A
Place Called Merida
Dr. Gretchen Belsie
Moving
from Caracas (a fume-ridden, manic metropolis) to Merida (a
university city in the western Andes) seems a lot like scaling
mountains. There are
plenty of ups; there are also downs.
After
church on Sunday, we went directly from downtown to the airport
as a precautionary measure. Avensa, our domestic carrier, enjoys
a spotty reputation much like that of Continental in the early 1980s:
a troubled corporation with something of a "Que sera, sera" flight
schedule. Our 3:45 p.m. flight was delayed, then delayed again.
To comfort its frazzled passengers, Avensa personnel wheeled in
a rickety cart to the waiting area and appeased us with micro cups
of Chinotto (a 7-Up wanna-be) and diminutive packets of crackers.
Shortly
after, we got the official announcement: our plane had a flat tire.
And this would require more than the usual delays because the replacement
tire first had to be removed from another jet. News of mechanical
repairs on aircraft doesn't usually inspire the stranded traveler,
especially when used rubber and a tight time schedule are involved.
Because the Merida airport has no landing lights, all incoming flights
had to arrive before sundown to enable the pilot to maneuver through
the mountains, execute a heart-stopping U-turn and land on a dime
in front of spectators clustered at the chain-link fence.
Knowing
the "full picture" of our predicament, the group set to work right
away, handling the claims of obstacles, time, and chance. What unfolded
was a swift tire change, with technicians working together to complete
the job in half the predicted time.
A
definite "up" for the students was meeting their host families at
the Merida airport. While eager for the first encounter, a number
of the students were a bit worried about being separated from the
Prin group, communicating with their Venezuelan host families and
finding their way to school the next morning! For the most part,
everyone has settled in beautifully. Jeff Slaughter and Jace Verhoeven
live only two houses away from the school and are treated to grandma's
home cooking at each meal. (She specializes in recipes with ham,
ham, ham.) Omari Miller is "el hijo nuevo" (the new son) in his
family, and Julie Thorington is now the only "daughter" in a home
with five sons. Carly Perez-Banuet is currently working out an uneasy
peace with her family's pet chihuahua that despises open-toed shoes.
In only a few short days, individuals (as well as the group) have
had to handle some strong challenges: food issues, sporadic anti-American
sentiment and personal safety. The fruitage at our Wednesday evening
testimony meeting was "full strength," and the metaphysics, right
on target.
I
trust that everyone here takes time each day to look up and see
the breathtaking view of the Andes all around. The terrain is vast,
crumpled and green - and often shrouded with clouds. Snow tops the
Pico El Avila, the highest peak in the Venezuelan Andes. We're riding
the world's longest and highest cable car to the top this Saturday.
It was for this that we all crammed parkas and knit hats into the
corners of our suitcases, next to the swimsuits and the SPF 40 sunscreen.
Now,
a few "short takes" from the streets:
 |
A
young woman works at a metallic lunch wagon called El
Gloton (The Glutton), which features a Tasmanian Devil
on the sign!. She sells small bottles of sugary Coke and
assorted snack items while her toddler plays in the dry
grass and an infant dozes nearby in a stroller, oblivious
to the continuous roar of rush-hour traffic. |
 |
A
street vendor sets up shop at a busy corner in front of a McDonald's
near our apartment. He is an all-weather kind of guy. He wears
a nylon windbreaker, a huge black Mexican sombrero (rather out
of place here) and, perched atop that, a yellow baseball cap!
|
 |
In
the late afternoon, a young man unpacks his shoe repair box
at the entrance to our building. He works industriously and
quietly, restoring women's navy blue pumps to a like-new luster.
He lines them up on the cement ledge near the iron fence,
pauses, and then reaches for a battered pair of loafers.
|
|