the balcony and tell me these things but of course I'd never understand a word she said. I found out today she likes coffee. I'm going to brew an extra cup in our pot each Tuesday and Thursday before she comes.

It's not all bad

I'm counting the days until I'm back home again where I know the language and my family and old friends live. However, I have to admit that there are some pretty views in Caracas. This one's from the stairs of my apartment building looking toward the Parque Nacional Avila (the mountains in the background).