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.